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It's honestly a bit early in the day to be visiting a club like the Black Cat, though at least it isn't 'before noon'-early like it was the last time David blew through. Still. Mid-afternoon means that while the club is populated, it's sparse.
Suits David fine. Fewer faces means that he'll have an easier time picking Sinjin out of the crowd, as he highly doubts the young man would be able to recognize him now that he's looking mildly human. He ducks inside with — no apologies to his friends — a clean suit, simple black today, and a slender briefcase in-hand.
*
Sinjin is hard to miss. He's dressed as though he did it in the dark at the back of a cheap stage show closet. Long purple silk jacket, quilted and embroidered with garish peacocks, open black shirt, black velvet trousers, and black slippers also embroidered with purple and gold. His half-heartedly-brushed hair is held back with a pair of tortoise-shell sunglasses, he's smoking a cigarette and reading the paper as he shuffles in the door to the club. If it weren't for the bag slung over his shoulder, one might wonder if he wasn't lost on the way to his own living room.
"Tea," he says in the direction of the bar. "And don't give me that look." The bartender gives him that look anyway. Sinjin doesn't look up from the paper but he does flip the bartender off with the hand holding his cigarette.
*
"Make that two." Heedless of any looks from the poor bartender, David helps himself to the stool next to Sinjin's. No buffer stool today; he's fairly sure that he won't be offended. He balances the briefcase in his lap and offers Sinjin a slightly lopsided smile, raising both eyebrows. "Well. Good afternoon."
*
"Is it afternoon?" Sinjin looks slightly panicked. "How…afternoon?" He checks the watch he doesn't have, glances around until he finds the clock. "Oh, not afternoon-afternoon." Thank goodness.
Sinjin does a double-take when he matches David's face to the voice he remembers. "Well, you clean up well," he says warmly. He leans back a little to look David over from head to toe. "Someone did you some good."
*
David actually looks slightly flustered — not by the compliment itself, but with growing appreciation for how bad he must have looked before. "Ah. Thank you. This is… a bit more normal for me," he notes, quietly clearing his throat. "I just needed to be reminded how to do it."
*
"I'm taking notes. In case you ever need a consult again," Sinjin says, winking at David. This is Sinjin's territory, David's just going to have to suffer through. "I take it you're not here for the company, though." Realism. Always realism. "Wasn't sure I'd see you again but…I had a feeling. Didn't think it'd be so soon."
*
"Neither did I, to tell you the truth," David admits, glancing away long enough to smile at the bartender when tea shows up. At least he's doing a remarkably good job of enduring. "But if that offer still stands…" He lightly pats the briefcase. "…this is everything I have. I've made copies, but the originals should go to you. All we ask is that the victims' names don't come out."
*
"Of course." Sinjin leaves his bag on the bar and extends a hand for the files. "I hereby absolve you of responsibility for any shit that may hit the fan as a result, my son." He makes the sign of the cross over David with his cigarette.
*
David barks a laugh and smiles as he pops the briefcase open. Out comes a stack of twenty manilla folders, all of which he passes right into Sinjin's waiting hand. "There will probably be no shortage. I'd make preparations, if you can," he says, the lightness of his tone not matching the tightness around his eyes. "The story's already been covered up a few times. They have reach."
*
"I have friends on the Australian news wire, still. Could break it in Sydney or Adelaide, let it wash back here. If it's already out, someone here will pick it up." That's the accent. Australian with…something…making it blurry, not quite British, either. "If you think that'd be a better course. I'm thinking no one here will have thought to buy out overseas outlets."
Sinjin tucks all but one of the folders away in his bag after a brief scan. "Don't worry, I won't keep these on me. You don't need to know the details, but it'll all be secure." He takes a drag from his cigarette to settle his nerves. A glance was enough to tell him it was heavy content. The top folder, he checks again. "Anything else you want me to know?"
*
"That might not be a bad way to go about it. Worth a shot, anyway," David muses thoughtfully, closing the briefcase and shifting it down to the floor where it can sit next to his stool. "Canada would quash it. Same with the Americans. Do what you can."
He reaches over to lightly tap the top file before both hands go to his mug of tea. "These came from a facility in New Orleans. I've included the address for you, though I don't know if there's still anything there to see," David admits, looking down at his drink. "There was another facility here, under Coney Island, but it's gone. Sank."
*
Sinjin has just set down his tea, which is good because he snorts at that. "Coney Island? Guessing you were tall enough to ride, then." He shakes his head. "Someone needs to set fire to these sons of bitches."
If a fire's on the agenda, Sinjin has a lighter and spare time. "Them. Not just their property," he clarifies, reading on. "You need help with that, you let me know."
*
"Careful what you wish for. I might just take you up on that," David says lowly, watching Sinjin read through the steam wafting up off of his tea. "I'm… I suppose I technically qualify as a whistle-blower," he says with a wince, forcing himself not to look away. "I worked for these people, but this — they hid all of this from me. That would be how I got myself into…" He gestures awkwardly. "…the state you saw me in."
*
"I think you've learned your lesson," Sinjin says dryly. "If there's one thing I've discovered about governments, even the ones trying to do the right thing, it's that they're run by people. And people are shite." He flips a page, makes a little noise as though he's just confirmed this for himself all over again.
"I'm a lazy bastard but I'll get off my ass for a good cause. Sometimes." Sinjin lights a second cigarette from the fire by sort of pulling the flame out of the butt resting in the ashtray on the bar. "Especially if I get to look good doing it. So. If I'm not busy…" He lets the rest trail off. If he's not busy, he could be persuaded.
*
"I've learned something, but I don't know if it was a lesson," David replies with a tired laugh. "I already knew people are shit. Well, people in power," he clarifies quickly, holding up one hand. "I know plenty of specific people who are just fine. Even if they don't like how I look in a suit." He sighs. No accounting for taste.
David's head tilts very slightly to the side as he watches the way Sinjin lights the cigarette, one side of his mouth drawing up into a lopsided smile. Aha. "…I'll make sure to call," he promises. "As you said. A little fire might be just what the doctor ordered."