Negotiations

Claire wanted to be useful to the group while they secured the job. She patted Teddy on the back and headed off to scout out the West Memphis 3. The three have been in and out of bars, not really having a home. Those rough brutes don't deserve home, in her opinion. The dog stayed behind at the van while Claire went to the bar.

Drinking wasn't a common pass time for her, though she does enjoy a cool light beer while watching the game. There were no more games, maybe reruns are out there. Claire waited for some time, quietly and to herself. It took some time, but the WM3 eventually showed up. They were hard to miss, making a scene and drinking like rednecks. She noticed the three's arrogance didn't particularly get along with the others, PB King's guys specifically.

As the men drank more, the became less aware. Claire used this as an opportunity to stealthily sneak over while asking for another Miller Light. She saw that one of the three had left his knife on the bar's counter top. Using slight of hand, the knife was swipe fairly easy and dropping it at a PB King's crew's table was easy with the distracting three around. Not wanting to stick around, she left her beer and hoped things would play out favourably for her own crew.

The boys from the West Memphis 3 laugh and carouse. Drinking and harassing some of the other patrons. Most of their antics are tolerated because they bring in a fair amount of Bounty and most folks just generally avoid Takers with reputations like that.

Unfortunately, the WM3 has mistaken this avoidance and permissiveness for entitlement and dominance. What the fuck?! Where the fuck is Miriam?! The youngest of the group, Runt, flips over the table and sends bottles careening around the room.

Son, I'm going to need you to take it down a notch. Maybe, I can give you a hand. Who is Miriam? A calm, yet grizzled voice pierces the building tension. A scruffy man well into his 50s stands from his table. His leather duster sways with his steps as he approaches the boy. In one smooth motion, he brushes open the coat to reveal his Desert Eagle, clicks open the holster and rests his wrist on the grip.

Son? Son!? Fuck you, Old Fart! I want my knif.... Runt's outburst is cut short as the old man deftly draws his gun and pistol whips the boy. With one well-placed strike, the boy slumps to the ground unconscious.

Much better... Now can I help the rest of you boys find Miriam or do you two also have something clever to say?

A cheeky smirk crosses Loan's face I happen to know that outside of your own men, my network is the only crew that will be available over the next few weeks. As I said, I respect you and New Graceland, so I don't want to rack you over the coals. But you know what they say, good services aren't cheap. I'll bring the pickers and some muscle and we can get the shipment back. I'll even go try and talk to Bacon if it will ease your nerves.

PB King raises his hands in a mock defensive position. I agree, man. Still y'all can't squeeze blood from a turnip. Takes a lot to keep this place hummin' and there's a lot of mouths to feed. Depending on what's going on out there, we may be in for some lean times ahead.

He rubs his chin in thought, his pinky (and ostentatious ring) extended. A thought visibly crosses his mind and he snaps his fingers and points at Shark. You strike me as a tight knit crew. Lookin' out for each other and such. I may not be able to offer much more, but I've been saving one of these for a rainy day. Probably do you more good than me.

He unlocks a drawer in his desk and pulls out a small plastic case. He snaps it open and turns it to reveal a syringe of Supressin-K7864, the Blight vaccine.Sway Tracker
-----|____ Status ____|-----
-----|___ Expenses ___|-----
-----|_ 100% Mark-Up _|-----
RED|___ Hazard Pay __|-----
-----|_____ Labor ____|BLACK
-----|____ At Value ___|-----
-----|_ Buyer's Market _|-----
-----|___ As a Favor __|-----

"Of course, Mr King, hiring us you get the baddest crew not only in this city but the state. See this bat here? Holds the record for the furthest hit in baseball history. Of course, they stopped recording records not long after I hit that one out the park. Now imagine what it could do to those Hound Dogs that took your shipment."

Please, Mr. King was my daddy. PB King stands up and walks over to Run. He puts his arm over his shoulders and leans in. I didn't want to say nothin' but, since you brung it up, I was watchin that game. I grew up a Cards fan and you single-handedly beat us that day. Still, you knocked the stuffing out of that thing.