25 Days of SyndiSparklez and Motanite

10: Meet and...

Story where Jordan is an undercover detective and Tom is a crime lord

Catcalls, red lights, the clank of glasses against counters, a steady bass coupled with loud music, promiscuous women sliding around poles, tan skin, curly blonde hair and a pout resting on their lips. The bar had a hazy quality, cigarette smoke wafting around like a poisonous smog. Men in fancy suits with well dressed women at their sides rivaled the sleazy feel. They chatted with smiles or coy looks, but all held secrets and their speech was often a code for something else entirely.

"Did you and Giles go out to the party last night?" one lady asked, leaning to talk to a fellow woman of the same profession who fiddled with her high quality purse.

"We did, but Giles was a little shy and so I had to drag him around by his tie. We had fun though."

This for instance, was a conversation between two call girls, a classier version of prostitution. Party being the substitute for sex. Giles, being a the Crucible character, Giles Corey, a good man who had two wives before Martha and was rather old. This coded for "an older divorced man." While if they had said, a John, they would have meant "an older married man."

Their profession, although illegal, was not the main focus of Jordan's mission. He was looking for rumors. Rumors of not just anything, but little slips of detail on the big names. The psychotic shooter and a man responsible for two police deaths, Syndicate, or maybe the drug dealer Waglington the Wizard, who besides dealing drugs, had a habit of dealing drugs that could be lethal or a combination of odd carcinogens. The purpose behind his mutated drugs was unknown. One name, heard, talked about, whispered about, was the head of organized crime, Dianite. Nothing was ever said that they could use against him. Thanks to his lawyer, Scretziaro.

Potential dangers all hanging around one bar, a bar hard for just any detective to weasel his way in. Jordan wasn't just any detective, he was a new one, one the organized crime groups hadn't had the chance to learn of. He was so going to screw this up.

Someone was staring at him. The spy had became the spotted. Jordan met the man's eyes, dark brown spheres of malice calculating him. The man leaned over and whispered something to the man beside him. Jordan's heart fell to the pits of his stomach. His cover had been blown.

However, he was a little off on that estimation.

The man Tom Cassell was no small figure, and was the leading crime lord, responsible for most of the gunfights and violence that had been rising in the city. While he was a part of a bigger group, he could easily make his own name far in another territory. His irresponsibility kept him from doing this. Tonight, as on most Friday and Saturday nights. Was a night for being pissed drunk and looking for a suitable bed partner.

He'd found one

"How easily you think I'll score the gullible looking one in the leather jacket?" Tom hissed in question to his friend, leaning over, puffing alcohol tinged breath in a brown-haired man's face.

His friend James shrugged, taking a sip of brandy.

"Doesn't look your type, he'll reject you pretty quick. If you haven't noticed, he hasn't touched a drop of alcohol," James said, and quirked his lips as a second thought hit him. "If you were to hit him up with some of my best cocaine, he'd be putty under your fingers."

Tom considered it, but there was a certain type of innocence surrounding the man he didn't want to break with drugs. Either this man was a decoy of something worse or a friend of someone here. He drummed his fingers on the table in thought.

"Other ways to seduce him?" Tom queried.

"Buy him a drink," James offered, his attention returning to his cup of brandy. Drunk Tom, was no man's Tom.

"That'll do," Tom bought himself and the stranger a shot of whiskey and confidently strolled to the table.

The man at the table glanced up at him with mild apprehension and his fingers clenched and unclenched nervously. Tom had to stifle a chuckle, a shy naive guy like that in a place like this. Elegantly he slid into the chair across from the man, folding his legs professionally. He slid the shot of whiskey he had ordered across the table to the man and grinned.

"You looked lonely, thought you could use some company," Tom said.

Jordan frowned and his excuses died. He wasn't being thrown out and possibly shot out back? He was being flirted with.

"I hope you don't mind, the name's Tom."

"Jordan," he said uneasily and his eyes flicked down to the whiskey. "Not to be rude, but I don't drink. Not hard liquor, anyway. I like it mixed or flavored."

"So, you're a pussy when it comes to alcohol. Man, you were radiating these in innocent vibes, but I didn't think you were that timid," Tom teased.

The man's ears reddened and he took the shot of whiskey. Tom raised an eyebrow.

Drinking on the job, well it was all in the act of keeping under the radar. Jordan closed his eyes, tilted the glass against his mouth and swallowed the contents. That was his intention, at least. He gagged and spluttered the moment the stinging alcohol hit his throat. Other patrons glanced at him in amusement or slight curiosity, but returned to their conversations.

"You tried," Tom offered, downing his own glass of whiskey effortlessly. Jordan watched him, panting.

"Th-that came straight from the fires of hell," he said, his voice ragged and broken.

"You just haven't gotten used to it," Tom reassured. "So, what brings you here?"

Excuse, find an excuse.

"I'm a prostitute," Jordan said and Tom practically fell out of his chair, laughing his head off. He caught himself on the edge of the table and wiped tears of mirth away.

"If you're a prostitute, I'm a school teacher," Tom snickered, "no seriously boy, what's your purpose here."

Better excuse, Maron.

"I recruit girls and guys alike for prostitution," Jordan smiled, "you want a job?"

Tom threw back his whiskey, and nodded. "I'd be your bitch, but I think we both know you're better at being on bottom. What are you, a virgin?"

"No," Jordan argued.

"Ass-virgin?" Tom questioned.

"What's it matter?" Jordan asked, leaning his head against his arm.

"I think you're cute, and I'm inviting you over," Tom said plain and simple.

"As friends?" Jordan had no idea how to counter a potential suspect's flirting.

"I want to fuck you," Tom grinned.

"I have to deny," Jordan apologized, "I should leave now." He started to get up, but Tom caught his arm.

"If we say no homo and I promise it's not gay, will you do it?" Tom questioned.

Jordan shook his head. His cover was pretty much blown. This drunk man was drawing attention by clinging to Jordan desperately.

"Here's my number," the man slipped it into Jordan's pocket, causing him to get even more flustered.

Quicker than a bullet, Jordan was out of there.