04-22-2015, 01:28 PM
Jorge Ospania
Whores snorting cocaine and a bunch of men looking pissed off seemed all too common. Not that Jorge could blame them. Didn't seem like there was much else to do around the shit-hole of a town and the way Oakland had was pressing their comrades in Mexico City, he'd probably be pissed off too.
Left to wait with no word on when they would be spoken to, Jorge started to tap his fingers against the side of his hip. He tried to look for an opportunity to make conversation with one of the men with no luck. Shit.
Why the hell was he stuck with this European maniac? Their hosts didn't like the look on his face. The lack of fear pissed them off worse than a bullet to the kneecap. Couldn't Oakland have found someone less fucking suspicious?
Jorge shuffled sideways and nudged him. "Let me do the talking,"
he reiterated, in case the man decided to get them both shot.
"The hell you talking about?"
One ugly brute with a scar across his neck looking like he had his head sown back on demanded.
Jorge was quick to smile. "My friend don't talk much, brother. They do things differently where he came from. I'm just reminding him to watch himself."
"If you have the information I want, he won't have to."
Jorge's hand flew instinctively to the piece at his side and froze when he saw the man and his escort. For fuck's sake. Oakland pulled the same kind of shit, sneaking up on people.
"It's an honour to meet you Mr. Ramirez."
Jorge had plastered a smile on his face, sending one final warning glance to his partner. The face was unmistakable. Oakland had made him memorize it for days. It was a face creased with the burden of being a fucking Cartel big-shot and too many days in the heat of the sun. His eyes were sunken and flat matching the rest of his hollow body.
"I don't have much time to waste, get on with it."
Ramirez looked down, pretending to wipe something off of his fancy black suit.
"Of course, we have information on the American. Important information."
Jorge licked his lips and his eyes moved to the crack whore then back to Ramirez. "But we need compensation, you know? I ain't riskin' my life for good will and puppies. Let's talk cash."
Ramirez smiled and Jorge nearly returned it. Oakland knew his shit as if he were born in a den of thieves. 'Greed and self-preservation are the foundations of trust among the Cartels' the American said. Jorge knew that any thug who did something for nothing was suspicious, but the American had a way with words that made everything clearer. Jorge felt like he could read the arrogant fuck Ramirez and his cronies like a book now.
"I will give you double the cost of the cocaine,"
Ramirez answered.
Jorge's eyes widened without the need to fake it. Shit. Ramirez must be damn desperate! The hunger was real. With that kind of money Jorge could live like a fucking king! Maybe coming here was worth it after all.
Adulation turned to anxiety when Ramirez's attention turned to the other man. "What about you? You aren't Mexican. What do you want out of this?"
Oh shit. Oh shit. Not the maniac! He would probably say something fucked up and get them both killed.
"We want the same thing, he is a good frien-"
Jorge began to panic.
"I would like to here it from him. I am curious."
Damn it! Jorge pleaded with his eyes. Say the same thing, or we are both fucked.
Edited by Damien, Apr 22 2015, 01:31 PM.
Whores snorting cocaine and a bunch of men looking pissed off seemed all too common. Not that Jorge could blame them. Didn't seem like there was much else to do around the shit-hole of a town and the way Oakland had was pressing their comrades in Mexico City, he'd probably be pissed off too.
Left to wait with no word on when they would be spoken to, Jorge started to tap his fingers against the side of his hip. He tried to look for an opportunity to make conversation with one of the men with no luck. Shit.
Why the hell was he stuck with this European maniac? Their hosts didn't like the look on his face. The lack of fear pissed them off worse than a bullet to the kneecap. Couldn't Oakland have found someone less fucking suspicious?
Jorge shuffled sideways and nudged him. "Let me do the talking,"
he reiterated, in case the man decided to get them both shot.
"The hell you talking about?"
One ugly brute with a scar across his neck looking like he had his head sown back on demanded.
Jorge was quick to smile. "My friend don't talk much, brother. They do things differently where he came from. I'm just reminding him to watch himself."
"If you have the information I want, he won't have to."
Jorge's hand flew instinctively to the piece at his side and froze when he saw the man and his escort. For fuck's sake. Oakland pulled the same kind of shit, sneaking up on people.
"It's an honour to meet you Mr. Ramirez."
Jorge had plastered a smile on his face, sending one final warning glance to his partner. The face was unmistakable. Oakland had made him memorize it for days. It was a face creased with the burden of being a fucking Cartel big-shot and too many days in the heat of the sun. His eyes were sunken and flat matching the rest of his hollow body.
"I don't have much time to waste, get on with it."
Ramirez looked down, pretending to wipe something off of his fancy black suit.
"Of course, we have information on the American. Important information."
Jorge licked his lips and his eyes moved to the crack whore then back to Ramirez. "But we need compensation, you know? I ain't riskin' my life for good will and puppies. Let's talk cash."
Ramirez smiled and Jorge nearly returned it. Oakland knew his shit as if he were born in a den of thieves. 'Greed and self-preservation are the foundations of trust among the Cartels' the American said. Jorge knew that any thug who did something for nothing was suspicious, but the American had a way with words that made everything clearer. Jorge felt like he could read the arrogant fuck Ramirez and his cronies like a book now.
"I will give you double the cost of the cocaine,"
Ramirez answered.
Jorge's eyes widened without the need to fake it. Shit. Ramirez must be damn desperate! The hunger was real. With that kind of money Jorge could live like a fucking king! Maybe coming here was worth it after all.
Adulation turned to anxiety when Ramirez's attention turned to the other man. "What about you? You aren't Mexican. What do you want out of this?"
Oh shit. Oh shit. Not the maniac! He would probably say something fucked up and get them both killed.
"We want the same thing, he is a good frien-"
Jorge began to panic.
"I would like to here it from him. I am curious."
Damn it! Jorge pleaded with his eyes. Say the same thing, or we are both fucked.
Edited by Damien, Apr 22 2015, 01:31 PM.