2013.03.19 - Madripoor Mayhem pt 1

It begins with a phone call.
"Hey Dommie. I need your help."
For Roy Harper, calling Domino after all the run-ins and frequent missions was starting to turn into a requirement. 'Hey Dommie, you're not doing anything in Japan? Okay.' 'Hey Dommie, you wouldn't be protecting the Ghiradelli boss this time? Good.' 'Hey Dommie, you want to go out on a --- okay, that's a no then.'
So when a call comes in that goes 'Dommie, I need your help,' that's probably quite an eye-opener. Especially when Roy goes on to continue, "I'm posing as a part-time dealer, about to make my acquaintance with Madripoor. I've got contacts there, but I need your help to get -in- with the distributors. Guns n' drugs, slavery rings, you name it. You up to it? It'll be fun."
'Incoming call from "Wonder Trucker."'
The conversation very nearly ends as quickly as it begins, "Go to Hell, Harper."
Domino's just about to hang up when she catches some more of your sales pitch, the earbud keeping her connected even as her thumb reaches out to the 'end call' part of the touchscreen, pausing. Hovering.
The hand's grip around the phone tightens, muscles twitching slightly as she silently vents some of her building irritation. "-Madripoor?- Christ, you're gonna get yourself killed."
Guns. Drugs. Slavery rings. A less than clean past. And some naive SHIELD operative that's got more arrows than sense.
On the other end there's a faint -thump- as Domino's forehead drops onto something less yielding than a hand. Probably made out of wood. "Airport or seaport, when and where."
Goddamn conscience. She won't be able to rest knowing that he's out there getting himself torn apart.
"Aw, you -do- care, Dommie." The lighthearted tone in Roy's voice turns serious, as he goes on. "Oh, I sort of expect that. Dangerous island, dangerous people. Figured that's your kind of town. I've heard rumblings about a guy named Patches, but the only person I know there owns a bar. So let's meet at the seaport. Easier to get all the things I'll need to buy, easier to avoid tracking, and easier to set up shop at a warehouse. Gonna try hitting gun auctions, drugs, get in good, and see how long we can keep riding the wave."
Siiiigh... "Don't let it go to your head."
'Patches.' "There's a name I haven't heard in a while," Domino mutters into the mic. It's been a few years since she's been in Madripoor, but a few things are common enough. Don't bring any gear she's particularly attached to. American pistol calibers are much less common, the 10 Auto in particular. She'll need a new loadout, completely disposable. Not only that, she would do best acquiring it out -there- rather than trying to import it halfway across the planet. Customs going in and out of that country are a joke. It's everywhere else in the world that she's concerned about.
Still, this isn't a trip which she's looking forward to making. "I'll be there in less than twenty hours."
Eighteen hours and forty-seven minutes later...
An otherwise unoccupied warehouse along the docks of Madripoor is the site of the first of what may become many shady dealings. Domino and Rodriguez stand around the back of a vintage white Pontiac GTO, the large trunk open to reveal a collection of armaments. Most of them are old and clunky. Chinese, Russian, Croatian, Bulgarian, Slovakian, dozens of options. Most are some variant of 7 or 9mm. A select few are .45. 1911's found in the Philippeans during war scenarios, worth a fortune if not for the collection of rust, worn finishes, and arsenal rebuilds.
It would be akin to a kid in a candystore if the candy wasn't crumbling, stale, and three decades old.
"So," Dom sourly remarks. "Business ain't going so well for ya, huh."
One does not just stride up to people doing gun transactions, which is why Roy Harper calls first.
Leaning against the warehouse, Roy glances around the corner, as he talks into the phone. "Hoi, Dommie. Here, watching you do your business. Want to give your buddy a heads-up so I can come over without worrying about being exported out of Madripoor as swiss cheese n' organ parts?"
As soon as it's clear, Roy approaches. Dressed in a white suit with a red shirt and dark shades, Roy's cutting a dashing figure... even as he slides around seagull droppings, casting a dark look at the fowls. "Dom," Roy greets, as he glances over the merchandise. "... Man, you -really- need an upgrade in suppliers," he observes. "Guess that's something we'll be working on."
Getting phonecalls during black market transactions is never a good thing. Domino is expecting this one, though. "Glad you have an ounce of survival instinct. That's good. Hang onto that. You're already clear, bring your butt on over."
A moment later Roy's voicing the same initial thought that's been running through her head. 'Outdated.' Now there's also another thought, 'he kinda cleans up nice...' "Give me a break, Suit. It's been a long time since I've been out this way. Hard to keep up to date business dealings when business suddenly stops."
Letting out a slow breath, she looks back to Rodriguez with one hand still braced on the open trunk lid. "C'mon, Benny. I know you're holding out on me."
"Sorry, girlie," he says around a puff of cigarette smoke. "Preferred customers only. Everyone else gets the display stock."
Expression going hard, Dom reaches into a pocket and starts flipping out hundred dollar bills. US currency. Six..seven..eight..nine...
"You pulled this shit off of the sidewalk. Cost you more to fill the tank than build your stock. As of today, I'm a preferred customer."
Without a word Benny takes the money, twelve hundred right off the bat. A key comes out of his pocket and the blanket lining the back of the trunk is brushed aside, unlocked. Beneath one pile of weapons lies -another,- though notably smaller. More select. Cream of the crop.
It's a slight improvement. In no time Dom's picked a pair of Slovakian K-100 Grand Power sidearms. Fully ambidextrous.
"And all of the perks that come standard."
"Better," Roy comments, as he looks through the weapons, before picking up a pair of Springfield XD Tactical pistols. Lifting the pistol up to eye-level to test the sights, Roy weighs them in his hands, twirls them on his fingers, and nods. "I think I'll take these. And as much ammo as you've got."
Glancing at Domino, then at Benny, Roy pulls out a roll of bills. "I'll cover for her too." They'd work payment out later, but Roy was in a hurry, judging by the way he was checking his phone's clock.
Above them, seagulls caw, and dispose fresh lime into the ground.
-Roy's- covering? Hell! Domino's starting to wish that she would have gone for a second set! Though while money is trading hands, she's looking back at the 'old and busted' stock. There's one item still sitting in there that has her attention in a way which no seventy-five year old weapon should.
It's a Mosin Nagant. Russian bolt action, pre-World War 2. Someone took the time to cut the long barrel and short stock of a model 38 until it's a little more than fourteen inches in length. Converted it into a pistol, of sorts. Bulky, heavy, but an absolutely devastating beast. No body armor would stop a thirty cal fired from one of those.
With the K-100's already tucked beneath her arms, Dom picks up the old Nagant and checks its weight. Then she checks the chamber. Loaded. Benny's crazy, but that's half of why people like doing business with him.
A hundred feet out one of the seagulls lands on a wooden pillar surrounding the dock.
What the hell. They're in Madripoor now.
-BAM!-
Twelve inches of fire. Ear-ringing concussion.
Feathers drifting away in the oceanic breeze.
"Add this to my tab."
Roy would never admit it, but there was a grim bit of satisfication in seeing seagulls get -some- payback for their exquisitively timed droppings.
Adding another bill to the payment, Roy flashes a grin, picks up his new purchases, and starts back towards the back of the warehouse.
"Hey Dom, I picked up a sweet ride," he comments, as he flips over a pair of keys on the way. "Care to give it a spin? We're heading to the Black Lagoon bar, downtown. Contact's waiting for us there."
And when they had turned the corner, there sits a Shelby Cobra GT 500, pimped out, supercharged V-8. "Hadda look good first time out. Think it'll pass?"
Benny's still glaring at Domino. "He had it coming."
"You haven't changed any, girlie."
"I'd like to think not. Later, Benny."
The Mosin ends up taking place over the back of Dom's right shoulder, the spot she usually has reserved for a machete or a shotgun. It's a fitting enough replacement. Better range, able to pierce walls and cars alike. Rockin' it oldschool out here. The keys are snagged out of the air as soon as they're presented, though there's a look of accusation crossing over her face. "What, now you want a chauffer on top of a bodyguard? Don't try to play it up on me, say it like it is."
Then she rounds the corner and comes to an abrupt stop. Staring at the car. Looking back to Roy. "You -idiot!-"
She's still driving, of course. Nuts to that!
"There's a difference between making a good first impression and trying too damn hard, Harper. An -unmodded- one of these is going to draw the attention of everyone within earshot. I just--y'know what, forget it. We'll talk about this later."
Don't drive angry, Domino. Especially when we're looking at..what, eight hundred horsepower, give or take?
"I think the only thing that passed around here is common sense."
"Oh -fine-," Roy grumps, holding his hand out. "Give me the key. I'll drive, we'll take the car back and find -something- else."
Standing there, waiting, hand out, Roy sighs, so totally put-out. And it was -such- a sweet-looking ride too.
Startled by the roar of the engine coming to life, Roy blinks as Domino puts the car into first gear. "H-hey! HEY!"
Dashing as the car starts moving, Roy throws the ammo into the back seat, and then leaps, headfirst into the front seat.
As the car drives off, Roy's flailing legs manage to get into the car, followed by a -lot- of cursing about how women can't make up their minds.
A short while later...
The Black Lagoon bar is, as Star Wars would put it, a wretched hive of humanity. Guns visible on tables everywhere, hookers draped on people, cigarette and cigar smoke -everywhere-.
Behind the bar, a woman is bustling about making drinks. Auburn-haired, standing almost five foot nine inches, she glances up as Roy saunters up to the bar. "Whaddya want?" she growls, in a faintly accented voice.
"Good to see you too, Belikova," Roy greets with an ingrating smile. "Domino, Vasilia Belikova."
Roy had filled in the details on Vasilia Belikova during the car ride... well, when he wasn't being ignored about -letting him drive-. Formerly one of Roy Harper's handlers in at a previous agency before Roy ended up with SHIELD, Vasilia had been 'Contact' for him, an information gathering specialist and coordinator. Unfortunately, some incident (and Roy never did go into details) at Bogatago had led to Contact resigning her position and leaving. She apparently had a souvenir from the Bogatago incident too, judging by the large burn scar on the left side of her face. And somehow she'd ended up owning a bar in Madripoor. And judging by the look she was giving Roy, none too pleased about having -him- waltzing back into her life.
But if that look at Roy was unpleasant, the expression as her gaze shifts to Domino is downright -nasty-.. "Bozhe moi!" she barks, before shouting "She's -here-!"
And as fast as Roy could be, Belikova's draw was even quicker, as Domino finds herself staring down the barrel of a GSh-18.
And Roy can't help but notice, well, that they were suddenly surrounded by -heavily- armed bouncers. "... I take it you ladies know each other?" Roy sighs, ever so softly as he brings his hands up in the air, a gesture of 'Is it too late to say I don't know her?'
There it is. Introductions. Resurfacing memories. A Russian 9mm now flanked across the top of the bar with a pair of Slovakian 9mm's from the albino of the hour.
Around the bar there's the scraping of more than a dozen chairs quickly sliding back across the wooden floor. Conversation ceases as a whole, replaced with the cacophony of so many weapons of varying sizes, types, calibers, and manufacturers being drawn and readied. At least eight of them have laser sights, though one doesn't need to follow their paths to realize that every..last..one is pointed directly..at..Domino.
"That didn't take long." (Sonuvabitch, I KNEW that name sounded familiar.)
"September fourteenth, nineteen ninety-nine," Belikova starts in with an unyielding hold of her tone, expression, and pistol. The hold on her temper is slightly less so. "Dmitri Filipov. Five slugs. Close range. Excellent groupings. He was one of mine, you know."
"It wasn't anything personal, Belikova," Dom replies in a low but level tone. "Business is business. If not me, it would have been someone else."
"But it -was- you," Belikova presses. "As was the job in Prague. January eleventh, two thousand-eight. Elena Vladescu, I presume?"
Shit. "Don't tell me I happened across one of your ex-husbands."
Balikova smirks, though it's a dangerous look made all the darker by the scar covering part of her face. "Hardly. On the other hand, putting that dog down has proven to be quite beneficial to some of us."
Dom can see where this is going. "And so you're not going to kill me just yet--"
"--Because you can be useful to me here. Tell me, Domino. Are you ready to work for the Black Lagoon bar?"
The white-skinned merc doesn't need to look around the room to know there's an appalling number of guns aimed at various parts of her anatomy. They'd sooner shoot themselves if she ducked and rolled, but she's caught completely in the open here. And, Roy -did- want himself an opening to the inner workings of this country, right?
That boy's gonna owe her more than a couple of guns and a few hundred bullets.
"Yeah..okay," Dom relents, allowing her weapons to fall to her sides.
Observing the red spots erupt like angry measles on Domino, Roy closes his eyes, sighing. He starts to open his mouth, but angry looks from both Domino and Contact convinces him that, just maybe, it might be wiser to remain quiet while the ladies worked this out.
And so when Domino agrees to work with Belikova, Roy lets out a sigh of relief.
"Don't think I'm done with you yet either, mister..." Vasilia lets her voice trail off, being well aware that Roy -might- be here on an undercover mission, but her expression is that of a woman who's -not- going to put up with any bullshit.
Pulling his wallet out and fishing out a business card, Roy slides it towards Vasilia. "Here, my card."
Inscribed on it was 'William Bard' together with his cell phone number and an email address.
Taking the card between two fingers, glancing at it briefly, Belikova regards it coolly. "So, Mr. Bard, you're waltzing right back in town, looking to pick up business right where we left off?" she comments, as she reaches for a cigarette. Palming the card briefly, she lights a match, and then lights her cigarette, before dropping the card into an ashtray, and dropping the match right back into it. "Fine. First, you and your lady friend're doing -me- a favor first..."
The card flickers, and then starts burning as Vasilia turns her cold gaze onto Domino. "And you don't get to say no."
Domino's not going anywhere for the moment, but she's also not giving the other woman the benefit of seeing her surrender. She's not about to hold her hands in the air, fuck that. She's not even going to holster her guns, there's still a room full of angry gangsters waiting for the word to go to town on these two.
Roy, 'William's' attempt to reconnect seems to be going just as well. Would he have fared any better without her here, or would he have gotten shot in the forehead and thrown out into the sea without some form of intervention? It's an absolute trainwreck, but even a trainwreck can get traffic to hesitate.
"Wouldn't dream of it," she replies with a crooked grin, positively filled with sarcasm. Looks like she'll be here a little longer than anticipated, after all.
"Good," Belikova gives a curt nod, and suddenly Domino's red spots outbreak fades as quickly as it appears.
"Can I lower my hands now?" Roy comments.
"She can, you can't," Belikova replies, giving Domino a half-shrug. Not totally forgiven, but there's a slight glance of sympathy about having to deal with -that man-.
It lasts for a minute before Belikova laughs, a light musicial note... "-Now- you can put your hands down, Will. At least I'm glad to see you're taking orders -just- a bit better than when you worked for me."
"Yeah yeah," Roy grins now, a crooked half-grin returning to his face. "So what's it you want us to do, Sweet Cheeks?"
The smile fades from Belikova's face. "What -have- I told you about calling me that?"
"... uh, never to do it unless I want Lian to be an only child...?"
"Remember that. Anyway, there's an arms auction happening. I want you to scuttle it for the Black Lagoon bar..."
"But what about that night in---..."
"Shut up, Bard."
"Shutting up, ma'am."
Not that Dom's arms had ever been raised beyond when she had a pair of 9mm's pointed at Belikova's head. Though to hear that she's more off the hook than Harper is? -Hah!- Despite the tension in the air she can't help but look amused, arms crossing in front of herself with one pistol supporting an elbow and the other resting along the side of her head.
This shit just got entertaining.
"Glad there's at least -one- woman around here that can keep the jerk in line," she says to Beli in an all too chummy sort of way.
Arms deal..? "Hey, that sounds like fun." Maybe doing some jobs for this woman won't be all that bad, though Dom would feel better about it if she knew there would be money coming her way for the work, rather than the possibility of paying off a 'debt' that could take weeks or years. She'd raze this place to the ground if it got that far out of hand.
"Wait..-scuttle- an auction? You want us to trick the building's sprinkler system, or something?"
"It's like fishing," Belikova replies, eyes bemused in solidarity as she locks gazes with Domino. "There's a time to let out the line, and a time to reel him in, and then you'll have him where you want him."
"Hello? Fish -here-," Roy says, crossing his arms.
Ignoring Roy, Belikova continues. "In any case, the arms auction... well, there's a good deal of weaponry that would be of -great- benefit to the Triads here. It may be beyond -our- current financial means, as our cash flow is not as high as they could be..." There's a slight -look- at Roy and his suit, and another meaningful look towards the outdoors. "But until then, buying time is what you will be doing. Use your judgement---"
There's a brief pause as Belikova looks at Roy, then back at Domino.
"---YOUR judgement."
"You really don't -trust- me, do you, Contact?" Roy sighs.
"I trust you. I just trust her more."
"But you -barely- know---"
A hand goes up. "Domino?"
"Now I want to hit a fishfry," Domino mutters as the two go back to bickering. "I wonder if Hwan's joint is still up and running on the north side..."
Wait. She's back up to bat. Is..Belikova already -trusting- Dom's judgement? Lucky, lucky her. Pale blue eyes narrow slightly as she regards the other woman, lightly tapping her own temple with the side of a Grand Power's slide.
"You want yourself a fire sale, you're talking to the right lady. I'm going to need some gear to settle things with a proper amount of finality, though. If you can spot me the charges, I can get you the fireworks."
Not to mention, an -arms auction.- There is -no way in Hell- that she's going to walk away from this job empty-handed! They're gonna need a car with a bigger trunk.
"We'll make the arrangements," Belikova says, drumming her fingers on the bar counter. "And while you're at it, get Bard something -dark- to wear. He stands out like a sore thumb here. Only one who wears something that attention-getting is Chen, and he's -protected- like hell."
"Hey!"
"Oh hush, Bard." Reaching out to stroke Roy's cheek, Belikova smiles. "You -do- clean up real nice. It'll be a shame if we got -that- white suit sporting a lovely red blood bloom, would we?"
"Uhh... yeah," Roy nods, flashing a grin.
Belikova's smile fades swiftly into a thin hard line as she grips Roy's chin hard. "Then stop fuckin' round this town and get up to speed -fast-. I know you can do this, Bard. A little less flash, a lot more grit." A line follows in Russian, one that translates literally as "Listen more, talk less."
Releasing Roy, Belikova inclines her head towards the door. "Good to see you again. Give us a minute, will you?"
"Fine," sighs Roy. "I'll be waiting outside. See ya later, Contact." A handwave, and Roy Harper is out the door.
Dom inclines her head in acknowledgement. Belikova seems like the real 'homicidal bitch' variety, but she's one to get things done.
Then she's going right back to giving Roy a hard time. It's almost worth the trip just to see this! "I'll get the boy properly gritted up. My only conclusion for how he got all Zoolander on us is that he had too much to drink on the trip out here. Wait until you see the car he's got me driving."
That's right. His car. That -she- drives. If Roy wants to try and take the keys back from her he can just stop for a moment and remember which one it is out of the two of them that -doesn't- like to kill other people.
Even so, when he's told to wait outside it quickly leaves Domino feeling a lot more vulnerable than she had been when he was standing nearby. He's still a good shot, and another target for the enemy to pay attention to. Within seconds, she's all alone in this angry mob of heavily armed thugs.
Normally she would be right at home. Problem is, this is Madripoor. And one does not screw around with the Russians.
"You've been waiting a long time to get me alone within the walls of your kingdom, haven't you," she flatly says to the other distinctly marked woman.
The almost fond smile Belikova has as she watches Roy leave fades as Domino's words draws her attention back towards the pale albino. The thin harsh line of her non-lips contrast sharply against the burn scar covering the left side of her face. "What's done is done. What matters is what you do today. But..."
Behind Domino, a bar patron laughs brusquely, followed by the sound of a glass shattering against a table.
Belikova barely bats an eye as she brings the pistol back up, and fires.
Another glass shatters, and the patrons quiet down quickly.
"You don't kill -anyone- under my employ, while you're working. Or get -any- of mine killed, do you understand?" Belikova says softly, her harsh words somehow seeming wrong with her light musical voice. "If you get a better offer, and you likely -will-... it would be better if you simply shot yourself before crossing me again."
(These are not your friends, Domino. They aren't even your kind of people. You can survive this place because you're capable of meeting them on their level, not because you -are- on their level.)
Then what the hell is -Roy- doing around here? SHIELD must want him out of the picture pretty badly. Given his effect on the nerves of every woman around him, it's not a large stretch of the imagination.
And Dom agreed to tag along. Isn't that called enabling..? -Shit.-
Then the shot is fired and the glass is pulverized into dust. That's seventeen rounds left in the mag. Eighteen if she bothered to charge up before topping off. She would have been foolish not to, given the chance. We'll assume it's eighteen.
"Oh come on," Domino challenges the other woman in a tone kept just between the two of them. "I see the kinds of 'help' you've got in this joint. Tell me with a straight face that a little culling of the herd wouldn't be beneficial in the long term."
"It's like this," she continues, as though negotiating a contract with the bar owner. Press her luck some more? Sure, don't mind if she does. "I'm not the type to be mistaken by anyone else on this twisted planet. This is Madripoor. If someone points a gun at me, I'm going to kill them. If your boys are stupid enough to make that mistake then they deserve what's coming to them, because I'm sure as Hell not about to get myself shot because of -that- boy," she declares while motioning with a quick jerk of her head toward the doors. "You want a wrecking ball? You've got one. Keep your kids out of my range and let me work."
Belikova's lips curls into an almost-smile. "I don't -waste- the lives of my men," she replies, a harsh tone in her voice that -almost- sounded ladened with history. Almost. The haughty Russian gaze fixes on Domino. "And yes, self-defense. That certainly would be a convenient excuse, wouldn't it?" she replies, almost as though musing to herself. "Besides..."
Belikova's gaze goes back outdoors. "I already have a wrecking ball. What I need is a chain to keep him from getting out of control. I suspect he knows it too, or he wouldn't listen to me. 'Contact', he calls me. Should have been 'Control'."
Cool brown eyes fixes on Domino's blue orbs. "He's actually got a shot at being a pretty damned good agent, if he ever learns some. And if you tell him this, I'll deny it."
You could say a lot of things to Domino at a moment like this and she'd be plenty prepared with some dry, witty countermeasure. She's doing a fine job so far, and has still managed to not get herself shot. Or even further threatened all that much.
Finding out that Roy's the wrecking ball, and that it's up to -her- to keep him in line... She doesn't say the next thought. Belikova doesn't need that sort of encouragement.
(Fuck me.)
"You -do- know that there's only so much I can do to keep that idiot from getting himself killed or starting another war, right?"
She'll deny it. That's it. Not 'if you ever tell him I said this I'll kill you.' Either Belikova's very good at keeping herself in check or she's way more confident than Dom realizes. The former's better from where the merc is standing. The latter is, quite possibly, more likely. The odds continue to rise against her favor.
"Then I need to get going before your wrecker decides to hotwire his new car."
"He's not an idiot. Reckless, headstrong, stubborn..." Belikova pursues her lips, before sighing, bringing a hand to her forehead. "All right, he's an idiot. But he's -our- idiot."
There's a wry smile. "I don't think you're being asked to babysit him. Just keep him from getting too far ahead of himself. This is Madripoor. Wars happen every day. He'll fit right in."
And as if on cue to Domino's words about hotwiring, there's a roar of a familiar engine. A Shelby GT500.
"... wonderful," Belikova sighs. "You have my permission to shoot -him- if he gets out of hand."
Eyebrows start to rise as Beli tries to explain that he's not an idiot.
Yeah, that's what Domino thought.
Then the car fires up. Her initial reaction is impossible to hide, spoken at almost exactly the same moment that the Russian woman gives her permission: "I'm gonna shoot that little--"
Pause. One more narrow-eyed glance back to Beli. Then Dom's hurrying for the doors, finally tucking her pistols back beneath her arms, still kept in plain view along with the rest of her hardware. Around here, she's got nothing to hide but her motives.
Category:Log