1963-12-16 - It's The Flavor
Summary: With Jessica Jones missing, Hannibal and Sinjin go looking for a Vigor dealer through a different route than just knocking heads. Even the upper class is into this stuff. They find Antoine, a Central Park dealer who's looking to be out of the game — if he comes across, they might get their hands on someone higher up the food chain.
Related: Buy The Ticket Plot
Theme Song: None
hannibal sinjin 


New York is bitterly cold and excruciatingly dull after Muspelheim. Sinjin could look for a way to return but the last thing he wants — right now — is to be part of another assault on Midgard.

Earth. It's Earth. If he's not careful, his brain finds a way to normalize this whole clusterfuck. He lives on Earth and that's the end of it.

On Earth, the tenement in Hell's Kitchen still stinks and the door to Alias Investigations is still open, as it is far too often, and…it's really kind of empty. Under the stink of the building there's the smell of absence. That's not good.

*

Giants. Seriously. It really isn't Hannibal's job to fight mythological giants and so he didn't, leaving it for the actual so-called heroes of the city. Mostly. While he avoided the fire giants, creatures made out of fire not really being something vampires are designed to fight, the ice giants were nicely solid and breakable and he happened to run into a couple during his travels through Brooklyn. Fortunately, not to mention bizarrely, they were routed by mythological gods. A factor he's going to point out the next time someone he's talking to claims they don't believe in vampires. Returning to Manhattan, he heads to Alias to see if there's any further information on the drug or parties only to find the door open and one of its people standing around looking worried. "Problem?"

*

"How long do you have?" Sinjin looks a bit different. The red hair is shinier, he looks tanned, as though he's been off in Maui or somewhere equally not here.

"But specifically, Jones doesn't seem to be around and there's a note from Jameson here. The guy from over at the Bugle. Do they know each other?" Sinjin stops and looks Hannibal over, as though making sure he's in one piece. "I didn't think JJ liked our kind — or is it just Spider-Man he hates?"

*

The Bugle? It takes Hannibal a moment to recall the name of the rag he saw at some news stands. "Don't look at me to know who she knows. I barely know any of you." Looking around the room, he asks "She in a relationship with anyone you could ask?"

*

"Not a relationship but North might know. Or Trish." Sinjin makes a thoughtful noise at the note, then sets it down to scan the room once more. "Jessica doesn't seem the relationship type, other than with the bottle, and I think they broke up. Were you working on anything for her before all hell broke loose?"

After a moment's contemplation, Sinjin takes a careful look through the desk, hoping to find an agenda of some sort. The absurdity of the notion isn't lost on him. He does find some reports on the missing kids, and a torn newspaper…that's the article he wrote, about Vigor.

*

"Before the giants? No." Hannibal answers. "I was just looking into the drug, with no success so far and getting settled here in the states. I haven't talked to any of you since the last time you saw me here. I did see your article so maybe this is connected somehow."

*

"Could be. I write for the Bulletin. Jameson wishes I wrote for him," Sinjin says, without a shred of false modesty. He picks up the phone and dials.

"Mr. Jameson's office, please? Yes, St. John Allerdyce." Pause. Eyeroll. "Yes, that one." He mouths how many can there be? at Hannibal while he's being transfered to Jameson's secretary. "I was hoping to speak to… he's out. Has a Miss Jones been to see him? Can't miss her. Small, angry, looks like she slept in a dumpster. Thanks, I'll call back."

"If she's off on another case, we might as well keep on with the Vigor thing. You heard there was that incident at the National Guard checkpoint, right? And in Queens…and that's just the tip of the iceberg." He tucks the note under the phone for safekeeping — there's no real filing system here. "If this keeps up we'll want the giants back. Did you need anything from her? Anything I can help with?"

*

Hannibal leans back against a wall, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "No. I just came by to see if there was new information. I don't have the contacts here I do back in London and threatening random drug dealers I happen to see on the street isn't getting me very far. Seems like you have to know where to buy the stuff in order to get some."

*

"Well. If you have enough money, you can get anything in this town. And, fortunately for you, I have money. And friends who know people. Interested?" Sinjin can call the Manhattan Hotel and see if one of the doormen there can hook them up with a little something. "I guarantee you there's at least one rich asshole who's getting his hands on this stuff."

*

"Of course." Hannibal agrees. "It was looking like it would end up being a boring night. Chasing after a drug should kill a few hours and who knows, maybe something interesting will pop up."

*

"Good. I hate having money burning a hole in my pockets. Let me make a call." Sinjin has to get out the phone book for that number but it only takes him a few minutes to sweet talk one of the girls at the desk into calling the right doorman over. Of course the guy won't give anything out over the phone but he does know a man who knows a man and — while he's not willing to go get it himself — he'll let them know where to meet the right people.

"What are you going to do with it when you get it?" Sinjin wants to know, once he hangs up. He tucks his scarf back into his coat and mentally prepares himself to go out in the cold. "Know anyone with a lab? Or planning to try it yourself? Or are we hoping to snag the dealer?"

*

"I don't care about the drug. I suppose I could send it to someone I know in London but that would probably be a bad idea." Hannibal says once the conversation is over. "The dealer though. He can lead us to the one he got it from. And we can work our way up the ladder."

*

"Dealer it is, then. Just so I know who to set on fire." Sinjin's wink suggests that he's mostly not-serious about that. "Too bad those fire giants couldn't have left us some better weather," he says mournfully, on the way out. New York is still studded with ice spires and impromptu skating rinks in inconvenient places. "Cab? It's a bit of a hike."

*

"In this neighborhood?" Hannibal's only half serious as taxi drivers need to make a living and there are fares to be had even in Hell's Kitchen. Following Sinjin out, he closes the door behind him and makes sure it locks.

*

"Fair point. We should be able to find out, still." If nothing else, neither of them looks too scurrilous. "The traffic disruption rerouted some roads through this area and I on my way in, I saw some poor sod in a three-piece suit trying to get his BMW out of one of the potholes that the city can never be bothered to fill in."

Sinjin glances over at Hannibal. "Confession. I did laugh." His accent, for all that it's Australian, is easily identifiable as lower class — for those raised in places where that kind of thing matters.

It takes longer than it would in other parts of town, they end up walking down to the next intersection, but there's a shiny yellow cab. Sinjin flags it down, then wisely steps back so as not to get a slush-bath when the thing careens to a stop in the gutter.

*

"Serves him right for driving on the wrong side of the road." Which all Americans do. Hannibal's definitely been in England too long. He walks around to the far side of the cab, letting Sinjin take the closer door and then direct the cabby to where they need to go. As the cab pulls out, he asks "Do you want to start off the questioning or do I get to have the fun?"

*

"Oh, I've never been good at interrogation." Sinjin makes a face at that. "I'll concede to whatever expertise you have in the matter. All mine comes from being on the receiving end and, I'll be honest, I wasn't paying much attention to the technique. I'm happy to simply observe and if anyone actually needs setting on fire, I'm your man." He flashes Hannibal a quick grin.

The cab driver is that type who either has his foot to the floor or hard on the brake. No in-between. At least his timing, slipping between cars, is excellent.

*

"I'll take care of it then." Hannibal assures him. "You just stand there playing with your lighter." If he's at all concerned about the driver overhearing, he doesn't show it. And if the driver is listening - almost assuredly - he's not reacting except to flick a glance into the read view mirror now and then which could just be checking traffic.

*

"If I didn't know better, I'd think that was a euphemism." Sinjin laughs quietly at that. The ride is not so much to be enjoyed as endured but fortunately the streets that are open are still relatively empty — the city remains in a state of shock — and it's only minutes until they're weaving up the street toward the Manhattan Hotel at Time's Square.

"I'll get the directions and we'll go on from there," Sinjin says as they pull up in front of the very new, very shiny hotel. It won't take him but a moment to pay off the doorman and get the directions to the dealer. Dealers of drugs that would do what Vigor does are not welcome in this hotel.

*

Hannibal's glances flicks over Sinjin a moment and then he chuckles without any other response until they get tot he hotel. "Wait here." he tells the driver and just stays where he is, keeping an eye on Sinjin and the doorman. A nod as the man returns. "Don't you have too much money to be a journalist?"

*

"I'm a very good journalist. My excruciatingly overblown romance novels sell brilliantly, much to my editor's dismay, so did my first memoir," Sinjin says, pausing to give the driver directions to the south-east end of Central Park.

"We just sold the rights from one of my recent books to a studio and they've hired me on to consult on the script. So, maybe. But I do more than just work for a paper. I'd have more money than this if I had fewer vices," he admits.

*

"You write romance novels." Hannibal says, looking over at Sinjin as if he never saw him before. "You don't look like a middle aged spinster with bad taste in clothes. That's more surprising than the ice giants. I don't know if I should be seen with a romance writer."

*

"They're really more of a protest. Owen, my editor, calls them a tantrum. He's not wrong." Sinjin looks ahead to Central Park. He's surprised it's not a smoking crater, with the kind of luck that area has had. "People kept asking me to write about some terrible shit that happened to me, so I decided to write something to make people happy, instead. Consider them my 'fuck you' to a bullshit situation. People deserve some escapism. They don't need to hear about the shit."

Central Park is relatively unscathed, compared to Brighton Beach. There's scorching, the signs of a couple ruined portals, and ice outcroppings jutting up like a weird green and white forest. The trees that survived the Hellmouth are white with snow and, deeper in, various sellers of illicit goods are doing a brisk trade.

*

"People almost never get what they deserve, for good or bad." Hannibal idly points out. When the cab pulls over, he gets out and walks around to the sidewalk, waiting for Sinjin. "Inside the park? I haven't been here in a very long time."

*

"Of course they don't," Sinjin says, laughing. "That's why it's so much fun to try and make sure they do — for good or bad."

He pays the cab driver, then waves the man off into the slow sift of fresh snow falling.

"Apparently, we should be able to find someone around here, yes. Antoine is a reliable chap, or so I'm told. You don't mess with the doormen in this town." He starts into the park, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched a little against the cold. "Things could get unpleasant but let's hope for the best."

*

"He's a drug dealer. Getting unpleasant will be for the best." Hannibal says, the smile just a touch predatory. "But more likely he's just going to tall all over himself telling us everything we want to know." If he feels the cold, he gives no sign of it.

*

"I hope you're right." It's easier on everyone that way. Hannibal seems to be looking forward to kicking someone's ass. Sinjin is ambivalent. He wants the information, he doesn't want to hurt anyone to get it. But, you can't always get what you want.

"I think there's our man," he says to Hannibal. Antoine is a spindly man with dark skin and a puff of black hair. He's presently arguing with a disreputable looking frat boy whose clothing might have been of value some weeks ago but haven't been washed since…and God knows what the man's been rolling in.

"Dude, I ain't want yo' watch," Antoine says sharply. "Cash. Only. You want the blue, you gimme the green."

"It's a Heuer, man." The frat boy shakes the watch in question in the man's face. If he's telling the truth, it's an expensive piece. "Just one. I only need one, man. Please."

"Boy, I will call the cops on you," Antoine sputters, backing up. "Don't think I won't."

That stumps the frat boy for a moment. "But. You're a criminal."

"Boy, you met the cops in this town?" Antoine has a point.

*

"He told you to get lost." Hannibal tells the fratboy as he walks toward them. "So get lost. I don't want to get blood on my coat. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of fabric? Almost as hard as it is to get out of hardwood floors. It gets into the cracks and then you have to pull up the boards to get it all. And that's assuming it's waxed. You do /not/ want it soaking into the wood." With barely a pause, he looks over at Sinjin. "Got the cash?"

*

"Of course." Sinjin watches the exchange with some amusement.

"I need it!" The frat boy grabs Hannibal by the lapels and shakes. "You don't get it, I gotta have it." He's haggard, he stinks, his teeth are fractured, and his eyes are wild. "Antoine…I need Antoine's stuff."

"Everybody knows Antoine got the lightning juice." Antoine cackles, flashes Sinjin a smile. "You got the cash, I got yo' flash."

"I gotta have it!" The boy — who once had to have a decent athletic physique, swings a punch at Hannibal's face. He's got nothing to lose.

*

The college kid's fist smacks into Hannibal's hand which wasn't there a second before. "Run away little boy." he says, using his other hand to straight arm him in the chest, using just enough strength to send him flying backward about a dozen feet. "It's all about the leverage." he comments over his shoulder to Sinjin. "Gotta get your weight behind it."

*

"Well, aren't you handy?" Sinjin says with some admiration. The frat boy lands with an awkward crunch and groans miserably. "My friend here really is a gift, isn't he?" He gives Antoine a faint smile. "What's this about the lightning? I'm looking for Vigor."

"Yeah, man. It's the flavor." Antoine palms a baggie with a trio of pills in it. "Worth every penny. Hundred each. Shit-ton of bang for your buck, man. Everyone knows I got the good stuff. They send it uptown because you rich boys like it top class."

"Oh, Antoine. I may have money but I'm not stupid." Sinjin chuckles at him. "He does seem to know a bit about it," he says to Hannibal, almost conversationally.

*

"He does." Hannibal agrees, giving Antoine a pleasant smile as he walks over. "A hundred each does seem a bit pricey though. I'm thinking more like seventy each. That sound right to you?" he asks Sinjin, coming to a stop not far from the drug dealer and forming a little triangle of people. "Two ten for all three."

*

Antoine isn't stupid either. "Yeah, sure," he says cautiously, eyeing the two men. "I'll take two hundred." The man hasn't survived on the street this long without knowing what's what.

"So how about you just hand that over and you and me can go opposite directions?"

*

As quick as Hannibal caught the frat boy's fist, that's how quick he's got Antoine by the front of his jacket just under the chin and dragging him close till they're eye to eye. "Stand still." he quietly tells the dealer, using his power on him. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to answer all our questions. You're going to do so completely and honestly. You really want to answer our questions because if you do, you might get out of this alive. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Whether Antoine's will is strong enough to resist the mesmerism or not, staying alive is an excellent reason to cooperate.

*

"I can't tell you his name, man. I don't know his name," Antoine babbles. "You gotta understand, no one says his name." That aside, he's nodding vigorously. "I gotcha man. I'm here to help."

*

"Good Antoine, good." Hannibal reassures him. "I like people who are helpful. Now, if you don't know his name, tell us where you meet him, exactly what he looks like, and how you arrange to get more Vigor. When you're done doing that, answer any questions my friend has."

*

"There's a guy comes around. Tells us where to go to pick it up," Antoine says unsteadily. "Sometimes it's just some dude, one time it was a cop. A real fuckin' cop in uniform rollin' up on me like it was nothin'. You know this town, man. Or maybe you don't. I seen shit and I ain't shakin' in my boots for nobody. But a cop? In daylight?"

Antoine shakes his head. "We go to the spot — usually Hell's Kitchen — we bring the cash, they hand it over. It ain't any one gang, man. I get some good shit because I go up town. Can't upset the clientele, right? You don't want anyone blowin' the roof offa their penthouse."

*

Hannibal looks over at Sinjin once Antoine winds down. "They're smart. And well organized. That makes things difficult." Back to Antoine, he asks "How long ago did someone come by? When do you expect the next one?"

*

"I got wind they got some trouble with alla this giant shit," Antoine says conspiratorially. "Supplies are real low. Everybody want to be a superhero when shit like that goes down. Lotta damage across down, might be trouble with the supply. They gotta come by soon, though, man. There's gonna be riots if they don't get it on the street so they best come around. I used to deal coke. Man, I miss coke."

"I'm sure we could keep an eye out. Or perhaps Antoine would like a ride to wherever he's going," Sinjin says calmly. This is going much better than he'd hoped. Whatever skill Hannibal has at wringing information out of people, Sinjin appreciates it.

*

"Well, this is what we're going to do." Hannibal tells Antoine. "My friend is going to give you a phone number. When you know when and where to pick up the next shipment, you're going to call him and tell him. You're going to do this because you know we can find you and that would be a very bad thing to have happen. But if you do call him, we'll make sure no one finds out it was you who told us and you get to live. Win-win, right Antoine?"

*

Antoine is quiet a moment, transfixed on Hannibal, then he nods slowly. "I want outta this gig anyway, man. This shit, it ain't right. A drug's a drug. This is something else. It's wrong, man. I'll call."

Sinjin scrawls a couple numbers down on the back of a card. "Someone will pick up at one of these. You just tell them it's for the Central Park pickup." He hands it over. "Good luck, Antoine."

"You ain't gonna buy, after runnin' off my client?" Antoine snorts irritably. The gall.

"Here." Sinjin offers the cash in exchange for the pills. Maybe one of his contacts can do something with them.

*

"You're a smart guy, Antoine. Getting out is a very good move." Hannibal lets go of Antoine and steps back. And no blood necessary. It's almost disappointing. "Let's walk back." he suggests to Sinjin. "Maybe someone will try to mug us."

*

Antoine makes scarce, almost fading out before he's out of sight with that particular skill certain streetwise types have perfected.

Sinjin pockets the pills, then nods amiably at Hannibal. "I know just the route," he suggests. "We'll cut down Broadway. If it's not one thing there, it's another."

*

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