Post by moss on Apr 5, 2008 22:53:35 GMT -5
The foot steps echo on the empty seventh room floor as Ray Woods turns the handle on the brown door and enters. “I would appreciate it if you would knock.” Bud Phillips, the man behind the desk, sharply replies as he eyes the man who enters before resuming with his paperwork.
“You know me.”
“Irrelevant.”
Woods steps closer towards the desk before he pulls the chair back, allowing it to scrap across the floor. The noise causes Phillips to slightly peer across from him as he watches his guest place himself in the chair, his annoyance impossible to hide as Woods scraps the chair legs again and pulls himself towards the mahogany desk. Crossing his legs, Woods sits with a confident expression plastered onto his face. “Rather hot out today.” Woods notes, causing Phillips to slam his pen on the paper before countering with a smile out of courtesy. “I didn’t bring you to discuss the weather, Mr. Woods.” The stereotypical Texan responds expressionlessly, only to the devilish smile of Ray Woods. “Well then, why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me why I’m here . . .” Again, he smirks in mocking fashion “ . . . Mr. Phillips?”
The older of the two locks his fingers together and places his hands on his desk. “What do you know about Ed Moss?” He asks inquisitively, for the first time causing Woods to temporarily lose his quick wit. “What is it you want to know?” Woods retorts.
“Anything.”
“You need him for something?”
“Perhaps - maybe.”
Leaning back, Woods lets the cards shift in his favor. “I didn’t come to discuss maybes, Mr. Phillips.” The man responds with jurisdiction in his voice, despite having none. “I suppose that’s fair,” Phillips answers back. “There’s an . . .” Pausing, he then smiles “ . . . “issue” that needs to be taken care of. Money is not in the proper hands. It needs to be. We’ll leave it at that.”
“And you don’t want me to deal with it?” Woods questions as innocently as possible, an obvious detour from his normal demeanor. He knows why he isn’t being asked to take care of it, but he lets Phillips come up with whatever fake explanation anyways.
“Nothing personal . . . I just have my reasons,”
Said reasons are simply to save his own hide. In today’s world it’s a messier business. Phillips is simply taking whatever steps necessary to protect his own hide. If the bounty hunter ices the target and gets caught there’s the looming possibility of being ratted out. That’s much more difficult if said hitman doesn’t have the faintest clue who the person who hired him actually is. The fact that Phillips would assume that Woods would actually get caught is downright disrespectful to someone of his stature, as is thinking that Woods wouldn’t be able to connect the pieces in his head. His mistake, however, is all but telling Woods of his plan and giving him the ability to intercept the deal.
“Don’t worry, though. I do have a job for you.”
“Please . . . do tell.” Woods thinks sarcastically, though his response doesn’t indicate any of the criticism.
“I would like you to hire someone for me.”
“The damn fool.” he thinks to himself “Ed Moss?” Woods asks, already knowing the answer. Phillips smiles, chuckling.
“Remember when you asked why you were here? Picking up his pen and scribbling on a piece of paper, he talks without looking at his guest. “That’s why,” Phillips continues, before he tears off the paper and hands it to Woods “. . . you’re here. I need you to meet with this Ed Moss. All the information is right there, specifically where to find him.”
Laughing, Woods replies and attempts to play buddy-buddy. “You don’t think I could find him myself?” Now Phillips laughs.
“Hook, line, and sinker.” Woods says silently. “Just saving you some time. All I need is for you to tell him what to do. When that’s done you’ll get half of your payment. The other half comes when the job is done and my money is placed back in my hand.”
Folding the paper and placing it into his pocket Woods rises from the chair, making a firm mental note to scrap the chair. For the third time Phillips cringes, trying to eye any potential scratches it may have caused. “I’ll be sure to meet with him.” Woods comments, nodding his head in assurance and preparing to leave, only to be derailed by Phillips.
“By the way, you never answered my question. What do you know about Ed Moss?” Phillips repeats. “I just want your perspective.”
“You’re in good hands.”
“I figured as much. Good to hear. But between you and me,” He momentarily stops “Is he the type to let blood shed even when not always necessary?”
Woods chuckles “If you have to ask me,” He begins to walk out of the room. “I think you already know the answer.”
“You know me.”
“Irrelevant.”
Woods steps closer towards the desk before he pulls the chair back, allowing it to scrap across the floor. The noise causes Phillips to slightly peer across from him as he watches his guest place himself in the chair, his annoyance impossible to hide as Woods scraps the chair legs again and pulls himself towards the mahogany desk. Crossing his legs, Woods sits with a confident expression plastered onto his face. “Rather hot out today.” Woods notes, causing Phillips to slam his pen on the paper before countering with a smile out of courtesy. “I didn’t bring you to discuss the weather, Mr. Woods.” The stereotypical Texan responds expressionlessly, only to the devilish smile of Ray Woods. “Well then, why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me why I’m here . . .” Again, he smirks in mocking fashion “ . . . Mr. Phillips?”
The older of the two locks his fingers together and places his hands on his desk. “What do you know about Ed Moss?” He asks inquisitively, for the first time causing Woods to temporarily lose his quick wit. “What is it you want to know?” Woods retorts.
“Anything.”
“You need him for something?”
“Perhaps - maybe.”
Leaning back, Woods lets the cards shift in his favor. “I didn’t come to discuss maybes, Mr. Phillips.” The man responds with jurisdiction in his voice, despite having none. “I suppose that’s fair,” Phillips answers back. “There’s an . . .” Pausing, he then smiles “ . . . “issue” that needs to be taken care of. Money is not in the proper hands. It needs to be. We’ll leave it at that.”
“And you don’t want me to deal with it?” Woods questions as innocently as possible, an obvious detour from his normal demeanor. He knows why he isn’t being asked to take care of it, but he lets Phillips come up with whatever fake explanation anyways.
“Nothing personal . . . I just have my reasons,”
Said reasons are simply to save his own hide. In today’s world it’s a messier business. Phillips is simply taking whatever steps necessary to protect his own hide. If the bounty hunter ices the target and gets caught there’s the looming possibility of being ratted out. That’s much more difficult if said hitman doesn’t have the faintest clue who the person who hired him actually is. The fact that Phillips would assume that Woods would actually get caught is downright disrespectful to someone of his stature, as is thinking that Woods wouldn’t be able to connect the pieces in his head. His mistake, however, is all but telling Woods of his plan and giving him the ability to intercept the deal.
“Don’t worry, though. I do have a job for you.”
“Please . . . do tell.” Woods thinks sarcastically, though his response doesn’t indicate any of the criticism.
“I would like you to hire someone for me.”
“The damn fool.” he thinks to himself “Ed Moss?” Woods asks, already knowing the answer. Phillips smiles, chuckling.
“Remember when you asked why you were here? Picking up his pen and scribbling on a piece of paper, he talks without looking at his guest. “That’s why,” Phillips continues, before he tears off the paper and hands it to Woods “. . . you’re here. I need you to meet with this Ed Moss. All the information is right there, specifically where to find him.”
Laughing, Woods replies and attempts to play buddy-buddy. “You don’t think I could find him myself?” Now Phillips laughs.
“Hook, line, and sinker.” Woods says silently. “Just saving you some time. All I need is for you to tell him what to do. When that’s done you’ll get half of your payment. The other half comes when the job is done and my money is placed back in my hand.”
Folding the paper and placing it into his pocket Woods rises from the chair, making a firm mental note to scrap the chair. For the third time Phillips cringes, trying to eye any potential scratches it may have caused. “I’ll be sure to meet with him.” Woods comments, nodding his head in assurance and preparing to leave, only to be derailed by Phillips.
“By the way, you never answered my question. What do you know about Ed Moss?” Phillips repeats. “I just want your perspective.”
“You’re in good hands.”
“I figured as much. Good to hear. But between you and me,” He momentarily stops “Is he the type to let blood shed even when not always necessary?”
Woods chuckles “If you have to ask me,” He begins to walk out of the room. “I think you already know the answer.”
