Scully 'Spitz' Rollins's Story

"Jesus Christ, just forget it." Jaylene huffed with frustration beside a cramped clothes rack, snatching a hanger brandishing a bedazzled Model 5 dress from the new executive. Beyond the windows of the studio one could only see the pale blue sky, the droning of New York lifestyle only a faint static from the high-rise atelier. Flicking some flaxen hair away from her face and over her shoulder, then reaching to tug on the inadequate sleeve of the glittering frock, she snapped, "How hard is it to make a goddamn three quarter length sleeve? It was in the sketch."

The newly hired executive, a particularly slender and flamboyant man, let his hand flutter to his chest to tug at his collar a bit. It wasn't hard for anyone to be insulted by Jaylene, being that she was derisive about mostly anything that went wrong with a blueprint. And of course on his first day, the poor thing was just hoping to get the dress approved and shoved in a bag and shipped off to the next person without any trouble. But he was dealing with Jaylene Sullivan, and she hadn't let a detail slip yet. Raising her wrist to her face, she checked the time on her rather outdated Coach watch. Irritation was humming in the air almost as loudly as the buzz of scurrying personnel. Timidly stretching the fabric of the dress, Jaylene pursed her lips, the hollow of her cheeks drawing in slightly. She turned to face the fashion director, "Owen, I know you're new here. But you have to put your foot down on these tailors, they run away with their own image of what it should look like." With that, she pressed the fabric to his chest until he clutched it. Hugging her oversized scarf around her, she mumbled, "Goddamn divas. Don't have time for this."

She disappeared swiftly, the clicking of her heels leaving a daunting impression on Owen as he bewilderingly watched her vanish. As she made her way down the main hall, receptionists trotted beside her, clasping their cell phones and portfolios while begging for answers to rather simple questions. Jaylene sighed, occasionally giving a few orders and solutions before slipping into an elevator and promptly letting the door close on the clericals. With every floor she descended, a polite 'ding' interrupted the repetitive music. When she finally reached the ground floor she wasn't surprised to find a crowd anxiously waiting for the lift, making it uneasy for her to squeeze out of it in time.

The air hit her with a brisk force she wasn't prepared for as she opened the giant entrance glass door, making her groan with displeasure and hold a hand up to the wind, "Don't have time for this either." While wondering how it could be so cold in just the early days of autumn, her phone buzzed in her pocket to remind her she had a promotional event to get ready for. During the time that her hired hands were cleaning up a rather shabby venue, she had to get together business cards and an acceptable outfit. It looked to her like the hours were getting away from her, and it was nobody's fault but her own. Rather than take a cab, she decided to walk back to her apartment and reply to an ongoing list of unread texts. The first was from her boss, the second as well, the rest were of an endless variety, questions about the party, who was going, what to wear and so on. It was the inquiries about the event that she ignored.

They'd just have to find out when they got there, wouldn't they?

She was betting on more than half of the town coming. The place in question was a dive bar off the corner of High Street, unusually large for its type of business and favored by all ages. Generally speaking, promoting bands wasn't her preferred advocacy for expanding, but it did prove effective. It didn't take long to find a local band that needed the little extra help. Then again, Jaylene didn't look that hard either. It was almost like a game of 'eeny menu miny moe' that determined the musicians for these things. It was Jaylene's own personal way of getting back at her onerous boss that hated doing things for herself.

By the time she was arguing with the lock on her door (by her own mistake for juggling so many things in her hands), it was nearing seven. The band went on in an hour and a half and she was expected to be an hour early. With a disgruntled moan of irritation, she pushed the door open and ran to her bedroom immediately. Scaling the closet wasn't fun anymore. It was more of a chore. Feeling a little lazy, she slipped into a pair of high waisted button-top skinny jeans, accompanied with a plain gray button down and a leather jacket. Though her boss would scold her for it, she left her hair down to lay straight. There just wasn't time to get everything perfectly in order. She was shuffling through papers and folders on the counter top when her phone buzzed again.

Ironically enough, just as Jaylene was thinking of how many drinks she'd consume, Spitz texted her. What a blast from the past. He'd come a long way, and so had she. But they were both the same still, in ways she didn't care to disclose to anyone. The cocaine addiction was something she left in Belleville. Spitz was an enticing reminder. His message read something about party favors, whether it was joking or not, she wasn't sure. But she knew the type of party favors he had in mind were ones she had best stay away from. It was those messages, too, that got ignored.

Finally the blond-haired young woman rushed from her condo, a folio in hand and a shoulder bag hanging from her opposite arm.

"Yeah yeah, he'll thank me later," Hazel laughed, brushing the motor oil off her wrist with a damp cloth. She brushed off her jeans and grinned. "I'll meet you there," Hazel declared, putting on her light blue helmet with the words Angel painted on the back. She had gotten it when she was 17 for her birthday. After all, advertising her name impressed people. Hazel mounted her motorcycle and put her key in the ignition and turned it. It revved to life.

"See ya there!" Hazel twisted the motorcycle's handles, moving it forward fast. Hazel could feel her ponytail hitting her back rapidly as the wind went through it. Hazel grinned as she stared at the speedometer as it reached up to 70. Reaching a red stoplight, she slowed down. She could feel the ground vibrating as a car stereo with loud bass rumbled to a stop in the lane beside her. She smiled at the familiar low rider as the tinted window rolled down.

"Yo Hazel!" Hazel smiled at one of her old racing buddies. She waved. "You goin' to the party?" Hazel lifted the helmet up. "You know it!" "Then you must be going to the, eh, after party so to speak?" "I wouldn't miss a race for anything!" Hazel grinned as the light turned green. She lowered her helmet and sped off.

After the accident with her father, she had always worn her helmet. After all, he hadn't been wearing his helmet, and skull fracture was the main cause of his death. She pretended to be over it, but she didn't take chances. Someone was still out there, looking for her.

Hazel pondered for a moment as she reached the event. She decreased her speed and lowered her foot as it came to a complete stop. She unmounted the motorcycle and put her bike lock on it and moved the kickstand with her foot. "Hazel!" A voice called out.

Hazel spun around and smiled at group of people from the auto shop. "Come have beer with us!" One of them invited. Hazel shrugged. "Sure, but a maximum of two, I've seen what happens when you race drunk, but buzzed, it's a much better experience," Hazel teased as she opened a beer and chugged about a quarter of it down. She grinned and moved her hair back so she could look around.

"Products are good, you gave us the money, IRA'll run us the weapons by next week. Just like they said they would."

The Russian-accented voice called out to Alex in the apartment as she lifted a cold beer from the counter to take a swig. She'd first laughed when she first met her "partner" in crime. Honestly, who expects to actually meet a Russian arms-dealer like you see in the movies? Now, however, after nearly a year of business with the man he had become one of her closest friends.

The man in question, by the name of Nikolai Arsov, came out rocking his usual attire of black jeans and a very form fitting black muscle shirt that accented that wonderfully fit body of his that Alex sometimes caught herself staring at for too long at any one time.

"How the hell do you even know they'll make the delivery on time, Nik?" She questioned him. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"Not to worry about. They get 10 percent of what we get when we sell the guns to the drug dealers and gangs. If they get it to us on time."

"10 percent isn't that much..."

"With what the drug dealers especially are paying? They won't want to miss out on that kind of money. They'll probably just use it to funnel guns from Chechnya."

"Fair enough," Alex paused for a moment to check her watch. "Sorry to cut it short Nik, but I have to run."

"Not a problem," Nikolai's reply came out rushed as Alex walked up to give him a quick farewell hug and bolted out the door.

--

Alex paused in the doorway before heading out on the street. Making sure that nobody could see her, Alex opened up her cross-strap shoulder bag and drew out what was one of her actual legal handguns. Making sure it was still on safety and fully loaded, she slipped the small firearm back into her bag, closing the zipper and heading out the door.

The young woman was dressed in a lighter blue pair of jean shorts with a loose-fitting grey crop-top that exposed very little above her navel. The outfit was complete by a black cross-strap shoulder bag, a pair of brown-lensed gold-framed Aviator sunglasses, and a pair of DC black and white Hi-tops.

Overall the look gave her the air of youthfulness that many would have said belonged to her. Youthfulness she felt was long gone considering her work with many members of the criminal underworld of the Big Apple. Not to mention making her look incredibly sexy, too. She walked down the sidewalk to her car, a red 2013 Audi R8 that had been a gift from Nikolai. She liked the car, but it was nothing compared to her ever-beloved bike that was sitting locked-up tight in a garage owned by Nikolai. The man did a lot for her, so much that she could never repay him for. But as she sat in the drivers seat staring at a two-week old crack along the bottom of her windshield courtesy of a rock from the top of an SUV on the George Washington bridge, she didn't think he'd be able to fix that for her.

So she did what she was able to in that moment. The glove compartment was opened and sifted through until the woman produced a card with a name and number on it, given to her by a trusted acquaintance when he'd seen the crack in her windshield. Of course, the name wasn't particularly for the auto service but for far more illegal endeavors, but she'd think that the Spitz Rollins listed on the impromptu card would appreciate the extra business. She dialed the number on her smartphone, the words "Money is money," running through her mind.

Nearly losing her feet, Jaylene spilled into Mick's with her arms full. It seemed like she was sped up to double time as she weaved between tables, topping them with precious party favors and mock-champagne center pieces bursting with bits of orchid and cherry blossoms. Anything she could to do to help the dreary atmosphere of the vast floor plan would be appreciated hopefully, by any attendants. She sighed at one point, rinding off her jacket and carrying over her shoulder as she made sure everything was in place. It was a pain in the ass, doing all the bullshittery that her boss was too lazy to do themselves.

Just as the clock struck eight, people were pouring through the doors. Soon-to-be-sloshed femmes squealed and cramped the bar, hoisting themselves up on stools and flicking their hair while they gossiped anxiously. They were all barely a day over twenty one which caused an anxious and exasperated Jaylene to glance them over with an eyeroll of disgust. She had to remind herself that they were all vital parts of her little occasion and she needed to treat them as such, at least while she was in seeing distance of anyone corporate. Once the final touches were in order, she slipped her leather jacket back on and pranced to a few tables to lean over coworkers and acquaintances, chatting about the night's events. As she was pulled away by another conversation, she caught an eyelock with Spitz from where he sat, blowing out billowy streams of smoke from his cigar and smiling smugly at her.

Aide-memoire came again. The thirst, a certain vacancy inside her. That he even forgave her for headbutting him and busting his nose a few years ago in Belleville was a miracle in itself - to see him now, still desirous of her company and hooking her up was just mind-blowing. She had to wonder if it was a blessing or a curse. Leaning off of a booth cushion, she stood and winked at him to signify she fully acknowledged his presence. Whether the curse was soon to come or the blessing, only time would tell.

Otherwise dark and ill-lit, Mick's was now sensational with lavender and turquoise lights dancing over the walls and dance floor. Custom-tailored table cloths streamed over the surfaces in a variance of deep purples and blue. The stage was wrapped in an extempore magnificence, accompanied perfectly with a glossy, new wooden floor Jaylene had placed very last minute. If the bands didn't look good, at least the stage would help them trump their appearance and performance. All wait and barstaff were donned in purpose-designed black outfits with petite white ties, with the exception of a rebellious bartender whose platinum tresses honestly made Jaylene a little envious. Poor girl would have her hands full with all of the babbling bimbos crowding the bar all night. The event was turning into everything Jaylene hadn't expected it to be, even with all her hope. The pout on her lips turned into a curvaceous, pleased smile as she walked towards the stage, a crowd slowly quieting in her wake.

For a second, her hands fumbled with the microphone as she tried to gather her mental notes and pull the device from its stand. In the fullness of time, she brought herself to smile her usual sultry simper as a spotlight focused on her. Idly pushing some hair from her face, the blond strands swimming through her fingers, she began, "Good evening. I have to say first of all, wow. I mean really, wow." She took a deep breath, trying not to let her stage fright get the best of her, "We really have to give it up for the event staff for making this dream a reality. And of course for Mick, his employees and the rest of the crowd, for really making a buzz about this function. So without further adieu, I'd like to welcome you all to Du Jour's eighth campaign party and introduce our first band hailing from a local record store." A thunderous applaud followed, the lights dimming a bit overhead and casting shadows over a drumset. Quietly Jaylene padded down the few side stairs to watch anxiously and help herself to a little champagne.

She made her way to Spitz' table, leaning against the seat where he was parked, one hand resting atop his shoulder as she sipped from her glass.

Alex took a breath after explaining who she was and what her issue was to Spitz. She heard him pause over the phone, before speaking.

"Meet me at Mick's tonight ma, we'll get your shit all squared away. I got you."

"Thank you," The young woman breathed out, and line disconnected. She quickly locked the smartphone, a yellow Nokia Lumia 1020. She took a deep breath and started the engine, the fatigue of the day's work taking its toll on her especially after the sleepless night. She knew vividly where Mick's was, and also knew that the fastest route there also passed by her apartment. So, revving the engine once, Alex carefully pulled out of her precarious parking space and continued on her way.

No more than 10 minutes later, she was opening the door to her bedroom for a quick change of clothes. She intended just a bit more than asking him to fix her car at the moment after their short conversation, and felt she would need to be a bit more presentable.

So she traded in her crop top for a form-fitting white button-up cotton top and her shorts for dark skinny jeans and a studded black belt.

Sifting through her expansive closet, she pulled out a pair of black knee-high 6 inch round-toe stiletto boots. Eying them for a moment, Alex decided that they were what she was looking for and sat back on her beloved king sized bed. She pulled the boots on and stood, steadying herself for a moment as the transition from sneakers to heels was made. Regaining her balance from its momentary loss she stepped quickly over to her mirror. Deciding that she looked presentable for conducting business, she readjusted her dog tags on the outside of her top and swiped her keys off the dresser, swiftly shutting off the light and leaving the room. She also made sure to grab her black blazer on the way out.

On the street, she slipped the blazer on and unlocked her car. Her bag was still sitting inside, extra cash stashed in a lockbox under the driver's seat. The engine started silently, almost like a purr, and she checked her watch.

14 minutes. She smirked. It was going to be an eventful night.

---

A very short while later, Alexandra found herself pulling up along a sidewalk about a block away from Mick's. She stepped out, slinging her bag across her body and shutting the door behind her. She locked the car behind her remotely as she walked down the sidewalk. Her steps were solid and confident, and her attitude slipped into what Nikolai affectionately called her "Succubus mode".

The distance to Mick's was eaten up quickly, and she opened the door and stepped in just as a young blonde girl was up on stage. The words spoken flew in one ear and out the other as Alex's eyes scanned the people in the room. Just before the lights dimmed, her eyes locked on one man sitting alone at booth in the corner. Bottle of Ciroc on the table, cigar in hand with Ostrich Gucci's on his feet. His smirk almost solidified her belief in that this was the guy she was looking for. As the lights dimmed and the room grew darker, she flipped her hair once and put on her best alluring smile.

Walking closer she saw the blonde from on stage earlier lean against him. Alex bit her tongue, and could only hope that she knew about Spitz's "extracurricular" activities outside of his legit mechanic work.

"Spitz Rollins?" The name rolled off of Alex's tongue as she stopped in front of the booth, bright smile still showing and her lithe form displayed nicely under the clothing she wore.
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Kalebs attention snapped to the two behind him. Elijah was helping Rob bring in the remaining of the drum set while Kaleb led the way with his amp and bass. Greco had already went in to speak with someone part of the event staff leaving Kaleb stuck with dumb and dumber.
"You think you girls can stop bitching at each other for just ten minutes for once?" Kaleb scoffed, his eyes quickly scanning the bar they had entered. Micks wasn't an unfamiliar bar to the band, they had spent many Friday nights at the very same place getting smashed off beers and too strong drinks. Scantily clad curvy frames piled along the bar, long tresses being toyed with seductively and smooth tanned legs crossed elegantly. Perhaps Kaycee had a reason to mistrust him.

He could still hear the two behind him bicker in hushed whispers, like siblings who had been yelled at by their parent. Chuckling to himself, Kaleb averted his eyes to the ground before him as he went to the stage to set up his equipment, choosing to ignore his band mates.

The bar was filling up slowly but surely, every time Kaleb would peek up it was as if the crowd had multiplied. Some people had already gathered on the dance floor, drinks in hand as a salute to the DJ. As he bent over his speakers to adjust his feedback, a hand clasped his shoulder with familiarity.

Kaleb stood to meet his own dark eyes with the emerald iris' of Greco, the leading vocals of Shevvery. "We're on in ten, go loosen up a bit before we get started." He said as he gestured to the bar where Rob and Elijah had already made it too, obviously trying to flirt with the blonde on the other side of the bar. Nodding with amusement, Kaleb carefully set down his guitar as Greco pulled together the tiny details that he always seemed to do so well. When Kaleb met Greco a year back, he would have never thought he would grow to admire the guy so much. The man had been through hell and back several times and still gets hit with more shit and stands sturdy as the wall of China.

"Sorry gorgeous, are these boys bothering you?" Kaleb asked as he draped his arms over the shoulders of either man, pulling them close to him, their reactions almost comical, and their words conflicting one another making both of their sentences garbled. Bemused, Kaleb made eye contact with the petite bartender, smirking handsomely. "Could I just bother you with a bud? Promise you won't hear from me again until I need a refill." He winked playfully as Elijah and Rob rolled from beneath him grumbling with disappointment as they walked away.

As he glanced over his shoulder, a certain dark figure at the bar struck a memory within him. "Spitz?" He asked himself, only able to remember the name for it being so fitting as to what Kaleb wanted to do to the then younger drug dealer. His skin tone had darkened perhaps a little, most likely due to summer, and his then lithe shape had grown slightly - but there was no denying the familiar face. He remembered when all he had wanted to do was bash it in.

The bar tenders pretty little voice brought him back, taking a dazed expression as he looked back to the girl. "Sorry babe, was in my own little world." He said as he took the beer, lacking the enthusiasm he had formerly manifested. "Could you start a tab for me and the rest of my boys? Here's my card." He said as he handed her the tiny bit of plastic. Some how that card made him feel so legit, like he was finally on the same level as everyone else instead of finding jobs on Craigslist just to get by. However seeing Spitz made him feel back at square one.

He considered it fate that he had seen Spitz when he would think about it all later that night, it had prepared him for the true shocker.

Just as his beer passed his lips, an unmistakable voice cut through the speakers, stabbing his chest like a knife. Mouth agape and beer hoisted, slowly Kaleb turned to take the stage where the light was shining down on none other than Jaylene Sullivan. If he hadn't tightened his grip, Kaleb was sure he would've instead have dropped his beer and perhaps caused a scene. However everything was still.

There standing before him was the girl he had ever shown his dark side too, the only person in the world who truly knew the wild card that used to be Kaleb Dean Sivaj, and she was squeezed into some high brand clothes and hair perfectly manicured so not a hair was out of place. The Jaylene he remembered was effortless, she could walk into a room and not give a fuck - tie up her hair in a messy bun and walk around in a t shirt and still win a beauty pageant. She looked so different he almost wasn't sure if it was her, but he could never forget that voice as she whispered against his chest that last morning they shared.

Over the years he had tried to forget, when he and Summer were still traveling together Summer would never stop whining how she missed Jaylene, "Sodapop". Every time Kaleb would only respond with anger or irritation. However Summer was gone, and sadly most likely dead from overdosing, and here was Jaylene but curvier and more polished than ever.

Her words were lost to him, and he began pinching himself, sure he had fallen into a dream. She was like an Angel framed in the light, and once she exited the stage he felt his body jerk, as if he wanted to go to her. Sucking in a breath, Kaleb pressed himself into the bar as if he could make himself invisible and act like nothing had ever happened. There was no excuse for her leaving the way she did, abruptly and without warning. She had left him the one and only time he needed her, and there was no way he could forgive her for that. Ever.

He got up to leave, beer in hand as he went to the front doors, desperate to escape. Another familiar voice stopped him. "Hello, I'm Greco. We are Shevvery, here to hang out, play some music...indulge in some recreational products." Subtle laughter could be heard as the charming man behind the mic winked casually. Then across the bar, somehow, Greco made eye contact with Kaleb. "I just need my bass man up here so we can start the show, everyone lets call Kale the male to the stage." Once again there was laughter, and as Kaleb battled to choose from running out or just performing and getting the hell out, the spotlight made the choice for him.

The light almost blinded him as it shined onto him, making him the focus of the whole club as some began to chant 'Kale the male' foolishly. It wasn't hard at that point to link with the very pair of green eyes he had been trying to avoid. Praying that she couldn't tell that he had locked eyes with her, Kaleb pulled his glasses from his hair, slipping them on casually. Attempting to seem unphased, Kaleb thrusted his fist into the air with enthusiasm as the crowd cheered, parting around him as he approached the stage.

Taking his bass, Kaleb got situated in front of his mic, trying to seem natural as he smiled to Greco and Elijah beside him. Confused, both men looked at one another, sure that something wasn't right with their friend. Acting as if he hadn't noticed, Kaleb stepped up to his mic clearing his throat before speaking. "Thanks guys. Happy to be here with you. Lets get this party started, huh?!" Once again the sheep before him bleeped as they jumped with much gusto.

Greco took his spot up front, nodding to the others to set them all in time, cuing their opening song perfectly. Everything was going so smoothly, yet Kaleb couldn't untie the knot that had gathered in the pit of his stomach from those penetrating green eyes.

Hazel chugged down a few drinks before her phone dinged loudly, so did almost everyone's else's. Hazel scrolled through the text. THere was a picture of a blue jay, a statue of Abraham Lincoln, a watermill, a windmill and a walnut. Hazel smiled. That meant that she was both in the race, and that the race would start on blue jay boulevard and go through Lincoln street, Watermill Ave, Windy Street and end at Walnut street. Hazel smiled as she got up. "I better go, it's start pretty soon. My car should be near there," Her racing buddies nodded as she wobbled towards her motorcycle. She put on her helmet and started off towards a garage that had her favorite car in it.

Once Hazel arrived in front of a large car storage area, she skidded to a stop and ran towards her car that she had played around with. She had found a crappy old 2004 Lamborghini with about part of an engine, no seats and rust all over it. She had spent months restoring it on her own time before she modified the engine specially. Hazel had also spray painted angel wings on the bumper. She got in and started the engine, making her smile. She drove off to Blue Jay Boulevard.

Hazel smiled as she pulled up to a large group of sports cars blasting their music loudly. Hazel grinned, her teeth were almost chattering because of the vibrations. She laughed as she stepped out, grinning as she slid over the hood. Hazel waved to Travis, the person who hosted most of these races and gatherings."Hazel!" He clapped her on the back, almost making her cough. Hazel smiled, still wobbling slightly from the beer. "You're up first," He annonced, pointing her towards another car. Hazel got in her car and pulled it forward next to the other car. She looked it over.

It was a 2006 Viper in a crappy red paint job. It was a nice vehicle, but the nervous guy behind the wheel was putting it to shame. "Alright, you know the rules, no bumping other cars, first to the finish line wins. In three, two, one..." Hazel hit the gas, making a sharp turn as her wheels squealed. Her opponent was handling his car like a virgin, he was going slow and straight. Hazel slowed down and stuck her head out the window. "HEY! YOU KNOW THAT OTHER PEADAL? IT'S CALLED THE ACCELERATOR, YOU SHOULD USE IT!" Hazel laughed, speeding ahead of him, leaving him flustered. Hazel smiled as she peeled to the finish line. She laughed, releasing her foot from the gas and went to the brake. She spun it around to show off. "WOO!" Hazel climbed out of her car, cheering.

An illustrious rivulet of fluorescent teal light cascaded over Jaylene, her legs crossed as she stood and her posture tilting towards Spitz. Smiling at him over the brim of her glass, she nipped at the champagne in slow swallows before finally uttering the words, "Thanks for coming." No sooner than the glass had reached its last bubbles, a diligent waiter with striking azure eyes politely took the empty ware from Jaylene's hand and scurried off towards the bar. Raising her brows, she puckered her supple lips, "Damn, they're good, huh?" She nudged Spitz with a playful jab, her hand even caressing the back of his head in a genteel way as the petite digits traced his braids.

Subdued lights turned the stage obscure. Even Jaylene was on the edge of her seat, so to speak. She'd never physically met the band or truthfully looked into them. Admittedly she was going into the entire thing blind with sky-reaching aspirations. A Du Jour collaborator almost passed Jaylene, shortly thereafter pausing and backtracking a bit to greet her with his ornate grin that stretched from ear to ear while he pocketed his wallet.

"Miss Sullivan, a divine pleasure," he exclaimed as he took his hand in hers.
"Thank you," she replied gracefully, "So good to finally meet another editor."
"I hear great things, honey - I just wanted to tell you that if you keep this kind of shit up," he gasped for a minute and clasped a hand over his mouth, "Excuse mwah French. Nothing will stop you from taking over corporate headquarters."
"I wish," she oscillated her head for a moment, "Thanks so much."
"Keep these little twinks prancing around in those waitstaff costumes and I'll be lubricated and ready within the next hour," he giggled, waved a wiggly-fingered hand at Jaylene and cavorted off, "By the way, there's an abundance of models in here dying to get on your line. Take a look, half of em' ain't bad lookin'! Ta-ta!"

An awkward expression traversed over Jaylene's face as she looked back at Spitz for some reassurance that the conversation actually did in fact occur. Pleadingly, he put both of his hands up as if to say 'beats me'. She laughed quietly, her olive eyes now trained on the stage where band mates were calling their bassist to the front. She would have trailed the spotlight with her sights if Spitz didn't nudge her, causing her to straighten and lean away from him upon the new arrival that was inevitably a customer of his. Her attention span shortened.


"…Everyone let's call Kale the male to the stage."

Kale? Her mind spun wildly out of control for a minute. A bottomless agony in her stomach writhed, the phantom of intimacy and secrecy existing within its amniotic sac. She could feel it coming to life again, coinciding with that ache for her vices. When she reminded herself that just because she didn't often hear the name, didn't mean Kaleb Sivaj was the only one with it, she was calm enough to divert her attention from the band and back to Spitz and his fittingly dressed, attractive new brunette friend. The time spent waiting to introduce herself was hacked open so that recollections could bleed in. She snatched another glass of champagne shamelessly from the drinks Spitz ordered.

She'd left them without a word. Her friends. What was worse was the night Kaleb and herself shared, unbeknownst to their friends or anyone except the housekeeper, for that matter. Funny, it was the night that she cracked the bridge of Spitz' nose with her head that everything got so wild and out of hand with Kaleb. His darkest secret followed them both all the way home, snubbed out by the fire they sparked while rediscovering each other in Jaylene's bed. She could clearly recall the splintering light coming through the window and the scorching inward pain that belonged to her, just evaporating into nothing. And she took his torture, made it her own. The frailty of the image in her mind would have made her quake if she didn't so soon take a big swig of champagne, the only memo of reality being the tinkering of her Tiffany and Co. charm bracelet against the glass.

At full speed she swung back into physical existence. In a robotic sort of way, her hand had come out to meet the brunette's without Jaylene being fully aware of it. A clandestine mood swallowed the pub, its front platform glowing a feeble orange before the band concluded their set. In its shadow only radiated the soft hues from center pieces, giving the bar a sort of enigmatic, underwater look. In the brief moment of darkness Jaylene established the composure she needed, introducing herself deferentially as a fashion editor of Du Jour, then thanking the femme for coming to the show. Whether it was drugs or cars, the Sullivan woman didn't really want to know. But she slipped away, respecting business.

Pinching and flattening herself through the audience, Jaylene clutched a petite briefcase under one arm, careful not to lose it in all the commotion. Before she dared have any more to drink, commerce and negotiations had to be handled. After she met a few models and paid the band, she was free to cut loose. And honestly she could hardly wait. The past few weeks had been long. Seemed like she never got a day off since relocating to The Bronx for Du Jour. For once in her life she felt herself working more than playing. Dismissing the notion or any potential regrets, she pushed her way through until her hips were bumping right against the platform where the musicians were almost done clearing away their equipment. She slunk off to the far side, a shadowy lower section of the stage where she cracked open the briefcase to retrieve an envelope full of cash haphazardly labeled 'Music'.

But what her jade eyes met next couldn't have been told in advance. Even with the pithy unsettling moment when she heard his name. For all that, now it was confirmed. He wasn't an apparition in preceding times. Burnt sienna eyes substantiated a homesickness and candor she wasn't ready to confront. Mick's self-made twilight surged between Kaleb and Jaylene, their words mutually retained by what she speculated as pain, bitterness, and bizarre recollection. A chain of desperate 'I'm sorry's arose in her throat but never made it all the way out. Instead she was speechless, her business-trained android mannerisms taking over again as she imposed the white envelope full of cash, thrusting it toward him wordlessly. Her perception ingested every detail of his handsome veneer, glossing what memories held of him and taking his appeal to a whole new level. But still she couldn't quite digest it. And she couldn't speak. Here she was face to face with Kale, her best friend, her unlooked-for lover whose very lasting impression even still brought chills to her skin to this day. She booked his band, and she didn't even know it. All at once she felt empty but unabridged. Stupid. Senseless.

Alex's eyes followed Jaylene into the crowd for a mere few moments, intrigued by the strange behaviour of the obviously preoccupied blonde hostess. She allowed the inquisitive thoughts to escape her mind and the petite brunette turned her full attention back to the dark and admittedly rather handsome man sitting in front of her.

"Spitz it is then," She murmured to herself, inaudible over the assault of sound that was the band playing. Her body moved smoothly to sit across the booth from Spitz and she preformed one of her signature little hair flips as she composed herself for the conversation that would ensue.

Hazel eyes locked with playful ones across the table and Alex tilted her head to the side slightly, her previous bright smile now an amused thin line. She waited. Waited for the questions to come like his expression suggested. But they didn't and the constant noise of music dissipated. In the pause that passed between the ending of the song and the inevitable applause of the crowd was when he decided to talk.

"So what can I do for you?"

"Quite a few things," Alex's velvety and sultry voice managed to stand out even against the din of the crowd. "Since I'd already told you about the issue with my car, I'd like to propose something."

Without waiting for a reply she continued, "A friend of mine deals in a business with a wide but very strict buyers market. Unfortunately, the amount of clientele have declined, and we have more product than buyers to spend on it. I know, considering your business other than cars that you must have some sort of connections to less-than-reputable groups."

With that Alex paused to take a breath, knowing that if she managed to convince Spitz to talk to the gangs that it would wring in a very large sum of money. Gangs wanted to control the streets. To do that, they needed the guns to control the streets.

"I- well, we- would like to ask that you get in touch with them and see if they'd be interested in what you have to offer. To sell your products is one thing; to protect them is a whole other."

She also knew that what she was doing without Nik's knowledge was very dangerous. But it was worth it. At best, she'd get Spitz to agree and have someone to keep her company for the night. At worst she'd go home with a few ounces of fun and no reservations.

But hey, it's what she did best now. Guns, Money, Sex, and Drugs.

Jaylene Sullivan

"What? Have something to say?"

It didn't mean to happen - well, she didn't intend for it. But in reply, she sputtered, laughing and gawking at Kaleb. Disbelief, shitty luck and desolation took her in entirety like a tidal wave. What had already started as toxic continued into a worse, venomous onslaught on Kaleb's part. Her stance stiffened, but one heel-adorned foot anxiously tapped against the floor while he talked. She could feel a slight pique threatening to make a more vicious girl from the past resurface - someone she didn't want to know anymore. Kaleb? He had every right in the world to be furious. To feel betrayed. Because she did him dirty. But the way Kaleb was acting was far beyond volatile, his coffee eyes darkening with wide vehemence as his voice grew louder. And she was sure she couldn't have expected him to just get over it, to be okay and give her a 'hello' handshake or a pat on the back or even thank her for having him at the campaign party. The fact that she looked like a dumbfounded child upon catching his stare probably didn't give the best impression either.

When his hand swiped away the envelope containing over five hundred dollars, she gasped with mock disturbance. Really it wasn't surprising but maybe a little painful to know that he was… still exactly who she knew before. Bittersweet but dejecting. She ran a hand through her hair, "Holy shit," she began to deride, her tone a little unintentionally proud, "You're wild eyed. You're still coked out!" Not even a millisecond passed before he shoved her and thundered off. She stumbled back a bit, one hand pressed to her forehead. As much as she wanted to follow him, sweep his silhouette with her eyes and contemplate making amends, she just couldn't.

Spitz was late to intervene, but carrying himself with his usual overconfidence and attempting to eclipse any existing remnants of Kaleb. With ease he stole an armful of Jaylene, hugging her a little to him and making a joke. For a moment, her focal point didn't even remotely involve Spitz.

The oceanic aura of the event she had planned fit so fortuitously over Kaleb. Sheltered sea-colored light followed him all the way through the doors until he had vanished from her life once again. He was an unparalleled image of somehow a happier past life, its seams bursting but sewn over with bad jokes, good parties and corporeal friendships. She suppressed an embarrassed, painful simper as she bit her lower lip then ran her tongue along her bottom row of teeth, "All this time and he's still coked out." Drawing her hand from her forehead, she face palmed and laughed to herself, "Un-fucking-believable."

"Unbelievable? Truth, ma, he probably won't stop. Some people don't change for nothin'. Come on. Come get a drink and sit with me and my new friend, grab ahold of some new models, do your thing."

Even if she wanted to attest, to deteriorate into 'Soda', take Kaleb's side over all other things and bash Spitz in his nose, she couldn't. This time, he was right. Spitz was right! Rather than triumphing over that truth, she felt a little twinge of odd, covetous misery. Silently she grinned, leaned her head into his sternum for a moment then patted his chest with one hand as if to say 'you're right'. But like the words that she couldn't manage with Kaleb, the above did not come either. She shrugged apologetically to Greco before Spitz toted her off to the bar, "Great show. I'll have to put you guys up on more events." Not mine, though, she thought to herself. When they reached the swamped alcohol station, Jaylene managed to ball up all of her affliction and tuck it into the depth of her soul while her outer self began its facade. She pushed the brief case onto the counter top and took a seat.

"I need two shots of Jose Cuervo and my pen and paper. Let me get some shit done with these mannequins." She nudged Spitz gratefully.

The brunette watched as Spitz blew out a cloud of smoke, his head dropping down to lock eyes with her. She held his stare, challenging him to look away. Her light, friendly smile nearly grew when she heard his amused outburst.

"Hold up ma. You know what you're asking right now?"

Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn't be fucking asking, Her thoughts rang out in her head and her smile grew slightly more malicious in nature. The rest of his words passed on as usual whenever she or Nik came across someone that could help Nik out with his business, and it all went almost routine. Until he stood up, snuffed out his cigar so close to her had she could feel the embers, and leaned down until his face was a more than intimate distance from hers. Her smile faltered and her expression took on that challenging look again.

The scent of the cigar overwhelmed her sense when he spoke, "Can't get myself into trouble with no fine ass female without knowing terms, names, locations, and prices."

Her eyebrows shot up and a signature amused smirk came onto her face at "fine ass female", and her mouth opened with a retort when his head whipped around and caused her to follow his eyes to the blonde hostess she had seen before. She watched a smirk crawl up onto Spitz's face and a dark hand was held up to her.

"Don't you go anywhere, beautiful."

And with that he was off, leaving Alex's murmured reply of, "You are just a champion with the ladies" in the dust and walking off to go aid his friend. Her eyes trailed him and she didn't bother trying to read their lips as they talked. She only responded when his head jerked in the universal sign for "Get yo' ass over here". Standing, she straightened out her jacket and walked towards the bar. Only when she got close did she manage to hear Spitz's unique voice over the din of the rest of the bar.

"Drinks for all the ladies at the bar on me. Any young, beautiful things needing some line of work in fashion, the editor of Du Jour is right here and waiting."

"On you, huh? Better hope non of us take advantage of that," Alex said in a suggestive tone as she spinned and leaned back against the bar next to Spitz, her soft chocolate hair falling in light waves down her back and barely touching the top of the bar.

She only stood straight to flag down the young blonde bartender for a moment, her desired drink flying out from her lips quickly, "Jameson on the rocks, please."

And with that she returned to her leaning position and looked up at the ceiling.