latino_menace | OOM: Bogotá on fight night

The kiss starts hard and ends soft as he eases, tension burnt away. He's smirking as he pulls his head back, looking at her face.

'You really do want it, don't you.'

It's not a question at all and he doesn't pull his body away from her - hell, he's barely even softening. A few minutes and he'd be ready to go again but she's said no and he can wait until after dinner. Besides, he needs to get out of the house. Apart from wanting to avoid his uncle, this last week has left him unable to sit still, antsy to the point of violence at times. But Fiona's not to know that.

'I'll take care of you later. We need to clean up and go.'

She makes no move to push him away, and her hand is still curled around him, the water washing away the evidence.

Her voice is small but fierce.

"Not 'it'. You."

Her hand frets in his hair, and he can feel the fire still coiling through her.

'Me?'

Whoa, what? He wouldn't look more surprised if she suddenly morphed into a black man with a pink mohawk. And now he does pull back, stepping a foot away from her and grabbing the soap once more, scrubbing himself furiously.

'I don't know what you thought was going to happen here but I'm not looking to get serious with some chick I just met in a magic bar.'

She shakes her head for a moment, a look of rage and pain flashing in her eyes. She knocks the soap out of his hand and uses both hands to push him against the back wall, hard.

"Who said anything about 'serious'?"

She's tiny but she gets up in his face, fearless, intent as a loaded gun.

Surprise switches to confusion and he looks down at the hands on him, not understanding.

'You just said you want me. But you wont fuck me until we've dinner and a conversation. And now you're saying you don't want serious?'

He shakes his head and looks younger suddenly, tired. Ignoring her intent, he picks up the damn soap once more.

'I just want to get clean because we need to get out of the house. You heard my uncle was coming, yes? We should not be here when he walks in - don't you get it? He and Henri were...together. And he's not the sort of man you want be in the same room as when he's upset.'

There's a reason Ramon respects Raul.

'I don't know what the fuck's the matter with you women but I've just about had my fill for the time being. You want me to let you back into the bar, just say so.'

He doesn't sound angry. More defeated than anything.

Edited 2010-03-07 01:08 (UTC)

Bringing up the death of Henri shifts something at her core, and her face shuts down. She sounds just as defeated, just as tired as he does. She stalks out of the shower, muttering as she grabs a towel and starts drying herself off.

"I'm not one of your women, Ramon. I'll never be one of your women."

She drops the towel on the floor and twists her hair up on off her neck, tying it in a knot, moving with that same languid, unselfconscious grace as she dresses in his shirt.

Dinner is still very much on the agenda.

Edited 2010-03-07 01:18 (UTC)

'Yeah, that's what they all say,' he mutters to himself, putting his game face back on as he cleans up properly. A few moments later and he's out in the bedroom himself, pulling a clean suit on and combing his hair.

'Let's get out of here.'

She smirks, shaking her head a little. She remembers how much she wanted to kill him that first night he took her to dinner. She remembers how good he felt, when he kissed her outside the women's restroom.

She rummages through his jewellery and comes up with a way too long gold chain. (Thank you, '70's fashion.) The pendant is dropped back in the box, but she wraps the heavy chain around her waist and lets it settle around her hips.

Improvisation in the trenches is her trademark.

He looks her over and nods once, silent approval, then heads for the door. He leads her out the back way; there's no sound of an explosion of any kind so he assumes Raul isn't here yet. The Mercedes is waiting for him and he opens the back door for Fi before getting in next to her - there are two guys up front but he can't be bothered introducing them this time.

Just like the last ride, he's silent. Part of him is wondering if this is a good idea, the rest of him is just blank.

She watches out the window again, her eyes scanning for any other vehicles. An SUV of the same make and model as the one that shadowed them into the slums pulls up beside them, and she tenses, putting her hand on the .45 in her purse (she insisted).

The light changes and it rolls on by, completely without incident. The air goes out of her again.

She cuts a look across at him.

He looks so young.

He hasn't felt young in a long, long time. But that's the way he wanted it and he doesn't waste time on self-pity. Nights like tonight make him tired though; if his side had come out completely unscathed then he'd be hyper and celebrating. As it is, the cloud of tomorrow hangs over him and he still doesn't know Rico is doing.

'Don't worry,' he murmurs, without looking at her. 'There'll be a couple of cars around us watching for trouble.'

After things like tonight, security is automatically doubled.

"In case you haven't figured it out yet, I've done this before. And your 'security'," she drawls, eyes still trained on the traffic around thenm, "did fuck all last time. So you can relax if you want and just let me do what I do."

She's a professional and she has her pride.

He'd explain to her that they went with him into the house to do the job and protect him from any surprises out there. Perhaps he should have left some outside but what were they going to do? The car came out of nowhere and would have caught them in the street all the same.

He's not going to argue it. Not going to rise to her tone either, though he probably would on another day. So he just ignores her comment and continues to stare out of the window, relaxed in a fatuiged kind of way.

Another ten minutes and they're there, a small resturant that obviously knows him as a regular. A curtain is pulled aside at the back to let them into a private room with just a few tables in there and a couple of his guys sit on the other side of it to make sure they're not disturbed by any one but the waiter.

Her eyes go up at the private dining room. She half expected to be eating greasy tacos out of a paper tray while he ogled the hookers on shift change.

This is something entirely different. He holds her chair and she sits with a murmured thanks. She swallows, watching him take his own seat.

The waiter asked what she wants to drink.

"Tequila. Bring the bottle."

He approves of her choice, obviously.

'The good stuff,' he says to the waiter, who nods and leaves after he's handed them both menus. Ramon doesn't bother with his.

'The enchiladas are good,' he says to Fi, after a moment's pause.

This is weird for him. He doesn't do dates. He's not exactly sure how he's supposed to behave.

Edited 2010-03-07 14:52 (UTC)

"I'll have whatever you're having," she says, her eyes on his hands. (Such young hands.) She brushes a wisp of hair out of her eyes, her thoughts scattered.

"So, where I come from... Someone would have to pay for what happened to Henri. A lot of someones, more likely." She doesn't know if it's the same here, but it's a place to start. And there's a strange resolve in her voice, like she'd be up for it, if he were to ask.

He lights a cigarette and looks at her but says nothing until the waiter comes back. He orders enchiladas for the both of them with a range of sides and waits until the man disappears again.

'Of course something will have to be done. It may even have been taken care of by now though I imagine Raul won't...' he trails off mid-sentence and shakes his head, as if to dislodge a memory.

'All of them died. I can't ask them whether they were sent by someone or if it was just them wanting money. I imagine the former but I can't prove it until we've done some digging. If there's more to it, it'll be taken care of.'

"Even dead men have known associates," she says, pouring them both generous shots of tequila and ignoring the fact that he killed the one she'd left alive, possibly for that very reason.

She sets his shot glass in reach and lifts hers.

"Whoever they are, may the Devil find them to have pretty, pretty skulls, and fuck them in the eye."

'I know that.'

And it hasn't escaped him - or his family, no doubt - that killing them all probably wasn't the smartest of moves. But he's not known for his restraint.

He lifts his drink too and smirks before knocking it back.

'Irish saying?'

He likes it.

"Nah, just sounded appropriate."

She refills their glasses, relaxing a little as the alcohol hits her system.

"Here's a traditional one for you: To Henri, may he be in Heaven a half hour before the Devil knows he's dead."

He tilts his head in acknowledgment of the toast and might be about to say something but the waiter returns with their food. It's probably no surprise to anyone that Ramon never has to wait long for service. Once again, he waits until the man is gone before speaking.

'Seems like you liked him. Did you talk?'

"Not passed the usual pleasantries. He didn't call me 'puta' like your brother did."

Her eyes cut down to the bottle again. Getting drunk here is a bad idea. That doesn't stop her from pouring again.

"But he seems like he cared about you. Like your father and your uncle."

The more she sees of his world, the more it brings her back to her days in Belfast. Fierce allegiances based on nothing more than blood. Families turning on families as the pressure to lay down arms mounted. Never sure who your friends were, even as you had to put your life in their hands day after day. It wears a body down, she knows all too well.

"I don't think that ambush was just about money."

'Yeah well, Hector's an asshole.'

Of course, Ramon also implied she was a puta when they first met too - he's an asshole as well.

'He cared about all of us. He and Raul...' Ramon isn't from a time where this sort of thing is talked about much, so it's difficult to find the right words, '...I think they've worked together since before I was born. And...you know.'

He shrugs, has another shot and picks up his fork.

'They probably killed him on purpose. Everyone knows what Raul will do once we find out who's behind it. Or what he'll ask me to do, anyway - he's not really active himself. More an advisor. But that doesn't make sense. No one will willingly want us after them unless it's some kind of trap and they think they can take us out.'

Which is probably exactly what this is about. Everyone knows Ramon is the one who does most of the dirty work - his father doesn't dirty his hands so much any more. In the interests of education, the son can do what needs to be done and it's just a bonus that he enjoys it. It's even fair really, as he'll be taking over one day. But if a rival lures him out and kills him, it pretty much ends the future of the Salazar cartel.

As for allegiances - well, Fiona may not yet know that Ramon ends up killing Hector but she can probably tell from his behviour that the brothers are not the closest they could be. With his father and uncle not going to be around forever, she'll realise why the cartel ended up being a one man show.

"If I'd have known that, I'd have made the little shit suffer," she growls under her breath. "That's the kind of move that starts wars."

There's another string of curses, in Gaelic this time, low and harsh.

Eventually she simmers down enough to lift her glass again. This toast is offered without flourish.

"To your Uncle."

She doesn't wait for him to drink before slamming the shot back.

He looks bemused, a little.

'Known...what?'

Every move here can start wars. It's only months since the last one ended, though it wasn't a full-scale affair. Everyone knows one's coming though, there's too many people vying for the same space.

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