|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 8, 2012 15:23:28 GMT -5
The smell of... something foreign... waffs through from behind the screen as two sweaty men yell at each other in Laotian over boiling soup pots. A large open area, white tiled makes up the main eating space, where a dozen of large round tables are placed, and men and women, all of Southeast Asian ancestry sit slurping noodles.
In the back, in a small room with red painted walls is the room for private parties. It is ALWAYS booked by a group of five grey-bearded Laotians known in the underworld as simply "The Old Men."
Frank and Blake enter the restaurant separately, but each called here at the same time, and by the same method. A heavily accented phone call early this morning, asking, if they would kindly have time to meet with those Old Men. It was the kind of request one did not turn down.
|
|
|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 9, 2012 8:34:19 GMT -5
The bell dinged again and Gaspare entered behind them.
|
|
|
Post by Edric Stark on Aug 9, 2012 9:30:23 GMT -5
Blake eyed the screen from where she was seated, having had a rough night in a cheap motel with even cheaper coffee for breakfast. She thought she could still feel the taste of dirt on her tongue.
She was wearing her old gray Mickey Mouse sweater under her leather jacket, tight blue jeans, and black half-boots that didn't look that new either. It was all she had on her when she fled to the Undercity. The early morning call hadn't really left her a lot of time to find new attire. Her Wayfarers were sitting on top of her head.
|
|
|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 9, 2012 13:23:52 GMT -5
The Laotians carry on as if the three interlopers did not exist. Eventually an old Asian woman with her hair up in a bun approached. "What you want?" She asked.
|
|
|
Post by Edric Stark on Aug 9, 2012 13:47:04 GMT -5
"I got a call," Blake replied, eager to get things moving; the smell of food made the cheap breakfast in her stomach turn. She lowered her voice slightly and looked around, not sure if it was general knowledge or not, "From The Old Men?"
|
|
|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 9, 2012 13:54:30 GMT -5
"Back!" She said, gesturing towards the small private room in the back blocked off slightly by an old fashioned Asian curtain which swayed slightly in the breeze generated by the air-con.
|
|
|
Post by Edric Stark on Aug 9, 2012 13:57:43 GMT -5
"Thanks," she said, getting up from the chair and starting towards the room in the back. She pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.
|
|
|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 9, 2012 16:13:31 GMT -5
There were four old men smoking cigarettes, and drinking hot tea from clear containers where she could actually see the tea leaves swirling inside.
The youngest of the four Old Men nodded at her. "Greetings and welcome to Three Crane," he said. "Thank you for coming."
|
|
|
Post by Edric Stark on Aug 9, 2012 16:19:55 GMT -5
"Sure," said Blake. Not like I had much choice; I need the job, she thought, and when opportunity presents itself.. you take it.
Unsure if she should sit, she lingered in front of the curtain, crossing her arms for lack of a better place to put them. "What can I do you for, b.. gentlemen?" Something told her she wouldn't want to get on their bad side.
|
|
|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 9, 2012 16:21:13 GMT -5
"We should wait for the others," the man replied, tugging on a thin wispy white beard on the end of his chin, "So as to not repeat ourselves."
|
|
|
Post by Edric Stark on Aug 9, 2012 16:23:07 GMT -5
Blake nodded and stepped aside the entrance, leaning her back against the wall.
|
|
|
Post by Horas on Aug 12, 2012 17:07:12 GMT -5
Gaspare enters the establishment, his lip turning up in barely concealed distaste. By the look of the chefs, the soup today would contain more sweat and hair than noodles. It is not the place Gaspare Forni would prefer to be, but any lead -- even an enigmatic early-morning call -- was better than none.
Gaspare brushes an imaginary speck of dirt from his perfectly tailored suit and takes a thorough look around the room, scanning for security both physical and digital.
|
|
|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 12, 2012 17:12:25 GMT -5
Gaspare didn't see any physical security to speak of. There was one man, behind the counter where customers paid their bills. It was possible, indeed likely, he had a weapon under the counter, but what it was, Gaspare couldn't say. The digital world was far more impressive. Multiple layers of encryption hide the streams of data from his view. He could see there was a lot of traffic going in, but none coming out. There was an unsecured system which controlled lights, air-conditioning, and other "non-essential" systems, but it didn't account for the level of data being drawn into the VPN he observed. He could try to crack it and gain entrance, but who know what kind of alarm bells that would sound, or what the reaction would be.
|
|
|
Post by Horas on Aug 12, 2012 17:21:52 GMT -5
The place was obviously more than the run-down noodle restaurant it appeared to be, but Gaspare had not really expected anything less. Data in, but not out... perhaps it was some sort of information gathering center for the local leaders. He would have expected to see streams going out as well if someone was issuing orders from the place.
For the best, Gaspare thought. You couldn't really trust an organization that used a noodle shop as its command center. It lacked... class.
Gaspare approaches the counter, careful not to touch anything. "I received a call from the Old Men," Gaspare says, a faint hint of an accent evident in his voice.
|
|
|
Post by The Stranger on Aug 12, 2012 17:23:00 GMT -5
The woman gestured towards the rear again, where the small curtain was flittering in the air-con.
|
|