2008-08-09: To The End

Starring:

James_icon.gif Jack_icon.gif Niki_icon.gif

Summary: Jack and Niki hit a last resort and meet "Jim", a man with a reputation for being good at finding people and knowing things.

Date It Happened: August 9th, 2008

To The End


"The Dirty Window"

New York City

It's a heavy humid evening in the city, with the clouds hanging low and the mist creeping up from the sewer grates. It's the type of evening that encourages denizens to stay at home and even the city that never sleeps seems a bit drowsy. Few people are on the streets, at least in this particular neighborhood. A handful of passersby wander along, most likely moving to the subway stairwell nearby that reaches down into the ground.

It's only a handful of feet back and away from that stairwell that if one were to look for it they'd find a local drinking hole. There's no advertisement, nothing to give a hint that this is a place of revelry. The only nod toward its purpose is a lone sign stating, 'BEER' in front of the dingy curtains in a thin grimy window that rests beside the old green wooden door.

Yet that's only from without, within the image is almost entirely different. It's the evening, it's active, and the place is definitely filled. Not packed, not the horrible limb to limb human cattle feel of a hopping place on a friday night, but definitely doing a brisk business. It's a long room, widening into what must have been the neighboring building only it must have had its wall knocked down. There's a bar that sweeps along the way, tables spread out, and the low murmur of music that's constantly threatened to be overshadowed by the burble of conversation.

As for the staff, it's a touch hard to tell them from the clientele. All blue collar folk seemingly, a pair of men behind the bar, one older and one younger. There's a waitress that wends and winds her way between the tables, but as for anything else it's hard to say.

The door opens, admitting a swarthy, broad-shouldered man in a wheelchair and a tall, attractive blonde woman. The man swivels his head around briefly, taking in his surroundings. Then he turns to the blonde and says, "This is the place."

Having already exhausted the majority of Jack's usual sources, he and Niki have turned to less tangible opportunities. Normally, Jack would never search someone out based on reputation alone, but these aren't normal circumstances. He rolls his shoulders inside a simple, close-fitting t-shirt and slaps his hands against his worn jeans. "Why don't you go order us a drink, Nick? I'll have a cranberry juice. While you're up there, tell the bartender that Jack is here to see Jim."

Jack's accompaniment keeps close to his chair, at first, almost protective, a pretty watchdog. If it weren't for Niki's tendency to be noticed just for looks, she'd blend into the blue collar crowd and the dimness of the bar, what with her jeans washed out to a dull, dark grey, cinched unnecessarily with a riveted belt, and her white sleeveless shirt that just sort of hangs on her body in the thick and humid NYC air. "Looks like every other crappy dive we've been to already," she murmurs, folding her arms … before quickly glancing down at Jack. "… No offence. The Den is nicer."

Niki just gives Jack a subtle little nod of acknowledgment, then, and with a confident determination, leaves him and heads to the bar. Bare arms that swung free on the walk over lean onto the wooden edge. "Hey," she tries to get the attention of the older man behind the bar.

Upon the entrance of the two it's perhaps curious or perhaps not that the wheelchair gets as many second glances as Niki. A handful of men at a round table murmur amongst themselves, perhaps even gesturing absently as the blonde passes, but for what it's worth nobody says anything too loudly.

Near to Jack a thick set bearded man in a Giants t-shirt gets up from his table and motions with his mug towards the vacated area, "Here fella." And even before the man can respond he's up and moving towards the bar, probably looking for a seat at the end of it.

Meanwhile, at the bar proper, the tender looks up at the advance of the blonde. She's able to get his attention with eyes meeting, the man's brow quirking. A nod is given to her as he finishes pouring a foamy cold one and setting it down on the bartop beside one of the other customers. He moves on down towards her and lifts his gravelly voice, "Well, and it ain't even lady's night. What can I get for ya?"

Niki's comments elicit a smirk from Jack. While she orders drinks and carries his message, he nods to the heavyset man and wheels himself over to claim the vacated table. With his position secure, he brushes the backs of his knuckles absently across his stubbled cheeks as he observes the exchange between bartender and customer.

The blonde obviously knows her way around a bar; she moves easily here, languid as moves onto a seat she has no intent on staying at and leans onto the bar to lookup at the bartender. Comfortable she is not, however; she's sizing everyone up, critical, blue eyes sharp. "Just cranberry juice tonight." Way to make her order a girly drink, Jack. "I'm not here to drink. I need to see a man by the name of Jim," Niki says, her voice kept low, an insistent no-ifs-ands-or-buts murmur. "Jack is here to see him."

Up at the bar the older man responds, "S'funny thing to say, come into a bar, not lookin' to imbibe." He casually leans back and gives a nod to the other tender even as he turns to grab open one of the small fridges underneath the bar. He comes back up with a can and a glass, proceeding to pop the top then turn the can on its side, letting the juice gurgle into its more refined container. "And would that gentleman known as Jack be that wheelchair bound fella that came in with you?" And to his credit the tender doesn't look over at Jack as he speaks of the man.

Niki doesn't spend a long time watching the juice fall into the glass; a glance, but her eyes barely leave the bartender, save to shoot, now and then, around the bar space. Looking for Jim. Or maybe this is Jim. Who the hell knows. She's certainly trying to figure it out, though. "Depends if Jim's here or not," she counters, sweetening her surly answer with a smile that doesn't match her words. "If he's not, the guy over there in the chair, he's just nobody."

A toothpick makes an appearance in the corner of his mouth as that older tender lets a smirk broaden faintly. "Yer friend's got a mighty discriminating identity." He says to the side without looking away from Niki, "Davey, take over." And as easy as that the dragon's tethered and the moat avoided. The ubiquitous white rag that seems to adorn any bartender's belt is removed, doffed casually upon the bartop as the older man starts to step down to the swing gate that lets him out into the room proper.

"I'm Jim," Having said that the older man starts to walk towards the back of the bar proper and a trio of doors in the wall. He calls over his shoulder, "Yer friend can come inta my office or do I haveta build him a ramp?"

Niki's eyes narrow on Jim once he announces his identity. They stay that way. She hops off the bar seat with a thump of boots more suited to the Nevada desert than a New York bar, takes the glass and follows the man halfway to the trio of doors. She says nothing to his question, just eyes him steadily for a moment before looking to the table Jack's found himself at. She raises the glass in his direction, tipping her head toward Jim.

Jack responds with a subtle bob of his head. Winding and weaving and wheeling his way through the crowd takes a moment, but he's gotten pretty good at it in the last couple of months.

When he arrives, he accepts the glass of tart fruit juice from Niki and downs it like an oversized shot. The empty tumbler is left on the bar with an audible smacking of lips. "God, I miss liquor," he murmurs under his breath. "So. Shall we?"

"Of course, who am I to delay us?" Jim takes a step back and nods to the two then starts to make his way towards the further of those three doors. He boots it open, casually holding it clear for the other two to precede him even as he checks his watch in the same motion.

Within the office it looks like one might imagine the dwelling of a semi-successful bar owner who also sometimes finds that he has to stay long hours at the place of his employ. On the left hand side is a desk, broad and old and oak. A heavy chair is set behind it and a pair of lighter wooden chairs before. On the right hand side is a screen that seperates the rest of the room from casual view, a vaguely asian motif to the folding barrier. Against the back wall is a coffee machine as well as a small set of lockers with their own padlocks each.

Should the pair enter, Jim steps in after them. "So young man, what can I do for you?" As he moves past the chairs he takes one and drags it off to the side, making room for Jack's wheelchair even as he opens one of the drawers at the desk. From within he takes a bottle of some dark amber liquor, "And I trust I don't give offense if I choose to partake even if you can't?" He looks a question at Niki while holding the bottle.

A hand on the back of his chair — to help if need be — Niki steps behind Jack, falling back into the role of quiet watchdog. It's a role she knows well, incidentally, and it's easy to slip into after a few months. Checking out every corner of the office with her eyes. Every locker. Watching this Jim fellow and his liquor. "Knock yourself out," is all she says. She stands instead of taking a chair, just listening. This part is in Jack's world.

"By all means," Jack says, agreeing with Niki. Then he tips his head to the side, considering how best to answer the question that's been posed to him. "I'm looking for someone," he finally admits. "And you have a reputation as a man who knows people and finds things. Consider this a gesture of good faith."

The meaty sound of a well-filled envelope slapping down on the desk fills the office. Some sleight of hand, perhaps, because Jack didn't reach into his pockets. "There's more if you can help me," he rumbles pleasantly.

Now that causes the older man's brow to raise. He looks in turn towards Niki, then back towards Jack. Pouring himself a shot's worth of booze, he takes a seat opposite them in the chair, leaning forwards. "It's nice to know that a fella's appreciated by his peers." That having been said he considers the envelope, picks it up, and without any sense of hesitation nor reticence starts to thumb through the currency that it contains.

Looking back at Jack, Jim tilts his head to the side. "Thing is, Jack. Can I call you Jack, since you know, I don't know your last name and all. Makes it difficult to do business." He closes the envelope enough so that the money doesn't fall out when he tosses it back upon the desk in front of Jack. "When money changes hands, it's a good idea to know what one party is buying, and what one party can provide."

He settles back in the chair, crossing a leg over his knee. "S'good to know that word's out there, however smattering it may be. But I'm a bit out of the game, old, retired, all that sort of thing. The days are past when a fella can come to me and toss me an envelope of money and have me snap to. No offense meant a'course."
The chair creaks as he leans forwards, pressing on a bit perhaps a mite bit rudely. "But I still do favors. I like favors."

"I understand," Jack says, nodding again. "I'm out of the life, too. Truth is, I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's MIA. No word on the street, no positive ID at the hospitals or morgues. He's a little on the short side, dark hair, has a bit of a curve to his lower lip. Late twenties. Answers to the name of 'Peter.'"

There's a brief pause as Jack frowns and lets out a low sigh. "If he's alive, I need to find him. If he's dead, I wanna know who did it and why."

There's a faint narrowing of his eyes as the older man considers Jack. He lifts his chin as he listens to the words given him, then perhaps shoots another glance at Niki. The toothpick makes a reappearance as he considers what was put before him then he says, "I still have a few people that might turn a kind eye towards me. Thing is," He settles back in his chair, expression grim as he murmurs. "I do this and then I find that this Peter ends up face down in the Hudson then that'd go against your stated intentions." He tilts the bottle to the side and refills his glass. "Not makin' any moral judgements here, but that'd mean you lied to me and I'd be sad."

Niki barely moves, save for a swing of one arm before folding both arms across her body — a motion that's telling of some impatience. The blonde's visage is stony until she lets some hopefulness slip through her skepticism at the progression in the mens' conversation. It's a nervous energy that comes and goes. She can't help but step in closer to the desk. "He's not lying," she interjects. More than adamant, more than defensive, she actually sounds a little desperate.

Jack keeps his eyes fixed on Jim. "She's right," the Irishman answers simply. "Whether or not you want to trust me is up to you. I don't have time to dick around, though."

He glances down at the envelope, sweeps it off the desk, and tucks it into a pocket. "If you know who I am, you know that I've never left a man behind," he says. "I don't mean to start now."

At Niki's words, then Jack's… Jim gives a small nod before responding. "Then trust all my doubts dispelled." There's something of an edge to those words, something else there as if he might be making light but only for a moment. He downs his second drink and then gestures with the uncurling of one hand. "I'll need what you have, what all you got, who you think has nothing to do with it, and then everything you know has nothing to do with it you'll need ta give me that too."

The older man's eyes narrow sharply, suddenly more serious. He extends a hand to point somewhat as he murmurs, "I don't make any promises. Some things a man cannot alter in this lifetime." He lowers his hand. "You ok with all that then, yeah. I'll help you find your fucking friend." There's a pause, then he glances at Niki, "Pardon my French."

What a gentleman. Niki only half suppresses a roll of her eyes — but she's grateful for any help at all, and so Jim earns a few nodsd. It's Jack she looks to, ready to follow his lead, giving him a tiny shrug and a raise of her brows as if to say, 'okay, where to start?'.

"Works for me," Jack says agreeably. It takes a bit of shifting and chivvying in his chair, but he manages to dig a slim notepad from his back pocket. "Everything I know is in here," he says, sliding it across the desk to Jim. "Haven't been able to find much, 'cept that he's not in jail and he hasn't passed through any of the hospitals or morgues. Only suspect so far is a guy named Arthur Petrelli workin' out of a company called Pinehearst." He glances over at Niki and lifts an eyebrow. "I leave anything out?"

The empty shot glass is placed upon the notepad as Jim slides it over to himself. He doesn't look at it now, apparently leaving the details of the matter to be handled after the pair have left. His gaze doesn't waver from the two as he murmurs, probably stepping over Niki's words. "If ya think of anything else I'll want it yesterday."
He straightens up, lifting the lip of the pad, then pulling it off the desk and sliding it into yet another drawer. He looks bakc across at the two, "Main thing I need to know, how far are you folks willing to take this?" He leans to the side slowly. "Sometimes people go looking and what they find, pandora, curious cat, all that sort of thing."

Niki does, indeed, start to speak but only gets an incomprehensible syllable out. She waits, open-mouthed, listening to Jim's warnings until she can interject again. "We're taking it to the end," she says, brimming with fiery conviction. Her next words are quieter. "…You um. You left out the part where Arthur Petrelli is dead and Pinehearst burned down. That was around the last time I saw Peter. About a month ago." Niki shifts somewhat uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "He lives in Soho, his apartment's fine. His uhm… his brother… is the Senator— " The woman suddenly watches Jim extra closely, wary of him ending the arrangement right here and now that she's thrown a public figure into the mix. "The one who's missing too. The cases— I don't think they're related. But he might've went off, tried to look for him."

Jack reaches out to lay a calming hand on Niki's arm. All the same, he nods as he glances back toward Jim. "She's right. We're willing to go the distance on this one. Whatever it takes." Another sigh creeps out from between his lips. Suddenly, he looks very tired. Worn. Almost fragile. He lets his hand drop from Niki's arm and fall into his lap.

Again the older man's gaze tightens, as if gauging something else entirely. He straightens up in his chair then grimaces. "Alright then," He looks over at Niki and curiously enough it doesn't seem to bother him to learn that the man's the brother of a senator, though it seems something else entirely might be getting in his craw. "You've both given me what ya can." He looks back over at Jack. "I need anything else, you'll hear from me."

He folds his arms over his chest and then says, "Tell Davey half-price cranberry juice for the both of ya." And apparently that's the end of the interview, at least for now as he's already getting up and moving towards the door to open it for their departure.

"It's… appreciated. I mean— if you can find anything. Anything at all." Niki looks down at the floor while moving toward the door, reigning in a surge of frustration over everything, along with a whole ton of other emotions she has to box away in order to gain her steelier demeanour back. Jessica mode. At least she doesn't have to keep it up much longer — even though it's always there now. In the background. She takes hold of Jack's wheelchair to push it, guiding him to make the weaving through the bar easier on the way out. Apparently, as far as Niki is concerned, they're not staying for half off cranberry juice.

"Thanks, but I think we'll be going," Jack says, reaching up to touch two fingers to his forelock in a old-fasioned salute. "If you need to get ahold of us, try the Den of Iniquity. Brooklyn. S'easy to find." He rattles of brief directions, waves, and then snaps one hand toward the door like a general waving for a cavalry charge. "Onward!" he calls to Niki.

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