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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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.

He could probably still get out of them. Eventually. If he was left alone for long enough. But they'd definitely give him more trouble than standard issue cuffs. None of which is hopefully going to be an issue here and now, and Josh watches Dwayne closely, trying to read his responses and figure exactly where he stands. It's still a bit difficult doing the one-eighty from thinking of the man as an immoral piece of shit who'd sell people to line his pockets to realizing that they're actually on the same side... and that Dwayne obviously knows a hell of a lot more about what he's doing than the organization Josh has been working with. The fact he's so slow to resort to violence, that even without knowing jack about Josh he'd been willing to risk himself and his plans to keep him from ending up kneecapped in an alley, leaves Josh particularly well disposed towards him, though. As does his calm quiet, even when he's obviously wound up and stressed the hell out. And, okay, it doesn't hurt that he's ridiculously easy on the eyes, but that's really not relevant under the circumstances.

"We're small." He shrugs. "We have some reliable contacts and some good financing and support, but we're not equipped to handle anything big or deal with actual conflict." Which is frustrating as hell at times. Knowing that sales are going down they can't step in on, seeing abuse they can't stop. The idea of getting involved with something bigger, more organized, more effective is incredibly appealing, and he frowns at Dwayne's question, brows furrowing in obvious confusion. "... why wouldn't I be able to?"

It's not that he doesn't realize the man's asking if he'd be prejudiced against working with a werewolf, possibly with a side of wondering how he'd do taking orders from a little slip of a girl, he just... doesn't get why the hell the man thinks he'd be doing this in the first place if it would be a problem for him.

Josh is...pretty damn cute when he does that, that look, and Dwayne has a moment of regret that this isn't a big, work-related mess and that he's not, oh, about twenty years younger. He might be a well-preserved forty-six, but he's still probably old enough to be Josh's (well, teenaged unwed, but still) father. The response gets a small smile out of him, and he rubs his palm on his pants. The suit is going to need a good pressing anyway, after the ruffle that it's been through.

He's pretty sure he's even forgiven the fact that Josh punched him in the balls. How's that for easygoing. And now that Dwayne can drop the facade, he does feel a lot better. Acts like this leave him worn-down and tired, because that cruelty and callousness is so against his nature. It takes work to pull that role off, and without fail, it always leaves him drained and a little sick afterward. The weary, practical, somewhat wry man that Josh is talking to now? That's a lot closer to the real Dwayne, though still not his usual genial self. That's a stretch so soon after dealing with scum like the fat man and knowing what he's turning Mira over to. "Some people like the idea, but they get up close with the reality and it's not quite as appealing. Wolves are tough to deal with sometimes, especially when they have a goal in mind, and they can be dangerous."

It's quiet, and matter of fact. Dwayne has over ten years of control under his belt, and he still knows when his wolf can and can't be trusted. And wolf rescue involves working with and rescuing weres a lot less emotionally and physically stable than he is. If Josh wants into an operation that's that up close and personal with the shifters' true nature, then the warning has to be given.

Damn, that smile- The guy had always been objectively hot, but there's something about him now, despite his obvious weariness, and it's not just that Josh now knows he's not a sadistic racist bastard. Or, well, maybe it is at least a little. He doesn't feel dirty looking anymore, anyway, and he smiles back despite his still pounding head. And, hey, he suddenly realizes that he doesn't have to refuse the ginger ale on principle anymore and reaches across to pop it open and take a sip as Dwayne answers him.

"Yeah, well, most people are tough to deal with sometimes, and I grew up around mercenaries and, well-" He ducks his head and frowns, an shamed flush spreading up his neck. "Hunters," he admits, voice going low and pained. He's seen plenty of the wrong side of this trade, and plenty of wolves as well, most of them in pretty damn bad circumstances. "I'm not much bothered by dangerous... and I have some debts to settle." Even if they were mostly accrued by his father, he can't shrug off the weight of them, the knowledge of what the man had done, and where at least some of the money had come from when his 'normal' avenues of employment had begun to tail off as he became more and more erratic.

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Negotiations With Teeth

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