Ｍｉａｍｉ Ｖｉｂｅｓ - Roleplay

CalamariDaddy

CalamariDaddy

Ａ Ｅ Ｓ Ｔ Ｈ Ｅ Ｔ Ｉ Ｃ
You had received a call earlier from a number you don't recognize. But you knew it was from the Boss. It looked like he had a thing for masking his identity behind fake numbers and indirect phone calls.


"Hello, pest control? I have a vermin problem down at my shop and it would be helpful if you came down here ASAP. Dress appropriately, it may get a little messy."


After he'd sent the call to who he considered his finest employees, the Boss simply waited. He knew they'd rush here, either eager to please or eager to not get beaten halfway to death. He leaned back in his own chair, the extravagant office now filled with many other chairs. It was time for one of his biggest contracts in history and he wasn't about to let it fall in the wrong hands.


The base is at 300 16th Street, the front being a flower shop that specializes in wedding and funeral services, hence the gang name.


Those who don't reply within a day or choose to not see the Boss will face his punishment. And that's not fun, is it? Unless you're into that.
 
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Hunter wasn't one to meander about and blow off the Boss' commands. So the instant he got that call, he was already getting himself dressed despite not being a morning person. It had been days since he'd gotten a contract, and he wanted to blame the sudden influx of rookies and war veterans that were taken advantage of. But he shook the thoughts away, knowing that he was still living the high life and had more experience under his belt than most of them. 


He pulled on his jacket, ready for the cool winter morning as he stepped outside, a bag slung over his shoulder and his motorbike helmet resting under his arm. He got himself on his bike, firing up the engine before donning the helmet. Without many other thoughts, he began to speed his way to the shop, knowing the route by heart at this point.
 
Patrick was casually jogging on the treadmill in the sports hall with a pair of earbuds plugged into his ears.


"Someone with this profession, should always be in top shape." That was part of Patrick's philosophy doing this job.


He kept on jogging as he zoned out listening to Beethoven, the 5th symphony to be exact, only to be interrupted by a voice mail.


Patrick immediately stopped the treadmill, listening carefully. It was only a matter of minutes as Patrick was fully clean in suit, driving, in his black BMW, to the adressed location.
 

Yvonette Jones
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Dragging a brush through her hair Yvonette coursed the early morning. As she had woken up the voice mail she now stood with her dressing mirror in front of her putting the finishing touch of make up on her face. She let a lovely, dark red dress be the appropriate clothing the boss had asked them to wear. Climbing into a pair of high heels, though not as high as she truly wanted, made her look more ready for a night out than the work she was about to do. Pushing down a small knife in her holster on the leg she left her apartment.


"This is way to early" she said to the door man as she was about to leave the building.


"Yes, Ms Jones, it is truly an early morning for you" the door man answered, opening the door for her.


"Just open tonight if I am not back, though hold an extra eye on the inner part" Yvonette walked out, her mind still not truly functioning due to the loss of sleep. Owning The Penguin had made her into a night owl. She sat down in her car and drove of to the flower shop.
 
"Dress appropriately, it may get a little messy"


Kate gave a look to her wardrobe, it was almost bare except for the few plain clothes and her uniforms, both combat and dress. She never liked the boss, he reminded her of those sadistic bastards from back in the days of 'Nam, but she needed the money to don't starve and if there was something that the Rangers taught her was to do her job she was meant to, and damn if she was good at it, may she liked it or not.


She put on her boots, the slack and jacket with the ranks, and her cap with the Ranger coat. She didn't put on her medal, while she was proud of them, she didn't wanted to look pretentious nor to be too noticeable, the whole point of he job was to vanish without a trace, yet she looked like she was ready for war, which in a sense was true.


She grabbed an heavy steel suit case and climbed down the stairs of her appartment building, the landlady was slacking at the front desk trying to read the newspaper despite her crippling miopy.


"Please be safe dear..." said the old woman. Kate just smiled and got out, heading for the flowershop with her usual emotionless face. All she wanted was to get over with it, with the job, with everything, she hoped that that day was her day.
 

Lawson Creed
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By the time the call came, Lawson had long since been awake. He'd been something of an early riser since he was little; the military had only turned that into a routine. He'd gotten through his morning routine (shower, shave, breakfast, water the plants, dishes) and made himself comfortable in his workshop. Radio on with some new rock tune he liked the sound of playing softly from the speakers, tools out and arranged in a subtly organized fashion, his latest project set directly in the center of the bench he pulled his comfy chair up to. The project was coming along well, a two foot long piece of oak Lawson was carefully shaping into a wolf. Not a particularly good one, as he'd only picked up the hobby in the last couple of years, but it looked better than his other pieces.
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The phone rang just as he reached for one of the chisels. It was the Boss, of course, and it looked like there was work to be done. Good. He needed something to do.
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He spent a few minutes in the workshop, putting away all the tools he'd just gotten out and returning the project to the chest he stored it in, before changing. Jeans and a plain shirt simply wouldn't do while he was at work, so he switched them out for a neatly pressed pair of dark slacks and a tactical turtleneck. The boots, though, those stayed. Just in case. He collected the bag he carried his rifle and handgun in, checking that he had ammunition for both, then locked up the house and headed out to his truck. The shop wasn't too far and he was familiar enough with the route by this point.
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(Aight so now it's time for shit to really pick up. Thanks to all who waited.)


Hunter parked a ways away from the shop, opting for walking the rest of the way there. After all, it was slightly suspicious if he did park directly out front every time. He kept his helmet on as he walked, smirking when people passing by spared him a single glance before looking away. They very well knew this character. And knew how there was nothing they could do about him.


He stepped inside the quaint little shop, a bell ringing as the door swung closed. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement to a woman at the front desk (who will have a character sheet later, no worries) taking his helmet off and setting it there. "Mind watching this for me?" He asked with a sweet smile. "I don't think Boss will appreciate it if I just saunter in with a bloody helmet, y'know?"


The woman just laughed, her eyes never leaving the magazine she was reading. "Sure, sure. Get in there and kill it, hun." She spoke, waving Hunter off.


Without anymore words, he just casually walked to a door labeled "employees only" just behind the front desk. A long corridor with several doors faced him, and he walked down to the last one at the end. A pane of frosted glass rested in the middle of the mahogany door, showing the blurred silhouette of many chairs and a man patiently waiting at his desk. Hunter gave a few taps on the glass before stepping in, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.


The Boss' cold eyes were trained on Hunter, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk when he saw the pink-haired man's confusion at the many seats. "Mr. Flynn, please take a seat and wait for your colleagues."


"Group project?" Hunter asked as he sat down, a hint of jest in his voice.


"Somewhat, yes." The Boss replied, his eyes going back to the door.
 
Logan picked up the group walking into a floral shop, ID-ing each one he could who walked in. Each had a bounty on them and were known assassins, so them all congregating there was no coincidence. "Sir I have a 20 on multiple assassins entering a floral shop, should I engage?" "No, do not engage, not yet." "Yes, sir." Logan said into his communication device. He leaned back in his car and turned on the radio, playing some R&B. He waited for them all to leave and was trying to decide which one to talk back. He readied his MP5K and made sure everything was in working order. This was going to be a huge payout even if he could get only a couple. He hid his MP5K under a seat of his Dodge Charger and waited acting like he was waiting for someone in the main store.
 
Patrick parked in a parkling lot a couple of blocks away, he did not want his car to be related with the floral shop in anyway. Besides, an ordinary walk would loosen his leg muscles which got quite some preassure at the gym.


With his hands tucked in his pockets he would casually make his way to the flourar shop, his earbuds still tucked in his ears. He enjoyed Beethoven, he would take pleasure in the dozens of violins echoing inside his ears, only to pull the earbuds out once he arrived at the floural shop. He walked in, grabbing the first bunch of flowers that he layed eyes on; it were red tulips, transported all the way from Holland. He put them on the counter and paid them right after, not saying a word to the woman behind the counter as she knew all too well Patrick wasn't the talkative type. After he paid he simply nodded towards her and headed off to the Boss' office.


He walked in, noticing the bright pink colour of a man sitting infront of the boss. Patrick did nothing more other than raise an eyebrow. He took a seat, hanging his coat on the back of his chair.


@Luxury Hotline
 
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Lawson Creed
Leaving his truck parked behind a warehouse near the shop that he was fairly sure was empty, Lawson locked it up as securely as he had his house, tossed his gun bag over his right shoulder like another might carry their gym bag, and walked the rest of the way to the shop. He didn't mind the distance; he didn't really mind most things, as apathy was how he dealt with just about everything even before the war. The war had given him a stiff shoulder, however. A bullet he'd taken in the back had messed up his left shoulder, despite the doctors claiming it had healed well and most of the fragments had been taken out. Driving or not moving it tended to stiffen it up, with it popping and cracking in more-annoying-than-painful ways when he tried loosening it. Cold tended to give it a subtle ache and pain twinges whenever he moved it. Putting too much weight on it had sharp spikes of pain lancing into his chest and down his arm. Still, he tended to push its limits, especially while working.
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The florists was as beautiful as ever. Lawson quite honestly liked plants and the places that kept them; greenhouses, plant shops, and flower shops were on the short list of public places he enjoyed going to. Traditionally, he would stop to chat with the woman behind the desk, inquiring about plants flowering at this time of year or popular arrangements at the time or other such topics, but he was in a hurry today. A nod, a polite smile, and a "Good morning, ma'am" would have to suffice.
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Two people more than he had expected were in the Boss's office, but that fact only triggered mild surprise and some changes to his plan of egress should shit go down. These two were, presumably, his coworkers. As he sat in one of the unoccupied chairs, he stowed his gun bag under his seat and nodded respectfully at his employer. Then he turned his attention to the other two. He hadn't seen or worked with either before, so he evaluated their threat levels and committed their faces to memory.
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After all, a day may come where he'd have to pick one of them out of a crowd to render aid. Or to kill them. Either way.
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@LoneSniper87 @ElDuderino


The Boss cleared his throat once it looked like the ones who'd show up did show up. He got himself settled, hands resting on the desk in front of him. "Now, you're probably wondering why you three are here. I do have a contract, yes, but it's a rather... Large case." He smirked as he handed three identical files to the men. "Twenty men, your pay will be substantial. Well, that is if you don't fuck anything up." Giving a long sigh, he turned away slightly from the group. "I'm expecting you all to collaborate and get along nicely. If I find out one of you tries to kill the other, then there will be consequences. Am I understood?"


Hunter held onto his file, thumbing through the pages nervously. He wasn't sure if he could even do this job, given the sheer amount of people they needed to kill. And how most of them seemed to be trained in weaponry themselves. "Yes sir." He muttered despite his anxiety, looking over at the people he'd be working with. We're fucked.
 

Lawson Creed
Twenty men. It was easily the biggest job Lawson had taken featuring some of the best trained targets he'd been told to kill. All the training in the world couldn't save someone from a well placed round from a well placed sniper, and even with that philosophy in mind, this was a difficult job. Flicking through the file he had been given, he looked for two specific things: faces and places. The names he wouldn't recognize, the rest he could study in route. Then he closed the file.
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This was just another mission, he told himself, something big and overwhelming until it was broken down into pieces that could be dealt with individually. A puzzle to be simplified and solved.
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"It'll get done," he told the Boss, nodding once. Not killing the people he was working with should be easy, if they weren't idiots. Working with people was an unknown, a question, a variable that couldn't be predicted, but Lawson had yet to have issues when teamed up. He could recognize the dangers but being a paranoid shit wasn't going to win him anything, here. Besides, they were all supposedly professionals. The only real issue he had in that area was the fact he didn't know either of his partners, didn't know their specialties, their skillsets. But that could be rectified. "Will there be any others, or is it just the three of us?"
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@Luxury Hotline


"Whew!" A young woman slipped through the door, looking about as lost as you can expect from someone her age.


"So sorry everyone! Last night's party was like sooooooo crazy! Someone brought a bengal tiger, do you even know what those are? Crazy."


She tried to slip into the nearest seat and almost fell off. "Oh my...sorry about that."


She looked around her, at the others gathered around before pulling out a tiny bottle. "Sheez, what I'd miss?"
 

Yvonette Jones
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The door opened once again, almost as soon as it shut behind the first woman.


"I am sorry boss. I had a stop on the way." Yvonette closed the door silently behind her. She sat herself down, krossing her legs and throwing her hair behind her shoulder. She studied the others in the room, the other woman seeming clumbsy. The two men she liked, she could see the professionalism in them. The younger man, almost a boy, could not be much older than 20; he was so young. she remembered the times, the young Yvonette. Her twenties had been amazing, they shaped her into what she was and gave her The Penguin, her legacy. She leaned back into her chair, straightening her back.
 

Peter B. Longstreet
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The door swung open again, revealing a sandy-haired man with bright blue eyes. He just casually strolled to one of the empty seats and sat on it, waiting for the instructions to be handed down to him. The man did not try to say anything or give any excuses, that would only be embarrassing.

Peter's Thoughts



Peter scanned the room, trying to memorize the faces of his new companions. 



He did not know their names, but he had first impressions of them. The Yvonette Jones woman looked like a model, so Peter wondered what the hell was she doing here in a room full of hitmen. Peter also had a poor impression of Machete Mike, she said she attended a crazy party with a Bengal tiger thrown into the mix. When she nearly fell off her seat, Peter thought she was a klutz that would endanger the team.



Dear god, I hope I'm not paired with them. Peter sighed and turned to look at the rest of the group.

 Patrick Assange and Lawson Creed looked respectable enough, and they knew their place in the world. Hunter Flynn was a friggin' giant with pink hair, and Peter suspected Hunter was gay because of his pink hair. He wasn't sure though, it was just a feeling. The man looked strong, so he shouldn't be underestimated by any means so Peter developed a sort of respect for Hunter's strength.

Ah, the men are strong but one of them might be gay. Hah, wouldn't want him to flirt with me, I don't swing that way. Peter entertained the thought of the pink-haired man flirting with every guy in the team. Peter smiled, it was a funny thought.

Overall, Peter looked favorably on Patrick Assange, Lawson Creed, and Hunter Flynn but he doubted that he could count on Yvonette Jones and Machete Mike. The two women here did not look professional killers or anything dangerous at all. One of them was a party animal while the other one was a supermodel.

This must be some mistake. What are those two women's qualifications? They don't look ex-military or ex-cop to me. What's the pretty woman gonna do to our targets? Sleep with them? Well, that could be it but I don't see the value in that when you could just pop a bullet in his face. The other woman's too loud and too clumsy to be able to function in this group. Peter ultimately decided to keep these feelings to himself, but he still felt sour whenever he looked at Yvonette or Machete Mike. They didn't belong here in the danger zone, they could be out there having families or working less dangerous jobs.



Peter was silent all throughout the conversation. He wouldn't speak unless spoken to directly. He was visibly seen scanning the faces of his new team and he frowned at Yvonette Jones and Machete Mike, he even sighed as if to show that he was disappointed with the selection of these two. If he had a problem with them, he did not voice it out. He inspected Patrick Assange, Lawson Creed, and Hunter Flynn and smiled as if to show that he approved of these members.
 
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The Boss frowned at the late arrivals, shifting in his seat as one young lady had a particularly nonchalant attitude.


"I can forgive Yvonette as she does much more for this business. But you, Michelle, should have a bit more respect." He gave a hard glare at her before his gaze softened just slightly to address the other three that had entered. "No matter. A big contract came in and I doubt these three men here were comfortable with taking down twenty by themselves." He spoke as he handed them their files.
 
Conrad found himself awake in his bed, feeling lost for a moment. He’d only recently moved to the small Miami studio apartment a few weeks ago, and his mind was still getting used to the place. He sat up, glancing over to the phone in his nightstand. The missed calls from an unfamiliar number confused him for a moment, but he quickly shot up from the bed when he heard the voicemail, putting on a crisp white dress shirt, black slacks and belt, and immaculately shined black dress shoes to match. It was simply too damn warm to put on the jacket, so he instead rolled up the sleeves of the shirt, figuring he’d go for smart-casual.


It was a grave mistake to assume that only one phone number should be the priority contact with the annoying ringtone. He should have known that anyone in organized crime would use burner phones - he made extensive use of them during his drug-slinging days. With no time to make coffee, he grabbed the last Red Bull from the mini-fridge, slipped his Glock into his concealed carry holster, picked up his black duffel bag, and ran down the stairs of the run-down apartment complex. 


The familiar black Celica waited for him in its parking space, happily roaring to life as he quickly threw the duffel bag in the back seat. Cypress Hill's latest album was already blasting from the car speakers by the time he pulled out of the complex, racing to the location. As he approached, he turned the block-shaking audio down and parked neatly in the parking lot around the back. Conrad entered the floral shop, raising an eyebrow knowingly to the lady at the counter, who proceeded to grimace and motion with her head toward the door behind the desk. 


Anxiously, he entered the room, doing so quietly to avoid making a scene. He was already late - there was no room for any bad attitude. 
 
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Lawson Creed
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That served as an answer to the question, he supposed.
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Scoping out each new individual as they entered, Lawson reclined back in the chair and watched. Years of working as a sniper had made him awfully good at it. The little girl, incredibly unprofessional yet dangerous enough to earn a place here. He wouldn't trust her with a butter knife. The older woman was someone he vaguely recognized. She was the proprietor of the only club he ever bothered going to, if he recalled, and it was no surprise to see her here. Then there arrived yet another stoic, quietly seating himself without a word or an excuse. It would be pleasant if he was as capable as he was quiet. The latest newcomer was either embarrassed or scared, judging by his tense posture as he sat. At least he wasn't a third stoic.
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More people, more faces to memorize, more variables to account for. He hadn't worked alongside this many since his days in the military, and there was a feeling of returning to an old line of thinking. These people were to be his squad, then. That worked. Time would tell how well they got on with one another. He turned his attention back to Boss after he'd looked over the others, waiting in silence for what else he had to say.
@Luxury Hotline @GhastlySquash @Neastlarsson @Heisenberg @cfeesh
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Peter B. Longstreet
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The sandy-haired man's eyes widened when the Boss told them of their new assignment. His mouth hung open wide in astonishment and sweat formed on his brow, he was visibly distressed and the poor man looked as if he was going to faint on the spot. He studied his new team with his bright blue eyes, hoping to find that they were up to this herculean task. Then he stared into space and contemplated the events that unfolded before him. He opened his mouth once and then twice as if to speak but he hesitated.


It seemed as if he was afraid that his words come back to haunt him if he said something stupid. Finally, the quiet man summoned the inner courage that was hidden inside his soul and he opened his mouth to speak.

Peter's Thoughts


Twenty men?! Boss, what the hell are you thinking? I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS JUST SO I COULD GET A DEATH WARRANT. Peter's eyes widened the moment the Boss told the late arrivals that they would be handling twenty men. It would be as easy as pie if the targets were civilians that weren't trained in combat, but it would be hell to pay if these were professional killers like them.


He scanned the people in the room once more and began assessing the situation. Lawson, Patrick, and Hunter looked tough enough. Yvonette Jones and Machete Mike were totally useless. Peter himself was competent enough to handle a shootout. So they had 4 professional killers and 2 people who would slow them down.


Ok, calm down, Peter. Calm down. The Boss hasn't introduced the team yet. Maybe some of them are actually ex-commandos in disguise and we've actually got this in the bag. Hell, maybe those two ladies are actually former KGB spies and I've been looking down on them all this time. Peter decided that it was time to speak his mind...


Which turned out to be harder than he thought. He spent the next few moments trying to speak.


Speak, damn it. And so he spoke.



"Boss.... you haven't introduced the team. It would... uh... help if we got to know each other. Maybe we could come up with a plan together if we know what everybody is capable of. We shouldn't just judge each other by first impressions alone... when we can just.... introduce ourselves. It would... clear things up." He was a poor speaker that struggled with the pronunciation of words. In the end, this little speech of his sounded awkward and it was hard on the ears.


Conrad Fischer came into the room and Peter swung his head around to take a good look at the newcomer. Peter nodded his head as if to acknowledge Conrad's presence and then he turned his head back to face the others.

Peter's Thoughts


Another man came into the room and Peter swung his head around to take one good look at the newcomer. Conrad Fischer was well-dressed and he was clean. Peter suspected that he must have come from a good family or he just had a sense of professionalism. Even though Conrad was late and he seemed nervous, he still had an air of respectability to him.


He's charming, but charm alone doesn't automatically mean you have murder skills. This was Peter's thought of Conrad.



Peter's Competence

This is additional information on Peter's capabilities.


Attitude towards teamwork


People may be curious to know of what other skills that Peter has and how he will function in a team. First of all, Peter may seem like a lone wolf but he is as much as a team player as everybody else. He does what he is told to do and he will finish the job as long as it is in his ability to do so. You can expect him to leave the team if they give him an impossible task to do with little to no resources, he's just not willing to be a martyr without a cause.


Skills


1. Marksmanship


Peter constantly practices with his pistols so he has attained a high degree of perfection with them. He can draw his handgun quickly if needed in case a target suddenly appears in front of him.  He doesn't practice as much with automatic weapons and he is a poor shot when it comes to sniper rifles. He didn't have the patience to familiarize himself with it. 


Handgun/Pistols - Excellent


Automatic Weapons and Shotguns - Average


Sniper Rifle - Poor


2. Psychological Resilience


Peter is an experienced combatant and he can manage the stressful situations that one faces in a firefight or a fistfight. Most people either panic or freeze the moment the first shots are fired, only people that have prepared for violent confrontations can successfully deal with such situations. Many people couldn't handle the burden of having to kill another man or participate in this senseless violence, but not Peter, he puts his feelings aside and does his job. He does not complain afterwards.


3. Stamina and Endurance


What separates him from the typical trained killer is his incredible feats of stamina and endurance. This must be the reason why he was selected for the team. He can still fight the enemy even if the rest of the team is pushed to exhaustion or he can tire his enemy out with repeated assaults. It might be important to overpower your opponent as quickly as possible, but Peter is a great help if the fight drags on for too long.


4. Hand-to-hand


Peter is not a martial artist, but he relies mostly on punches from boxing and a few simple kicks that he learned from watching people fight. Don't expect him to have extensive knowledge of fight science, he just knows the basics of fighting.
 
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Michelle scowled at The Boss' comment. Respect? You didn't get a name like Machete Mike because you were a party animal. She'd killed plenty of guys, and she'd keep it serious then. But now was just social time. Time to relax and just take on the situation. Not dilly dally and go through such boring formalities.


"Twenty men? Well-armed?" Michelle chuckled. "Sounds like we should be throwing a party. Have some fun. Snort some Colombian Sugar."


The room full of quiet, silent assassins seemed to answer that question well enough and Michelle shut her mouth. "Whatever, we have Yvonette and I'm pretty sure I'm still stoned so I'm sorry for being late, and next time if you want us to handle this like a bunch of serious mobsters, I'll wear a tie."
 
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Peter B. Longstreet
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The Machete Mike woman threw the Boss a haughty scowl, and that gesture only made Peter lose more respect for her. She was as cocky as ever and her bravado was already souring their relations. It was a wonder why this loudmouth was able to come here on the Boss' orders. The Boss was wise and he could have seen potential in her yet she clearly wasn't showing signs of promise. There was nothing to look forward to a woman that ignored the obvious signs of danger in every time. Not only was her behavior getting in the way of producing a professional relationship, she was also provoking the wrath of their Boss and she was going to pay the price for her arrogance.


Ah, you magnificent fool of a woman, you will bring destruction on us all. Peter not only facepalmed with one hand but he brought the full shame of a double facepalm to bear on himself. The stoicism had instantly worn off and he exhibited the full extent of his humiliation. He was not as unemotional as he had previously thought, it seemed like Machete Mike had a tendency to defrost an ice king such as Peter.


Peter brought his hands on the table and had to plead Michelle to stop, "Please, whoever you are... just... be quiet."


There was one thing that Peter liked about Michelle. She had a sort of brave optimism that dared to hope for the best. That was the sole positive quality that Peter could see in this deranged woman, and he had faith that it would bring them far in troubled times. Other than that she was loud and obnoxious and she was a drug addict to boot. Vices that could hinder your job performance could prove fatal in a dangerous line of work such as this. Again, this made Peter call in question the soundness of the Boss' decision to add Machete Mike to the roster.
 
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Noticing Peter watching him for a moment, he returned the subtle nod. He wasn’t one to judge on first impressions, but the acknowledgement was definitely a good mark in his book. As he listened in on the tail end of the Boss’s assignment, he bit into his lip. It was a tall order for a team that didn’t seem to be too well acquainted, but he’d done riskier things in the past with good outcomes.


Conrad’s neutral, slightly nervous expression turned into a small, sly grin at Michelle’s mention of “Colombian sugar”. He couldn’t help but raise a hand to his mouth, making a fist to slightly conceal the quiet chuckle he almost involuntarily emitted. He could tell that Machete Mike would be fun to work with. When he caught her glance, he flicked the side of his nose, raising his eyebrows. The nonverbal cue was more than enough for anyone in Miami to know what he was alluding to. The man was a little more inconspicuous about his drug use, but that was just to keep up appearances. He liked to party.


However, the tension between Michelle and Peter was growing, and it was becoming obvious that the guy was losing his patience. Conrad hoped that the two would get real civil, real fast before they got to work, or there’d certainly be issues.
 
The Boss gave a long sigh, opening his mouth as if to give Michelle the verbal smack down of the century. But he stopped himself before he could, eyes lowered in quiet contemplation before he looked back at the group. "All of you are dismissed. I recommend going somewhere private to discuss your job."


Hunter bit his lip, concerned by the Boss' behavior. Michelle would've probably been killed by now, given her attitude, but the only emotion he could get from his employer was a strange haughty confidence. The way how his lips twitched as he fought a smug grin... Hunter was getting some bad vibes. Terrible vibes. Even the whole contract seemed wrong. Every photo they had seemed like a stock image, in a sense. The details were vague, save for how and where they should enter the complex to kill these people. But he couldn't comment on that right now.


"Understood." He muttered as he stood, looking over his group. "Now, if you all wanna talk about killing people, some apartment complex isn't gonna do. Trust me, you'll get fucked over by nosy neighbors." He paused to give a small shudder, remembering how a former colleague got ratted out by his neighbor. The SWAT team was merciless. "So, I'm gonna do the logical and smart thing and invite a team of murderers into my home to discuss murder things. Sound good?" He gave a friendly smile to all of them, though was more amused at his own sense of humor rather than happy to be working with them. Ex vets and psychos, how fun.
 
@cfeesh


Michelle smiled at Conrad's hint that he too knew how to party. She'd probably invite him later to make sure of that fact. After all, it would be nice to have a partner to catch up with. It was boring when your fellow guests didn't even know what a jugular vein was or the difference between a kitchen knife and a scalpel.


When Hunter suggested they meet at his house and discuss murder stuff, the term itself made her throw her head up in laughter. "Oh boy, should we compare knives? Masks? Maybe detectives to avoid?"


Pulling out a small metal tube, she quickly snorted a dose. "Oh yeah, that should wake me up!"
 
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