2007-03-09: Lunch Crossed A Line


Lachlan_icon.gif Ramon_icon.gif

Date It Happened: March 09, 2007

Summary: Ramon has made a decision and that means he has to cross a line or two that he never would have considered before.

Lunch Crossed A Line

A noodle house on the subway.

Ramon has never ever delved into illegal realms in his entire life, but after a long night he realized he was going to have to. So he went to one of Manny's friends, who referred him to another friend, who referred him to still another. All he wants is a gun, and one that isn't registered with the ATF, one that can't be traced straight back to him. So he finds his way to a little noodle stand down in the subway stations, waiting for the latest 'friend' in the chain.

Dogs aren't allowed /on/ the subway, but there are no laws about dogs in the /stations/, are there? Lachlan Deatley doesn't seem to care this morning. A single Doberman is accompanying him on a leash, and the Scotsman looks the slightest bit hungover as he heads for the noodle stand. He's carrying a small, plain, black lunch bag that seems to have some weight in it. He wears sunglasses to avoid too much light that could potentially aggravate his headache, and there's a cigarette between his lips. Needless to say, he doesn't look like the friendliest sort. When he reaches the noodle stand, the Scotsman scrutinizes Ramon a moment before he grunts, "Hungry?"

Ramon is nervous. But he does his best not to look it. He decides he'll look dumb at a noodle stand without eating noodles. "Sure," he rasps. He eyes the dog respectfully and keeps a good distance from it, keeping his body language as relaxed as he can so as not to aggravate the creature.

But Padfoot doesn't seem at all vicious, except for his breed and thick collar. He even wags his tail at Ramon, staring up at the man with bright brown eyes. His owner, on the other hand, isn't nearly as friendly. He jerks his head to the side as an indication for Ramon to follow and then Lachlan steps around the corner of the stand to a little more obscure spot. "'Ve got somethin' fer ye, then," he utters, lifting the lunch bag before pulling open the top to display the handgun nestled inside amidst a hastily made sandwich and a snack-size bag of Doritos.

"Yeah I uh, picked up your mail." Ramon says, pulling out a stack of envelopes. Most of them are thin, but one is reasonably thick. The last friend-of-a-friend told him how much needed to be in that envelope. He relaxes about the dog and transfers his attention now to the more dangerous of the pair.

There's a grunt that /might/ be some sort of grateful utterance, but it's hard to tell. Lachlan accepts the envelopes and sifts through them, pausing only momentarily to feel the thicker of the bunch. /Seems/ to be the right amount just by feeling, but he does take a brief and quick peek inside just to be sure. It all looks good. Once he's sure, the Scotsman tucks the envelopes into the pocket of his jacket and holds out the lunch bag. "Thanks."

Ramon takes the lunch bag, reaches in for the sandwhich, and pulls it out to take a bite. "Thanks for lunch," he says. Now he's relaxing. This wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. Just some lunch and some mail between friends. There is indeed the right amount of money in there. There's actually $40 extra, not because Ramon can particularly afford it, but because he has this theory that if he's more pleasant to do business with than he has to be he has less chance of getting himself into more trouble of a different sort later. He watches the man for cues, to see if there's any further that needs to be done, or to see if the man is just going to walk away.

There doesn't seem to be much else, really. Lachlan gives a nod of acknowledgement to Ramon, but his focus is elsewhere. His hands have taken to digging around in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. The damned things just seem to migrate /everywhere/. As he's searching, he happens to pull out that ugly necklace that has been more or less camped out in his jacket pocket ever since he got it back from Cass. He shoots a glance at it before stuffing it back in, but it is clearly and briefly visible to Ramon for the short time it sees daylight. The Scotsman is just about to step away as well, dog in tow.

Ramon knows he's looking for an overweight balding man, so he doesn't fly off the handle or pull his gun out of his lunch right away. He does take two steps forward, dropping his sandwich. "Where did you get that necklace?" he growls, sounding much like a dog himself. One who is now tense and on alert.

There wasn't much thought given to the necklace before he pulled it out, but now Lachlan /kinda/ remembers that it does tend to get this sort of reaction in some people. He pauses and takes a step back from Ramon, one eyebrow going up. "Found it," he responds shortly. "Why?" Seeing as it's part of a murder investigation and all, well, he's more than apt to question.

"Because there's a killer giving out that damned necklace before he kills, that's why," Ramon says, without taking a step forward. But his chocolate eyes narrow into thin slits, and the lines around his face tighten and deepen. Every muscle in his body is now tense and ready.

Huh. That's more information than Lachlan's gotten out of Mara and Cass /combined/. Now he's /quite/ intrigued. "Yeah?" He plucks the already spent cigarette from his lips and drops it carelessly onto the station floor. "Guess tha' 'splains few things. Bloody thing came with a knife when I got it." Ramon's tenseness is noted not by the Scotsman, but by the dog standing next to him. Padfoot's tail is no longer wagging, but he still watches Ramon — quite intently.

One plus one plus two…"You were the one Cass was gonna go get the knife from," Ramon says abruptly. "She said she had a friend who was in jail who had gotten that necklace, and a knife, and she was going to get the knife from you. Which makes you the one who pulled Ameera back from traffic when she was on the phone, being told to get it."

Blink. Stare. This flood of information strikes Lachlan dumb for a few seconds before he finally manages, "Y'know Cass, then? She said 'er friend was a woman." He sounds almost disappointed. After a brief pause, he shrugs. "Yeah, guess tha'd be me. Pulled some woman from traffic an' tha's where I got the necklace. Ye say she was bein' told ta get it?"

"I'm not a woman," Ramon rasps, stating the obvious. He settles down, holding on to his 'lunch'. He stares at Lachlan for a long moment and then just grunts and nods. "He's some sort of hypnosis expert," he says, and leaves it at that. His left eye gives an unpleasant sort of a twitch. "Do you still have the knife?"

"Ye'd be a damned ugly woman," retorts Lachlan quite tactfully. At the question of the knife, he shakes his head, his search for the cigarettes beginning once again. "Nah, 'f I did, Cass'd have it. Got taken in fer evidence when m'place got shot ta pieces. Police've got it now." Which is precisely what he'd planned to do with the necklace, too, come trial time.

"Glad to see they're still going through the motions," Ramon says dryly. But he takes a step back, apparently not intending to get crazy with Lachlan now. "Thank you for saving her life. Ameera. She's a nice lady." He scratches at the underside of his beard and sighs. "You might want to be careful about showing that thing around."

Cigarettes are located and brought forth, and Lachlan takes one from the pack before offering it to Ramon with a lift of his eyebrows. "She'd better thank tha' dog o' hers." Really, if it hadn't been for the dog, he wouldn't have noticed anything. "An' yeah, sure. 'll be careful." He won't have it for much longer anyway, by his reckoning.

Ramon hesitates, then takes the cigarette. "Its been years and years," he says. "Got a light?" He does not. He's seeming to break away from his straight and narrow path these days, but now he finds he wants the cig, very much.

Lachlan would be a poor, poor smoker indeed if he didn't have a light. The lighter is astonishingly much easier to locate than the pack of cigarettes was, and he flicks it on before presenting the flame to Ramon. "Quittin' never helped anyone," he intones sagely. "Dunno why people're so bloody gung-ho 'bout doin' it." /He'd/ never quit. Not in a million years.

He leans forward, and lights it. Like riding a bicycle, he never forgets. "This lunch — nobody's ever used it? Its not something that someone might be looking to match to someone else, or something else that's been done?" He takes a drag on the cigarette. "Never done this before. Not sure how it works."

"Nahhh. 'S clean. Ye'll no' have any trouble like tha'." But that does get an inquisitive raise of Lachlan's eyebrow. He knows better than to ask questions. Obviously, Ramon plans to use the gun in /something/ illegal, and the less the Scotsman knows about it, the better and easier his life will be. "Fuck, though, 'f I'd known ye were a friend o' Cass, I'd've given ye a discount."

Ramon chuffs a laugh. "I only even mentioned her name cause of that necklace. This isn't something I'd ever want to drag a nice lady like her into." He swiftly transfers the gun from the lunch to the inside of his jacket, then starts munching Doritos like nothing ever happened. "She knows about the necklace, the investigation but…" he shakes his head. "She won't know this far into it."

That's something Lachlan can understand. He wouldn't want to drag Cass into any of /his/ less-than-legal endeavors either. She's got morals; they're strange things. "Fair 'nough," he rumbles with a nod. Then, after a pause, he glances to Ramon and gives him a friendly bob of the head. "'M off, then. Ye take care o' yerself, an' stay on yer toes, aye?"

"You too," Ramon says, nodding his head in return. He takes a deep breath, sucking it in and letting it out again. Then he turns on his heel and walks quickly away, tossing the rest of the lunch into the trash as he goes.

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