Le Silencieux

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Nikolai wasn't really in the mood to have to put up with any crap from the group of Spaniards here in his bar. Last time he had to break up a fight between one of their group and a couple of French thugs. Of course, the troublemaker that had been with them last time was no where to be seen. Obviously the man had thought to put the kid in his place once and for all. Nikolai might have felt a twinge of sadness for the lost of such a young life if the kid hadn't already been throwing it away by dealing with gangs in the first place.

He asked the leader wryly if there was going to be any fighting tonight and was met with an equally rueful grin. “We’re on our best behavior tonight. Aren’t we?” the man said, the last part almost a command. A round of grumbled affirmations made Nikolai chuckle softly and shake his head. The man leaned forward.
“You don’t have to worry about us,” he assured him and took a swig of his drink. Nikolai nodded in thanks and went back to work. It wasn't long before the doors flew open again. He glanced up to give a curt greeting but froze in his place.

...the Mafiya's men.

Instantly he felt that fight or flight instinct kicking in and well...Nikolai was a fighter. Every muscle in his body coiled and tensed, his hands curling into fists. These men had come looking for a brawl and he would be more than happy to give him one. It was going to be his switchblade verse their high powered guns, but he'd be damned if he went down quietly. Surprisingly it was the other man's voice that suddenly shattered things and brought him back into the moment.

“Them, though… I don’t speak for them,” he said, nodding towards them. “Friends of yours?”

Nikolai gave a derisive laugh and sneered. "Believe me...they aren't my friends," he muttered lowly as the bulky Mafiya guy came up to the bar.

"Nikolai Tarasova..." the man said, managing to sound like a jovial uncle but with a deeply sinister twist. "Your friends have been wondering where you went off too. Sent me to find you..."

Nikolai gritted his teeth. "I'm sure they did...I've been avoiding them for a reason," he hissed.

The bulky man, Ivan, he faintly recalled, laughed coldly. "Well, your friends paid us a great deal to...take care of you," he mentioned, yellowed teeth pulling into a wicked, horrid smile, the words obviously a thinly veiled threat that most grade schoolers could see through.

"Some friends..." Nikolai said sarcastically with a tight smile, hand itching for the switchblade in his pocket.

Ivan must have figured as much because a gun was out and aimed at him before long. The tension was thick in the bar as the three men began to turn and leave. "We'll talk more later, Nikolai...we'll be around," Ivan said as they finally left.

Nikolai heaved a heavy sigh, letting out breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He leaned his hands on the bar in front of him, hanging his head as his shoulders fell.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

It dimly occurred to Santiago that Russia was so huge that it spanned two continents. He’d met dozens of Russians since moving to Paris and not a one of them seemed to know each other. But on this side of town, there weren’t coincidences. There weren’t accidents. Whatever newscasters said, whatever police reports officially read… No such thing. The Russian tensed. You could feel it; you could see it. He was built like a spring trap – naturally taut and ready to snap. It made Santiago lift an eyebrow and think whether he’d be able to grab for his gun if something happened.

The Russian laughed humorlessly.

"Believe me...they aren't my friends," he said quietly. Santiago wondered if anyone else had heard him – the other Gardunas sat erect, waiting for some sort of signal from Santiago, who merely shook his head.

Not yet.

The Mafiya was a thorn in Santiago’s side. They didn’t have a particularly strong presence in Paris, but what presence they did have was nothing but trouble. They disregarded established turf bounds and they cut into weapons sales. Their guns were cheaper. Shittier, too, if you asked Santiago. His men were fitted with Smith & Wesson pistols, with Barettas, with Colts. The Mafiya lacked subtlety in comparison. Their guns were bigger, manufactured in former satellite nations, and outdated. But they were cheaper and well maintained. And that was something. Enough to keep Santiago from getting on the wrong end of one of their barrels.

But this was Garduna territory. And Santiago felt bristly about the neck. As eager to snap as his men were. The only difference was that he was the leader and he had to make the smart choices.

"Nikolai Tarasova..." Ivan said. He had a booming, happy voice at odds with the look on his face. When he continued to speak, he spoke French. Interesting… "Your friends have been wondering where you went off too. Sent me to find you..."

"I'm sure they did...” The Russian – the bartender, Nikolai – said through clenched teeth. “I've been avoiding them for a reason."

Ivan laughed. He wasn’t even trying to sound jovial anymore. "Well, your friends paid us a great deal to...take care of you.”

This was getting more and more interesting by the second. It was a familiar threat – dull, uninventive – but it was a threat and it was directed at Nikolai. Santiago made a point to look ahead, catching sight of the Mafiya men in the barroom mirror and avoiding eye contact with any of them there. But he did catch Ivan’s smile: the yellow teeth that poked out from beneath his bushy mustache would have elicited disgust from another man. In fact, Santiago could see one of his own men – Jorge – sneering across the bar, looking caught somewhere between a laugh and vomiting. Santiago caught Jorge’s eye in the mirror, silencing him quickly.

Just enjoy the show, he thought. Because Santiago was.

"Some friends..." Nikolai grumbled.

There was a flash of silver, a flash of black, and Ivan had pulled out a gun. Santiago’s hand instinctively flew to his hip. He relaxed only slightly when he realized that it was Nikolai and not one of his men – and most importantly, not himself – that the gun was aimed at. Santiago now watched unabashedly. Everyone in the bar was watching, anyways.

"We'll talk more later, Nikolai...we'll be around," Ivan said, retreating from the bar. Santiago watched the Mafiya men leave and he shook his head. Then he looked back over at Nikolai.

He wasn’t much younger than Santiago himself was – this Nikolai Tarasova. But he looked younger by far. And he looked f*cking terrified. He wasn’t trembling or crying or anything stupid and cliché. Instead, Nikolai leaned on the bar and heaved a large sigh. His head was down, his shoulders slumped. By morning, he’d be a dead man.

Santiago took a sharp breath and shook his head. A little ways down, he could hear his own men chattering in Spanish about how to keep “basura rusia” out of their bar. They were shaken and angry. Santiago let them do their talking; he listened to them mutter to each other in fervent Spanish.

“Disrespect,” Jorge murmured. “We’ll show them what it means to disrespect Las Gardunas…”

“They come onto our turf, we’ll f*ck them up!” Juan Carlos agreed with a curt nod.


They brought a smile to Santiago’s lips. He turned to look over at Nikolai.

“You weren’t joking. Looks like you hate those guys more than we do.” Santiago tilted his head to the side. “What did you do to piss off Ivan the Terrible, anyways?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Death was something intimately familiar to Nikolai. Both of his parents had been killed when he barely a toddler by the same group that wanted him dead now. They were also the same group that he had killed for on numerous occasions. He'd stabbed men, shot them, beat them...he knew what it was like to watch a man's life drain from him and know you took it. And he'd always sort of expected never to make it out of his twenties. He'd been certain that eventually one of his victims was going to be able to over power him or he'd become obsolete in the eyes of the Mafiya. But then he'd escaped and suddenly he had a future again in a way he hadn't since he was a teenager. And now it was crumbling fast.

He listened only vaguely to the the chattering of the other men in the bar. They were speaking Spanish and he wouldn't have been able to understand it anyway. It wasn't hard to tell though that they were upset about the Mafiya presence. A turf thing probably. All he could think about now was that more than likely Ivan and his two cronies were probably hanging around somewhere outside, waiting until his shift ended to use those guns they'd flashed a moment ago on him. He probably wouldn't even see it coming, never get the chance to fight back even in vain.

“You weren’t joking. Looks like you hate those guys more than we do.” the other gang's leader suddenly said and Nikolai glanced up enough to see he was talking to him. Hate seemed like a vast understatement. “What did you do to piss off Ivan the Terrible, anyways?”

Nikolai only shook his head and pushed himself off the counter. He wondered at downing that bottle of vodka before heading out tonight. "That's just it. I didn't do anything to him. My 'friends' are the ones who are mad," he explained. "What's it to you anyway? They aren't exactly here to bother you and your men," he said. He briefly took note that the man's glass was empty and grabbed the whiskey bottle, pouring another for him.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

"That's just it,” Nikolai said. “I didn't do anything to him. My 'friends' are the ones who are mad."

Santiago’s lip curled. Once upon a time, Santiago had been Nikolai’s age. It wasn’t so long ago, but it felt further and further away each passing day. When he was twenty-eight, he’d tried to make a clean break from Las Gardunas. Looking at them now, you’d never guess. Santiago had been lucky not to be killed; unlucky to be forced to serve the gang instead. He felt a surprising twinge of empathy for this Russian bartender. Poor b*stard wouldn’t be nearly as lucky as Santiago had. He’d be dead by morning; just another corpse rotting in the Seine. The Mafiya was notoriously unforgiving. Mercy was foreign to them.

Santiago knew that one of two things were true about this Nikolai: either he’d defected from the Mafiya or he owed them money. Maybe both. Either way, he’d seen things he shouldn’t have.

"What's it to you anyway? They aren't exactly here to bother you and your men.”

“You don’t think so?” Santiago said ironically. “Not tonight. But once you’re out of their way…”

He shrugged expressively. If not tonight, the Mafiya would be crawling up Santiago’s *ss another night. Cutting into his profits, killing his men. They swaggered in like they owned everything just because they had a couple good financial backers in Stalingrad or St. Petersburg or whatever-it-was-called these days. So they had cash. So they had numbers. Las Gardunas had been here first and they had better guns. Santiago wasn’t going to lie down and let the Russians invade his home.

“Those f*cking thugs have been grating on my nerves since they got here,” Santiago said. He shook his head. “But why am I telling you? You know better than I do.”

Nikolai reached to refill Santiago’s whisky. Santiago pinned Nikolai’s arm to the bar. The whisky bottle the Russian man held hit the ground with a crash. With one more fluid motion, Santiago pushed Nikolai’s sleeve back. He studied the Mafiya insignia burned there with a grim mouth and a nod.

“I thought so,” Santiago said softly. He looked up at Nikolai, meeting his gaze. He could feel the stares of his own men, who’d gone quiet and stopped their talk of revenge on the Mafiya. Because of his position at the bar, the angle of Nikolai’s arm, Santiago was almost certain no one saw anything. He released him. “Interesting…”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

“You don’t think so?” the man mused at his remark the Mafiya wasn't here to cause trouble for his group.=. “Not tonight. But once you’re out of their way…”

Nikolai sighed...once he was out of their way...Once he was out of there way they'd dig him a shallow grave somewhere and no one would even notice he was gone in the first place. Maksim might wonder where he went, but eventually figure he'd just gone back to Russia. He's be just another number on Ivan's hit list.

“Those f*cking thugs have been grating on my nerves since they got here,” the Spaniard was saying. From the look of things, the Mafiya had made a fairly bad decision messing with this guy's group. Nikolai hoped once he was gone, this guy might at least take them down. “But why am I telling you? You know better than I do.”

He gave curt nod and made to pour another drink for the man. Before he even realized what was happening, the man grabbed his arm, pinning to the bar as the whiskey bottle crashed to the floor. Fire flared in his eyes as the man jerked up the sleeve of his right arm, baring his own Mafiya tattoo. He seemed to eye it with interest.

“I thought so,” he said before letting go. Nikolai jerked his arm back, still glaring at he rolled the sleeve back down. “Interesting…”

"Look, I'm not one of them," he hissed. Slowly the other gang members went back to whatever they were doing before. "Not anymore. I left which is why they want me dead. The Mafiya doesn't exactly take too kindly to getting snubbed by people leaving. Either your in it for life or they kill you..." A bemused smile flickered to his lips. "Like you sad...why am I telling you? I'm sure you've got the same policy."

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

If looks could kill, Nikolai could have easily taken Ivan and his goons. He now glared at Santiago and rolled his sleeve back down to cover the Mafiya insignia. Once the physical contact was broken, Las Gardunas resumed their trash talking in Spanish. Juan Carlos eyed Santiago with glittering, dark eyes – curious, but quiet – and Santiago sneered his way and gave a little nod that said without words: Piss off. Santiago didn’t want to worry about his men right now. Instead, he was curious about this bartender, this Nikolai. When they’d first met, Santiago had his suspicions about him. That he was a cop, mostly. Clearly, Santiago had misread that one.

No wonder you’re a sh*t detective.

He leveled his gaze at Nikolai, unflinching under the heat. No point cowering before a guy who would be dead in a few hours’ time.

"Look, I'm not one of them," Nikolai hissed.

Santiago made a skeptical noise – more breath than sound – and rolled his shoulders. That’s what they all said. That’s what he’d say if someone found the Garduna insignia carved into his ankle. The leadership marks carved above that. I’m not one of them… Loyalty was illusory. Fickle. The only one you owed anything to was yourself. And that was fine; that was life.

"Not anymore,” said Nikolai in the same, quiet voice. “I left which is why they want me dead. The Mafiya doesn't exactly take too kindly to getting snubbed by people leaving. Either you’re in it for life or they kill you..." A bemused smile flickered to his lips. "Like you said...why am I telling you? I'm sure you've got the same policy."

Santiago chewed on the inside of his mouth, running his teeth and tongue over a scar that ran the length of the inside of his right cheek. No one had killed him when he ran. They came after him and dragged him back as if a day hadn’t gone by. Lorenzo once told him that he’d allowed Santiago the illusion of freedom because it was what Santiago had “needed” at the time. Santiago had thought it a strange thing to say. Not so strange anymore. He was a better man, a better leader because of those years he had as a free man. He’d networked, he’d built a reputation around Paris that provided alibis now. He’d also fallen in and out of love; relearned the value of a single, human life. It made him more judicious when it came to who he disposed of. A more mediated leader; more even keel than crazy Carmen, who liked to throw her weight around needlessly and more sensible than Andreas who would pick a fight with a floor lamp for looking at him cross-eyed.

He was a Garduna for life. They’d spared him once; he owed that to every single one of his men. Not because he owed them anything; he owed it to himself to be merciful.

The Mafiya was not as humane. Never had been, never would be. They had a reputation for ruthlessness. Brutality within their ranks. Santiago didn’t understand that. It was better to be feared than loved; it was best to be both.

“I’m not the Mafiya,” Santiago said. His voice was quiet, but firm. “But I know their policy. It’s a sh*t way to inspire brand loyalty.”

He offered Nikolai a tiny, half-smile.

“We’ve got a common enemy, Nikolai,” he continued. “Maybe it was a good thing my men and I were here tonight.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

“I’m not the Mafiya,” the man before him reminded him. “But I know their policy. It’s a sh*t way to inspire brand loyalty.”

Nikolai gave a bitter smirk but honestly he wasn't too sure about that. If people were scared of anything it was dying. The Mafiya had exploited that fear and in doing so assured the loyalty of all of their employees. If you didn't stick around then you were dead. It seemed like the perfect way to ensure that your employees stuck around. Hell, it had worked on him for several several years. But then he'd runs anyway. A part of him wondered if maybe he really did have some sort of death wish.

“We’ve got a common enemy, Nikolai,” the man said, smiling just a tiny bit. “Maybe it was a good thing my men and I were here tonight.”

Nikolai's brow furrowed in confusion. Was this guy saying that he and his gang were going to help him? The gang syndicates went by the 'no honor amongst thieves' philosophy. Unless you were a part of that gang you were on your own.They only looked out for their own. And honestly, Nikolai couldn't be sure he could really trust this guy. For all he knew he could be planning to kill him himself and get paid by the Mafiya. But somehow Nikolai didn't think this guy wanted to help the Mafiya in any sort of way.

"Are you...are you offering to help me," he asked in surprise. "Why would you want to? You know that if you do this the Mafiya is going to be even more of a pain in your as* than before, right?" Nikolai coaxed his head just a tad and gave a half shrug. "Not to say that I don't appreciate the offer! I can use all the help I can get right about now. But you'd be risking a lot and I don't even know your name." He looked at the man again, a bit more skeptically this time. "What's your price, anyway," he asked. Offers like this didn't come without some sort of payment.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

The cylinders in Santiago’s brain were clicking into place. He could feel the curious tension from his men – those that were listening to his exchange with Tarasova – but they trusted him enough to keep their criticisms to themselves for now. Santiago knew what he was doing. Or, at least, he hoped he did. He wanted the Mafiya scum off his turf – out of his city if possible – and this Tarasova might be the guy to help him get rid of them. Santiago had a whole slew of informants as a private eye. He could use a couple in his role as el jefe. His tongue massaged the scar inside his mouth. If Santiago played his cards wrong tonight, it wouldn’t be any skin off of his nose. The Russians could have Tarasova if the bartender refused Santiago now.

"Are you...are you offering to help me?" Tarasova asked. "Why would you want to? You know that if you do this the Mafiya is going to be even more of a pain in your as* than before, right?"

Santiago gave a small shrug. Not necessarily; not if they got rid of the Mafiya goons who had darkened Le Silencieux’s door tonight. Sure, the Mafiya might send more men. But chances were, Tarasova wasn’t worth that much to them. Few men were worth a whole hell of a lot to a large syndicate like the Mafiya. They wouldn’t waste able bodies and ready guns on one guy. Santiago wanted to send them a message: Get out of my neighborhood. Trouble was, he wasn’t used to the Mafiya. He’d dealt with the Italian Mob before; he’d seen dozens of street gangs. But this was a different animal. And like any other intrusive species, it had a chance to take over. Santiago wasn’t giving the Mafiya that satisfaction.

It was interesting, though, that Tarasova was so hesitant to take Santiago’s offer. Not unexpected, but interesting. Pride. A tricky thing.

"Not to say that I don't appreciate the offer! I can use all the help I can get right about now. But you'd be risking a lot and I don't even know your name." He looked at the man again, a bit more skeptically this time. "What's your price, anyway?”

“I want them off my streets. And if I took the Mafiya on without you, it could take me years to get rid of them. But with you… What I need from you is information. How they work; how to get in their heads… You ever hear of an informant? Think of it like that.”

Santiago gave a flickering, ironic little smile. He had informants already. Half of his own gang; shopkeepers and bartenders throughout the city, domestics. Eyes and ears who helped him on various private investigation gigs. He had drug dealers and addicts and prostitutes who did freelance work for the gang, too. But this wasn’t some run-of-the-mill proposal. Tarasova was Mafiya trained. Possibly dangerous, maybe a threat. But Santiago wasn’t too old to think that he couldn’t learn a couple new tricks from the kid. He could learn how to get in the Mafiya’s heads. How to tear them apart or at least get them to clear out.

“We protect you from them; you show me how to take them down. When we get rid of them, you and I go back to the normal bartender-barfly understanding we’ve had.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

This man, whose name he didn't even know and who he was certain hadn't known his name until a few minutes ago when Ivan shouted it out, was going to help him take on the Russian Mafiya? Nikolai had been taught numerous time to be wary of people who offered to help you. There were no free hand outs in this world and this man undoubtedly wanted something in exchange for the protection he and his men were offering. Nikolai was hesitant to ask what it was, afraid it would only seal the deal. Though he figured he'd already sold his soul when he joined the Mafiya...it couldn't really be much worse.

“I want them off my streets. And if I took the Mafiya on without you, it could take me years to get rid of them. But with you… What I need from you is information. How they work; how to get in their heads… You ever hear of an informant? Think of it like that.” the man explained his reasoning, giving a little smirk.

Nikolai frown and gave a sneer. Informants were weak, pathetic cowards who rolled over at even the possibility of something going bad and needed others to protect them. Not too long ago it had been his job to kill men like that who gave information to the opposing side. Now he was going to be one of them?! In this case though, beggars couldn't be choosers. If he had any hope of seeing tomorrow then he was just going to have swallow his pride and give this guy the information he was looking for.

“We protect you from them; you show me how to take them down. When we get rid of them, you and I go back to the normal bartender-barfly understanding we’ve had.” the man said.

Nikolai actually had to think on it for a long while. He wasn't stupid. He knew his options were either accept the offer or be killed. With a sigh he met the other man's gaze. "Fine. I can show you how to take them down. Obviously neither of us want them here," he said. "Mafiya is all about weapons but guys like Ivan...they don't have a clue how to fight without them." He certainly had...part of why he'd been the best hit man they had. Part of why he didn't think these run-ins would stop with Ivan. "But they don't keep them on them on them at all times...especially in foreign countries. They'll leave them in whatever hotel room they have. Find that out and take their weapons they'll be easy to take out."

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Once the proposal was out there, dangling in the air in front of Tarasova, Santiago could hear chattering among his men; snatches of sentences, single words. “es loco…” “Mierda!” All whispered, lest Santiago whirl around with his Smith & Wesson and open fire.

Not the whole Mafiya, you dumb sh*ts, he thought. The goons mucking up our streets.

There couldn’t have been that many, unless the Russians were trying to make a name for themselves in Paris. No more than ten, if Santiago had to hazard a guess. For all they knew, it was just Ivan and his two guys anyways. Santiago had the feeling that three against himself and Tarasova was hardly a fair fight for the Mafiya men, anyways.

He studied Tarasova. Of course, if the Mafiya just took him out quietly, maybe they would leave. It was a gamble, though. If you let them have one little victory, maybe they’d just get bolder, take over more of Le Peripherie until half the signs were written in Cyrillic letters. Either way, Santiago would end up dealing with them, fighting against them. Better to do it with Tarasova in tow than without.

But it took Tarasova so long to agree that Santiago wondered if this was such a good idea. No doubt the younger man was looking for a loophole, an out. A way to stab Santiago in the back for his generosity. So when Tarasova met Santiago’s gaze and said, “Fine.” Santiago figured he’d have to keep a close watch on Tarasova. Just in case.

“I can show you how to take them down. Obviously neither of us want them here," Tarasova continued. "Mafiya is all about weapons but guys like Ivan...they don't have a clue how to fight without them. But they don't keep them on them on them at all times...especially in foreign countries. They'll leave them in whatever hotel room they have. Find that out and take their weapons they'll be easy to take out."

“That better not be all you’ve got, chico,” Santiago said after a moment’s thought. He’d definitely make use of the information. It was definitely interesting; since at least half of Santiago's men were the children of boxers. Even Carmen, who was a whiz with weapons, was a feisty fighter with her fists. “In case you didn’t guess, I don’t speak Russian. So any espionage my men or I do is useless without a translator.”

He looked pointedly at Tarasova. It wasn’t that simple of a deal: brainstorm with me and you get to live. Santiago could bounce ideas off of any number of people. He needed specifics. Tarasova surely understood that.

“It’ll do for now, though,” Santiago said. “At closing time, some of my men will see you home. I’ll even go, make sure none of them pull anything they shouldn’t.”

Santiago turned to his men and did a quick head count, a sobriety check. Then he said, "Juan Carlos, Marcos, and I will walk with you."

Juan Carlos was short and well muscled with dark, observant eyes. Marcos the tallest in the bunch with a shaved head and a Baretta that didn't often miss its mark. Santiago nodded to each of the men in turn.

"I'm Santiago, by the way," he said, looking back at Tarasova. "Don't think we were properly introduced."

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Nikolai wasn't stupid. He knew that at this point, he had something this guy needed. He had information that he was looking for and could use. He wasn't about to just give it all up right away though. As long as he remained useful, this man had reason for trying to help him stay alive. Once he ran out of information, there was no guarantee that he wasn't going to just shove him into the Mafiya's waiting arms. There was more to taking down the Mafiya and he knew the other man knew it; was counting on it really. He needed it to be understood there was more he could offer and was still needed.

“That better not be all you’ve got, chico,” he warned though the information was solid enough. Nikolai grinned and raised a brow. It was a risk that this guy wouldn't just shoot him himself and be done with it, but one he had to take. “At closing time, some of my men will see you home. I’ll even go, make sure none of them pull anything they shouldn’t.” Somehow that didn't exactly make Nikolai feel any better about the situation. "Juan Carlos, Marcos, and I will walk with you."

At first he couldn't help but resent the fact that he was having to be walked home like some child and he bit his tongue to keep from a scathing retort. It helped when Nikolai glanced over at the two men the man nodded at who were looking at him with expressions that were a mixture of suspicion and wanting to kill him. He just really hoped that this guy kept his word that they weren't going to going to 'pull anything they shouldn't'...like their guns.

"I'm Santiago, by the way," he introduced himself suddenly. Santiago, huh? "Don't think we were properly introduced."

A wry grin flickered to his face. "To be fair we got kind of distracted," he said jokingly. "But in any case, I think you just became my new best friend." His words were sarcastic and biting and slightly resigned. "Drink on the house?"

OOC: END SCENE