Backroom deals: tag Victor [INACTIVE]

[evan3]

Location: Jack's in a back room

Harvey sat in the shadows. Currently his face was hidden desperado style with a bandanna masking his lower face and the rest hidden either by his sunglasses or the shadows cast by the fedora that sat atop his head, tilted so as to cast maximum shadows over his face. Any skin that may show is painted with dark face paint in order to blend in more with the shadows cast by the fedora.

He checked his watch, never really taking his eyes from the door. Of course it was likely that the proprietor would visit this room at any time. However Harvey had paid a drunk to come in and order a rare alcohol that the proprietor would have to search the storeroom for.

Harvey smiled to himself as he heard The man order loudly.

Any time now. He thinks to himself. So far everything was going according to plan.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

A timid voice came from beyond the door: "Mr. Griffiths, there's some drunk outside."

"Kick him out." Victor didn't look up from his phone as he said it, his voice stern, rusty. By the sounds, he was tired. After a night of killing? Probably so. But, of course, no one knew that but the man standing in the hall and the man standing in the storeroom.

"Sir, I-I can't."

"Yes. Yes, you can. Just do it, won't you?" He ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back neatly, finally looking up. He wasn't usually this short with his workers, but he'd only gotten two hours of sleep; he had stayed awake into the early hours of the morning, drunk with lust and pure bliss. Usually, he took the day off from work after a kill, but something about this last one was energizing. He was tired, but it was a dull feeling in the back of his skull.

"But he's offered a lot of cash," the little waiter whimpered.

"Well, how much then?" he snapped. There was a moment of silence, where the waiter held up some fingers. "...Very well."

Victor followed the waiter out into the bar, meeting with the drunk who was demanding his drink. He spoke with him a moment, finding out what it was he wanted; a complicated drink, a specialty at Jack's called "Jack and Jill's pail".

"Stay here and keep him busy," Victor muttered to the waiter. "I'll go get you the supplies."

He went back through the doors, on his way to the farthest storeroom, grumbling. He hated having drunks in his bar, or around him in general. Not only were they uncomfortable, but they were disgustingly stupid--in most cases, even when they /weren't/ drunk. Something stopped him as he reached the door. Something just short of a presence lurked beyond the door, which violated his space...perhaps he was lucky and it was just a dead animal or something.

He brushed it off and entered the room briskly. The moment he did, he went still. There was indeed someone there.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, sounding rather agitated.

[evan3]

Harvey shifted, smiling to himself. It was so refreshing dealing with someone who actually had a brain for a change. Most people wouldn't have noticed him until he had made a move.

"I represent someone who needs a task accomplished that requires your rather specific talents."

Harvey grabbed a bottle of alcohol off a shelf and offered it to Victor. Of course he was offering the man his own booze, but that didn't bother him. He was ready to get the help he needed to accomplish his task, yet keep his invisible hands clean.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor tentatively took the bottle, but did not open it; he set it to his side, not taking his eyes off of the man that stood in front of him. A numb fear crept up into his stomach, with a sneaking suspicion at exactly what "specific talents" he meant. No...it couldn't be the killing. He made absolute certain that no one saw him, he covered all his tracks, he made sure. Could he have been so blinded with pleasure and blood that he had overlooked something?

"My only talent, sir, is mixing drinks," he said quietly, cold but polite, "and that happens in the main room."

There was something not entirely right with the man that stood in front of him. His air was unnatural, like he was more of an entity than an actually person. Tangible, yes; latent, yes. But physical? No. And the thought that the man might have seen him caused a surge of panic to rise in his chest.

[evan3]

Harvey had to keep back his smile. So Mr. Griffiths was denying his true talent. That was fine with him. He knew what he saw. Still keeping up his charade as a contact man instead of the one doing the hiring, Harvey leaned back, his bandanna hiding the smirk on his face.

"Oh, really? My employer told me that you true talent lay in a more violent and... shall we say illegal? direction."

Harvey knew he had to play this just right. He wanted the man to admit to being a killer, however he didn't want to end up as a cadaver. He laughed to himself at the image of the look on someone's face as they tripped over an invisible body. Or would he turn visible? now that was something to consider.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor didn't show a bit of the fear he was feeling, though he ran a hand through his hair, as though nervous. "Beyond swatting a fly, I don't deal in any violent business, sir." A chuckle accompanied the statement as he raised an eyebrow at the man. He wanted him to be intimidated, to know that he very well could take him down if he was threatened. And gladly.

He backed away a bit, reaching to the side and locking the storeroom door. He didn't want any of his workers to walk in on them and ask questions. Then he would have two bodies to take care of...and what a foul smell that would make.

[evan3]

Harvey almost chuckled, but he kept the emotionless front. "My employer knows otherwise, Mr. Griffiths." He paused more for dramatic effect than anything else. He also gripped a full bottle of whiskey near his hand, just in case he needed to defend himself.

"As would poor dear Annie Chapmen." As far as Harvey was concerned the girl got what was coming to her. Anything that took mental inferiors out of the gene pool was fine with him, and nearly everyone was mentally inferior to him, as he would prove to the world once he got his Nobel Prize.

But first he would need to perfect his vaccine, and this is why he needed Mr. Griffith's rather grisly skills.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor ran another hand through his hair, strands of it falling into his eyes. He almost kept his cool, but when Annie's name was spoken, he broke;

"I know no such person! I don't know what you're accusing me of, exactly, sir, but I'll not have it." Victor glared, an eye twitching as a telltale sign of his state of mind. "Now either agree to leave quietly or I'll have you leave myself. Not so quietly."

His vision was going crooked. No one knew! No one knew about this, no one was meant to know! And now not only did the man standing before him know, but the man's employer did too! He was ruined...ruined because of one damned mistake, of which he was still ignorant. Victor figured that if he didn't do what this man asked, that he would be turned in; and probably turned in anyway. He couldn't let that happen. He would have to kill him, and now was his chance.

[evan3]

"Mr. Griffith's, as I said before my employer was rather impressed with your talent. As I recall he said 'I would sooner smash a stained glass window than destroy an artist such as this'. All you need to do is complete this one job for my employer and you will never see me again." Inwardly he smiled at his turn of phrase, while he hoped the Princess Bride reference would either be attributed to his boss or missed entirely.

Which was the truth. If the antidote he was planning worked, than he would have no need to search again, on the other hand if it didn't than he wouldn't need Mr. Griffith's services as he would know that it wouldn't work. All he needed was enough to make the first try.

"Not to mention the fact that you would be compensated generously and anonymously." He gripped the bottle tighter ready to defend himself if necessary.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor was not yet convinced of anything the man said. Finally, he gave up trying to deny it; all trace of his charming outer shell melted away. Visually, you could almost see a physical change. He seemed to loom now, the scowl on his face darkening The light in the room seemed now to be behind him, and his shadow seemed darker. "Just who are you, sir?" he asked, his voice no less than a growl, his tone so sharp that it seemed as though it could cut steel.

Being called an artist had given him a small bit of hope, and so the scowl turned into a frigid smirk. "And put that godforsaken bottle down, man. You're clutching it as though you could defend yourself with it," Victor said, chuckling darkly.

[evan3]

Harvey smiled to himself, Victor had noticed the bottle. Of course he had other methods of defense on his person, yet he still gripped the bottle, if he was attacked it would be the perfect distraction while he drugged the man and made his escape. However he did not wish to throw his opportunity away.

"Why Mr. Griffin, I am a man of no consequence. I skulk about in the shadows. No body sees me. No body knows me. I might as well be invisible." He had to keep himself from chuckling at that last bit as it was a bit more literal than Mr. Griffiths may wish to believe.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"Then," he said slowly, "we have that in common. Don't we?" Jack's smirk curled up a bit more, his eyes narrowing.

He casually leaned back on the door, staring intensely at the man across from him. "Did you read the paper, then, today? They're calling me Leather Apron now. It gave me real fits when I heard that one." With a snort, he looked at the bottle Harvey had handed him earlier.

"Oh...you weren't planning on getting me drunk were you?" he tutted, shaking his head as if he was ashamed.

[evan3]

Harvey shook his head. "No. It's just that business deals like this seem to go better over drinks, however it would be unfortunate for both of us if my face were seen. But you don't have that obstacle so why should you miss out?"

Actually they problem was more one of Mr. Griffith NOT seeing his face. But that was what he was here for, to fix that problem. That was why he was talking to Victor. "But I think it would be best to dispense the pleasantries and get straight to business."

He said his voice growing even colder and more impersonal than before, if that was really even possible.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"If I'm to have a drink, then, by all means...have one as well." He slowly turned and unlocked the door to the storeroom. "This conversation belongs in my office, though, sir."

With another sour smirk, he plucked up the bottle to his side and disappeared through the doorway. If this strange man wanted to interact with him, he would have to abide by his rules. Jack the Ripper did not work for you, even if you employed him; you worked for him.

He reached his office door, not waiting to hear foot fall behind him, and unlocked it, pushing open the door in one fluid motion. The color scheme in the office was much like that in the bar out front; black and green, with the occasional dark-wood piece of furniture, and a deep red carpet. Upon entering, Jack set the bottle down on his desk and turned around, expecting to see his guest.

[evan3]

"Then maybe we can forget the drinks. My face needs to remain behind this mask, both for my protection and yours."

Harvey followed Victor into the office and noticed the decor. Apparently Mr. Griffith preferred things to stay consistant, another trait that raised him in Harvey's estimation. Harvey walked in and sat on one of the chairs.

"Now to business, unless you object to my choice of seating?"