Ticking Clock/Siege/Weirdness Magnet

OOC: So I've been speaking to ryjones and he's informed me that he won't be able to make posts in a consistent fashion for the foreseeable future. So I'll be writing his characters in a limited capacity so we can get the plot rolling again.

Her eyes wandered back to the bikes, "He's here because his buddies didn't wanna chat, more specifically, because of something you did?" She nodded her head to Ortiz and his goons. Oh yeah, she'd heard of him. Nothing too detailed but the name and appearance rang a bell somewhere in the back of her head. Everyone seemed familiar after living in Jackalope a couple of years but her family knew a lot about everyone whether they were underground or above the surface in their daily life. It was a perk.

"If that's the case just don't get any blood on the lot."

Freddy held the front door open. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. There's no need for blood!" He looked to Ortiz to make sure he heard that. "I'm just looking for a dude named Kenny Bishop. He stole from Castagnacci and I'm here to bring him back. He came through with an accomplice not too long ago, and I need to get to him pronto! That's all! Once I get him and his partner I'll leave you all to whatever the hell it is you guys do in this podunk town of yours."

Ortiz leered at Falcone. "I'll say this once so listen carefully, pendejo. I don't want you causing shit with my boys anymore. So you got two days to finish up whatever the fuck it is you need to do here and go back to Vegas and Castagnacci. If you're still here after those two days your ass belongs to me. Do we have an understanding?"

Freddy nodded. "Yo comprendo, compadre."

"Good." Ortiz turned and signaled for his men to get on their bikes and proceeded to ride away from the Vaughan estate.

Freddy then turned to Isobel. "Well that's just fuckin' great. Look Ms. Vaughan, I'm gonna need your help with this. If ya can do me a solid I'll put in a good word for ya with the Big Cheese, okay? Whaddaya say?"


"Why, I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" he asked and gave Vargas a sly grin.

"They're uh... friends from out of town. Yeah. I offered them a place to crash for the night." Vargas said. It wasn't entirely untrue. "You say you're here about gunshots at my store? Dude, it probably was just the movie Gus and I were watching." That, however, was a lie, and Vargas didn't look at all convincing while telling it.

The girls watched the man. Rayne was trying hard not to hyperventilate, carson didnt look like any of this was a big concern to her. " am i needed for this meeting? I have some things to do." carson said standing. Rayne picked at her burrito.

Miles eyed the girls once again. "You're a terrible liar, Vargas. And I don't take too kindly to bein' lied to. So just tell me where you three stashed the money? Before this gets more embarrassing.

Everyone was so fixated on the situation and the palpable tension in the room that no one heard the sound of a Ford Bronco parking out front. The hail of gunfire that ripped through Vargas's home, however, was far more noticeable. Miles ducked behind a large case of VHS's while Vargas sorta stumbled and fell to the ground in a panic.


Hoffman drove out into the desert at around three in the morning after only getting two hours of sleep. He had been too busy thinking about doing this, whether or not to just enjoy the money he had or to see if he could get more. Eventually his greed won out and he now found himself parking in front of a large, ramshackle gate. Beyond was a small stretch of property with a large razor-wire fence going around it with a lone trailer in the center. There were a myriad of signs saying "stay out," "trespassers will be shot," "danger, mines" and a slew of increasingly bizarre phrases that made it clear that whoever owned this place didn't like visitors. Still, Hoffman got out of his car and went over to the small intercom placed next to a small key pad.

He pressed it and waited.

"State your name and purpose for buzzin' me at three in the fucking morning, pissant." Came the coarse voice of Trip Preacher, the town's local survivalist nutjob. Hoffman only knew of him by reputation. Oftentimes people would hear Trip testing out his new guns out in the desert, or would hear explosions that most assumed were grenades. Trip kept to himself, mostly, so it was more of a novelty than an actual danger. Even then, everyone in Jackalope Crossing knew the son-of-a-bitch was three fries short of a happy meal.

"It's Hoffman, I run the local Gas-N-Go. You sometimes come in for gas and nachos?"

"That's your name, so what's your purpose?"

"I gotta job for you. I've got money. Can we talk about it?" Even though the sun was just coming up, Hoffman was sweating from the heat and anxiety. There was a long pause. Then Hoffman heard a loud buzz and the gate began to open itself up.

"You may proceed. Don't take the main road. It's rigged with IED's, there's a path on the southwest side of the property, it's easy to miss but there's a garden gnome that marks where it starts. Follow it or you'll get blown to shit, comprende?"

"Yeah..." Hoffman carefully maneuvered his car along the edge of the fence until he found the gnome and the path, it was more of a shallow riverbed, and followed it up to Trip's trailer. Once there he stopped and was about to get out when he saw Trip step out with a large assault rifle trained on him. Immediately Hoffman raised his hands. "It's just me!"

"You can't be too careful. Government is a slippery SOB. Tried to get me with a swarm of trained wasps one time..." Trip looked over the car and saw an old gym bag in the passenger's seat. "The fuck is that?"

"The money I mentioned! That's all!"

"Open 'er up nice 'n slow, pilgrim..." Trip ordered. Hoffman did as he was told and revealed about $15,000 dollars that were rolled up and bound with rubber bands. Once he was satisfied ordered Hoffman out of the car. Hoffman did, his hands still raised, and Trip proceeded to give him a patdown. "So what's the job?"

"I... uh..." Hoffman couldn't quite find the words as Trip's hands clamped down around his most intimate of places. "There's this problem... I... uh... have... Yeah. It's a guy and some girls."

"This a marital issue? Cause I don't do marriage counselling, if you know what I mean. Hehe..."

"What? No, they have something I want. And they can't know it was me. In fact, it'd be better if they just... didn't come back... or whatever..."

"So you're needing some wetwork to be done? Is that it?" Trip finally finished the patdown.

"And for you to bring what's mine to me."

"Smash and grab? Oh I'm liking this already." Trip grinned at Hoffman. A little too eagerly, but Hoffman was too stupid to notice. "So who's the target?"

"Antonio Vargas and two women, I don't remember their names. Pretty, young. They'll be at his place no doubt."

"Is this time sensitive?" Trip asked.

"Uh... yeah... I guess... The girls might want to skip town pretty quick."

"Do you know their current location?"

"Vargas has them shacking up at his place for the night. It's on Valverde Boulevard, 1409."

"Good. So let's talk payment..."

"I've got fifteen thousand for you now, another fifteen when the job is done."

"Half-now, half-later. You've got a good melon on your neck, Hoffy. Sounds good to me. You've got yourself a deal. Let me go get my gear and I'll make sure Mr. Vargas's sleepover ends with a bang." Trip winked.

And a couple hours later Trip pulled up to Vargas' home, got out of his bronco, produced an uzi from the back, and began spraying the place with bullets.


The great idea was hide the money by the night, return to Vegas before dawn, and deal with the dead groom and the bride's sorrow.
Everything was fine, we left the city in a blue sport convertible and high speed and suddenly we saw a light and... that's it... black out. Next memory is when that creepy guy woke me up in the gas station."
I was extremally worried. Don't know if Gus would help me, judge me, throw me in a PD... but now I felt a lot better.
"So, that's it... I want to search that bag of money, but as you rightly said before, I am lost here. The best I can do for now is find new friends and get some help. Ready to play some mini-golf again?"

Gus stared at her, mouth agape before saying "Jesus." Then he looked around and sighed. "Uh... okay... so you, your friend, your boyfriend, and her fiance all have been fuckin', in the parlance of our times of course... and then on the night before the wedding the groom ends up dead... right? And so you call up your lawyer about what to do with this money and he says to hide it and just get things going with finding the dead groom and all that. But you blacked out and woke up here?

"Fuck me, this is a weird fucking day..." Gus let out a long groan of frustration. "Okay... I guess I'll help you try and find this money. We can stop by the mini-golf place. Maybe a few strokes and holes will help with that memory of yours." Gus suddenly realized how dirty that last phrase sounded. "You know what I mean..."

OOC: Also, welcome FallowNorth! Feel free to join up in the main storyline if you so wish. Maybe join Gus and Sophie for a round of golf? Things will get stranger as the story progresses, I assure you.

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