Haha this loser forgot to log off my computer—
time to reblog dicksGet off my shit, u fuck
The Capo had hired a woman to pick up the Broker from the airport with promises of drinks and food to make up for his trouble in getting here. He also expected the woman to flirt with him but that was a detail he could leave out. He stressed that this duty was important, since he’d rather not deal with a grouchy and snarky potential associate. Comfort was key here. When he had received the message that King was being transported from O’Hare and it’d take an hour or so to reach Tony’s with the traffic they faced, Gio decidedly chose that time to get ready and gather the right men for this job. (Hopefully the man could get some extra shuteye in the car ride and wake up fabulous and ready.) “Abel, you’re with me,” he waved the goomba over and he receive a nod in response. But he paused before he addressed the other two men who’d be accompanying him and gave his brother a hard look. “Don’t talk shit, don’t give him the eye, don’t make him uncomfortable. We need him to be on our side, alright?”
Abel scowled, but nodded nonetheless. The Don rolled his eyes since he already knew that the oriental already disliked this new guy. He called Tony and asked for him to set up a generous feast for an honored guest. Quentin had warned him against getting liquor for this little get together because King had been an alcoholic. So maybe he’d just give him grape juice while he drank a bottle of wine all by himself. He was already laughing at the thought.
Half an hour later, in a freshly tailored suit and expensive accessories donning his wrists and neck, he was already on his way to the popular Italian restaurant in the heart of the city. He made sure to arrive before the featherbed car so he could overlook the meticulous arrangements he made. He was oddly finicky over the whole situation, acting the Borgata equivalent of a bridezilla. Eventually he found himself seated in his favorite table, sipping a tall glass of fine wine and waiting for King to make his grand entrance.
The first thing he sees after removing his person from the airlines are two sets of monstrous teeth, shining harshly against the growing evening light. He questions for a brief moment if god exists are he looks into the living death trap that is her mouth.
She gives him a toothy smile, his life flashes before his eyes.
Without much talking on his part, jetlag and lack of sleep nearly overwhelming as it blackened his senses. The ride wasn’t long, though he was already familiar with Chicago’s tendency to be overbearing with the traffic. She talks once in a while, and King responds with curt nods and fleeting small smiles until they reach the restaurant. Immediately, he realizes he is horribly underdressed.
She takes him in, her fancy dress becoming more obvious now that he’s paying attention, as he moves slowly with old jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. He gives himself a quick sniff and nods in approval. He’s okay. He reaches the top of his head only to notice the lack of hat. He groans under his breath, weeding through tables and trying to flatten his bed head. The table assaults blue eyes and King gives a smooth smile, business experience something he hardly lacks in and takes a seat on the other side of the table. He leans back, takes a good look at the boss and folds his hands in mock politeness.
“What can I do for you, my good man?”
Quentin had called Gio to let him know that he wouldn’t be working for an indefinite amount of time, but he referred him to a rather promising contact that he had. He went under the alias of King and to his surprise, he was his trusted broker’s half brother. What an off piece of information to be left out. He eyed the piece of paper warily, staring at the foreign numbers before he could think of what to do. “Yo Abel,” he called out finally. His friend had perked his head up and looked at the Capo questioningly. “Call this number, see if it’s legit, and schedule a meeting with him and Tony’s. Let him know it’s by Quentin’s word.”
“You got it, Boss,” Abel saluted customarily and started dialing. Giovanni was already planning on his outfit and what men he’d take with him for protection. Not that he was necessarily afraid King would try something, but he just couldn’t take the chance. He was ready for business and hopefully, a new associate he could trust in this business.
The call is unexpected, especially the fact that when King wakes to his cell phone blaring the hip tunes of one Beyoncé, it’s two in the fucking morning. A grunt escapes his lips, chapped and harsh when he closes them to whine. The noise, luckily, doesn’t wake Nicki up, the larger man allowing him to room with him just a bit longer. The noise is catchy though, and despite his nearly dead state, he finds himself singing along softly about single ladies and rings. He answers a moment later to the curse words of something that sounds a lot like English.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Amigo, slow down. You’re killing me here.” All he gets is a grunt in response and a sharp order to arrive in Chicago by this evening, a flight has been booked, to meet one Giovanni Bernardo the III. The line goes dead before King can even find it in himself to reply. Groaning once again, the tall man gets up, drags his feet to the bathroom. The taste of toothpaste tickles his tongue as he stares in the mirror. Things haven’t been falling together recently, work has gotten a bit difficult with the cartel riding on his trail. He’s been lucky enough to have the protection of a big city and anonymous status. He leaves the restroom, grabbing a preset duffle bag that rests under the sink. He leaves the giant a quick note, after shoving on a pair of jeans, that he’ll be gone for a bit, some business to take care of. It’s cold in New York around this time, the wind is brisk and harsh against his face, makes him burn even when he’s so cold.
He lights a smoke, the walk to the bus stop a silent one. He’s heard about the Bernardo family, heard about their dealings and huge success. He was never one to delve in the mafia, not interested in the way they work, too much family not enough soldiers. Yet, here he was, being summoned by one of the great families of this time. The smoke is finished when the bus arrives, and the first step on, he realizes how nervous he’s become.