2013-01-26 Highway to Hell, part 6: Las Vegas

(Continued from Highway to Hell, part 5: Denver)

The chopper summoned by Remy's phonecall is nothing to write home about. Most if not all of them have written in ultramodern military-spec black ops aircraft of one stripe or three, and this is just a Bell passenger chopper, its deceptively unassuming exterior hiding rather luxurious appointments in leather. It turns out the transport belongs to a contact of Gambit's, an old associate of the Guild; after all, not everyone believes New Orleans' crown prince turned on the Thieves.

That's about all the information anyone has a chance to get at first, the two men exchange private words for only a few moments before employees show them all the a set of suites near the top of a towering luxury hotel attached to a prominent casino. Really, no one should be surprised. The collection of rooms affords a degree of privacy-- and multiple showers. Crucial after a long day almost blowing one another apart.

It's likely Remy speaks first once everyone takes stock of the rooms, seeking almost subconsciously to corner Domino-- it seems the question has been itching. "Tell me 'bout de people who hired you to hunt Laura."

Getting a quick lift to Vegas, that part's important. Domino's almost compulsively checking the time along the way, not enjoying being removed from control of the vehicle and its ultimate destination. That, and there isn't much to talk about. She and her roadtrip companion are in a tiny metal box high up in the air with the likes of Gambit and a vicious little thing that she had just tried to kill. 'Awkward' doesn't begin to sum it up.

As for the hotel, it's impressive. Any other day, she would have put it to good use. Shower. Sleep. Perhaps an offer or four to 'relieve some tension.' Right now, she does not want to be sitting still. It's that nervous energy that keeps her from collapsing, having not slept since leaving Gotham City many hours ago.

It's been an exhausting trip.

"Drop it, Remy," she almost sharply cuts in. "I'll take care of it." Even with knowing you, with the luxury of this hotel room, she's feeling trapped. Trapped, and with her only lead in serious jeopardy.

A cigarette pack all but appears in Gambit's hand, one smoke flicked into waiting fingertips before the pack is extended almost nonchalantly to Domino, inhuman eyes regarding her evenly from over the offering of tobacco. Any other day. Remy wasn't expecting this outcome, to say the least; he knew people would be after Laura, but /these/ people? Takes even him a beat to find step.

"Figured I'd be taking out de trash, not bumping into you out dere, cher." It's not apology, or even very good explanation, but one works with what is. "So forgive me for askin', what's taking care of it, Dom? What do you know 'bout any other mercs on the job? Dat girl deserves to know who's coming."

Pretty reasonable terms, in LeBeau's admittedly jaded book. An old zippo marked by a Spade lights his cig with a practiced ease and a metallic flick.

With arms crossed before herself, Domino eyes the offered pack and hesitates for a moment longer than usual. She shouldn't. A small part of her wants to, though. Now, of all the times, would be the right moment for it.

No. Fatigue is causing her defenses to weaken.

An almost grim look flashes across her sharply contrasted features before the offering is turned down, breathing out a quick sigh as she goes back to pacing. Just one more thing to keep her mind off of, now.

The urge to tell you to drop it again is strong. Right on the tip of her tongue. But where does it get her if she pushes away everyone that's trying to help? And for this other girl... "I don't even know her name," she practically growls. And what -is- taking care of it, would she really run out that way and put a bullet through the guy's head? Wouldn't be the first time, but...

"He's not a merc. He's an info hound. We've done work in the past, a favor for a favor. He knew I was in the area, called in a last minute favor." Not that you need to know it was directly in response to the favor she had tried to call in first. "This crap? Isn't like him. He never used to deal on this level. Something's changed, which means that he and I are no longer on our standard terms. He was too weak to pursue a contract like this before, and he's too weak to take one on now. If you want to find your source, look beyond him."

"So you're gon' hunt this down past the middle man..." Gambit digests it, breathes it in with a deep haul of his cigarette, planting his back into a corner of the room and slouching down to investigate the minibar. "Make sure it's taken care of." Color Remy unconvinced. Those alert eyes still follow Domino steadily, on the periphery of his vision even as he examines various bottles of liquor and gourmet snacks.

"Seems to me you got enough on your plate already." The Cajun observes evenly, deep melodic voice rich and amused. "Whatever it is you're running from, or running after." There's a bit of a smirk on Remy's face, but it's hard to argue the logic.

"You let Remy know where to find him, I'll find de men behind it, or she will. Laura." The 'experiment' does have a name. "I t'ink you'll find me easiest to deal wit'. I'd even try not to kill your agent." Magnanimous, that is Gambit.

Dom stops pacing as abruptly as she had begun, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a stance that looks rather guarded in nature. It's true, she isn't planning on going to the source on her own. Just like you said, she's got too much to worry about without adding in finding the would-be killers of some girl she doesn't know. Her plan was simply to deal with the hound, the middleman. Maybe by breaking a few fingers. She didn't know. The asshole set her up to fall, though. She can't stand by that.

"You want to know where he is? It's going to cost you." It isn't until the instant those words leave her mouth that she realizes what she's doing. Desperate moments...

"I need him for one thing. If you can provide me with the info that I need, I can do the same for you. After that, you're welcome to do whatever the hell you want to with him. He put me up to this for one of two reasons, because he thought I could handle it where others had failed or because he wanted it to backfire and he wanted -me- to die. If you or your pal Laura don't kill him, I will. But until I get what -I- need, he's off-limits."

A lifetime of bullshit has given Remy fairly proficient bullshit detection, and there's a distinct shift to the Cajun's cadence when Domino gets straight.. er with him. "Ah, now we on to talking business." He observes, popping open a small reserve flask of bourbon and taking a swig, a similar bottle extended towards the mercenary. "Assuming you still drink." There's a touch of the droll and facetious in the Cajun's query. Along with another wry smirk.

Her denial would see that bottle spun by its neck and tucked into his longcoat for later; acceptance accompanied by a similar flourish sending the liquor tumbling end over end in an easy arc towards Domino.

"Why don't you just tell Gambit what you need, cher. It's too damn late for foreplay." Even if it's not that kind of need at all. The devil-may-care act is either very, very solid, or just a lifestyle choice. "We already know I can take care of it." A wink is snuck in somewhere amidst a drink, and a smoke.

'Assuming she still drinks.' Domino eyes the bottle, then looks up to stare back at you. There it is, a tiny hint of a smirk in return as she accepts the offered drink. "Only like a fish."

Damnit, she can never stay mad at you. Why is that?

She takes a healthy drink while mulling over the details in silence. Can she trust you with this? -Should- she? What choice does she have? She's already got some dirt on you, and you on her. In for a penny, in for a pound? Eugh. She needs this info, it barely matters who gets it or how anymore.

The albino walks over to a (naturally) black bag that she had brought with for the trip, pulling a plain folder out from within then extracting one page from within. This she holds up for you upon returning. The drink has been left behind. It's an angled shot, grainy, probably originating from a traffic camera with just the license plate enlarged. It's a Florida plate with a generic number on it.

"I need to know where this truck is, and what direction it's going in."

While she holds it up for you she keeps her stance at an angle. Hiding the fact that her other hand, now free of its drink, is instead resting on the grip of a weapon, safely out of your sight.

Tread carefully, for she's brought out the real fire to play with.

It's that Bayou charm.. no one can resist it. Or can they? People have tried to kill Gambit enough times to render his charisma somewhat suspect, depending on the circumstance. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time today Domino shot at him, would it? Luckily, Remy has grown somewhat wise to the tricks of the trade, and sways somewhat to the side, seeking a look around Domino as he approaches and takes the photograph, and takes a moment to examine it.

"You want to know where dey're headed, since you're too late to cut dem off." Remy observes, tucking the photograph into his coat and blowing a puff of smoke out to the side, as he takes another step closer, dropping his crimson gaze to hold hers, either fearless or confident in his own proverbial-- or literal-- trump cards. "You going to shoot me, cher? Start a shooting war to de garage, hijack transport, take your chances?" Even this seems to amuse the Cajun.

Gambit steps forward again, threatening Domino's personal space just a little bit, fluffing up the collar of his trenchcoat. "Wouldn't want to be dem, Dom; but you'd never get out of dis room." Beat. "Like I said, I t'ink you better off dealing wit' me." His poker face barely flinches, his smirk never wavers.

Time for a badass cameo, isn't it?

Well, how long the person making the cameo has been where they are is anyones guess. But with how this 'talk' has been going, something... No, someone, steps out of the shadows not too far from Domino. That is before a *SKNIT* can be heard.

"Neither of you are shooting anyone. If need be, we talk to him /together/."

Yes, that's right, Laura is here. And considering what's being discussed, it should be clear what her position is.

Despite the situation, Domino's slowly starting to grin. Flirting with danger and disaster. It's something that she loves to do. "Maybe I'm too late, maybe not," she says with a noncommittal shrug. "Get a fast enough car and I'm willing to bet there's still a chance." Knowing her luck. And that she's been making some -seriously- good time on the road thus far. With two drivers and a couple of fast vehicles moving virtually non-stop, the miles have simply evaporated.

As Remy moves closer, she knows he's looking right through her. There's that tell-tale *click* of a machined steel switch shifting positions behind her, the motion subtle but the sound a bit less so. No sense in hiding it now, right? "I'm hoping that you won't give me a reason to, Remy. Question is, how well can I trust you with this information?" Because she honestly doesn't know. "You never were the enemy. Let's keep it that way."

"Besides--" she starts in while gently reaching into Remy's coat pocket to extract exactly one playing card. The Queen of Hearts. She holds it up between two fingers for him to see, that smirk still etched upon her face.


 * Sknit!*

"--I'm the luckiest girl alive."

"Maybe wit' your luck." Remy echoes the merc's thoughts, leaning back just enough to make that deck of cards easy to find, smirk only growing at the produced card-- or perhaps Laura's fortuitous arrival. "More than one way to stack a deck, cher." Gambit reminds Domino bemusedly, ashing his cigarette into a convenient, crystalline recepticle. "If I wanted to be your enemy, would've just blown that train." Hell of a minimum safe distance on a big thing like that. "Guess you'll just have to trust me." There's a moment where his smirk evens out, and he just considers Domino evenly, eyes unflinching.

Then that moment passes, "Because by House rules.." a flick of Remy's wrist brings a playing card into his hand... apparently via one billowing sleeve, but it's kind of hard to say. The card is turned around, revealed as the King of Hearts. "Dat's de hand you're left wit'." Which seems to amuse LeBeau to no end.

The energy-suffused mutant's eyes shift over Domino's shoulder to Laura, and he appends simply, "Figured you'd want to know 'bout de people wit' a contract on your head." What happens to them, well, that's open to debate; to a point.

For a moment, it looks almost like Laura is going to roll her eyes as Domino and Gambit... Do what they do.

Yeah, Laura doesn't comment on it. At all. Not even as they do their little card tricks. Instead, she just reaches into a pocket on the coat she's wearing, pulls out a deck of cards, and draws one of her own. Before flicking it at the others, so they can be 'impressed'.

Of course it kind of figures that the card she draws is 'The Rules For Poker' card that most brand new decks of cards have.


 * Cough*

But anyways...

"I want to know." is said as X-23's claws retract, while her gaze drifts from the gambler to the merc. "/Especially/ if it is Weapon X."

Any normal person would probably be looking awfully pale in Domino's situation. Good thing she's naturally pale as a sheet, though also used to being surrounded and, let's face it, outgunned, like this. "There she goes again, ruining all of my fun," she mutters while removing her hand from the grip of her holstered gun. "The adults are just flirting, kiddo. Some day you'll understand."

She's still staring at Gambit when she says it. The sly grin never reaches the cold, hard look in those eyes. The card is given a playful flick toward his chest, her point either made, or made and systematically trumped. "Though don't expect me to fold anytime soon."

Then a rules card is flicked at them both. With one brow subtly hooked upward, Dom turns to finally acknowledge Laura properly. "You're a creepy little girl, has anyone ever told you that?"

Sigh. "Well, since we're all on the same page now," she declares with a weary breath, "I need to find that truck, as quickly as possible. We might have three hours at most before the trail's too cold to follow. Soon as we all have what we want we can stop invading one another's privacy and go on our ways. You two can pursue your 'Weapon X' thing and I can figure out where they're taking my favorite couch."

"Don't worry cher, she goes to bed early." It's a lie; truth be told, Gambit has no idea. Domino's card is caught on the rebound, tucked against its partner, and slipped away anew. "I can find dem." Gambit asserts, leaning back against the wall as Domino turns towards Laura, regarding them both over the burning embers of his cigarette. "But you got to give me somet'ing on dis mark." He might not have asked that, if they hadn't been gunning for Laura on contract already.

Contrary to popular opinion, Remy does have his code; especially since That One Job. "Can find dem fast, maybe even arrange a fast ride." He has his demands-- but the Cajun does infamously good work.

"Seem to me you don't have much choice. No time to follow a different trail." Even if Domino had one she could rely on. "Definitely nowhere wit' service to match." The Cajun wants to make a deal for that information, probably almost as much as Laura, it's clear; selling someone out is a tricky artform, however.

With a nod towards Domino, Laura simply says, "Yes. They have."

All though, with the way the merc just brushes off Weapon X... Well, the clone just shakes her head. She knows that is something that she will have to talk to the other woman about. If only because there's a slight chance that she could be useful if certain things ever happen down the road.

And then... She takes a step back. Into the shadows. Odds are she's still here. For the moment anyways.

But she'll let Remy do what he does best. In theory anyways.

"I can do better than that," Dom teases. "I can give him a call and tell him whatever you want him to hear. Right now, though? I'm taking a damned shower. Then we'll hammer out some tacks over drinks."

LATER...

It's no substitute for sleep, but at least Dom's starting to feel like a person again. More than half a country's worth of travel grit had time to settle onto her skin during the virtually non-stop rush towards the west coast. Unlike Shift, who can turn himself into vapor, she has to rely on more traditional methods to keep her act clean.

Not even a shower in a fancy Vegas hotel is cause for her guard to lower, emerging from the bathroom with her armor already in place. The gear harness hangs from one hand and a strong drink hangs from the other, wasting no time in heading for the nearest seat with a table nearby. Gotta keep herself moving... If she stops, she may well pass out from exhaustion.

Of course on that table there is a cup. A cup of steaming hot coffee. The side says 'Sun Dollar', so at least it's known ultimately where it came from. But otherwise, there's no sign of how it got there.

At least not at first. Because as Domino moves around, she may hear a faint cough. And if she were to look around for the source of the cough, she may even see Laura, lurking at the edges of some shadows.

Coffee. Not something that Dom expected to find sitting there. Unattended. Separated from the herd. Alone. She sets the heavy mass of gear down around the lone cup, still puzzling it over (and debating claiming it for herself regardless of its origins) when the cough catches her attention.

She flops down into the seat with little grace and zero fanfare, arms spreading out to the sides as she regards the other woman in a few seconds of absolute silence. It gives her time to figure out which point she wants to reach first. "And I thought I had it rough. Had an eye on you since the beginning, kid. You're well trained. I'd think spec ops but you're way too young to have seen that action. Being hunted, your 'Weapon X,' I can put the pieces together."

Which is exactly why she doesn't yet trust that coffee.

And yet it's warm... Steaming... Hot.... /COFFEE/.

Laura on the other hand just stands there for a moment, offering Domino a strange look, before she finally shrugs and pushes off the wall.

"You do what you do... You took this job.. All without finding out basic information like this?"

There's a faint pause, before her expression darkens, her gaze never flickering from Domino for an instant.

"Stupid."

A smirk slowly curls across the albino's blacked out lips, continuing to stare at you as you wander closer. "No more stupid than throwing yourself directly into my sights because I took a shot at your buddy. Having personal investments can cause people to do stupid things, even those of us that should know better."

"Now, you're placing your trust in Remy, a known thief. This tells me one of two things. Either you feel that you know him enough to trust him, or you're desperate. You're young, alone, and have an attitude that'd make any self-respecting Goth cry in shame. I'm thinking it's more that you're desperate. Was the stunt to protect him, or yourself?"

Finally she reaches out and takes that cup of coffee, though she doesn't drink any of it just yet. It warms her hand, nothing more. "A desperate person wants someone that they can place their trust into, perhaps more than anything. Right now, you don't trust me. Point there, you aren't -that- desperate. But, you might give it some consideration," she offers while her other hand lightly traces the outer edge of that dark black spot surrounding her left eye.

"Could be that someone else can sympathize with you more than the rest."

Domino hesitates, letting those words hang in the air with a faint smirk remaining in place before she goes to take a drink.

And there's nothing wrong with that coffee. At all. Of course it's just black with nothing in it, but still...

The female clone doesn't even roll her eyes at what Domino says. Nor does she blink. What little she does do is tilt her head to the side, but she doesn't say anything at all why she reacts like that.

Yes. That's right. She doesn't defend Remy. She doesn't defend herself. She doesn't explain herself.

Instead, Laura just lets out this little tidbit.

"Weapon X takes mutants. Modifies them. Alters them. Brain washes them. Turns them into living weapons. If they meant for /YOU/ to have this job, to try and bring me in, this may be a test before they come after /YOU/. So they can make you their weapon."

Black works for Domino, alright. It gets the job done, no frills. The most purest form of its job. Had it been a peace offering, or perhaps a means to lure her into sitting still long enough to be grilled for answers? Hell, either way. She almost shot this girl, some answers are probably deserved.

"I doubt they want anything to do with me," she counters. "I doubt they're even aware of me. Thing is, they're not the only outfit out there which pulls this kind of crap. I've helped shut down a few of them, already. The methods may be different but the end goal is always the same, weaponizing mutants. Were you born into this one, or pulled in the instant your powers manifested?"

Whatever powers those may be. Last Dom checked, mutants weren't being born with metal blades embedded within their arms. That you're here, claws and all, raises more questions than answers. Questions which she can't reasonably expect to be answered if she asks them.

Motioning to another chair, she says "You can park your butt for a while, you know. No need to be on high alert."

Not aware...?

"They may know of you. they probably do. Knowledge is power, and Weapon X likes power." is said as Laura starts to slowly move over towards a chair. But she just doesn't sit down.

"And the other 'outfits' that know of me, or may know of me, want me dead. Including AIM and Hydra." is said as the young woman stands next to the chair, her expression strangely neutral.

"And Weapon X created me."

Bullseye. Though--hell, Dom's not going to make you sit down. Instead she sets her coffee down, off to the side in order to free up more table space. The reason behind it soon becomes apparent as she starts removing the bits of gear from the mass of black straps, organizing and arranging so much weaponry into a picture-perfect array which she must have done hundreds of times before.

There's an awful lot of gear there.

"Maybe so, but they haven't come barking up this tree yet. AIM and HYDRA, now... If -those- guys want you dead then there's obviously some redeeming qualities to you. They've got my number, too."

And, here she is. Talking to a conflicted, combat trained and revenge-driven woman with black hair that had been created inside of a secret research facility that had been trying to create a biological weapon.

Just like Domino.

What were the odds?

"You're not looking to take them on though, are you?" she inquires while kicking back, feet propping onto the table with coffee in one hand and a pistol in the other. There's nothing hostile about it, though. If anything, she just needs something to keep her hands busy with. "You're running -from- them, trying to become a ghost so they'll leave you alone. Stop me if any of this isn't correct. Look, your secret's safe with me. Remy'll come through with my info and I'll personally hand you all of the info I have on the man that put me to this job. Feel free to ask him why when you're cutting his nuts off because I'm kinda curious, myself."

There is no answer to the questions, or the statements. Not as Laura turns her back towards Domino, and even /starts/ to walk towards the door out of the room.

All though before she reaches it, the younger woman pauses, and glances back. If only for a moment.

"I warned you. That is all I can do."

Aaand then Creepy Girl is walking away. With..what. A threat? Domino hesitates before helping herself to more of the coffee, settling further back into the chair as she watches you leave. The pistol hand flops out to the side, elbow propped upon the armrest. The look couldn't possibly be any more lazy, almost careless.

"Glad we had this talk."

Warning or not, she still has her own business to handle, and her own means of handling it. Remy had better hurry up with that info.

Not more than a few moments later, Shift returns. He's managed to run a few errands, and a Las Vegas casino is truly the best place to accomplish those goals.

For one thing, he's gotten some new digs. Jeans both rugged and stylish, an off-white t-shirt, and a brand new black leather riding jacket (made to look, of course, well worn and rugged). How did he procure these digs from a casino shop, well guarded, and with ample amounts of security all over the place?

Simple. Smoke goes into the ventilation system from a nearby mens room, finds its way into a stock room, pulls the clothes from the desired shelves and takes aforementioned clothes back into aforementioned mens room, where security cameras are lacking due to state and federal privacy laws.

Sort of hard to claim something was stolen by a cloud of black smoke that moves around on its own. That's a one way ticket to the nuthouse for some poor casino shop employee, after all.

Much more importantly, however, is the food he brings back to the hotel room. That's what he was saving his money for, not wishing to waste it on his recurring, lost-clothing problem.

Once inside the hotel room, he pauses for a moment to eyeball Domino and the perfectly organized weapons she's laid out on the table. "You know," he offers, "you might have some few more friends if you stopped treating dose guns like lovah's."

Two brown bags get flopped onto the table, right on top of some of the weapons. "Steak. Chicken. Greens. Diced apples. Cashews. Wheat bread and potatoes for the road." He smacks his hands together as if dusting them off. "Everything a starving body needs to survive, minus a good hit of bourbon."

Which... comes in the form of a flask procured from within his jacket. He unscrews the lid and takes a nip, before offering it over with a cocked eyebrow. There is a distinct sense of curiosity in his expression, though he doesn't exactly ask about what happened in his absence. Not yet.

Pale blue eyes jump from the table of toys to the doorway as Shift returns. With food. Dom knew she brought him along for a reason. With his first comment a tiny smirk starts to take shape before she kisses the air in his direction, her hair still matted and wet from her time recently spent getting cleaned up.

Then the bag is dropped on top of her weapons. That slight smirk disappears as she stares at the bag, waits approximately three seconds, then kicks her boots off of the table and leans forward to set her coffee down then snatch the bag and put it off to the side of her guns.

It's probably good timing on your part that the bourbon is offered next, eyeing you with a dead expression before she reaches for the drink next. Coffee and liquor, breakfast of champions.

"We keep such interesting company," she finally says. "Remy's latest gal pal, Laura, is going through a rough spot in her life. Don't take it personally if she seems abrasive. No idea where she ran off to, but I think our resident thief is out fulfilling his end of the bargain." Which means sitting and waiting. Two things that she hates doing, especially when the clock is ticking.

"Soon as he has my info, we're out of here."

Oh, a fake kiss! Shift waggles his eyebrows in a boyish, clearly sarcastic manner, before quietly and effectively denoting the change in demeanor when he set the bags down on her guns.

He briefly looks around for that damned plasma rifle. You know. Just in case he pushed the wrong button.

"I've been trough rough spots before," replies the African. "Hopefully she doesn't decide to blow anything up in her angst."

You know, like a certain Ghanaian has been known to do when he's having a rough spot.

"Good thing de food is mobahl. We can eat it on da go. No frills." He plops down onto the seat perpendicular to Domino, and begins rustling through the bags, taking out little plastic containers of food, split evenly between the two of them.

"What is de deal with dem?" he asks. "Laura and de thief. Dey mutants like us?" He peers over the bag toward Domino speculatively while sporking a piece of steak and shoving it into his mouth post-haste.

Domino's hand falls across her heart, that compact pistol still in hand, when you do your brow waggle. "With pick-ups like that it's amazing that you're still single."

No plasma rifles. Pistols, explosives, knives, all of the gear which normally rides on her combat harness. The stuff that she keeps concealed. Granted she -could- shower with her guns, but it can lead to surface rust.

"Wouldn't put it past her," she admits, but leaves it at that.

With the food split she hunches further forward, setting the last pistol aside (in its tidy formation amongst the others) and reaches for her chunk of the meal. "Gambit is. What exactly it is that he does, I'm not sure. Has agility and a combat prowess that damn near matches my own, plus that exploding trick that he's so fond of. Real subtle, isn't it." And the man's a -thief.- Try to figure out that logic. "Laura..I'm not sure. If you want the Eight Ball's reading, all sources say yes."

Dom hesitates for another second before looking over to you, her attention whole and complete. Her voice lowers, half expecting that the girl in question is still eavesdropping. "Don't tell her about any similarities to another guy that we happen to know."

"Just haven't found any respectable ladies," combats Shift, firing back with all the sarcasm and ire of the chummy friendship he's gotten familiar with. It's notable that there is relief in the African's eyes when he notices the plasma rifle isn't present. Then again, she did invite him on this trip, she had to trust him at least that much.

Kwabena pays close attention between rapid and well-paced bites of food, digesting the information dump in due process. "I suppose it's good for dose moments when, you know, you can't get away with sneaking, so you just have to blow some few doors or walls into de shathole and back. I figure, he's neck deep in de same mess you are, so, he might as well be trustworthy until we leave Sin City."

After that, though? We all know what the Eight Ball might say about -that-.

In a similar fashion, Kwabena's attention seems to zero in like a well-focused camera upon Domino. "Absolutely I will not," he agrees, with a bit more loyalty in his tone than might be expected of two acquaintances. Seems his loyalty to their mutual, clawed friend may run deeper than it would for someone who merely did him a small favor.

In truth, Kwabena is itching to ask Domino more about the girl named Laura. However, it just seems... ill timed. As if he might expect her to be dropping eaves all the same. Instead, he goes for the classic change of subject routine.

"So, we don't know exactly where we're going until Gambit brings us de info you need. Lovely. Shall I look up triple A and suggest triptyche's for the whole west coast?"

Insert amused grin here. Maybe all they needed to chill the growing hostility between the two was to take a small break to decompress. If Domino knew where they needed to go, she wouldn't have stopped. Mark up one more for 'the universe provides.'

You're also the only person on the planet that she would consider trusting with this sort of run. Not that she bothers to say it. It's not important to the job, itself.

"Yeah, because that trick's worked out well for everyone in the past," she kids. It has, in fact! Against all odds, and such. "Nailed that one on the fucking head. Different sort of mess, but for whatever reason our worlds chose to collide for a time. Those two also have to trust us not to go spreading info around on them. Circumstantial alliances are great, aren't they?" she queries with a slight smirk. "Once we leave this city it'll be like none of this ever happened."

What happens in Vegas...

It's the positive, unquestioning response from you that piques her curiosity the most. Loyalty like that can't be bought. There's more to all of this. More than she knows, and more than you know. It's a matter for another discussion, though. For now, she merely dips her head in acknowledgement and leaves it at that.

"No sense in mapping out anything until we know where we need to go. Right now, you've earned yourself a break. Remember those?"

"Hey, you know," points out Shift, "Sometimes a good explosion is all you need."

Shift takes a momentary break from the devouring of his food, only to lean back and stretch out his legs to the side. "Interesting tricks, dough, you have to admit. Both of dem." He studies you closely for a moment, thoughtfully. "One of us ought to keep an eye on dem, if possible."

If it isn't too dangerous. That there's the subtext, and it's quite easy to detect given the tight pursing of his lips and the hesitant look in his mismatched eyes.

"Dat was a joke," he points out, while scooting his legs back somewhat. "Only concern I have is cell coverage. Soon as we know where we're going, we'll need to map out multiple routes. Coverage can be sketchy in de desaht."

It may be hard to tell if the African noticed that you noticed his quick response in reference to Logan. It's no matter, for he does not comment on the matter. Another discussion for another time, indeed. Instead, a smirk slowly draws across his face, and he grabs the rest of his portion of the food in hand. "Yeah, I remember dose. I'm going to have a smoke, roll de blackjack table for twenty minutes, den I am going to take a nap. You need me, hit my cell."

LATER STILL...

Showers are taken, food and drink are devoured, weapons are cleaned and worn, and time is left for Domino to kill. She's poured over every road atlas she can find, attempted to plot out as many variables as she could manage no matter how small or insignificant they may seem, but she can't shake that feeling that time is being lost. Time which she'll never be able to make up for. They're cutting this one awfully close, but what choice does she have? If Remy can't come through with what she needs then this whole thing is a giant lost cause. It's the sort of thing that will haunt her for years. It's impossible not to think about it.

"C'mon. C'mon, c'mon..."

It's not the greatest caper Remy's ever been privy to. He barely taps any informants, just a middle manager with the right clearances in the highway department, and his own rather profound skillset in infiltration technical and literal. It doesn't even take long, for that matter; the Cajun has time for a sidequest or two. While Domino may be lurking near the door, biting her nails on the master thief's success or failure, Gambit returns from the outside balcony, all but silently, and slips into the shower himself.

When the Cajun walks back out into the shared area, he's still toweling his hair dry, dressed in a simple pair of black workout pants; whistling a little cheerful dance number which -- incidently -- he steps in time to. "No good gettin' all wound up before a big job cher, you know dat." Technically, he's still inside the time limit she gave him; and technically is the best kind of ally.

Remy takes a long haul of a cigarette and vaults leisurely into a luxurious chair, draping the towel to one side. "Looks like you goin' loaded for bear, mon ami. Don' tell me I'm in danger just knowin' what I know." This seems to amuse Remy to no end, watching smoke drift ceilingward.

Ugh, lord. "Really, Remy..? -Really?-" Dom quickly protests as you emerge from the shower. "Christ, want to go hit the tables for an hour or four while we're at it? I'm on the clock here!"

Not that your return within the window puts her mind at ease.

Then you're settling in, as relaxed and at ease as can be. Someone hasn't slept in well over two -very- long days. She's so close to her target she can practically smell the highway dust and exhaust fumes. And here you are, toying with her patience. Her arms go out to the sides, looking down at herself for a second. "I always travel like this. It's amazing what all you can hide underneath one of those coats, not that I need to remind you of that. Look--do you have some solid info for me here or not? The only danger you'll be in is if you hold out on me."

Technically she could probably benefit from a twelve hour nap before she rips the wrong head off of its shoulders.

"Like I said, don' pay to be all tense and on de ragged edge." Remy observes, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Here you are, so close you can almost taste it, right? An' you're going to get yourself in a whole mess of trouble starting shit with your own." Even so, Remy remains amused. "Told you I could take care of it, didn't I? Some oder t'ings too, if I remember right." Gambit remains calm as can be, kicking one bare foot up on a convenient glasstop table.

"Don't know what you t'ink I am, but I don' sell targets out on contract. You got to give me somet'ing here, girl, you want me to deliver someone you carryin' dis kind of chip for." He can smell it on her. Tapping his smoke in an ashtray, the Cajun leans forward to study Domino more directly.

"Your plan b is a scumsucker tied up with de worst kind of folk, who may not even have your information, half de world away. Gonna have to trust me a little." Gambit smirks slightly. She could always go home.

"It helps keep me focused," Domino counters in a low tone. Focused, and conscious. "Your dangling the fucking carrot in front of me isn't helping any."

It's true, though. You are her best shot at making this happen. She's been asking a lot of you, with little time for you to work in. The cards are entirely within your hands, she's at your mercy on this one.

"Sonuvabitch," she quickly breathes out, forcing herself to drop into a chair across the table from you before she finds herself within easy reach of something that she could kick clear through the window. "Hell of a time to forget how to trust me, Remy," she scoffs. "First off, you aren't selling out a person. I don't care who's driving the truck. I don't even -care- about the fucking -truck.-"

Dom pauses, eyes doing a quick pass over their fancy, expensive surroundings to verify that it's just the two of them in here. Half-gloved fingers hook onto the front edges of the armrests, a woman barely restrained. Sharing this kind of info is not something she likes to do. Ever.

"It's hauling medical equipment. The sort of stuff that your little pal Laura is all too familiar with. These guys have been completely off the radar for a solid eight years. That they're back now is nothing good for us."

"Few hours ago you were shooting at me and hunting a friend of mine, Dom." Remy points out, matter of factly, and with a decided absence of malice. Pragmatism, on the other hand... that, the Cajun has in spades. "Call it double checkin'." Gambit flips a flashdrive with little fanfare across the span to the mercenary, nodding once as he does so. "Short version, your drivers put in for a nap around de time we checked in. Don't look to be alone, for dat matter, dug in at a motel out the Interstate. Might leave hitting dem as dey roam your best bet."

There are also manifests for the truck's purchase and contracting, and a little bit of digging around on the companies fronting those bills, for that matter. Along with the truck's listed destination and record. A lot of it's likely fluff, but hey-- he's very good at what he does.

"If Remy weren't cornering your rats, he'd already have the address of your contact wit'out your help." Gambit also observes; his way of saying that he's very good at what he does. Also, super humble.

True, again. Domino can't argue that point with all of the luck in the world. "You're not gonna let a little thing like a center mass shot get between us, are you?" She's about to say more, probably not an apology but something more to help her case, when that jumpdrive is flicked out over the table.

It's caught out of the air just as quickly, vanishing beneath her palm with such determination that the muscles along her arm can be seen in ebony relief beneath their thinly armored confines. This is the moment where the hardened lines ease out of her face, gradually becoming replaced with a more traditional smirk. You really got all of that info, with time to spare? She could just reach across the table and kiss you, but that is also information which she doesn't risk sharing. There's no telling what might happen if that became shared knowledge.

"I'm not about to question your abilities, Rem." In turn, she tugs a folded piece of paper out of a pouch strapped to her waist, lightly tossing it onto the table. "Name, number, address, known aliases, including online only handles. Remember, he's not the one you want. You can probably pick up the trail through him, though. Knows more than he lets in on."

There's another window of silence from her end, palming that USB drive. "Thanks for this." With that said she's back on her feet once more, going for her coat and gear bag. "I need to find us a ride."

"Didn't even come close." Remy notes with a dismissive huff, a graceful hand brushing the exchange off with relaxed airs. The Cajun did indeed come through and then some-- of course, /he/ also got lucky, hitting Domino's target in Vegas itself rather than any of the other possible interchanges from her last sighting. It was the first place he checked.. hell, maybe a butterfly-wing of a gust from her luck mojo in the first place. Being around /her/ operations tends to be an interesting experience in improbable shit, to say the least.

"T'anks for saving me some time." Gambit appends with an easy wink, leaning forward to retrieve the paper and stub out his smoke before rising smoothly, eyeing Domino as she moves to prep immediately. "Shame you don' have more time." the Cajun muses deviously, before he dangles a rather new set of keys from his left hand, "Took care of dat. Third sub-level of de parking garage. Can't miss her." Keyless entry and all.

"Registered winnings of one infamous Cajun T'ief, insured out the ass against all de trouble he seem to get into, would be a shame if Remy turn up dead yet again, non?" The keys are dangled playfully and enticingly as the Cajun walks a few more paces and extends them towards her. "Jus' in case you t'inking you don't owe me." Remy notes quietly and wryly. "You did shoot at me and all dat."

That may very well be an honest look of regret about her not having any more time. "Raincheck. Prefferably when we aren't both entertaining a guest." Hell, the thought of being able to relieve some tension is ranking pretty high on her list of things she'd like to have time for.

Keys... -That- gets Domino to stop. The coat falls around her shoulders but that's as far as she gets, now staring at the next shiny new treat that you're holding out for her. It's almost predictable. It's downright silly. It's everything that she could have hoped for.

"Would be a real damn shame," she agrees, likewise starting to inch her way over to where you stand. "Being dead's no fun."

Unlike with the drive, the keys are almost gently taken from your hand. "Fair enough," she concedes with a gentle exhale of breath. "I owe you one. But only if it's a fast ride," she adds with a small grin.

Definitely a shame that she doesn't have more time for Vegas.

"Bunch of idiots t'inking you dead, though. Dat be loads." Remy notes with a jaunty little grin that suggests little gives him more pleasure than confusing the various factions ever gathering intelligence on his.. more notable operations and locale selections. Sending Domino away in a car registered to himself may not be the perfect gift it seems; then again, it's definitely the kind of showy, Vegas flair that will suit her specifications.

"Fast an' smooth." the Cajun promises with innuendo-laden smirk, lifting a hand to trace lightly along and off Domino's jawline and chin. Gambit just smirks a bit, and glances back towards his chair.. and the minibar. "Since you in such a hurry and all." The smirk is just that much wider as the Cajun moves-- more saunters in that direction.

Nothing Dom can't handle, certainly. The sort of company you tend to keep is the same sort of company she tends to keep, with the exception that 'theft' is more often replaced with 'murder.'

"You always do seem to know just what to bring to the party, Rem," she remarks as the last of the edge leaves her tone, leaving behind something else that's properly smoothed out. Between the running, the chaos, the booze, and gods know what else, there's an almost automatic response to the brushing of your hand against her jaw where her head dips forward and leans toward your touch. There and back, more than enough for both to know it just happened. Pale blue eyes slit open to return the look your way, then glance down to the watch beneath her left wrist, then to the bar.

Shift is out getting his Vegas Thing on. Gods know what Laura's up to, but does that even matter? She's ahead of schedule, guaranteed a fast car and is experienced at lead-footing it past triple digit figures on the speedometer. One drink couldn't hurt, right..?

One drink, and whatever may happen to follow.

Dom lightly catches the corner of a lip between her teeth, smirks, then follows after you. Lady Luck strikes again.

(The story continues in Highway to Hell, part 7: Interstate 15.)