Sep 13 10:45:35 106 PA - A Business Matter is Dealt With
From Chronicles
The club is a liberal mix of modern and classic styles with a dark, warm lean to the hardwood and metal decor, dressed up with velvet and leather. Set up about the stage with attached DJ station and dance floor at the center, the entrance is set to one end of this, the bar to the other. The entrance itself is tightly controlled. There are always two well dressed people at the front, a bouncer to check each person coming in and another watching the drum and closet lockers that hold all patron weapons.
A broad , semi circular stage extends from the center of the widest wall, rising two feet, with lights rimming the edge and hidden in scaffolds high above. A rich red velvet curtain lies ready to sweep about and veil the stage itself from view. The DJ booth is set up right next to the stage, set into the same wall. With a thick window and biometric locks on the two side doors, one to the stage and the other to a set of stairs down, the equipment within is secure. Within a C shaped desk and racks hold the sound equipment, all linked into a central computer. All done up in sleek, dark cases, mixing well with the warm, wood paneling of the booth's exterior.
A dance floor is central to the club, laid out in a broad circle before the stage. Laid out in a semi circle opposite the stage side of the dance floor are a series of round tables, with smaller two person sized ones at the edge, with larger four person tables in the next row and a few grand six to eight person tables on the outer edge. All staggered to make for the best view for all to the dance floor and stage. To one side of this central focus is the bar, a broad affair taking up much of the shorter wall in width. The bar itself is a mix of modern and classic, with the simple, elegant hardwood design of the bar itself mixing with the display of alcohol behind it, opaque plastic shelves lit from within to highlight the wide selection of common and uncommon liquors for sale. The barstools themselves, lined up in a neat row, mix dark metallic stems with comfy red leather seats.
One of the few quiet times of the day, before the bar opens properly in the morning. A time of organising, preparing for the rush. Normally, Aimee is out front, working on the books, aware that the staff need to ask her things. Today, her table is conspicuously empty, her coffee growing cold, the books left abandoned. From the huddle of staff speaking in lowered voices near the back, as they struggle to catch the words spoken by the raised voices in the back room. Aimee's distinctive accent is amongst those raised, a french curse hurled at someone in a pure, and lovely rage, of the type Desmond may know well.
Desmond comes into the Alibi quietly. Rounds, tasks, there is always something to do, even when it is merely a survey of the exterior of the club, checking for.. well, anything that might be amiss or troublesome. As Desmond moves back in, he notes the state of the place, his attention flitting from the table to the gathering near the back office door. Though large, he can move with stealth and he does this now, coming near enough to both hear the sounds past the door and consider the staff, perhaps for a bit before they might notice he is there.
The staff are too busy focussing on the drama behind the door and low murmurs about someone being fired, if they were lucky and got out of the room alive might be heard. Above them, Aimee's tones sharpen and a male voice is raised in reply, the words indistinct. The staff, gathered like a group of school children listening at the door, are oblivious to Desmond's approach until the last moment when one of them speaks, "Bet he is glad the cats aren't here." Rich amusement at the situation in his voice, his face turns utterly white as he turns and comes face to face with Desmond.
Desmond meets the words with his usual stony calm, eyes settling on the speaker as he turns. He lets a moment pass before he notes, deep likely unheard past the door as he does not seek to compete with the arguing. "You all have tasks." An out given to them all, his eyes sweeping the gathered in a slow, smooth pass, seeing that they all hear him well enough. Regardless of the reaction, he moves up to the door himself, though pauses, head cocked and ears perked to get a sense of what he might be walking into.
The out is taken with a general sense of relief as they scuttle away, alive. The walk to the door would be easy, the staff having scattered, with covert glances from the ones able to see the door from their position. From inside, the shouting continues, and his hearing would let him catch words, "Back handers....gangs....confidential...idiot." Aimee's tone is sharp, as angry as Desmond may have heard her at work, "...hang you out to dry..." The man's voice replies, lower, his tone insolent, "...sign anything...fire me..."
Desmond frowns faintly and draws out his key for the door, slotting and turning it firmly before he steps in. The door closed firmly behind him. He's only in his denim garb, but he is still what he is, his attention shifting towards Aimee first, then the man who is arguing with her before he steps closer. Saying nothing for the moment as he lets the situation be clarified for him a bit.
In the room, Aimee is standing behind the desk, her hands resting on it as she leans forward, the better to shout at the man in front of it. He is a front of house employee, familiar to both but not a long term employee. Dressed in the club's working clothes, his cheeks are as flushed as hers, their eyes snapping at each other. "Desmond." Aimee's greeting is sharp, and she straightens, pointing at the man. "This... this imbecile, he has been passing information about meetings to the other gangs." Scorn drops from every word as she adds, "They paid him kick backs. Me, I think those might not protect him if we hand him to the others..." A threat clearly mentioned before from the man's reaction.
Desmond steps up next to the man, his head turned to gaze down at him quietly as Aimee speaks. A slight frown comes to him and, as she suggests a means to rectify the situation, he cants his head slightly. "Why would you conduct this violation?" Asked straight, letting Aimee's threat sit without agreement or disagreement. Yet.
Aimee keeps from speaking with effort, turning to place her back to the man, her arms crossed across her chest. The set of her shoulders speaks loudly of the attempt to control her temper. "Why shouldn't I? They paid me well, and I need the money. I never signed any confidentiality agreement!" The defense clearly has been repeated over and over for an hour or more, and his face shows he doesnt' believe it protects him.
When Desmond moves, he does so without hesitation. And without thought towards how the man might feel with having a large hand snap up and wrap his throat, a pivot and shove slamming him back against the door to the office hard at the end of a scant few steps. "Because.." Desmond's voice a low, cold rumble. "..your actions damage the neutrality of this place. And thereby damage our security. My responsibility. I do not take kindly to those who interfere with my responsibilities." The man will have some trouble breathing, but should be able to choke out some manner of reply. "Are you so foolish as this?"
Aimee doesn't even jump, her hot temper settling down into the cold practicality the woman uses in business, and her green eyes are hard as she turns to face them. The man's reply is choked, "Then fire me, man." His hand rises to clasp Desmond's wrist, fear mingling with the temper he displayed before. "Get rid of him, Desmond." Aimee's tone doesn't suggest firing, and the man's gaze flickers to her for a moment before returning to Desmond.
Desmond lifts his left hand, turned to present its back toward the man, fingers relaxed and extended. "Your job is no longer yours. You should be more concerned with your life," the feline rumbles deeply, allowing his claws to slip forth smoothly. His eyes fix on the man's own, his expression cold. "Aimee, do you know those he has betrayed? All of them?" As he asks, he curls his fingers lightly, save his index which he places against the man's cheek, letting him feel the tip of the claw poke at his skin.
The man's hand tightens around Desmond's wrist, the fear washing the temper from his face. "Non, not yet. I thought perhaps he would more willingly..." She hesitates, whether for effect or perhaps the word escapes her, "Spill his guts, non, to you?" A flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth, with a lack of humour in her eyes. The man remains silent now, his gaze taking in the distance to the door, with the feline between him and it. "But mon chat, the floor here, it is not perhaps suitable..." The practicality of the comment makes the man's eyes widen with a horrific understanding.
Desmond remains stony in expression, even as the man realizes his danger. "Do not forget where you are. The law here is ours. And you have strongly violated it. You will tell us who you have betrayed." There is no question in that. It is a simple statement of truth. "There are many ways to die. Many I have seen, many I have handed out personally. The human body is a fragile thing. But I can make it last."
Aimee is unshaken by Desmond's willingness to hurt the man, and she picks up a pen and paper, settling herself at the desk prepared to write. The man lifts a hand, trying to indicate his willingness to spill his guts, metaphysically speaking. His face has gone beyond pale, into the shades of grey of abject fear. Aimee nods at Desmond, a brief encouragement to loosen the grip so that the man can speak.
Desmond steps back and pivots, casually tossing the man towards the desk. Of course, his casual strength is not kind. But he's no looking to break the man.. yet. "You will not lie." Again, this is fact, pure and simple. The big cat turning to face Aimee, shifting to stand behind the man. Wanting to keep himself between the man and the door. Despite that he's not too concerned with an attempt to escape.
The man wastes no time in giving the information, naming people and occasions, and who he had passed the information on to. Aimee scribbles, the green eyes hard as she glances at him. Her lips, normally curved into the teasing smile, are tight and thin. "Oui. I think we are done with him. Mon chat, you can dispose of him." A slight curl to her lip reveals the scorn she has for the man, who rises to his feet, backing away from Desmond, babbling pathetically.
Desmond snaps a hand out towards the man when he starts to back away, a step taken to counter his retreat. This time, breath is stolen utterly when he catches the man by the throat. Lifting him slowly from the ground by that grip. "You will not be allowed to betray us again," he tells the man simply, fingers squeezing tighter. And the stoic feline will keep his eyes on those of the man right up until the wet pop that will see an end to his struggles. The man dropped afterward, left for the moment to lay upon the ground. "We shall send word to those betrayed. Our good will shown to them and proof that the betrayer is no more." He looks towards her. "An image. And a piece."
Aimee watches, her expression unreadable, but the hardness of her eyes reflects no weakness as the man dies. "Do we not pay enough, do you think?" A glance towards the door reveals her planning ahead, her mind ticking over the issues of a body in her office. "I think we need a back door to our office, perhaps." A slight touch of dry humour in her voice as she moves across to Desmond. "A piece and an image should explain both perhaps to the betrayed and the one that paid him." She nods slowly, her mind putting pieces in plce.
"Some are greedy," Desmond rumbles in reply. He turns towards Aimee. "We will tell them that he betrayed our trust. As simple as that, as I doubt they will not know what has happened in some sense. We shall also tell them that, if they have troubles with their pay, they should speak to us. Loyalty is rewarded. Betrayal is dealt with firmly. I am no task master and I am not adverse to giving aid to one who is in need. But I do demand discipline."
Aimee nods slowly, her face thoughtful. Untroubled by the ethical position of killing a man for this betrayal. "And the staff? Do we let them know the price or let the rumours fly? Me, I think the last, it will be more effective. Let perhaps their imaginations do worse..." She shrugs lightly, as if the matter at hand was more a question of budgeting or choice of drinks. "Do you wish me to help with the packages, perhaps?"
"There is no need to dirty your hands," Desmond rumbles, turning to move past the body and approach Aimee. His hands extending towards her, claws in. Ever so gentle as they take hers into his. "As far as they are concerned, he has simply disappeared. We shall leave him in here until the evening. Then I shall take him to be processed. I shall allow you to deliver, however. I believe you will have more finesse with that than I."
Aimee nods, giving Desmond a glance filled with approval. She moves into his touch, leaning against him, ignoring the corpse behind him. "Oui, I can do that. I think, me, I better go out and speak to the staff." She makes no move towards matching action to her words, leaning her cheek against his chest with a soft sigh. "It is so unnecessary..." The murmured words are barely more than a breath and she closes her eyes for a moment.
"In some ways. And necessary in others," Desmond replies. "A firm hand is needed to administer in a place where the people have no solid law. We cannot be gentle, save where gentleness is preferred. We must be strong and those who would threaten what we have must be dealt with harshly." His arms wrap her, his deep voice untroubled. "Do not speak directly to his demise, but speak to his crimes. The danger he placed us all in. And the need to maintain our neutrality. They will understand."
"Oui." Aimee's reply is muffled as she turns her face into to drop a kiss lightly against his throat, tilting her head back to do so. "I know. It was not something, perhaps, I had considered when I spoke of owning a club." She bites lightly where she kissed a moment ago, stepping back with a smile on her lips as she gathers herself. "Right, oui, I shall be back soon." She promises, turning towards the door without a glance at the corpse on the floor.
