|
Dealing drugs will always be a profitable enterprise in the slummy streets of the big cities. The irony of it is that as more and more drug dealers get put out of business, prices go /up/ as demand goes down— which means that more dealers are attracted by the idea of a quick buck, catering to the wealthy and well connected.
"Look, lady, you want something or not?" the dealer asks Lois, muttering quickly and shifting his weight impatiently from foot to foot. "I've got Vitamin K, smack, crank, maryjane… hurry the fuck up and pick something, willya?" he asks the erstwhile reporter, giving nervous glances over his shoulder. It's dark, well past the time when the streetlights are on, and he is clearly apprehensive about dealing in the city with the number of vigilantes around.
At his prices, though, he might be more worried that Lois doesn't have the cash to purchase his inventory. He certainly doesn't look like a standard dealer, and his panel van clearly had recently been stripped of markings that indicate it was property of the local University.
*
Since the night Keith and his dive were blown up and Lois' reliable, clean, uncut drug hook up completely went out the door. She's had bad choices and bad luck, one that ended her up in hospital, so she keeps trying. This guy really isn't inspiring confidence in her, especially as her eyes narrow on him a bit deeper. The woman looks too high class for this deal anyway. Clean jeans, a suede leather jacket that goes down to her knees and is trimmed with fur. The tied off Hawaiian shirt is hilarious, a bit weird, but clean of any stains. She's a higher class than most dealers here take.
She looks over the rims of her plastic sunglasses, bloodshot eyes studying the selection. "No heroin? Disappointing… how clean is the smack? You the person who cut it? If not… just some weed and I swear if it's oregano I will come back and kick your ass five ways to Sunday." The reporter then digs into her pocket, trying to pull out money without actually flashing how much she has.
*
The dealer grunts weirdly, and when Lois looks up, he just…. falls backwards. Like a felled tree. Something clatters against the rough asphalt nearby— a blunted arrowtip, which looks to have caused the round dent now in the middle of the man's forehead.
"You're going to have to come back next week," someone remarks. A lean man with broad shoulders and bare arms drops off the fire escape, wearing black and red leather. A bow is in his hand— but it's a bizarre contraption with pulleys on the ends of the bow, instead of a traditional longbow.
"You're a bit overdressed for the slums, lady. You wander off from Midtown or something?" he says, barely sparing Lois a glance as he moves quickly on the downed man and kicks him onto his belly. Slinging his bow, he quickly and efficiently searches the fellow, then binds his hands.
*
Lois is a bit over dressed, a bit overly aware, and just a bit everything too much for this place. She doesn't have the spaced out, sick look of a serious junkie, though she's thin and lanky enough to be one. She doesn't shake like one, not noticably at least. Either it's well under control, she's high right now, or she's not near so bad as most of the people on these streets. She also doesn't look scared at the contraption — she looks completely intrigued.
Her eyes narrow on that set of pulleys then look up to the rough voiced man above her. "Downtown, actually, but someone's been mopping up a lot of the dealers in the city so… it's making getting what I need a bit… Challenging." Lois' husky voice is confident and clear, no shame in her tone about the fact she was here for drugs. "Don't suppose you care to toss me whatever weed he's got while you're busy mopping the poor guy up?"
*
The archer gives Lois a level look. "Toss you weed. You— you want me to give you his drugs. Jesus, lady, how stoned are you?"
He handcuffs the dealer and drags him a few feet towards the mouth of the alley, away from the van. He's strong and moves with certitude— this is a familiar dance for the lean archer.
"Smart society types usually send someone else to get their drugs for them. What's the matter, couldn't talk the busboy into scoring you dope?"
He opens the back of the panel van and starts digging through the boxes, flipping pill bottles, vials of liquid, and bundles of hash around with a disregard for their neat storage.
*
The tall reporter follows him casually, pushing her glasses up her nose, even if she shouldn't need them in this dim light. They completed her look. Lois' husky voice allows a little laugh to escape her full, unpainted mouth. "I am not a society type. I'm a reporter. And am I not currently stoned. Hell, even the 'ludes I had around lunch have warn off by now. So… frankly, I'm a little on edge, have a bit of a headache, and am entirely too aware of everything that is going on right now, Mr. Midwest goodie two shoes."
She sighs, leaning back against the edge of the dealer's van. It almost pains her to see the hashish and vials thrown around like that, but she doesn't QUITE reach for one yet. "Look… I realize you are probably from… Kansas city.. or no. Accent like that. Lighter twang. Something more nothern. But this is the big city now and these things just HAPPEN here. It's a part of the city. And if you keep moving your arm like that, you're going to reopen the slash below your left wrist." Definitely not some druggie. She has an attention to detail most norms don't even carry.
*
"You don't know me, lady, so don't guess," Red Arrow says, snapping at Lois as she turns on the investigative super powers at him. "And I don't give a shit if you're a reporter or the deputy mayor. If you've got a headache, go pop two aspirin and push off. I'm not letting this smack out on the streets."
He digs in his belt and comes up with a small road flare. With the drugs, chemicals, and accelerants, it's a pwder keg ready to blow, so Roy takes a few second to make sure the bulk of the drugs are in a neat pile on the steel flooring.
*
But, of course, Lois is proud and the sort of careless that comes with a life of getting away with shit and taking chances that JUST happen to pay off. She reaches in, scooping out two bags of the hashish and sticking them in her pocket, unless he stops her. He'd definitely win against her in a fight. "I can tell you where the shitty smack is coming from, if you actually want to make a difference. THis guy is just some kid trying to survive in the market. He's not a poison cutter. Trust me. I know." She's seen a few to many of them over the last weeks.
*
Roy smacks one bag from Lois' fingers, and deftly steals the other and wiggles it out of reach. While she's distracted by his left hand, he flings the flare into the middle of the panel van— and the entire stash, at least ten grand worth of product, immediately goes up in smoke.
"This shit's bad enough," he tells Lois, wiggling the marijuana at her, "but the heroin— that's killing people," he warns her. "It's dangerous even when they aren't cutting it with fentanyl or detergent or some other shit. You tell me where the distributor is, and…" he wiggles the little three-ounce bag at Lois, meaningfully.
*
An annoyed breath escapes her lips as he smacks the baggie out of her hands and takes the other. She is not physically a fighter in any way, no, all the fight is in her heart. But she knows all too well what he's going to do before he does it and she neatly steps to the side, putting his body between her and the van, to at least slightly shield herself from any debris that might come off of it. SHe only slightly winces, her pretty features lit by the golden red glow of the fires. In this area of the city? Cops don't even start to run. No sirens. Just another night in New York…
His tempting her with that baggie, however, makes her sigh deeper. Lois pulls off her sunglasses and stares at him levelly. "Look, kid, I'm not some dog who is going to bark for a treat. I don't know where you got your super special, custom equipment…" Lois nods towards the arrow, "Or your vigilante streak, but you're a dime a dozen in this city. I get that it's killing people. Hell, I was almost one of those people. But you aren't going to make me do tricks for a bag of hash. I have *some* dignity."
*
Backlit by the fire, he makes an ominous and implacable figure, his eyes barely visible in the shadows of the domino mask that cover his face. He's a lean, sinewed figure, and the backlit fire makes him appear positively emaciated and lean.
"Better a crimefighter than another junkie. How many suppliers you got left?" he asks, pressing Lois mercilessly. "You know a lot of kids willing to deal weed? This might be the last hash you see for a few weeks," he taunts her, wiggling the baggie between his thumb and forefinger, the bag aloft between the two of them. "You give me a little information, you'll have something to help you get through the shakes until you can score your next order of smack."
*
Roy has partially disconnected.
*
But Lois *isn't* just another junkie. Her eyes are harder, more practical. She looks sharply intelligent, the sort of woman who has seen it all and, simply, does not care. He presses her, coming closer, so she can smell the leather on him and his breath. She does not back up, not an inch. She just watches his eyes through that domino mask, line to her full lips. "Look…I don't know who you are, kid, but I'm seriously not the sort to play these games. You want some fame in this city? You want some HELP with what you are doing? Then talk to me. I am a reporter. The best damn reporter IN New York. I could make or break you with a few stories alone. But I am not inclined to break young idiots from the middle of the country who are just trying to do good. And I suspect that's what you are. But I'm also not going to send you off after people who WILL kill you and won't even lose a minute sleep over it."
*
Red Arrow laughs in Lois' face, and flicks the marijuana into the van. "I'm not doing this for the fame, lady," he sneers at her. "I'm cleaning up the streets because -someone- in this damn, ugly town needs to do it. You New Yorkers, you think you've got a monopoly on danger? I was hunting cougars in the desert before I could legally drive," he tells her. "I've fought biker gangs, desperados, cattle rustlers— New York's the same scum as everywhere else, just more of them."
"But I tell you what," he tells Lois, staring down at the small, intense woman. "You give me the name of a distributor, and I'll leave your other dealer alone when I bust their operation. You might have to make him a special offer for his stock… but you won't get left high and dry."
"Or I go solo and I'll burn the whole city out, if I have to."
*
The brunette's head tilts, just slightly, her expression softening just a bit after a heartbeat or two. "You…lost someone, didn't you? To drugs? Maybe it was just some street kid you got a soft spot for but… This is personal now, isn't it?" It seems to make her a touch more understand and a touch less tough New Yorker, to realize the strange man across from her is caught up with anger for a reason. She just sighs, a slight grimace across her lips as she considers his offer.
"…Look, I really don't care about my distributors. I can always manage. I've got resources." Sort of a lie these days, but she's Lois Lane. She always will consider herself untouchable. "But… the story, that's what's interesting. You tell me when the bust is going down so I can get the exclusive, and I'll let you know what I know. Deal?" She asks with an arch of both brows.
*
Red Arrow looks a bit flummoxed as Lois keeps her footing despite him attempting to intimidate her. Seems the dame doesn't roll over for just anyone, and grudgingly, he finally relents and backs off a pace. Seems he's not the sort to slap a woman, anyway, which is a step up from some of the vigilantes in the city.
"Shit, lady, you're some kinda nuts," he mutters at her. "Or you're really addicted. Either way— fine. I'll let you know when it's going down— but if you don't have good intel for me when it does, I'm gonna make sure that the cops find you chained to the biggest pile of smack in the tri-cities. Got it?"
*
The last commentary makes Lois actually straight out laugh. She shakes her head slowly, "F*ck, kid… half the cops in this city wouldn't give a damn, would take the smack and leave me behind. The other half are alive, have been promoted, or cracked their biggest cases because of me. I'm Lois-f*ckin'-Lane, kid… you really are going to have to try harder than that to get to me. That being said, I am really some kind of nuts and addicted, so…" She shrugs, not ashamed of it. Truth is truth to a reporter, and that's the truth of her life. "But the addiction helps keep me sane on the worst days, so… six of one, yanno?"
She then sighs, looking back to the burning van rather mournfully with a small shake of her head. "The Westie gang out of Hell's Kitchen has been pulling in the most shipments. They get them off of boats and they aren't the asians, for once. The asians have some weird shit coming in, but they're not putting it on the streets yet. If you want to do the biggest amount of good right now, look at the Westies. They mostly operate off of Pier 47… "
*
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Roy tells Lois, with a sly, smug half-smile tugging the side of his mouth. He reaches behind him and produces a little baggie of weed. It's not much… but it's something, and he tosses it underhand in the air, the bag lazily floating midair in front of her.
"Westies out of the Kitchen, Pier 47," he repeats, with dutiful deliberance. "I'll look into it. If your intel on them is good, I guarantee you'll get a front row seat when the show kicks off. Can't have the city's star smackhound reporter losing out on the story of the year, right?"
*
"Speaking as the city's star smackhound reporter," Lois deadpans entirely, really not bothered by the fact she's basically mocking herself. Why should she bother to hide the truth? "I'd really rather not lose the story of the year. That's up to you, kid, to *make* it the story of the year. You actually clean things up and get me a good story? Well, I'll drag you back home and shag you senseless. Show you how real city women do it."
And with that, he's getting an absolutely flirtatious, rather dangerous smile. Tempting. Intrigued by the fact that he too seems a little crazy, a lot strong, and even more dangerous. Just the mix that Lois Lane likes. Her hand reaches up, snatching that bit of weed and tucking it into her back pocket, "…no reason for it to go to waste." SHe adds after a too long moment.
*
Roy snorts at Lois, unmoved by her sudden sensual aggression as she vamps at him. "Sorry, lady. I prefer blondes," he tells her, with a vast insincerity. "You'll get your story, sure, but I ain't doing it to give your ratings a boost. Or because I want the attention," he warns her. "You'll leave me out of it, and I better not hear anything about me in the paper the next day. I go low key for a reason. You can tell the papers -you- did it, for all I care," he tells Lois.
*
A slight roll of her eyes comes, and Lois grabs her sunglasses from her back pocket again, placing them across her eyes. "I'm not lying. I might be an addict, a drinker and a slut, but I'm not a liar. I tell the story as it goes. Better think of a swank code name for yourself, if you're going to do this, or I'll make one up. But I'n not going to pretend it isn't some midwestern boy in a domino mask who takes out half the Westie gang, or gets himself killed trying. The people have a right to know the truth. It's my duty." Those last few words are about the only thing that Lois doesn't say with a careless irreverence. She actually seems to take her job, and the truth, seriously. At least she respects one thing in life.
*
"Don't sugarcoat it," Red Arrow tells Lois, snorting under his breath. In the distance, sirens sound— loud enough to be getting close. Cops won't respond to gunshots, but a fire in the New York slums could be devastating. Fire departments respond quickly to burning cars. He digs out an arrow from the quiver on his back and with barely a glance, flings it skywards. A thin rope attaches to the projectile, and when it *locks* into something, he ties it to a pulley system on his belt.
"You can make up anything you want, miss Lois," Roy advises the woman. "Like I said, I ain't here to make your life easier. I'm just here to deal with the street trash."
He clicks something on his belt and with a *whirrr*, flies up to the rooftops, before clambering over the edge and disappearing into the night.
*
A deep sigh escapes her lips as she watches him disappear up to the rooftops. Lois just shakes her head slowly, "…that kid is gonna get himself killed." Lois mutters to herself, more than a bit sad about it all. But, that's the city. She gives the burning van one last look and then shifts her bag off of her shoulder, pulling her heavy camera out and snapping a few good shots of the dramatic scene before she hears the cops coming around the corner. Then she books it down the street herself. No reason to get tied up answering questions tonight. And she has a nice bit of weed in her back pocket to relax to sleep with.
*