Apr 28 08:33:16 108 PA - This is Why You Only Buy from Reputable Dealers
From Chronicles
Apr 28 08:33:16 108 PA.
MERCHANT'S PLAZA
Another warm spring day, this time in late April, where it damn well better be warm. The Merchant's Plaza is bustling again, though at the moment many people are off for a break, a lunch or both. The flashy sign for "The Best Little Hairhouse in Town" is flashing brightly.
Bartholemew heads on down to "The Best Little Hairhouse in Town" at the request of Mr. Plus. In typical attire for his daily chores and errands. As he gets close he looks for the man hanging out outside where he is usually found.
Pert is indeed hanging outside his salon, and perhaps today, having sent out a summons, is looking for another man. Bartholemew, specifically. Good eyes, you can't fault him for that, as he waves to his invitee and then bellows in a surprisingly loud voice, "Over here please, Bartholemew! I have an issue to discuss with you!" His flamboyant clothing is very showy. Las Vegas, if it existed, would be proud.
Bartholemew comes walking up with a grin, his cigar clenched between his teeth unlit at the moment. "What's happening? What was so important?"
Pert waggles a finger in the man's direction, then waves him inside, turning and walking just assuming that he'll be followed. "The bank, your funds did not transfer. Eleven and a quarter, that was promised, but I have nothing." He'll turn on his heels. "I assume that it went both ways. My banker assured me so. I have a list of items that my lawyer has informed me to disclose before we resume our transaction, assuming that you're still interested." He holds out a notarized piece of paper that lists various pieces of information about the vehicle in question.
Bartholemew follows the man inside. As Pert hands him the paper and mentions the failure to transfer the funds he gets a bit defensive, "Now there ain't no damn reason those funds didn't go through," his eyes scanning the paper as he speaks. "Yeah yeah, I know its got some shit wrong with it. I plan on fixin all that anyways," waving the papers a bit as if he don't care. "I don't get the funds transfer bit, did you put in a wrong number or somethin?"
"Hey, hey, I don't know. I make people look great, I don't deal with money. I have bankers and accountants for that," Pert says, equally defensively. "Machines malfunction now and then and don't transfer funds. Take it up with your own banker. The fact of the matter is that it's still my truck, and despite its flaws, after noting that I still owned it, I had it appraised - and I was told that it is worth *significantly* more than I sold it for. I'm happy to unload it of course, but I don't want to be taken for a ride." Mr. Plus is far more businesslike than he was at their last meeting.
Bartholemew crosses his arms across his chest inhaling deeply, "Oh really? An how much do you think that it's worth now? Damn thing could be destroyed by a damn Derringer if it don't fall apart first. We had a deal and despite the malfunction with the bank it still legally stands." his demeanor is not very happy anymore, but despite the displeasure he is still fairly calm with his words.
"I don't recognize verbal contracts, and for the life of me, I can't find a document in my files - and I just can't trust one that you could reveal," Pert says with a sniff, crossing his arms over his chest. His sleeves cover his hands like a monk. In bright green with sequins and glitter. "I can get a good ten grand renting it out for a single week, and even with its flaws, I can probably keep it running for a good four years still, or so my mechanic tells me. That's one-hundred and fifty. Thousand. Straight into my pocket. So the new price." He hesitates and says, "But if you maybe have some kind of exciting vehicle that I might make in trade, I'd consider it."
Bartholemew can't take it any longer, whelchin on a deal and then trying to rip him off. He takes a swing at the man out of anger. "Why you son of a!" punching the man square in the jaw.
Pert goes down like a cheap date, landing on his back, whacking in his head and remaining only a scoche this side of unconsciousness. It takes him a good while to collect himself while everyone in the salon is frozen like a deer in headlights. Still a common cliche. Pert just sort of grunts out a non-verbal instruction to get out of his business. "I had business to do with you! I had a contact!" The statement hangs in the air.
Bartholemew growls at the man raising his fist once again but not taking the swing, instead he spits on him, "This ain't the last you gonna hear from me, I dare ya to try an make another run of that juice. I'll personally do to you what I did to that ogre on the last run, an put your helmet up on my mantle for display right nest to his. I don't deal with whelchers, contact or no contact. Tell your contact I'm commin for him, ain't nothin no law here can do to save him either." then proceeds to back out of the place slowly, keeping an eye on the customers around him.
After gathering his strength again, Pert is still wounded and bleeding, but otherwise unimpressed. However, he says nothing more until the other man is gone from his establishment.
