Hôtel Roche

[The Exodus]

Savvy tourists avoid the Hôtel Roche, despite its low, by the hour rates. Savvy locals know that the hotel-- for all its dilapidation-- is the best place to go if you don't want any questions asked. There is a bare-bones bar on the first level that smells faintly of mold. The rooms, with their hard beds and poor lighting, feature views of tenement walls. Still, the out-of-the-way nature of Hôtel Roche makes it perversely attractive to some...

[The Exodus]

OOC: Nikolai and Santiago! BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

Conducting a stakeout outside the Hotel Roche was probably the most stereotypically private eye thing Santiago had done since obtaining his PI license. He’d bought the car – a nondescript, black sedan – with Garduna money and he hated driving the damn thing. It had tinted windows and lumbar support in the seats, but nothing could ever compare to flying down the street on a motorcycle. Santiago hated cars. But there was something inherently less conspicuous about a guy waiting in a car than a guy waiting on a motorcycle for hours at a time.

And the car was much, much more accommodating when Santiago had company.

After all, this particular case had little to do with Ortiz Detective Agency. Instead, Santiago and Nikolai Tarasova were watching the comings and goings of those staying at the hotel, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ivan and his men – the Mafiya b*stards who’d been giving them both hell these last few weeks. They had to figure out just what the Mafiya was doing in Paris and – more importantly – where they were keeping their weapons. Santiago looked over at Tarasova. He was as good an ally as any Santiago had ever had, but Santiago never fully trusted anyone. Not even another gangster.

Especially not another gangster.

“You smoke?” Santiago asked, plucking his lighter and a carton of cigarettes up from the cup-holder. “It’s gonna be a long night if you don’t.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Sitting here in this car with a gangster went against just about every instinct of self preservation Nikolai had. And yet at the same, he was realizing that this was really the only decent chance he had at surviving this situation. In the end the slim chance of surviving he had with the help of this gangster still beat the no chance at all that he had on his own. He'd agreed to supply information for Santiago and his crew about the Mafiya if they agreed to help him out in keeping them off his back and keeping him alive. And thus had begun a relatively easy alliance between the two of them...at least, easy so far.

They were parked outside of the motel they had managed to track Ivan to. The other Russian had yet show his face that night and they'd already been out here for going on two hours. Stakeouts were all about patience and waiting he supposed. It was just a matter of time until they found what they were looking for. Ivan couldn't stay in that roach and flea infested motel room forever.

Santiago reached for his pack of cigarettes sitting in the cup holder between them. “You smoke?” he asked. “It’s gonna be a long night if you don’t.” '

Nikolai chuckled and shook his head. It was going to be a long night regardless. They both knew that. Cigarettes might take the edge off a little but they weren't going to do much good. But he didn't smoke. He'd tried a long time ago but just found it disgusting. Though he certainly could do with a bottle of vodka right about now.

Nikolai shook his head and sighed.

"I don't smoke," he said with a wry grin. "But I work at a bar, chelovek. It's hardly going to bother me if you do." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand and turned his attention back to the street. There was still no sign of Ivan but apparently their loitering had caught the attention of a local beat cop unlucky enough to work this end of town. Nikolai spat a Russian curse, running fingers through his hair. He didn't particularly relish the idea of being extradited back to Russia either. Life sentence to Black Dolphin was most certainly what awaited him.

"Cop is coming this this way," he muttered to Santiago, nodding in the direction of the burly uniformed officer making his way over.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Tarasova laughed. It wasn’t entirely mirthless, but there was a certain lack of humor to it. Santiago knew that laugh; without knowing Tarasova well, he knew it. He offered a thin half-smile in return. It would be a long night, whether they smoked it away or not.

"I don't smoke," Tarasova said, grinning. "But I work at a bar, chelovek. It's hardly going to bother me if you do."

Santiago didn’t need to be told twice. He cracked the driver’s side window and lit his cigarette. The tip of the Marlboro glowed orange for a moment, but dulled to a color just a few shades more vibrant than ash in the nippy night air. Santiago took his first drag from it and shut his eyes for a moment. The smoke filled his lungs and when Santiago exhaled, his nose and his mouth tasted like a barbeque pit.

This was actually a pretty typical stakeout, all things considered. You sat for a few hours on some ill-lit street corner, hoping for a window of opportunity. It’d be a few seconds long and could come at any time. The only difference between this stakeout and the others Santiago had conducted was that this wasn’t official business, strictly speaking. That and – of course – Tarasova being here. But if the Russian had no complaints about Santiago lighting up, if he could keep quiet, Santiago had no complaints about him being here. Tarasova was useful. He could translate for Santiago, provide fresh perspective.

But Tarasova wasn’t keeping quiet. He spat a word out with such ferocity that Santiago didn’t need a translator to know the other man was swearing. He opened his eyes to see a uniformed officer walking towards the car.

"Cop is coming this this way," Tarasova said.

“Relax,” Santiago said. Then, wryly, “It’s not like you’re a criminal.”

He rolled down his window all the way when the officer tapped on the glass.

“Problem, officer?”

“Identification,” the officer said. “This is an “authorized personnel only” parking zone.”

Santiago reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. From there, he procured his driver’s license and private investigator’s license. The officer shone his flashlight on them both, checking for authenticity. He was quickly satisfied.

“Authorization enough for you?” Santiago asked. A smirk flickered onto Santiago’s features. Vindication. Catalina had done some sort of magic to get him that code orange license. In the eyes of the law, Santiago was a private investigator for life.

The officer grunted and handed the licenses back to Santiago, who put everything away. Then the officer looked at Nikolai and said, “What about him? Does he have a detective’s license too, Monsieur Ortiz?”

“He’s working on it,” Santiago said. Then, taking on the tone of a stern parent or teacher, he added, “Aren’t you, Nikolai?”

He looked over at the officer and gave him a look that said, Interns, am I right? and hoped it was convincing enough. The license was authentic enough; maybe Santiago could pretend he was, too.

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Nikolai had been in prison before. He'd even been questioned about the 'murders' of some of the men he'd killed while working for the Mafiya. Of course then, the Mafiya had always managed to throw money or threats around enough that it went away without any problem. But if he got sent back to Russia now, the Mafiya wasn't going to be on his side anymore. They'd just let the law take care of him. It was thoughts of walking everywhere bent over with your hands behind your back and vicious guard dog trailing you; of living the remainder of his life behind three locked doors that assailed him as the cop approached. It was enough to worry any man in his right mind.

But apparently Santiago didn't think there was much to be worried about. “Relax,” he said casually. “It’s not like you’re a criminal.”

A bitter and sarcastic sort of grin pulled at his lips but he somehow found the other man's laid back attitude oddly comforting. He obviously had cards left to play and hopefully they would be enough to get them out of this situation.

Santiago rolled the window for the cop and Nikolai let him handle it preferring to stay out of it as much as possible. “Problem, officer?” the other man said.

“Identification,” the officer said. “This is an “authorized personnel only” parking zone.”

“Authorization enough for you?” Santiago asked.

Nikolai watched Santiago pull out what was apparently some kind of identification and handed it over. The officer scrutinized it for a moment before handing it back. “What about him? Does he have a detective’s license too, Monsieur Ortiz?” he asked, motioning to him.

Detective? There was just the briefest glance towards the other man before he spoke. “He’s working on it,” Santiago assured the officer. “Aren’t you, Nikolai?”

"Yeah." Nikolai said, nodding in agreement. "Thought I'd gt out and learn the ropes a bit. Santiago has been a big help." He gave a warm smile to the officer, looking every part the rookie.

"Yeah...well...just hurry it along. Not a good neighborhood for training rookies." he said as he turned to leave.

Nikolai fought the urge to laugh at the man's statement. Not only did he live in this part of town, he'd spent much of his life in an area much like this. He'd been the one making the area be considered 'not a good neighborhood'. The officer didn't really know that though.

Still he cast a vaguely amused glance towards Santiago. "Detective, huh?" he murmured. "Your guys steal that for you or are you just leading a double life?"

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Tarasova was either a damn good liar or that cop was a moron. Santiago didn’t care which was true as the officer walked off and Santiago rolled up his window. A long time ago – in another life, one of several Santiago had led in the last few years alone – his partner in crime had been an actress. His mind flitted there for a moment, to checking into a hotel much like this one with her in tow after killing a man. Thank God he didn’t have to make out with Tarasova to carry on without suspicion.

Santiago left the window opened a hair to let the smoke from his cigarette out.

"Detective, huh?" Tarasova asked quietly. "Your guys steal that for you or are you just leading a double life?"

“My secret,” Santiago said coolly. Although, truthfully, he wondered the same thing a lot of the time. “Just be happy I came prepared for nosy cops.”

He looked out at the mostly empty street. A couple of men were drunkenly staggering around on the other side of the street. Through the cracked window, Santiago could hear the sounds of either a scuffle or a back-alley rendezvous around the corner: the distinct sound of a body slamming up against a wall and some angry streams of words that could mean almost anything. The streetlight above them flickered, as if the bulb inside was dying.

No Mafiya men. Not yet.

It was going to be a long night. Santiago checked to make sure the engine wasn’t running on the car. Then he stamped out his cigarette in the back cup holder, which was doubling as an ashtray for the time being.

“Could be hours before they show up,” he told Nikolai as he rolled up the window. “In the glove compartment, there’s a camera. Get that out, just in case it’s not.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Ever since Santiago had pulled out the detective license Nikolai had been a little wary. There was a cognitive dissonance created by the idea of a gang leader being a detective. He wondered briefly if he'd had his guys steal the license for him for purposes such as this, but there was something that made him believe that Santiago really was a detective. This called into question if the guys in his gang actually knew about this little split identity. If they didn't, what exactly did that mean for him?

“My secret,” Santiago confirmed. “Just be happy I came prepared for nosy cops.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow as if to say "You really expected that to happen?"[/i] But he said nothing. He'd guessed right earlier when assumed Santiago still had cards to play. He was just grateful the other man had dealt him in as well instead of leaving him to his own devices.

Quiet filled the cab again. It wasn't awkward or comfortable, just the kind of quiet that existed between two guys that didn't necessarily talk very much. The sounds of the streets drifted in through the crack at the top of the window. Nikolai's eyes narrowed as he caught the sounds of a fight accompanied by what sounded like Russian.

“Could be hours before they show up,” Santiago said, rolling up the window. “In the glove compartment, there’s a camera. Get that out, just in case it’s not.”

"Roll it back down," he said in a tight voice, gazing into the darkness in the direction the shouting had come from. "That shouting was in Russian. Something about the guns."

As Santiago rolled the window down again, Nikolai reached into the glove compartment and handed him the camera he'd requested. Not all Russians in Paris were the Mafiya, but the longer Nikolai listened, the more the shouting sounded like Ivan.

"Ivan is really pissed off," he muttered quietly, listening as the sounds of a beating started up again. "Sounds like their weapons supplier isn't following through on the job...they are trying to get more guns in, but this guy can't get them in in the time he'd promised. This could be good for us."

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

"Roll it back down," Tarasova said tersely. He meant the window and Santiago raised an eyebrow at him. No one gave Santiago Ortiz -- El Jefe – orders anymore. "That shouting was in Russian. Something about the guns."

Santiago did what Tarasova said, pocketing his pride for a moment. No one was around to see “El Jefe” get bossed around by an ex-Mafiya man. Besides, Tarasova pulled out Santiago’s camera for him. This was a partnership of sorts. Temporary. No one had to know. It was more important that they get to the bottom of this Mafiya infestation.

Santiago toggled the camera, turning it on.

"Ivan is really pissed off," Tarasova murmured. The sounds of a body smacking against a wall started up again. Now that Santiago knew what he was listening for, he could tell that those bones hitting the bricks weren’t doing so willingly. "Sounds like their weapons supplier isn't following through on the job...they are trying to get more guns in, but this guy can't get them in in the time he'd promised. This could be good for us."

A flickering smirk touched Santiago’s lips. Tonight was just their lucky night. There was one more thump from the alleyway and then Santiago saw Ivan’s hulking figure emerge onto the street. He rolled up the window and began snapping pictures. They’d be dark; easy enough to enhance. Carmen knew some computer sh*t. Maybe she’d do it or show Santiago how to lighten any of the images he got enough to make them useful. As Ivan and his men crossed the street, Santiago froze. Realization seeped into his bones, making him stiff.

“Mierda,” he muttered. “They’re headed this way.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Nikolai was grateful that Santiago just rolled the window down again without much argument. He noted the briefest hesitation but the window still went down. At least Santiago seemed to realize that he couldn't afford to let pride get in the way. Nikolai had to respect him for that. He'd certainly seen many a men brought down by their own need to hold onto their power. It made Santiago better than them that he knew when to heed the advice of others.

Santiago took pictures as Ivan and his gang rounded the corner. Niko still strained to hear any more of the conversation, hoping to pick up where they might have stored the weapons they already had. He could make the faint Russian.

"...oruzhiye...seyf...avtopansionat..." Ivan was muttering to the other men.

Guns...safe...motel. They were hiding the guns in a safe at their motel room. It would just be a matter of of them sneaking into the room at a later time and destroying/stealing the weapons. Nikolai was feeling more confident that he had since the moment Ivan had walked into the bar.

"Mierda!" Saniago swore under his breath...at least Nikolai thought it was a swear. It sounded harsh enough. “They’re headed this way.”

Nikolai glanced up and saw he was right. Ivan and the others were heading his way and if they didn't act quick, they were going to get discovered. He felt his jaw clench tightly for a moment before finally finding the voice to speak.

"Go. Drive," he told him. "As long as your slow about it, I don't think they'll notice."

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Fight or flight instinct was kicking in. Santiago was only alive today because he had good instinct. Even as Tarasova was saying, "Go. Drive," Santiago was shifting gears.

"As long as your slow about it, I don't think they'll notice,” Tarasova said.

The wheels crunched a little on the graveled streets, so loud Santiago was sure Ivan and his men could hear. But they didn’t look over. Not even once. They continued to talk amongst themselves. They didn’t look over as the black sedan rolled down the street. But it wasn’t until Santiago and Tarasova were more than a mile away that Santiago felt relaxed. He looked over at Tarasova and smiled. It was a small, careful half-smile. Adrenaline in his veins, unlike any he’d felt in a very long time, left him exhilarated. The sky was inky-dark and ahead, Paris glowed golden and inviting. But until he was in the detective agency, Santiago would not feel at ease.

“We’ll talk at my office,” Santiago said. “You have some translating to do and I’ve got to get these images to my flash drive.”

OOC: Fin. BIC: