Prep Work

The sun rises over the Mississippi River and glints off the fencing and razor wire that lines its eastern banks as far as the eye can see. The summer heat is already peeling away any semblance of a chill from the night before and you wake to a hot, muggy morning in New Graceland, an enclave that rose from the ashes of West Memphis, Arkansas after the Crash. Situated close to the river, it was an ideal staging point for wave after wave of the Lost who desperately gave their lives for a shot at making it in to the Recession. Ideal, of course, for the Peanut Butter King, the eccentric leader of New Graceland with a penchant for Elvis impersonation and a seemingly preternatural ability to spot and exploit a business opportunity at just the right time.

You're not sure why any of that comes to mind this morning. That was just over 5 years ago and things have long since settled in to the new normal. Scratch a living doing menial tasks, show some aptitude in mechanics and score an apprenticeship in PB King's employ, or become a Taker and maybe land enough big scores to buy your way out. Mr JOLS is always right around the corner as long as you have the balls and the skill to grab him. Then again, you're just as likely to get your leg bit off the next time you set foot outside of New Graceland and retire as a Casualty. Some would say much more likely...Takers call them assholes.

The truth is that the real threat to your survival is the almighty dollar.....Well, Bounty now.... Slow down, lose that fire, profits go down and all of a sudden you and what loved ones you have left are starving and dying. That inescapable economic fact is what finally gets you out of bed. You've caught your breath from your last outing and it's time to bring home some more bacon.

Liam woke this morning the same way as every morning. To the aggressive purring and incessant tapping of Feynman demanding breakfast. Before his eyes had opened he was reaching for his soft glasses. He didn't really need them to see but he dealt naked without them. Discord was already open and he switched himself from away to online.

Skimming the unread messages as he threw the kettle onto the stove and some food into the cats bowl he quickly caught up with the conversations. Nothing interesting.

Only a few gulps into his coffe a DM came through.

50meGuy: Hey Asshole! Get your stupid face down to the hole. Got smthing u mit wana hear.

He didn't respond. Pete knew he couldn't afford to not turn up. He 'dressed' in so much that he buttoned the shirt he had been sleeping in, threw on his belt, shoes and tie and headed down to New Gracelands pub.

Loan shark isn't a big man, about 5'6" with long lanky limbs, his brown hair much the same. His old weathered business attite sports a few blood stains, mostly his own. But his sharp brown eyes are like a hunters always looking for prey.

Entering the bar he spots Pete, his hairy thick with grease (everyone calls him greasy Pete) and clothes hanging loose, suggesting he was once a larger fellow.

What have you found for me now Greasy?

Greasy Pete stands at the bar. He's wiping down the counters and cleaning glasses. He looks a lot more like he's been here all night rather than making an early start of it. Well, he kinda always looks like that. That usual stale beer smell permeates the air.

A couple of patrons are still here having passed out while holding their chosen poison from the night before.

He's speaking to someone over his Ubiq specs. Yeah, yeah, girl there's lots of reasons they call me that. It works on a lot of levels...., He looks up at you and gives you a nod. oh hey, let me hit you back in a bit. I'll be done here soon. Why don't you get started without me and I'll catch up? He smiles broadly as he walks up to you and lifts his glasses to the top of his head.

You're such a bitch for that Bounty, Loan Shark. I knew you'd come runnin. Listen, something went down last night. I had a bunch of PB King's guys hanging out and tipping well. All of a sudden, a messenger swings by and like 10 of them just up and leave. Left their tabs open and everything, shit... I bet you something unexpected and urgent is going down. Poke around a bit. I bet you PB King's already got a job lined up to take care of whatever it is.

Will do thanks for the lead. Heading out of the bar Loan Shark goes to tells his fellow takers the good news.

Don't forget to spend some of that Bounty at the pub! Greasy Pete yells as you head out the door.

Deuce sees you and grabs a shop towel as he walks over while wiping his hands. Ham-Bone! How's it hanging, man? He smiles broadly and gives Ham Bone a big hand shake. It seems the shop towel did more harm than good as Ham Bone's hand is now covered in grease. He looks at the hand and laughs, Oh... Sorry, man. Occupational hazard.

He leans in a bit and whispers, You know ol' PB King likes to keep contracting fair, but I can tell you what I know. Looks like our last trade shipment out to Bacon's Scrap Sanctuary hasn't come back or checked in. At this point, we're thinking the worst. The question is what hit it and when. We've been trading for a while so none of us are thinking that Bacon tried to pull a fast one. Could've just been C's or maybe some crew out there took them out. I'm sure there's plenty of valuable stuff in that shipment, but if it was just Casualties, he might need you to get it back. Not sure why he wouldn't send his own guys though...That's about all That's filtered down to the shop though. Hope that helps, man. Gotta get back to this fuel line before Ace starts giving me shit. Be careful out there.

After hearing about the potential job, Run decides it's time to get to work. Donning his helmet that covers most of his face and his gloves, bat slung over his shoulder, he steps out of his trailer.
As he no longer has his Red Sox shirts, he wears old sports jerseys and a torn leather jacket. Run is a big guy, well over 6 feet and bulky with it, but quick. He now sports a thick beard and resembles a biker from the old days, He know's he's the muscle of any group and he's no master negotiator like other's in the crew, instead a gentle threat goes a long way and failing that, a gentle tap with the bat.

He heads out to ruffle a few feathers and find out who the competition is for this job.

The pawn shop is busy today. Assuming they haven't been blacklisted for lack of work or some kind of crime, the majority of New Graceland's citizens receive their weekly stipends today. A lot of traffic means a lot of information to someone like RifRaf. He's blacklisted more often than not so he makes his way scavenging and begging (and occasionally stealing) from folks at the pawn shop, but he also has a knack for hearing all the right information.

Run spots the lout hanging around the back of the store trying to light a crooked cigarette with one of the lighters from the display case.

Pulling his bat, he rattles it along the rusted metal fence as he strides towards Leo.

"What's happenin' RifRaf? I hear PB's looking for a crew to find his shipment that went missing on the way to Bacon's. Don't suppose you know who might be in the running for the job?" he rests the bat casually on his shoulder, gripping with both hands in an entirely non-threatening manner.

Hearing the familiar sound of the bat, his shoulders flex up to his ears and he turns with his eyes wide and his hands in a defensive position. The cigarette falls out of his mouth and he does his best to smile, Come on, Run. Ya caught me on a smoke break, man. Scared the shit outta me. He angrily scoops the cigarette off the ground and blows off he dirt.

Run stares at him silently. He starts to sweat as his eyes move back and forth between Run's eyes and the bat until he breaks the awkward silence. Alright, alright, man, damn. I don't know much about what's going on, but I do know PB King is keeping his guys away from it. Over heard the West Memphis 3 bragging about how they were going to show PB King how shit like this gets handled. You know how they are...Those boys are crazy, but they're also cheap and surprisingly effective. I don't know how those idiots are still alive... Running around the Loss with clubs and knives and shit, no family or anything to take care of and keep them human.

"Shit, them cheapskates. We'll have to bid low and I hate bidding low. Thanks RifRaf, and you should quit smoking, those things'll kill ya!" He walks off, humming an old tune that's been stuck in his head all day, and returns to report his findings.

Claire took her mornings slow. The redhead half fixed her messy braid, then put on her father's baseball cap. The girl was never seen without it on. Staying as far away from New Graceland's core, she normally takes her big Old Victorian bulldog for some early morning scavenging. Teddy loves going about sniffing everything he can find, he's not a particularly good at finding specific things, but man can he find food... Or at least when they come across a few scraps. After relacing her boots, the two headed to meet the crew after their morning walk.

The crew was fairly efficient. Ham and her have been working together for a while now and the newer two have proven themselves quite useful. A good talker and an attractive brute. Claire recognized the ball player the first time they met. She never told him, though her old Red Sox hat might give it away. She didn't want to flaunt his identity even if she thought about it often.

The group came through again and found some leads. The job seemed off, but she wasn't sure yet. The rough gang of three were going to snag the job, known under cutters. Claire wanted to mess with the three, hopefully discourage them from taking this job.

Grace first wanted to find out how much the job was paying, so she set off to get some information.