ticktockgrin | Negotiations With Teeth

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Negotiations With Teeth

Dwayne hates this part of the act. He's pulled just about every con in the game at some time or another, some of them enough times to do them blind without a moment's warning, but this one? It never gets easier, even with the amount of trust involved.

Art items, money, contraband luxuries of all sorts, even drugs and weapons? Sure. Humans? That's one thing he can't stomach.

Next to him, Mira is just as calm as he is, probably calmer because she knows the lock on her silver collar has a quick-release that will let her get it off in half a second.

She's the quickest shifter he knows, maybe because she was turned so young. She's still too damn young... But that's what makes this work so well. The fact that she can do this without losing her shit. After all she's been through she can do the job, control her wolf, and still be rational, reliable, able to have a life outside the perversion and submission that defined her teen years? It's kind of amazing.

She can hold her own, both physically and emotionally, and he can control her if things go bad. Combined with his middle-aged, refined demeanor? They make a good team, and the pack has a lot of faith in them for taking down yet another slave dealer.

He still hates it. But he smiles anyway, genial, professional, and harmless in spite of the huge boxer's build filling out his tailored suit, copper-penny hair and beard trimmed close and neat and not showing even a hint of gray in spite of his forty-five years. A middle-aged businessman, not even a bit out of place in an upscale hotel where a little money buys a lot of discretion.

And the slender young brunette with him? Well, everyone has their indulgences, and all it takes is the right price.

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Dwayne raises his hands defensively, indicating no offense meant. Big kid. Young but not too young. He hopes like hell he's done growing, because goddamn, he's already done a lot of it. Dwayne would be worried if not for his wolvish edge, and...hell, no, he'd be a little worried anyway. He's used to being the biggest man in the room and it's a little off-putting to be outclassed by that much. The fact that he came here alone expecting his wallet to be his shield, though? Either the kid knows how to handle himself...or he's in way over his head.

"Lots of points for balls, kid. That'll come in handy," Dwayne says mildly, flicking his glance toward the buyer. Trying to project I've got this because the guy's bodyguards are getting restless and the flush of red annoyance creeping up under his shirt collar is not a good sign. "This is a private deal, though. Throwing money at a problem gets you the prize sometimes, but not every time. Still gotta follow the rules of business." The words taste sour in his mouth, the fact that he's buying and selling a twenty-year-old girl the same way he would a 17th century French antique end table, but if he flinches, he breaks the whole deal and very possibly gets them all killed. He can smell silver somewhere, and he knows damn well that this shithead knows that sometimes, a 'piece of merchandise' will suicide-rush rather than go quietly into the hands of another buyer. Somewhere, someone's got a silver knife or a clip of silver-core rounds, and it's not just Dwayne, because his are wax-sealed.

He's tired of this, but the end result will be worth it. He keeps telling himself that. More wolves to come home safe into the hands of a pack that will protect them, find them safe places, and one more broker taken permanently out of the game.

If they can pull this off. Mira glances at Josh, head still bowed so that it's a shrouded gaze, but Dwayne knows she's not faking her ire. Luckily, it's easy to pass off as a simple matter of not liking either potential new owner, and she simply shifts from foot to foot restlessly, eyes flicking between all the parties involved.

"This isn't the 'discrete' you promised me," the buyer snaps with a glare. He looks over Josh, clearly searching for signs of wire. Camera. Anything indicating a double-cross. Forward guard for an interception? Fuck. Dwayne hopes not. Feds wouldn't be this clumsy...neither would most competitors. And at least some of the others he knows of would have simply shot them all in the head and taken Mira by now. Now Dwayne is uneasy, too, and this is looking worse and worse. He's going to have to make a call soon- try to salvage, or bail. "I have other things to do today besides 'Baby's First Meet', so if you aren't going to get rid of him, I will."

Josh has to work hard to suppress the urge to fidget. This isn't going at all the way his contacts and backers had insisted it would, and the longer it draws out the more chance that something will blow up in his face. Something that just might be the fat sleazeball and his restless bodyguards... which also hadn't been part of the plan. He'd been told to expect a solo buyer, solo seller and the... christ, the merchandise. Not two goons who are obviously armed and, from the looks of them, itching for a shot at busting his kneecaps. Not that he'd give them very good odds of succeeding, but the only way this ends well for his side is if it ends with him peacefully walking away with the girl, and that's not going to happen if things degenerate into violence.

He's not sure what the hell to do at this point, though, because Big Red doesn't seem to have any interest in budging, even for a significant boost to his profits, but there's no way in hell he's letting the girl go now that he's seen her. "I thought one of the first rules of business was to maximize your profits." He doesn't quite manage a sneer as he gives his supposed competition what's meant to be a dismissive look. He can see the guy checking him out, and has a pretty good idea why... and the only reason he's not wired is because he'd been expecting to be swept for bugs when he got there. He's been wishing like hell he had a wire for the last ten minutes, though. Wishing Ryan and Ethan or someone with a better potential read of the situation could feed him information or lines... or that he could at least warn them there's a damn good chance he'll be coming out hot sooner rather than later, because things are possibly going to start going south fast.

He tries to look casual about shifting both closer to the girl, and to put Sleazebag between himself and his bodyguards. And given he's damn well trained, even if this isn't anything he'd ever expected to be doing, he mostly succeeds. The same with the assessing look, at least partly camouflaged as irritation and disdain, that he gives to the bodyguards. Looking for any sign of weapons, gauging how they move, how fast and strong and effective they're likely to be, his odds of getting to and out the nearest exit with the girl if things go bad enough he has to cut and run. It... honestly doesn't look good, but that doesn't mean he won't try. And big as the seller is, at least he doesn't seem to be much of a threat.

"Best way to get rid of me is to sell me the girl, I'm sure he can go find himself another toy somewhere else." He's still managing to project confidence despite his building anxiety, and he takes a chance and partially turns his back to the fat man and his flunkies, hoping he can somehow manage to convince the big redhead that it's easier to just sell to him for an inflated price and move on. "Are you really going to turn down a ten percent bump? Wouldn't you rather be selling to someone with a better appreciation for the value of your merchandise?" He pauses, looks considering for a moment. "Especially if it led to repeat business. At a similar price."

"One of the first rules is also not to screw over your business partners when you already have an established agreement," Dwayne says sagely, looking at Josh again. He pauses pointedly. "Especially when crashing a private deal."

Both the bodyguards are carrying, he has no doubt about that. Dwayne's suit is cut generously enough to cover the .45 under his arm, set for a left-handed draw, but there's still telltale lines. It's a big gun, even though he's a big man. He wouldn't be stupid enough to show up to a meet alone without it. Almost conversationally, he adds, "It's a rough business, kid. Trust me, getting your suits fitted with one of your legs is two inches shorter than the other for the rest of your life is not a smart career decision."

Fuck. The problem here isn't that the fat man can find another girl, it's that Dwayne doesn't want him to.

Okay. He's got this. The deal will go through. He brushes his jacket back pointedly. He'll deal with the kid, because otherwise, he'll be crawling home from an abandoned construction site on two shot-out kneecaps. It's a genteel threat, but still a threat, and at least he has a hotel room here where he can shake some sense into the little asshole or, if he's law enforcement, make some kind of case to cover things over. He doubts that's the case, though: he doesn't hear the telltale whine of a transmitter and this kid is too green to be undercover. And too damn noticeable: cops and feds are usually too smart to send someone that conspicuous into a deal like this.

So Dwayne lets his jacket gap open just enough to show the straps of his holster, casual without being threatening. This is the big leagues, kid. To the fat man, he says, "Far as I'm concerned, the deal still stands, and I apologize for the...inconvenience." He indicates Josh with the tilt of his head. "If you've got the payment on hand, then I'll handle the outstanding problems." His glance goes to the younger man. "Maybe we can work something out for another time, but I stick with my deals." One last shot at diplomacy...at gunpoint if necessary, but going with Dwayne is still a much better choice for the kid, whether he realizes it or not.

It wasn't supposed to go this way, but sometimes things just go to shit and there's nothing you can do about it. Right now is obviously one of those times, as Josh's attention is drawn from discreetly eyeing the bodyguards to the big ginger... and the equally big gun he's carrying. It's not even a surprise that he's carrying, Josh had assumed he'd be the only one there who wasn't, well, besides the... merchandise... it's that he's making it very clear he's willing to use it, and looking like he's potentially a hell of a lot more competent with it than the easy going businessman image had led Josh--or his contacts and backers--to expect. And Josh knows exactly what he should do now, what he's supposed to do now. Back the hell off, take the bone the seller's offering and walk away with a potential line on god knows how many rescues. More kids bought out of this hell and given lives and safety.

Josh knows what he's supposed to do... but that involves leaving this kid, this girl whose face he's seen, in the hands of the kind of sick, sadistic fuck who keeps a stable of people for his perverted amusement.

He's still sweating, but the acrid tang of stress and anxiety rolling off him has eased, almost completely superseded by a sharper note of fear as he frowns, gaze shifting from the big ginger to the girl to his 'competition' and the man's restless bodyguards. He knows what he's supposed to do... and he knows what he's going to do, his anxiety washed away along with the pretense of the spoiled rich boy, with the complexities of a con he's never really been trained to handle, and replaced with anticipation of the violence he's been trained to since he could walk.

There's only a fraction of a second between decision and action. He thumbs the '911' text already keyed into the phone he's been fidgeting with in his pocket, pulls out the small, completely innocuous looking Swiss Army knife in his other pocket, the only weapon he's carrying, and flips it open in one smooth move as he spins, moving with entirely more speed and grace than anyone ever expects from a man his size. Fear he can handle. Fear is normal. Fear is acceptable. He doesn't expect to come out of this, but he'll be damned if that girl doesn't, and he takes the one move that should (might) keep him alive long enough to get the girl out of here, and goes to slide around the big redhead and make for the buyer. He's fast and he's strong and there's no way in hell those bodyguards are going to be able to stop him... and the redhead, well, he's big and he's not exactly young, no matter how hot he might be, so Josh is willing to take the chance that he can get past him.

Edited 2014-08-02 04:15 (UTC)

Goddammit. The kid thinks he's a hero. He's not a wolf himself, so...just a sympathetic human, probably, and in way over his head because this is about to go seriously south. It helps that Dwayne was already watching for a move, could see it coming, because if he doesn't step in now, then cleanup is going to be a serious bitch. It was just that moment of decision, of action that he was waiting for, and when it comes, all Dwayne really has to do is turn into it.

He's faster than a guy his size should be, moving in and even though Dwayne is big, the guy's still got four inches of height on him, translated to a big reach advantage. Dwayne wouldn't put a hundred percent bet on himself if not for having the secret advantage, and as soon as they're both moving, he knows that he made the right choice stepping in. The smart bodyguard would have simply shot him rather than risk a wrestling match, broken his knee or something equally crippling to end the fight quickly.

Dwayne has a little more confidence in his hand-to-hand edge, though. He can get away with letting the kid off light.

Ease off. Don't rush in, let the kid come to him. Years of boxing reflexes kick in on top of more strength than the nice suit would imply, a smooth swiftness that's just as much practice and experience as innate speed. Josh's momentum combined with Dwayne's swing turns into a brutal blow to the diaphragm, only a little bit of Dwayne's supernatural strength and speed carrying the punch and most of the impact simply Josh's own movement hitting a surprisingly solid fist and a man unusually close to his own size and weight.

Shit. Even with his ease with a gun the big ginger wasn't supposed to have been that fast. Or that on the ball. Josh had made the same mistake most people make with him--counting on him to be as slow as his size would lead you to expect--and he doubles over the fist that feels almost like it just appears in his diaphragm with a choking noise. He's pretty sure he's dead if he lets that stop him, though, and the girl might as well be with the hell she's being sold into. He struggles to suck in a breath past the burn of the blow, fingers locking tight on his knife against the impulse to let it slip from an almost nerveless grip, and almost flails as he reaches to wrap an arm around the seller's waist.

At least he's got the bulk of Big Red's body between him and the buyer's flunkies, still, even as he can hear them moving--not see them, because christ the guy caught him right in the phrenic nerve and he's pretty sure there's no way he can straighten up yet. What he can do, though, is shove his free hand into his attacker's jacket, still weak grip going unerringly for the gun the big man had shown off. If he can get hold of that, then maybe there's still a chance of at least getting the girl out of here. Maybe.

It's a combination of age, reflexes, and experience, and Dwayne still wouldn't put any money on himself against Josh in a normal, straight toe-to-toe. This isn't toe-to-toe, though. Dwayne's first shot was surprise and he doesn't intend to let this go on long enough for the kid to catch his breath again.

Being between the kid and the thugs is good, it means they won't shoot through him. He's still too valuable. One of them is watching Mira, to make sure she won't bolt, and that's good. She's luring him in with the twitchy, wide-eyed doe panic, keeping him out of the fight, which is moving too damn fast anyway. The knife doesn't worry Dwayne too much, but the gun, that he needs to keep control of. A free hand sweeps down, forcing the kid's arm down and away from his body, but the angle's wrong to hit him in the glass jaw. Fist to the kidneys, then, with a silent apology and pulling the blow enough that the guy's not pissing blood for a week. Better too little than too much, but shit he hopes it still looks good because he's got nearly three hundred pounds hanging on his waist trying to bring him to the floor, and he does not want to be down there.

Josh makes a low noise of frustration as Big Red--and yes, that's apparently what his brain's decided to call the man, which is at least better than Red Hot, which had been in contention--shoves his arm down and away, foiling his attempt to get the gun. Which leaves him with nothing but his Swiss Army knife and a body that's still not cooperating as he gasps for breath. It's frustrating, if it had just been pain he could have muscled through, but he is legitimately just short of crippled still and he can't even get the angle and leverage required to take the guy's legs out from under him... which might be just as well, given Fat Sleezebag's bodyguards would probably curb stomp him the second he hit the floor.

Still, he's got to do something, and he shifts his grip on the little knife now that he's at least sure he won't drop it in the process, and prepares to bury what little length he has in Big Red's kidney. It won't be enough to kill the guy, but it'll sure as hell shut him down for the foreseeable future, so he tightens his grip around the guy's waist and--drops the knife with another grunt of pain, legs almost giving out under him as a meaty fist makes solid contact with his left kidney.

There's a reason he'd been aiming his own attack for the kidney, and so much for being able to power through pain. Kidney shots are a bitch and a half, and his vision's swimming as he tries to recover from both that and the shot to the solar plexus. "Fuck... you," he manages to gasp, and tries to keep his hold on Big Red's waist while reaching with his free hand for about the only attack he thinks he has the strength and coordination to manage. Under the circumstances he's not going to hesitate for even a fraction of a second about going for the bastards balls, though he can't put anywhere near the power behind the punch as he normally would.

Oh, the little bastard. And little in the sense of younger, because little in the sense of anything else absolutely doesn't count. But even without full force behind the blow, it's enough to stagger Dwayne. Better than a knife to the kidney, but only marginally, and dammit, he needs to end this because the kid is tougher than he expected and if he doesn't get this over with, the chances of the fat man simply shooting them both and taking Mira gets better and better.

No more pulling punches, though he's still not going to break the kid. The hit to the balls has him wheezing a little, turning his leg to try and protect himself from another hit, but he's still got the superior position for a couple more hard jabs, fighting to keep from being hauled down. On the bright side, he's no longer feeling bad about hitting full-out since taking one to the sack- Dwayne takes advantage of the fact that he can get a full windup, landing a couple of good hard hammers as the thugs watch the whole thing with something like disbelief. Go down, dammit.

Josh has a brief moment of satisfaction as Big Red staggers, and he tries to capitalize on it by pushing himself up, or trying to, free hand now clawing for the older man's gun again. Unfortunately, the guy takes the shot to the nuts a hell of a lot better (or maybe worse, all things considered) than Josh had hoped. It might have rocked him, but it didn't take him down, and before Josh can get even halfway upright there's a massive fist hammering into his kidney again, making his head swim with pain. His kness just about give out and he starts to slump just as it connects again, this time with his skull, making the world go grey and distant, and he's barely aware of his surroundings as he slides to the floor, eyes tearing as he curls in on himself before everything goes black.

Dwayne manages to straighten without sounding too wheezy, a grim smile on his face. "You can take the man out of the military..." he says offhandedly, not missing a beat. Calm and level as though he hadn't just beaten the daylights out of another man. Back into the act, finish the damn job and get out of here. They've already lost enough ground, time to fix it and get out.

"I'd suggest having a look at your security, by the way. Normally, I'd offer a discount to make up for the inconvenience, but since I have a room and can handle this, let's just call this a fair exchange, finish up and be on our way, then?" Turn on the charm, easy and polite and just that tiny bit subservient. It's a damn good thing that Mira is prime stock, or they might have lost the deal, but that little bit of scraping and bowing is enough to smooth things over, thank God.

When they turn and head down the hall with their new prize, leaving Dwayne to deal with the kid, he bites down on a sigh and a curse and drags Josh down the hall like a sack of dirty laundry, not wanting to get caught hauling a man that outweighs him by fifty pounds over his shoulder. Good damn thing the room is on this floor and the help is well-paid not to see anything, because shit, maybe Dwayne is getting too damn old for this after all.

And once they're in the room and the door is locked and latched, then Dwayne hauls his prize (well, not exactly prize, the kid is definitely good-looking but with the trouble he's put Dwayne through so far? Not to mention being young enough to be his son, had Dwayne started sowing his oats fairly early on...) up onto the bed, laying him on his side, then moves the armchair between the bed and the suite's exit. Since he's got a check for the price of one prime werewolf slave in his pocket, he also takes two bottles of ginger ale from the mini-bar and puts one on the nightstand next to his prisoner before sitting down with the other and taking his pistol out. Weapon held loosely and casually, pointed at the floor, Dwayne waits for Josh to come to. Because...yeah. They really need to have a chat.

Fortunately for the well being of Josh's brain, it doesn't take him that long to start coming round. Unfortunately for his dignity (and any ability to take his captor by surprise) the first thing he's aware of is a truly delightful combination of pain and nausea, and he curls a little tighter around himself with a ragged (and possibly embarrassingly high pitched) moan. He's not even with the program enough to start questioning where he is, how he got there or why for a good minute more, though when he finally does regain enough higher brain functions to go there he goes very still and quiet. Doubtless too little too late, but he doesn't have a clue if he's being watched or not.

On the plus side, the only damage he's immediately aware of are the shots that put him down in the first place: his kneecaps seem to be intact and he knows from brutal experience that he'd be feeling it if someone had taken their frustrations out on his ribs or head after he hit the ground. So all in all things could be a hell of a lot worse. Depending on where he is, anyway. He bites back another groan as he slits his eyes open and the light stabs into them like god damn knives. He has to blink a few times to clear his vision, but then Big Red swims blearily into not quite focus. Correction, Big Red and the gun Josh never had managed to get his hands on.

Shit.

Josh flexes his hands in frustration, because he knows there's not a damn thing he can do. Not for himself, and not for the kid this piece of shit just sold into sexual slavery, and the next sound he has to choke back is a sob, because there's no way in hell he's giving the bastard the satisfaction. "What are you waiting for?" he demands, though his voice is rough and unsteady and not nearly as demanding as he'd intended. "To be able to force me to walk out of here under my own power so you don't have to get a body through the damn lobby?" His attempt to come off as confident and self-possessed probably isn't helped by the fact he's pretty sure he can't manage to lever himself upright just yet.

Even if Josh wasn't so obvious about waking up, Dwayne still would have noticed just from the change in his breathing and heartbeat, though the kid doesn't know that. He sits there quietly, reaching over to take a swig of his ginger ale now and then as he rolls over exactly how he's going to approach this. The kid's obviously not law enforcement, and if he's in the black market, he's new as hell to it. Some kind of lone wolf vigilante wannabe? Maybe. Dwayne's got room to work, which is good. Dwayne always works better when he has some wiggle room.

"It would be kind of inconvenient to try and fit you into my luggage," Dwayne agrees conversationally, watching him stir with cobalt-blue eyes. He might have taken a bump or two and have a little rug-burn, but other than that, Josh is in exactly the same shape he was when he hit the floor. Which will still take a few minutes for him to bounce back from, but that works out just fine because it means they can talk without Dwayne having to hit him again. "Just take it slow, I'll have to tip housekeeping extra if you puke on the bed. There's ginger ale on the nightstand."

Then he stops and sighs, rubbing one broad hand over his scruffy face and looking...tired. He can stop the game now, at least part of it. "Dammit, kid. You know you almost got yourself dragged out to the industrial park and kneecapped? Those guys do not play nice."

"Gee, sorry to be a fucking inconvenience to you." Even angry and disoriented the obscenity sounds unnatural coming out of his mouth, but he's not about to hold back at this point. Jesus, at least the buyer had looked like the kind of sleazebag he is, but this guy... if Josh just spotted him in the street he knows he'd never have seen anything but a mild mannered, kind of hot older business man. He knows it's irrational, but that doesn't stop it from being frustrating.

He glances at the ginger ale and then away, he's not taking anything from this bastard, and if anything he's sort of tempted to just give in to the way his stomach's rolling. It's a petty and pointless revenge, but tempting... if it weren't for how much he hates throwing up. "Oh that's really special, coming from a guy who just sold a kid to one of the biggest perverts in town as a sex slave!" And he does push himself unsteadily up now, hoping the movement will distract from the tears that are pricking at the corners of his eyes... banking that the guy won't just shoot him because that'll create a mess to clean up and probably attract attention, no matter how good the sound proofing in this place is.

He looks like way too nice a kid to be using that language, but considering Dwayne kidney-checked him...

Oh. Well, that explains why he was here. Dwayne rubs his face again, since Josh clearly missed the wry turn of his comment, and gives a long sigh. He lets Josh sit up as long as he stays on the bed, as long as the distance between them is safe. He doesn't really want to shoot him anyway- nothing the kid has seen is worth killing him over, even if Dwayne had the stomach for it.

"The 'kid' can handle herself, believe me. Not that you have any reason to trust a word I say..." he gestures, making a little throwaway motion with his free hand. "But what you walked into came very close to getting you killed, without having half an idea of what was actually going on. Are you at least getting that much?" He's trying to keep his voice mild, but the stress of pretending to be a cheerful purveyor of human chattel has already used up most of his reserves for the day, and the last place he really wants to be is giving lessons in Underworld 101 to a Junior Batman, no matter how good his swing is.

Dwayne sighs again, and reaches for his ginger ale. God knows his stomach needs it, and he rubs at his beard with the back of his hand before he starts over. The kid means well, but Jesus. "Nice try on the buy, at least. If it had been an open meet, you might have had it. But private sellers get touchy when someone they don't expect comes into an exchange no one else was supposed to know about."

Josh sits tensely on the edge of the bed, trying to gauge whether he has any chance at overpowering Big Red and making a break for it. Honestly, it doesn't look good, even with as tired as the older man looks, and Josh tries to focus on getting the room to stop wobbling in his vision and getting his stomach to settle. He's only giving half his attention to what's being said to him until he manages to blearily register the general gist of Big Red's words, and then his eyes narrow and he leans forward tensely... until he starts to sway alarmingly and has to sit back again.

"And how the hell is being able to handle herself going to help in that kind of situation?" Because as Josh has just had categorically proven to him again, sometimes it doesn't matter how well you can handle yourself when the odds are stacked against you. "Do you have any idea what that bastard does to the people he buys?" He sounds sick and miserable, and not just from the after effects of Dwayne putting him down so effectively. "We thought if we threw enough money at you-" He stops. Really, they hadn't thought the kind of person who'd sell people like objects would have enough integrity to pass up that kind of profit. "They're going to be watching for me, you know. You won't be able to get out of here with me."

Dwayne looks wearily at Josh. "Which ones, the women, or the men? He goes through a few fighters a month, too. The younger ones that have only just started changing are hard to control, but he'll buy them if the price is right. The older ones he sometimes keeps around as servants, but only if they're broken. Usually, those are the ones that have silver permanently embedded under their skin from cage matches so they can't shift anymore." It comes out in a flat voice, no accusations, no anger, just empty facts that he's been over a hundred times. Sometimes they can get the silver out, but not always. And digging at it renews the risk of acute poisoning- a shifter has to be incredibly tough to survive long-term silver exposure to begin with. "The prime stock, he turns and sells up to his backers, so in general he has about half a dozen on his property. Servants, a couple of 'distractions', and whatever fighting stock he's currently doing the best with at the open matches. The guys feeding him money keep him in toys as long as he keeps finding them good connections, nice little arrangement."

He waves his free hand again. His right, the one with the watch, which makes him a southpaw. Useful to know. "See what I mean about not knowing the whole story before you bust in? And kid, trust me, if I want out of here, I'm gone. But I'd really prefer that you not mess up my day any more than you already have, considering you could have gotten me killed too." There were silver bullets in those guns, and if they'd seen him start to heal, a few shots to the head would have taken him out regardless. Honor among thieves might not technically be a thing, but a surprising number of criminals keep to some sort of set of rules if just because the consequences for screwing over your fellows are so damn brutal.

Josh listens in growing horror to the emotionless descriptions of atrocities. He doesn't know what to make of it, of the big redhead. It's not the kind of litany a man who approves of that kind of treatment would recite, but... there's no discernible anger, no disgust. Just facts and figures, as if the people he's describing, the horrors they're subjected to, don't matter, and Josh realizes that he might actually be sick soon.

"Jesus, how can you-" He voice breaks and he stops and scrubs a hand over his mouth, swallowing back bile and wishing his head would stop pounding and his vision would clear. "You're selling people to that monster and you expect me to care about your hide?"

Detachment is a crucial coping mechanism when it comes to dealing with horror, Dwayne has had far too much time to learn that. Reduce it all down to facts, cold dry analysis, and you can deal with it when you have to face it with a smile. It's the only way to deal with it, and it doesn't change the fact that Dwayne is shutting out images of silver scars and concrete pens, hollow-eyed teenagers and men who won't sleep without a wall against their backs. Just like in the Army, pieces on a board. Little figures that meant nothing because if you looked at them any other way, one day you started screaming and never stopped.

"I'm really not getting through to you, am I, hero?" Dwayne stands, feeling his wolf's ire crawl down his back. He's not sure why he keeps calling him a kid in his head, since the guy's closer to 30 than 20, but Dwayne is feeling very old right now and Josh is so green Dwayne can practically see sprouts. And he can see it in the tremors in his shoulders, the lines in his mouth and the acrid smell of his sweat that he's genuinely freaking out about this. Not just green, but a bonafide, genuine hero wannabe. Christ. He came damn close to skipping hero and going straight for martyr. "There's a bigger picture here. Not just the fact that you almost wound up in a construction site with your kneecaps blown off, which, you're welcome, I could have just left you to."

The kid's not going to let this go. If Dwayne lets him run, he'll be screaming to the police, to the ACLU, to the goddamn ASPCA...the ginger ale turns bitter in his mouth. he's going to have to do something, and while killing him isn't on the docket, locking him away until after the op is over...maybe. Dwayne can get him out of the hotel, that's not an issue as much as Josh seems to think it is, or even just keep him here. It's just...more than Dwayne wanted to deal with right now. Josh is just lucky that Dwayne is an old wolf with excellent control, because even now Dwayne is wondering if he's losing his eyes, with as stressed as he's getting.

"She asked to go, smartass. And that 'little girl' could probably have killed everyone in the room even with the collar on. Her going in is a chance to get to those other half a dozen wolves that you didn't know about, and find out more about those backers that are providing money for the bigger operation." He pauses. "And she's smart. She'll probably use a mild case of silver poisoning the first few days to buy herself some time. Keep anyone from touching her."

Josh is, frustratingly, caught off guard when the big redhead stands, and he makes an automatic and ill-advised effort to follow suit... which ends with him collapsing back onto his ass before he gets six inches off the bed, his stomach twisting and his head pounding in protest as he tries to follow the older man's words. What he does manage to process has his hands flexing anxiously into the bedding to either side of his thighs, the 'bigger picture' the man's already mentioned once before finally starting to come at least a little clear. He drops his chin to his chest, brow creased in consternation as he works his way laboriously through the explanation and its implications, and after a moment he swallows hard and looks up again, still frowning.

"How are you getting her and the others out?" Because if this is really the carefully planned intelligence gathering mission he's implying then he and whoever he's working with have to have an extraction plan, right? And... for now he's just not going to let himself think about whether he believes that silver poisoning, real or faked, will be enough to keep her from being... touched for those first few days.

Josh may not have intimate knowledge of what happens with silver in the system, but Dwayne is fairly reassured that the rash and puking that comes with small doses of silver is a pretty good turn-off. And if not, well...Mira's good at handling deep cover, no matter what it involves.

Which is a little bit terrifying and more than a little bit tragic, but she's willing to do what's necessary for the job and that's what matters. And Dwayne doesn't like to think about it, either, so he's happy to let that particular part of the topic go.

Dwayne makes himself calm down, especially with Josh finally starting to get the idea. A good, slow, deep breath of the filtered, air-conditioned air in the room, pushing away all the scents in it and just focusing on the dry, sharp clean-ness of the ginger ale and the too-crisp ozone taste of the filtration. "The more I tell you, the riskier it is for both of us for me to let you walk out that door," he says finally, settling back on his heels as he regards Josh thoughtfully. "So honestly, I'm not really sure what to do here, because I don't especially want to drag you out of here and keep you locked in my trunk until it's all over, and unlike some people that were invited to this party, I'm not a fan of bodies on the ground." He gestures again, then looks toward the window, lost in thought. "As it is, just letting you wander out and back to...hell, anyone you wanted to talk to is a spin of the wheel. You blow the operation, you get her killed, and chances are pretty good that the buyer kills everyone on his property, buries them where they won't be found for a good long while, and scrubs everything clean."

Not to mention if the fat man figures out that Josh isn't actually someone rich and important enough to be missed, and decides that he's too troublesome to leave floating around.

Josh has seen a wolf's skin blister and curl at the touch of silver, and it had made him want to be ill, he doesn't actually have a clue what it does when it's actually introduced to a wolf's system... and it's probably just as well right now. What he does know is that--maybe, just maybe--this guy isn't the profiteering, inhuman piece of shit he'd been led to believe, and he leans a little farther forward on the bed, though not so far as to compromise his balance this time as he listens.

"... then don't let me walk out, and don't lock me in your trunk." His lips quirk faintly in something that doesn't quite make it to a wry smile. "It'd probably be a bitch making me fit anyway." He pauses, head cocked slightly and expression completely serious. "Let me help. I'm not as incompetent as I probably managed to come off out there. Put me to work."

Some wolves handle silver better than others, and the amount, purity, and level of exposure makes a difference, too. Ingestion, skin contact, open wounds, directly into an open vein (which Dwayne will never, ever, to his dying day be able to forget.)

Dwayne considers that, thumb rubbing the grip of his gun absently. Though he's comfortable with the weapon, it's clear from the way he holds it that it's only there as a practical necessity. Not something to be reviled or revelled in, just a tool. Now that he's had a chance to have a few words with Josh, wind down a little bit, he feels more like himself, still stern and a bit edgy, more cuttingly sarcastic than he usually would be, but it's rapidly being washed away by the wave of post-role fatigue and the fact that he really wants to solve this with as little bloodshed as possible.

"Not having to cuff you in the garage would make my life easier," he admits. Because yes, he's looking for an agreeable solution here, too. "Help? I don't know. I still don't know anything about what kind of operation you're running"- he looks pointedly at the cellphone on the table, thinking of Josh's threats of backup. "And getting deeper into this means you don't get back out again so easily." He sits back down again though, and reaches for his half-finished ginger ale. He needs the sugar, dammit, and if Josh is ready to talk, well...okay, they'll talk.

Josh just nods seriously at Dwayne's admission, because pointing out he'd learned to get out of cuffs well before he was ten probably won't really help. At least not right at this moment. Maybe when he can present it as an asset rather than a deterrent--and when he doesn't have to worry about the man using the information to find a more secure way of confining him if things don't go the way he's hoping.

He props his elbows on his knees and leans his weight on them a little, the fingers of his right hand curled loosely around his left wrist as he considers his captor, and just how to answer him. "We usually buy wolves in public sales." Or at least as public as something as secretive and illegal as the buying and selling of supernatural creatures most people still don't even know exist can be. "We've got some contacts with safe packs that'll take them in and help them get back on their feet. This... one of our contacts heard about this sale, and it seemed like a good chance to keep anyone else from falling into that fucker's filthy hands. It... seemed worth the risk." He shrugs and looks down at his hands for a moment.

"I'm usually back up, not the con," he admits. "Either that or I play security. But for this-" He looks back up at Dwayne, a little fidgety. "Figured sending someone in with a body guard would be too likely to set everyone on edge, and... I'm the only one who's actually any good in a fight." He looks back at the phone, fingers twitching slightly with the desire to get his hands on it again. "I'm not gonna give you any names or descriptions, but... no one'll give you any trouble." That's a reluctant admission, but it's true. His backup, such as it is, isn't meant to do any more than be watching to get him the hell out of there as fast as possible if he manages to get out and free. No one's going to actually try a rescue, they're simply not equipped or qualified.

It also probably wouldn't help for Dwayne to point out that Dwayne uses the same manacles that a lot of Federal prison systems use, not the standard cop cuffs that can be shimmed in under thirty seconds. But the fact that Josh isn't completely green will definitely help his case, as will the fact that he actually knows what to do with all that size and muscle. Dwayne has taken down a lot of men expecting their mass to be the only edge they needed, and the last thing he needs is to be babysitting a thug on a job.

He listens to Josh as he talks, processing that. A small operation, but an operation that Dwayne can actually check on, ask around about. That helps, and he gives a slow nod. Packs and informants that he can talk to, see if this guy is actually what he says it is, and, if it comes down to it, they might actually have a common contact or two.

This might be salvageable. Miracles happen after all. Dwayne rubs at his beard, scruffing it with a scratchy sound in the dim room. "This goes better for everyone if you walk out of here without a ruckus," he agrees, finally. "I don't know if I'm sold on adding you to the team just yet, but on the other hand, if you got this far, that shows you're already at least partly in the game."

He's got as much as he's going to get, to work with right now. All Josh's vitals are steady, or as steady as can be expected under the circumstances, which is reliable enough to act as a lie detector. And no one's come charging up just yet, which means they can keep talking. Dwayne keeps his gun in hand, just because it would be stupid not to, but, he's listening. He tilts his head, after a moment, blue eyes intent and thoughtful. "Okay. Saying for the moment that we do go in on this. My op is a little bigger and more...complicated. Some of our rescues stay around and help, so if you had to work with someone like Mira, could you do that?"

He's deliberately left that open. Mira as a wolf, Mira as an ex-slave, Mira as someone higher in rank than Josh who gives the orders without question. Because while Dwayne isn't planning to let Josh see more than necessary of how things work, just yet, he needs to know.

And if it works out? Well, they need all the allies they can get.

Negotiations With Teeth

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