Catacomb Castoffs

GM: Vulcan
Players: Jacky Nichetti(NPC), Deamon Starks, Eve, Bigman
Synopsis: Jacky Nichetti spots Demon Starks and his Crew in his establishment, the Catacomb Club, and issues a quick and dirty order: Get out.
Date: 07-28-69

Catacomb Club(#2660R)

This expansive club takes the term "underground" and brings it to life. Not for the claustrophobic, the main room in which you now stand is done in granite and shale; accented with limestone from floor to 5-meter arching ceiling to resemble as closely as possible a natural cave. A close look reveals that most of the rock is really synthrock, but it's a pretty good facsimile of granite and limestone, carefully shaped. Nooks have been carved in the back wall for VIP booths, complete with privacy curtains, while the rest of the tables are packed in on the main floor, ensuring that at peak times, travel through the club is slow at best due to the intricate navigation required.

Dominating the far wall is a huge synthrock stage. The ceiling is lower in this part of the club, presumably to support the high-tech lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling. A brass pole extends from floor to ceiling in each third of the stage, and it's certainly large enough to support three women working t once. At the back, a deep red curtain presumably leads backstage. Waitresses, in black sequined bikinis during the week, topless during the weekend, move about bringing drinks and snacks and occasionally leaning down to whisper in a patron's ear.

Despite the potential for class, this place has the sort of seedy air that suggests unattended ladies and the sort of gentlemen who don't know how to handle themselves will quickly encounter difficulties. Women succeed each other in turn on stage, staying for three songs, and it's the sort of place where the art of the striptease is not respected; clothes vanish as quickly as possible, and down and dirty seems to be quite encouraged.

Daemon Starks is seated in the VIP's raised up smaller section.. Drinking on a glowing substance from a martini glass, a neon line swirling within and changing colors with each sip. His eyes are currently on the stage, where a long legged Human Spanish female is dressed like a very scandalously seductive nurse, a little silk armband with the red cross on it.. the stylized hat, and a very short mini skirt with a stethoscope wrapped around her neck.. she's pole dancing while pulling a white glove off with her teeth.

In the luxury booth with Starks are several other associates, similar heritage showing from ancestry of the Mediterranean area's of Europe; namely, the 'boot'; the fatter and bulkier associates are dressed in a very nice three piece suits with designer watches and a hand rolled cigars hanging from their mouths, everyone chuckling and having a general good time and conversation. Two of the men are accompanied by three of the girls, dressed in next to nothing, stripper shoes, and smiles that glow with some of the makeup within the neon ultraviolet light.

Just below the VIP, stands a large Italian muscle, keeping the section secluded to those unwanted pests. Drinks are flowing around and there's several other small groups of men in and around the VIP section, all looking apart of the group.

Bigman ducks as he crosses the threshold of the club, coming down from the stairs leading to the street. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he has a big cigar, unlit (and appears never smoked) in his mouth. He looks around the people that are in the club, watching the entertainment. He walks further in, heading towards the bar.

Jacky Nichetti, the 'Manager' of the club, makes his way out of the back stage areas after a few of the girls make commentary. He's got a cigarette dangling from his lips, trailing wisp of smoke behind him. He's got a reedy, sort of smarmy look to him, the whip thin greyhound of a man moving with a nervous sort of energy. He straightens his tie, eyeing the 'Luxury' booth…

Bigman approaches the bar, and although he spots those he is here to meet in the VIP, he makes an order with the bartender, points to the VIP area and then slips a credstick across the bar. After the credstick has been swiped and approved Bigman pockets it and turns to the VIP area him. As he approaches the muscle standing guard, assuming it's one of Starks men, he nods to him, and pats him on the shoulder as he passses to the table where Deamon is sitting. He slowly approaches, not familiar with those others that are there, and not wanting to cause to much of a fuss of a stranger walking up to the table.

Daemon Starks spots Bigman walking up, he chuckles and pulls out a cigar from the offering hand next to him. Looking to Bigman, "Ehhh, little Pauly, come on up and have a sit. Got a girl who's real into your accent." He upnods to the latina dancing the pole in the nice outfit.

Jacky Nichetti steps closer to the luxury booth, tilting his head and making a 'ncht' sound with his mouth. One hand comes up to remove the cigarette from his lips as the girls who had previously been entertaining Starks and his friend all start to withdraw. "Mr. Lucciano." Says Jacky then. "Enjoying the drinks?"

Bigman chuckles "Ahh, the life of luxury." he slips into the booth next to Demon. He turns to Jacky Nichetti as he approaches the table and gives a brief nod, as well as turning to those associates at the table, nodding to those who he can't reach to shack hands with. Those who he can reach he politely shakes hands with them and then settles into the booth to get comfortable.

Daemon Starks bites the tip and spits into a glass tray before he looks to a Zippo he produces from a pocket. *flick* light comes to life and he pulls the zippo to his cigar, puffing a few times to achieve a bright red cherry that smokes peacefully at the end. Exhaling a stream of smoke, he leans back and smiles at Jacky Nichetti. "Can't complain paisan. The girls are beautiful, the drinks are mixed well, and the company couldn't be better." He grins to bigman, "And my nephew here needs to be introduced to the spanish girl at some point.. if I can get him passed his shy nature."

"Thats beautiful." Says Jacky then, offering Bigman a nod. "That said. Enjoy your drinks. They's on the house." He pauses, looking over the crew. "Compliments of Don Innocenti." He pauses again, one hand moving to smooth the line of his jacket. "Then get out. Simpson Crews ain't welcome."

Daemon Starks sucks on the cigar, a brief pause barely noticeable as the second half of what Jacky says sinks in; then Starks puffs again and exhales a small stream that mixes with the lime light. Hand going to table with his wrist resting on the smooth glass surface, cigar giving off ringlets of smoke curls. "Come again? I don' think I heard you the first time." His tone is mild so far.

"I said." Says Jacky now, gesturing with his cigarette. "That you should enjoy the drinks. They are on the house. Then you and your people -leave-. If this is too complex a request, I can dumb it down."

Across the Bar, Rafe is talking quietly on the phone, waving off one customer who really, really wants another beer.

Yeah. You know, and have known for a very long time, that this is an Innocenti Establishment, owned 51 percent by old Man Aspanu when he was still alive. Jacky? He's been the manager for a year now, working to retool the place in to a more money-losing venture. Good guy, made man of the Innocenti Family.

Daemon Starks cocks his head slightly to the side, the cigar ignored for the time being as he studies Jacky. "This doesn't seem like we're bein' friendly here Jacky." He rubs a finger over the side of nose idly, then says. "And maybe you've been out of pocket, but I have a finger in this fine establishment. Go talk wit' Eve.. in fact, bring her sexy ass out here, maybe we can settle this real quiet like." He stays cordial, not his usual brash self.

"Let me rephrase what the fuck I'm sayen, Lucciano." Says the younger man then. "You. And your men. THE FUCK OUT of my place, and on the pronto. You got your own places. You keep your dicks, your drugs and your faces out of my racket or I will, so help me Mary, cut them -all- off."

Jacky Nichetti gestures to the door. "March. Or. Don't march and I'll bring down the thunder. Your. Choice."

Daemon Starks looks thoughtful in a dark way, his crew and associates nearby looking for answers; and he must step up to show it. Standing slowly and carefully placing the cigar down as he comes to his large height and bulk to tower in the raised section. "Alright Jacky, I'll say this once for your benefit you little fuck." He stares at the man with a firm posture of someone in control of his environment. "You make a move in here, i'll put you down.. I have a stake in here, and I don' need to clarify that drek to a piss ant manager. I'm part owner capische? And if you's got a problem wit' that.. it won' be solved by breakin' my balls." He frowns sternly. "You want a piece of the action, somethin' can be arranged.. think on it, but I ain't movin from my spot until I've had my fill paisan. Scan?"

"Rafe! Call the Don. Tell him that Lucciano ain't leaven." Says Jacky then, not at all seeming like he's cowed. "I got the docs on this place, Lucciano." Says Jacky. "You ain't owner of jack or shit, and if you gave money to that whore, it's gone up her nose and not in to my books. So march, and keep marching. Come back, and it won't be as polite this time around."

Daemon Starks exhales, pulling up the cigar and chopping the bit as he draws smoke; blowing out a small puff of cloudy goods. "Why don' you and me sit down Jacky, let's talk about this.." He raises his eyes to stare down at Jacky, "I've been a good friend here, so do me the favor and have a drink.. Sit down."

Slide steps from the staircase and enters the club.

"I did you a favor in paying for your drinks, Lucciano." Says the man. "And then you called me a piss-ant manager. So march. You call Rafe, arrange a meeting proper like… without all your boys and without getting up in my racket… and we'll talk." Says Jacky, crossing his arms. "For now, lets take a few days to let our tempers calm, capaiche?"

Mid day shift; A nice young asian chick on stage with a crucifix, and what she's doing with the body of christ would give the Pope apocalyptic fits. The situation in the 'high class' booth of the seedy joint is Tense, with one suited man talking to a group of others. While no one is looking at them, and the staff of the club continues to work, there is tension.

Daemon Starks finishes his drink, then looks to his crew with a nod to the door. "Let's go where the company is more entertaining.. I believe Jacky here doesn't like our companionship…" He takes his cigar and puffs once more, putting it out on the table. "We'll talk real soon Jacky. Have a nice cup of coffee.. Rafe'll hear from me. You can be sure of that." He stares at Jacky, but starts his way down the VIP steps.. pausing, "Maybe you'd like a Franky's hot dog.. my treat." He smirks, then continues on towards the door.

Jacky Nichetti grunts then, stepping back. "It ain't personal, Lucciano. It's just business. I don't want you in mine."

Slide catches a waitresses attention and orders himself an imported beer. When the waitress returns, he smiles and thanks her, then pays for his drink. His attention then goes back to the show, a small smile about his lips.

Daemon Starks pauses momentarily and doesn't look fully back, just over his shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind when christmas cards are handed out. We'll talk real soon paisano."

Daemon Starks heads towards the stairs going up.

Scene Ends

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