2007-05-16: Certain Capabilities

Starring:

Jack_icon.gif Jessica_icon.gif Gwen_icon.gif

Summary: Jessica attempts to prove to Jack that Vegas will be a hit, Jack's circle of blondes who he wants to kill or who want to kill him is fleshed out, and Gwen happens upon opportunity in Jessica's pants. Literally.

Date It Happened: May 16th, 2007

Certain Capabilities


Den of Iniquity, Brooklyn, NY

The last few days have been busy for Jack. Girlfights in the bar. Time with his new lady. Planning to kill a blonde who will remain nameless. He looks appropriately tired, and a little hung over. His eyes are bleary with faint, dark bags beneath, and his mouth is pressed into a narrow line. A frown creases his forehead, and his upper body is slightly slumped. He's wearing the same red t-shirt and beat-up jeans he was wearing last night, having passed out in the office after drinking himself silly with Lachlan.

Blessedly, the Den is peaceful. It's just after opening, and there isn't a customer in sight.

The door is shoved open to reveal none other than Jessica who, it seems, is not afraid to show her face anywhere. Clad in more modest attire than her last visit, jeans and a black lace tank, she pauses for just a moment in the entrance of the Den. This place is getting familiar. She crinkles her eyes ever-so-slightly in derision as she scans it, making sure it's as empty as it looks before her sights set on Jack. Her high-heeled stride is, as usual, purposeful. The blonde sets her hands on the bar. "You look like you've been run over by a truck." Hi, Jack, nice to see you.

Jack cocks his head to the side, studying Jessica warily as she crosses the room. After the show she put on the last time she was here, he's not about to take her lightly. He lets out a quiet groan, shakes a few cobwebs from his head, and pulls a bottle from above the bar. "So," he finally replies. "You come to make a mess of my place again?" Without taking his eyes off of her, he snags the bottle's cork between his teeth, draws it out, and spits it aside with a 'PTOOH.'

"What's a little blood on the floor at a bar?" Jessica answers blithely as she slides into the stool directly across from Jack. Quick to dismiss her last visit nonchalantly, it's with a piercing, to-the-point gaze that she directs up at the hungover bartender. "I need to know if you're still in."

Jack purses his lips, then takes a long drink directly from the bottle he's holding. He makes a face and spins it around to look at the label. "Yuk! Rum!" He leans his head down and vigorously shrubs his mouth against the shoulder of his shirt to try and get rid of the taste. When he's collected himself again, he shoves the bottle down the bar disdainfully. "So you still want to go to Vegas? I'm callin' shenanigans on that one. If you can't keep your cool in a Brooklyn dive bar, how're you supposed to tackle a real job?"

With only the faintest arch of one eyebrow, Jessica waits out Jack's disagreement with the bottle of rum. When he talks? She laughs. She can't help it. Leaning back against empty air, her laughter disappears, the remnant of a self-satisfied smirk on her face. It says: 'you don't know what you're talking about'. "Electrobitch was sticking her nose where it didn't belong." All traces of amusement slide from her face and voice like liquid as she leans across the bar, eyes fixed, unwavering, on Jack. "You have -no idea- what I'm capable of." And maybe that's his point.

A small, crooked smile creeps across Jack's face. He meets Jessica's gaze unflinchingly, then nods. "To be fair, you're not the only one wot got problems with her. Now if you're so capable," the smile curls into a wicked grin. "Show me. Kill her, and I come with you."

A spark lights in Jessica's eyes. She wasn't expecting that. "Kill her," she repeats, luxuriating the words, the idea, relishing, for a second, the amusement Jack's suggestion brings. "Well. I'd love to, Irish, but if we're gonna move on Vegas? We have to hit it soon. 'Time is money'."

"Promises, promises," Jack smirks. Halfway to reaching for the rum bottle again, he catches himself and drops his hand with a frown. "And what's this? Excuses? I thought I had no idea what you were capable of? Surely you can snuff one tiny blonde girl in time to catch a plane," he deadpans. "Either way, I'm gonna need proof that you can focus, or I'm out. You ever look at someone, and you feel like /you're/ crazy? That's how you make me feel, and it scares the shit outta me."

"Can't say that I have." Jessica hops easily off of the stool with a sharp click of her heels, reaches behind her to brush the small of her back, sneaks a few fingers under her tanktop and jeans, and withdraws a modest handgun. Certainly not helping Jack's view of the /crazy/, but— "I can focus." Backpedaling a few feet, she focuses - starting with the bottle of rum, angling the weapon at the bottle right away, rather than Jack.

BANG. Shattered. Followed by several other bottles on the shelf behind the Irishman: three shots, and one off to his right. If he doesn't move, it almost catches him in the arm, but neatly destroys a bottle of Jack /Daniels/ instead. "You can pay for that with the cash you'll make in Vegas."

Jack manages to avoid ducking or dodging, but he flinches when one arm and shoulder are peppered with glass and whiskey from the shattered Daniels bottle. Pointedly, he flicks bits of bottle from his arm and glares at Jessica. "What was that supposed to do, other that waste good liquor and prove my point? You're a bloody menace, woman!" Growling, he pulls a glass from beneath the bar and holds it under the trickle of whiskey still draining from the shelf where the Jack Daniels bottle was resting.

"I could have shot your face off, but I didn't. That was me keeping my cool," Jessica answers flatly, stepping back up to the bar and slamming the gun on it, though her hand doesn't lose contact with it. "You'd be an asset in Vegas," she says, but shrugs one shoulder and raises her brows fleetingly with the addition of: "I'm not going to cry myself to sleep if you wanna be a cop-out."

Jack's grey eyes narrow visibly. Unimpressed, he shakes his head. "Go, then. You've given me no reason to think that you're anything but a danger. You've no plan, and more importantly, you've no idea how to restrain yourself." There's a hint of smirk, both on his face and in his voice. "Comin' from me, that's pretty serious."

Jack may be ready to give up on Jessica, but Jessica may not be ready to-okay, no, she's completely ready to give him up at the drop of a hat. It's the insulting of her character that she doesn't let sit. "One, we have a plan, two, I'm not in the habit of proving myself to anyone," the woman says - usually, she doesn't have to - with a slight edge to her voice. She swipes the handgun from the bartop to tuck it in the back of her pants, re-covered by her shirt. "Three," she adds, more breathy, no less steely; she kneels on the stool, leaning over the bar nearly all the way, toward Mr. Derex. "I always get what I want."

And into this scene of friendship and camaraderie, comes Gwen. It's so not her scene and it is obvious from the moment she steps inside. Designer skirt, flouncy top, heeled sandals, hair pulled halfway back. She looks like she should be walking down Park Avenue, not into a dive bar. However, she's supposed to be meeting a client nearby and she's not about to just stand out there waiting like an idiot. Instead she'll head to the nearest bar and drink her way into a happy hour. Whatever hour that may be. Once she's inside, she realizes that it may not be the bar's opening time, but she doesn't really car. People leaning over bars? Whatever. There's a bartender, that's all she cares about. Heading right past Jessica, the woman might feel the brush of something. That would be Gwen attempting to snatch her wallet. After all, she's sticking her back pockets out for everyone to see, what else is she supposed to do? Either way, she's going to sit down right by the happy couple with a pleasant little smile on her face. "Sorry to interrupt, but what's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?" And if she has that wallet, she's going to slip it right into her purse, reach into it again and offer up Jessica's own money to pay for it.

Nice brush. Jack quirks one eyebrow appreciatively when his newest customer neatly lifts Jessica's wallet. Dismissing his heated companion with a casual wave and a snort of laughter, he moves to stand in front of Gwen and smiles crookedly. "Sorry 'bout the mess," he gestures to the broken glass and spilled liquor behind the bar. "What can I get you?"

In the middle of the afternoon, in an next-to-empty dive bar, when the door opens, you take notice. Jessica's blue eyes instantly, sharply shift over to the entrance. She looks Gwen up and down, but that's it. The little bit of petty crime that goes on in the general vicinity of her ass? Completely ignored - or, rather, she doesn't notice. She must be too busy glaring at Jack. She hops backward onto her feet, holding her hands out at her side. "Your loss." Jessica seems to be poised to turn away— but instead, she says, with a laugh, of all things. It's cold, mean, devoid of humour. "One problem, Irish. Now you know too much."

Eyeing the mess behind the bar, Gwen gives a shrug of her shoulders. "As long as you can still make a martini out of what you've got left, I couldn't care less." It's true. She didn't exactly come to this place for the atmosphere, after all. Jessica's statement gives her a pause and she lazily props her chin up in her hand, elbow resting on the bar. Sighing, she takes her own turn of giving Jessica the once over and doesn't really seem to think much of what she sees. Or care, that is. "If you're going to make with the murdering, would you mind doing it /after/ I get my drink and once I can move out of blood spattering range? This outfit's dry clean only."

Again, a distinct lack of being impressed is displayed by Jack in response to Jessica's threats. Then again, he doesn't really know what he's getting into when he replies, "Will you seriously fuck off? All your breakin' shit and threatin' me is aggravatin' my hangover." Despite his words, he looks more alert and focused than he has all morning. He even manages to mix a martini without spilling anything. After shoving the drink over to Gwen, he lets his hand rest lightly under the bar.

Gwen's comment earns a harsh look from Jessica - she eyes the other woman with something akin to suspicion. Curiosity. "Wouldn't worry about your dress. Cute, by the way. I'd have to kill you next. You're a witness." And though her head cocks to the side as she regards Gwen and Jack, as if /considering/, she does not, in fact, decide to murder them on the spot. She's generous today like that, which is remarkable, considering Jack's sass. The blonde winks once at Jack and turns around to leave.

"Easy, honey, talk like that hurts my poor drink's virgin ears," Gwen tells Jack as he makes up her drink. Ah, martini. Everything is right with the world. As she pulls her glass over close enough that she can take a long sip, she looks at it as one would look at a long lost sibling or lover about to reunite. However, this wonderful reunion is interrupted by /more talking/. Yuck. Canting her head a little so that she can stare at Jessica again, she turns up her sweetest smile and replies, "You say that like it'd be an easy thing, sugar. You kill my bartender before he makes me three of these and you're the one that'd be worrying." Then, the comment about her outfit sinks in and she beams. Nothing makes Gwen happier than being told her outfit is good looking. "Thanks. I like yours, too. Are those boots Prada?"

For the first time, Jack considers that he may have bitten off more than he can chew. Between Elle and Jessica, he's now got a plateful of blondes to settle up with. Then he shakes his head. Nah. Too stupid and stubborn and Irish to care. Instead, he marvels at the byplay between the two women. Only an animal with a vagina can threaten death and compliment in the same breath. After eyeballing Gwen's martini, he pours himself a double vodka on the rocks. Not exactly the same, but closer than his usual vat of bourbon.

They're Prada knockoffs, because Niki can't afford freaking /Prada/, but she does not offer up that information. Instead, as she's about to walk away, Jessica looks over her shoulder at Gwen. She obviously doesn't take the threat seriously, because after a few fleeting seconds of skeptical staring, she just turns on her complimented heels and strides for the door without another word.

"Hmph." Gwen sniffs when she's not answered by Jessica. She was trying to be /nice/ there. "They were totally knock offs," she confides in Jack. Even if Jessica isn't fully out the door yet. Because if Gwen knows anything it's sex and fashion. And booze. And as she takes a long drink of her martini, she finds she likes what she's tasting. "And you make a very good martini, mister. Whatcha doing making twenty dollar martinis in a two bit dive like this?"

Jack shoots a glare over at Gwen, but it lacks the heat he usually packs into them. "This is my place," he replies, gesturing expansively to indicate the interior of the bar. "Nice move with blondie's wallet, by the way." He chucks a thumb in the direction of the departed Jessica.

Not at all caring about the glare she's given, Gwen raises an eyebrow. "Huh. Well. Then you should know what it is." She's not about to apologize for it, because she calls it like she sees it. Raising an eyebrow at mention of the wallet, her smile is quite cat-like. Satisfied, cat at the canary cat-like. "Wallet? What wallet?" Sneaking around in her purse, she pulls out a credit card. "How about another round on me?" She downs the remains of her martini and slides the card on over. "In fact, I'd like to open a tab."

"Sure." Never one to turn down a free drink (even at his own pub), Jack takes the card and tucks it into his back pocket, to be run after the tab accumulates. Then he tips back his glass and drains it. With a healthy, lip-smacking sigh, he sets it back down and pours a refill, first for himself, then for Gwen. She's buying, right? She can wait.

Technically, as she's buying she should get served first, but since Gwen isn't actually the one that's going to paying, she's not going to complain. As soon as her own drink is mixed, she takes a long drink of it herself. "Now this is the way to spend an afternoon. What the hell'd you do to piss off Legs? She looked like she was about to either fuck you or kill you. And neither one was gonna be the way you wanted it."
Jack cocks his head first to one side, then to the other, considering the implications of the statement. "Kill me. I think. With that one you never know, though." He shrugs and pulls a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from a pocket. After shaking one loose and twisting it between his lips, he offers the pack to Gwen. "You want?"

"Ooh, yes." Like a kid in a candy store, Gwen reaches out desperately for that cigarette. She's a fan of all forms of addictions, this one. "Well, you certainly were about to be in for ride, I'm sure." Placing the cigarette between her lips, she leans forward and gives Jack the puppy dog eyes. "Don't have a lighter on me. Would you mind, hon?"

"Sure…" Jack seems a little distracted as he produces a book of matches, strikes one, and holds it out for Gwen. When she's finished, he cups his free hand around the flame and brings it up to light his own butt. After taking a deep draw to settle his nerves, he sighs out a cloud of smoke and quietly murmurs, "I do believe she's going to kill me." It's anyone's guess as to whether he's talking to himself or his customer.

As long as her cigarette gets lit, Gwen doesn't mind one way or another if Jack is distracted. Ah. Smoke and martini's are the best way to go. "It's been ages since I could smoke in a bar. That's reason enough to come here." Holding her glass by the rim, she takes a long drink. "She might. She had that crazy look in her eye. But at least she'll look good doing it. Even if her clothes are knock-offs."

Jack shrugs his broad shoulders, then takes another gulp of vodka. After plugging his cigarette back between his lips, he pulls a clean rag from his back pocket and buffs the already-clean bar. "That one can be… volatile. She probably wasn't jokin' about killin' you just for bein' here," the bartender warns. "She's very free with her aggression."

Is that a cue? It sounds like a cue, ladies and gentlemen. Several minutes have passed. Gwen and Jack have had scintillating conversation or something. Whatever.

One, two, three, four, five…

The Den of Iniquity welcomes back Jessica. The door flies open to admit not a loyal patron, but the blonde - /again/ - and surprise, surprise, she looks pissed. (But at least she looks good doing it?) This time, it's not Jack that she strides purposefully toward; she barely looks at him, she has no more use for him - it's Gwen she has a bone to pick with. "You. You stole my wallet," comes the demanding accusation.

"Mmm, nothing's free, darling." Gwen replies as she takes a puff of her cigarette and then takes another drink. This is something she seems quite comfortable doing and could continue doing up into the night. If she didn't have a client. Sigh. The moment Jessica bursts into the bar again, the second blonde doesn't jump in her seat and she doesn't seem all that terrified. She has no reason to be as she doesn't know what Jessica can actually do. A warning from a random bartender isn't enough to raise Gwen's hackles. "I would never," she replies with a totally straight face. "I'm not petty thief." Looking the other woman over again, she makes a clucking noise, as if she's concerned. "You look dreadful, sweetheart. Take a seat, have a drink. It's on me." It was never said that Gwen had any tact.

"Uh oh," Jack mutters beneath his breath when Jessica reappears. One hand inches back under the bar, the other wraps around his vodka glass and lifts it for a sip. Knowing that telling Jessica to leave is as good as inviting her to draw down on him again, he opts to quietly ride this one out. After all, unlike her little spat with Elle, there's nobody here to see if somebody ends up getting squashed. The Irishman would rather not be the squashee this early in the day, thankyouverymuch.

Jessica, clearly, does not buy Gwen's poker face - but a sudden thought does warrant a suspicious look to Jack. "Well, one of you did," she says with a faint scoff, crossing her arms as she stands firm beside Gwen's seat. "It was either you or one trick pony over there. So," she lifts her brows in her not-to-be-challenged-challenge as she says out her ultimatum: "Hand it over before I start breaking more than bottles of whiskey." She is of the mind that no one steals from her. /No one/.

Unfortunately for Jessica, Gwen is of the opinion that no one is exempt from being stolen from. If you're stupid enough to get your pocket pick, well, you deserve what you get. Eyeing Jack and then the other woman, she re-crosses her legs and shrugs. "Maybe you just put it in your other crazy pants, lady." Because what does she care if she breaks more bottles of whiskey? It's not her bar and she's not planning on coming here again. However, she does realize that her own drink may be in danger, so she downs it in one go, before letting it rest on the clean counter again.

Jack eyes Gwen first, then Jessica. This is going to get messy, and fast. No two ways about that. The only question is, how to handle it?

Jack points one long, thin finger across the bar at Gwen. "She did it!" he tattles. Then he backs away, vodka in one hand and cigarette in the other.

In turn, Jessica stares down Gwen. She eyes Jack sidelong. When he squeals, she takes his childish tattling at his word, and goes straight to the source: she lashes out to try to snatch the other woman's purse.

The cool front only goes so far as until Jack rats her out. "Traitor," she hisses at the Irish bartender before slipping off her barstool and quickly back pedaling when Jessica makes a grab for her purse. "Hey. /Hey/, grabby. He's the one that's got your credit card." Because why should she protect him if he's going to throw her to the wolves?

"Psh. Take it." Jack flicks the thin wafer of plastic across the bar. "I'm not gettin' involved in your little snit." He gulps down some vodka, then comes just close enough to grab the bottle before retreating again. "Tsk, tsk. Should never steal from a crazy person," he chides.

"He can have it," Jessica replies with a jeering smirk, even as the plastic goes skittering onto the bar. That tab was going to be D.E.N.I.E.D. if they use Niki's credit card. She plants one hand on her hip, while the other outstretches expectantly toward Gwen. She tips her head down and gives the pick-pocketing woman a silent 'well?' with an arch of her brow.

Well, that's one thing. Gwen glares at Jessica and keeps a firm clasp on her purse. She stole it fair and square. But the one thing she doesn't really want to do is get mussed up before she's supposed to go out and work, so she gives a frustrated sigh and digs into her purse. Taking out the wallet she flings it at Jessica. "Geez. Touchy." Some of the money may be missing still. It's entirely possibly.

Whoosh. Jack lets out a long sigh of air when Gwen give back the wallet. Crisis averted, hopefully. At this point, the last thing he wants is another fight in his bar. His wary grey eyes flick back and forth from one woman to the other. Forgotten, his cigarette drops a long column of ash on the floor.

Jessica doesn't look at it too closely; what's a few bucks here and there when she's about to rob a damn casino? She does, however, eye the wallet and eye Gwen before she slips it back into her pocket. It's a slim thing, which is fortunate, considering her jeans are, too. "I gotta say," she says, "That was good. /No one/ steals from me."

Unaware of whatever future plans Jessica's got, Gwen rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, looks like you're going to have to readjust that claim." Having kept a hold of her cigarette, she takes a quick puff of it without letting her eyes drift away from the other woman. Like Jack said, not a good idea to take your eyes off a crazy person.

Speaking of future plans there's another one in the making, it seems, for the tall blonde narrows her eyes with a devious slant at the little thief. As she idly takes the worthless credit card from the bar, tucking it away, she's stilling eyeing Gwen. "Hmm," she voices, half a laugh — largely to herself. "You like stealing wallets from dive bars, or do you ever wanna do something … worthwhile?"

Another puff and finally Gwen spares a look for Jack. Mostly just to check his position as he's revealed himself as a traitor to the cause of keeping Gwen's skin intact. "I take it you've got something worthwhile to offer." Because if that wasn't the opening of a proposition, then Gwen doesn't like alcohol.

Jack impassively returns Gwen's glance, then drains his glass. With a clatter of half-melted ice, he sets it down on the bar and makes he way into the back room. Rest assured, he'll be keeping an eye on things through the one-ways until his place clears out.

"Mhmmm," Jessica answers, nice and simple. She watches Jack leave, and when he disappears, she steps closer to Gwen - no sudden movements! - and grins broadly. "He could have been a rich man," she confides in the stranger. "Rule one: don't be a pussy." Like Jack, she implies with a pointed glance to the mirrored wall, /yeah, she said it/. "Rule two: you don't steal from me ever again, and I don't snap your neck for trying. Someone who can lift a wallet from me hasta have all kinds of… uses. You ever been to Vegas?"

Gwen watches as Jack makes his exit. Her eyes switch between the Irish and the blonde until Irish has vanished. Once that's done, her focus is entirely on Jessica. As she steps slowly closer, the woman doesn't back away, but she straightens defensively. If there's a retaliation coming, she's ready for it. But, as they're still just talking, she smirks when she calls Jack a pussy. "Yeah, seriously. He totally just gave me up over a look." She doesn't know what Jessica's done to the bar before, so she can have her own thoughts. "Can't say I ever have. Desert's not good for your skin. And you don't put anything within easy reach and I won't get the itchy fingers again."

"It's got a population of suckers. I think you'd like it. You get in with my crew," the other woman begins; never mind that 'her crew' consists of her and D.L., currently. They have skills. "You could take what Irish, there, threw away. I'm on a tight schedule. /You/ could be just what I'm looking for." She runs her tongue along her teeth through a half-smirk as she regards Gwen, considering. "Name's Jessica."

"Suckers. I like suckers." Gwen finishes off her cigarette, looks back over to where Jack disappeared and then drops it onto the ground and rubs it out with her foot. He can clean it up if he's so worried. "Depends on what I'm taking. I'm not so interested if he's got a huge share in lollipops, you know what I mean?" As for giving a name, she considers Jessica for a bit before finally saying, "Gwen." Who needs last names?

Last names are overrated. And lollipops? Hardly. Jessica gives Gwen a slightly withering look, which is, ironically, meant to be reassuring. "Well. Gwen. We're stealing the Vegas dream. /Money/. Lots and loooots of money. It doesn't get any simpler than that." She takes a few steps toward the door, watching her over her shoulder all the while. There's a little bit of acting on Jessica's part as she tries to lure in Gwen, but that's nothing new. "C'mon. We'll talk."

Acting or no acting, Jessica's said the magic word. Money. Now Gwen is all ears. "Now that's not a dream for Vegas, honey." Because she's pretty sure it shows up in her own once in awhile. "And I do like simple." Without a backward glance to where Jack left, she starts to follow Jessica. "Alright. But, we'll have to stay close, I've got an appointment I can't miss nearby."

When Gwen takes the bait like a good little fish and starts to follow, Jessica waits for her just long enough for her to catch up; then, she wraps an arm around her like they're old friends. That's not disturbing at all. Nope. Move along. "I'll have you back in time for dinner and a show."

Helpless in the face of such bait, Gwen raises an eyebrow at the arm draped about her shoulder. "And here I thought you were after that Irish guy. Didn't know you were the swing both ways kind of gal." Not like she seems to have a problem with that. "As long as I'm back in time for the show, I don't mind about missing dinner."

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