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[ ...whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. That whole info dump tells Jesse everything he needs to know about this guy, but that's not what he's mentally whoa, whoa'ing about. That last part. There's no point fucking around when the guy has thrown that last part right out there like that. He shoots back a quick, short message that probably seems wildly bipolar to the whole conversation. ]

Need to meet with u

[ oh..... k. ]

heropa 003

just fyi
u send any muscle 2 fuck me up for saying shit?
gonna be a bad fuckin time when i get back from the dead

[ he will also be answering the door with a shotgun in hand, cocked and loaded. ]

[ ...'Back from the dead'. What does that even mean. (Jesse doesn't yet know about the whole """reincarnation""" deal that goes on in this place. So much he still doesn't know.) But rather than reply, he's off. Twenty minutes later, a yellow Stingray screeches to a stop outside Heropa #003. Leaving his Beretta in the glove compartment, Jesse swings out of the car, locks it and heads up the walk to the front door. What the hell is he about to walk into? He has no idea. He's about to find out.

Knock, knock, knock. And seeing the guy had threatened about sending any muscle around, Jesse says loud through the door for the guy to hear, while trying to keep the announcement on the downlow from anybody else who might be nearby: ]

No muscle, yo. Just me.

[ mickey'd watched him making it to the door from an upstairs window, so he realizes there's no muscle in sight, but nevertheless, the shotgun is still leaned against a shoulder, clad in what remains of a motorhead shirt that had the sleeves cut off. ]

You gotta start bein' less nice to people if you're running this cartel business, man. Come on.

[ he steps back, pulling the door open to let jesse in. ignore the part where 'being less nice' would've meant mickey getting his ass kicked, but he's more used to being in charge than one of the runners. maybe another part of it is just part of being from chicago slums - rude is just how everyone talks. no one wants a spineless coworker/employee. ]

You want something? Beer? Vodka? Pop?

[ the living room is clear and clean (aside from liquor bottles and cigarette ash trays), probably because it hasn't been that long since Ian left, and maybe Mickey's still holding onto the hope he'll show back up. ]

Edited 2017-10-16 01:22 (UTC)

[ Shit, this guy is a kid, Jesse realises, the moment the door is opened. And whoa, shotgun. Okay, whoa. Jesse manages to maintain a poker face, but inwardly, his gut clenches a little with alarm. He steps inside, however, and follows the kid into the living room, and his hands push into his jeans pockets as he surveys the room, perhaps trying to get a further quick idea of who this kid is. ]

I'm good, thanks.

[ His attention returns to the kid, and Jesse fixes his eyes on him with assessing scrutiny. With cool command: ]

Sit down. We need to talk.

[ a kid who's been through juvie several times, sold a lot of drugs, ran a small prostitution business, fathered a kid and married a russian hooker, so been through some shit, but still only 19, no matter how much he swings his shotgun around or talks crime. something mickey tends to forget on his own often - very often. ]

Hey, there you go. [ mickey smirks turning back to look at the guy, praising the command there. pacing back (without a lot of urgency, because he has to be a little prick), mickey flops onto one of the couches or chairs, shotgun settled over his lap. ]

Okay. Let's talk.

[ reaching forward, he grabs at a pack of cigarettes on a coffee table, tapping one out and digging around for a lighter while he waits. ]

[ Jesse watches all of this. He's still standing in the same place by the time the kid has slumped down onto the couch. ]

Put the shotgun away first.

[ That's an order, not a request. ]

[ there's the kind of petulant sigh that you would expect from someone his age, but mickey stops himself from rolling his eyes, making a show of popping the loaded shell out of the barrel, and laying the gun on the coffee table between them. ]

Anything else, sir?

[ he still has a couple knives on his person and a handgun in the chair cushion so this is okay. ]

[ The ease and compliance with which the kid does this makes it obvious to Jesse this kid likely has more weapons, either on him or near him. Jesse knows criminals; this kid wouldn't answer the door with a loaded shotgun like a paranoid lunatic and be perfectly fine disarming it upon command a minute later. ]

Chill. I'm here to talk, that's it.

[ But with that, Jesse pulls his hands out of his pockets and moves around to a seat adjacent to Mickey. He sits down, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together, and he peers closely at the kid. ]

There's a slight problem that I need to straighten out, and I need you to listen and not be an asshole. Think you can manage that for the next ten minutes?

[ wow 'and not be an asshole', how dare you, sir??? do not ask the impossible. mickey's brows raise, but for his credit, he keeps his mouth shut and whatever dickish commentary he might've been ready to babble out stays behind his lips. enough that he can look jesse over a second or so, and consider this. ]

I'm all ears.

[ he says, wheels in his little thug head turning. he may be slum trash but he isn't stupid. no one in charge or anything goes to one of their dealers to straighten out 'problems' that don't either A, have to do with them fucking up or B, have to do with taking care of someone else fucking up. Well, and there's also C, a request that you do something that will likely get you fucked up.

so. this should be interesting. the cigarette he'd tugged out goes between his lips, the better to shut himself up with. sort of. ] I can handle at least five, we'll see how it goes.

Fine. Five.

[ He'll negotiate with five, if it means the kid will listen and not try to fuck him around. Jesse heaves a quiet sigh, studying his hands for a moment, then sets his gaze back on the kid. ]

Okay, look. First off, this isn't a matter that concerns you. It's a matter that concerns me. So, relax. [ He pauses, trying to think how to word this so as to not appear weak, scared or like he can be easily underhanded. ] I was Ported out. My guess, roughly four weeks ago. I was Ported back in roughly three weeks ago. Apparently, it's not uncommon for people to be Ported back in with no memory of their life here. You following me?

[ jesse mentions being ported out and ported back in, people saying it fairly common, and mickey's eyes unconsciously roam to a jacket tossed over the back of another chair, one that belonged to ian when he was here, remembers the store they picked it up at when they went spending their stipend checks like they were rich. it's only a blink of a moment, there and back again, focusing on jesse's issue. ]

I follow. I've heard it before.

[ can't attest to how common it is. but he's heard it. so it means bossman has nothing for memories of what he'd done here before, thus, the business he made, and the people he's employed. explains some parts of their conversations. ]

Taking it the part about having a business isn't news to you at this point. [ else he'd imagine having someone talking about selling dope for him would be a lot more alarming. ]

Edited 2017-10-16 04:43 (UTC)

[ Jesse figures this kid isn't dumb; he figures this kid would figure it out on his own if Jesse were to answer untruthfully. He doesn't want to elaborate or be specific, especially when he doesn't know much about this kid, but he also sees no point in lying. Lying, after all, is a quick smart way to lose trust and, much more importantly, loyalty. ]

It's a business I know a lot about. So, no.

[ Unspoken: "It's a business I'm balls-deep in back home." The only difference being, he doesn't run or own the business back at home. That part is a whole new ball game to Jesse here. ]

Edited (rewording!) 2017-10-16 09:40 (UTC)

[ once mickey gets the cigarette lighted, he takes a long drag of it, thinking this issue over. no memory, and while it seems like he'd already been told that he runs this drug ring thing here, he apparently hadn't known mickey works for him at all. that's probably an issue - knowing you have a business but not knowing who your employees are. unfortunately, it's not that conventional of a business, so it's hard to really say. ]

If you're looking for a list of all the runners you got, I don't know 'em. Not like we hang around a water cooler or nothing.

[ not that it's something you want to leave evidence of anywhere out in the open, but - ] Did other-you leave any notes or anything?

No. [ Notes about other things, yes, but not employees. Not a detail that concerns the kid. ] And I didn't expect you to.

[ Although, maybe there was some part of him that was hoping Mickey might know something. That's okay, though; he's just a kid. It's not fair to put that kind of responsibility on a kid, anyway. ]

Just tell me about you. How we met.

[ he wants to say something smartassy. he wants to say Grindr. or 'on a cold, rainy night'. he doesn't, because this is still his employer, and jackass or not, he needs that extra income right now.

what jesse gets instead is a shrug. ]

Not much to it. Job I got from being Ported in was 'door-to-door knife salesman. [ mickey snorts, still not sure how he managed to pull that off without wanting to strangle somebody. like thanks to ian. who is no longer here. ] You saw me in the middle of it, offered less shitty employment, so I took it.

[ This kid, he seems like a kid who knows how to take care of himself. At least, on a survival level. But he's still a kid, and while Mickey might be - Jesse guesses - seventeen, eighteen, he's still a kid, and being pulled into this world with nobody to look out for him...

Well, he can see why the Jesse he used to be would have sought to pull this kid under his wing a little. Put him to work but also keep an eye on him. Still makes him a little nauseous in the stomach to think he's got a kid working for him. ]

Moving product through our turf, I'm assuming.

[ A nicer way of saying: bottom-rung street peddler. ]

[ survival, he does know. given their mother died early in their lives, terry was constantly in and out of the home on arrests and probation violations, it largely fell to the kids to take care of themselves if they wanted to avoid the foster system. mandy was too young and felt too much. their brothers were all morons. there's a reason he's head of the family when terry's MIA. and terry's enemies had to know you don't fuck with the milkovich house when papa bear's in lock up.

as for bottom-rung, yeah, well he's not happy about it, but he knows how to work the system. coming into new turf and a new gang like your shit don't stick and you ought to be up higher than the other street runners is how to get yourself offed fast. you need allies in this sort of thing, you need back up when someone gets a grudge against you. ]

I've only been on payroll for like a month, alright, gotta start somewhere.

[ he doesn't plan on being this low on the totem pole forever. ]

[ A month. So, Jesse had recruited him just before Porting out? That... is a weirdly reassuring thing. Means Mickey is about as clued up on things as Jesse is, when it comes to the operation in this place, at least.

Jesse pulls his lips into a frank line of understanding. He knows what it's like to be bottom rung. ]

Hey. Business is nothing without foot soldiers. [ He fidgets his hands together between his knees while tilting his head slightly, examining Mickey. ] How much you being fronted a week to sell? An ounce? Coupla ounces?

Couple, yeah. [ mickey nods, slouching back in his chair and giving a shrug. ] I can move whatever I get.

[ it isn't his first rodeo, and there's always a market for drugs, anywhere. you could be in washington dc and you'd still have people lining up for weed. with the previous jesse, he'd been professional. got his share, moved it, brought profits back in clean, counted, organized bills in a timely manner, ready for the next batch. didn't try to sample produce - he'd buy his own from someone else, you don't mix that crap. ]

Maurtia Falls is the easiest place to sell, but the most obvious too. [ in case jesse hasn't gotten the feel for the cities yet. ] Your shit's kinda got a big corner of the market right now.

[ Maurtia Falls. Jesse files that piece of info away in his mind. ]

I'm sure it is. [ Replied with simple acknowledgement, no bragging but no downplaying it, either. He's not surprised the product has cornered the market, especially knowing how well he himself can cook it. 96.1% purity. (Jesse is not yet aware that Kavinsky is actually the one manufacturing right now.) Mr. White's product is top quality, and would be top quality no matter where it sells.

But it does have Jesse thinking... If this kid moving two ounces a week, that means there are many others out there likely moving about the same. Which means either he cooked a huge batch that's lasted all this time to distribute... or someone else is manufacturing. Knowing how fast this product sells, Jesse is hinging his bets on the latter. Which makes him... well. Uneasy. Because if there's someone else cooking, who the hell is it?

He shifts on the seat, facing Mickey a little more. ]

Tell you what. I'm gonna need a guy I can trust to help me iron out the details. Figure out who's who, where our turf is, who distributing, that kinda thing. Just so I can get a handle on the situation. Think you'd be the kinda guy I could trust with that kind of responsibility?

[ Jesse does a very Gus thing of peering straight into Mickey's eyes, like he's needling Mickey's soul while also seeming to appeal to him, figuring him out, putting him on the spot. Observing him closely. ]

[ he's looking at him like a principal and it's freaking mickey out a little.

if he hadn't just promised to stop being an asshole for five minutes, and if the guy eyeballing him wasn't running a huge drug ring full of superheroes, there would probably be a 'what the fuck are you looking so hard at' right here. but he did, and he is. so, mickey just meets his eyes over his cigarette, one brow slightly cocked.

it's a golden opportunity, and those don't get handed out without price tags, not in this business, so mickey's considering him as well. how much he wants to trust this, trust jesse. trying to figure the bad of it, what way he could get screwed by taking the offer. if the gain is worth the risk. in the end, he lets out a long stream of exhales smoke, leans forward and taps off the ass into an empty soda can, before answering. ]

Yeah. I can handle that for you. [ mickey nods, seeming assured in it, confident. and, on a lighter note - ] Can't promise you this 'don't be an asshole' thing's gonna last much longer than today, though.

[ he has a condition, okay?? ]

[ Jesse's attention on Mickey doesn't waiver. He hears that lighter note of Mickey's loud and clear - Jesse doesn't expect him to be a good two shoes just because Jesse has asked this favour of him. However, he does want to know: ]

What're you being paid?

[ Jesse can guess the rough estimate, though he wants to hear it from Mickey. ]

[ this jesse, at first, seemed a lot more chill than the one he'd met before, less stoic, but mickey's starting to see the similarities line up. ]

About two grand a week. Standard rate, far as I know.

[ if he was getting cheated out of something, he didn't know from the few other dealers he'd run into. ]

Five grand. For your time, your trouble and your loyalty. To me, and me only. Starting this week. This means you report to me and nobody else. If in a month's time you've proven to me that you're solid, we'll discuss a promotion.

[ That Gus-like, intensely scrutinising gaze levelled on Mickey still hasn't waivered. ]

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