2013.12.28 - Allah doesn't pay the bills.

A dingy, fairly run-down, dim lighting establishment is the current location of two individuals seeking to find one missing scientist. The grungy table the two are seated at is filled with odds and ends of papers, half-drank drinks, and a small tablet. A thick haze of smoke filters through the bar, as patrons play pool, drink their days away, or find companionship in dark booths.

A bowl of pretzels, a plate of half-eaten cheese sticks, and a few used up napkins also add to the top of the table the two individuals share, as the greasy sticks stain the plate with a dark hue. The woman is seated back on /her/ side of the booth, a pen held between her bright white teeth as she nibbles on the end of it. The poor bit of plastic has already been nibbled a bit too much, as teeth marks are quite evident on the lid, where it was once round, it is not quite flat and chewed upon.

"So after they got the drugs out of the 'daughter'." Misty begins, repeating what they've already known for the hundredth time, trying to find what they've missed. "She was hired by an unknown individual to pose as the scientist's daughter, she was paid a thousand dollars for her troubles, but when she was paid, they drugged her up and left her for dead. It was only our interruption that saved her life, not that she was appreciative, and was it really necessary to pull a gun on her for the information?"

Dark eyes lift towards the man across from her, as Misty lets out a snort, before removing the pen from her lips to tap it on the table. "The sketch of the men gives me jack and shit to go on, what are we missing, Cole?"

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Cole answers Misty's question casually, not concerned in the least about the aspersions tossed his way. A subtle shrug follows the reply, as the blonde man reaches out to snag one of the now-cold cheese sticks, lifting the greasy slab about half way up to his mouth before he eyes the morsel with a dubious glance and thinks better of it. Maybe if he'd make that choice fifteen minutes ago, before all the warmth left it. With a twist of his lips, he sets the stick back down again and opts for a handful of pretzels instead. They rattle briefly against the bowl before he scoops them up, crunching noisily as he regards the black woman across the table from him. He's still wearing his 'working attire' - his bulky trenchcoat covering up the majority of his ammo and other equipment - but his trademark red mask has been pulled off completely, tucked away in one of his pockets so that he doesn't draw any more attention than is necessary in the seedy little dive the two have found themselves in.

"The good news is," he begins again then, "Is that whoever else is looking for Philpott hasn't found him yet. The only advantage that they have on us is that they know who we are, but we don't know who they are. But as much as I'd like to know who else is gunning after him, that's not going to matter a lot if we get to him first." Cole pulls out his own notepad, a dog-eared and ragged stack of spiral-bound paper, with a series of barely legible notes scrawled upon the pages. "Credit trail's a dead end. One cash withdrawal a day before he disappeared, and nothing since. Makes me think he's doing this on his own, but..." He shakes his head, his ruffled hair swishing about a little with the motion. "I dunno. Not a one of his cards shows even a Gas-n-Sip stop." Cole lets out a long, heavy sigh then, followed by a grim expression that pulls at the corners of his mouth. "I say we wire in some tech muscle and sweep his computer."

"After some of the crazy-assed weird shit that I've experienced of late, I'm all for some old fashioned detective work." Misty states with an over exasperated sigh, the pen once again placed between her teeth as she mauls the plastic about some, before setting the item down to tap it once more against the table. "Did I /tell/ you about the freaky no-faced guy that was controlling sweet and sour sauce, making it into some freaking monster that shot chicken bones at me? No. Well, you're lucky you didn't see it. The Asgardian and the monster hunter, Bloodstone, they're just as calm as punch about the entire thing, me? I'm wanting to scream out, WHAT THE FUCK man! This can't be real, but you can't do that in front of those types. Y'know?"

On a tangent, Misty realizes it only as she settles back into the booth more, and just snorts out a, "Right. Anyway. We know who he last worked for, right? How's about we go pay them a visit real quiet like. See what he was doing for them, and if anyone there might have reason to see the old man hurt, disappeared, or used for their own purposes."

As Misty's talking, a group of four large men enter the bar, their eyes shift about the haze in the room, alighting upon the corner that Cole and Misty are at, and remain there a minute, before they ever so casually move up to the bar and order drinks. Almost in unison.

Across the table, Cole just sort of stares flatly at Misty as she goes off on her diatribe concerning individuals without faces and how they manipulate ethnic condiments and poultry skeletons for evil purposes. He lets her get the entire thing off her chest though, remaining politely silent during the whole rant though it seems he might be biting his tongue as to various responses that he could make. After all - a sweet-and-sour monster that shoots chicken bones? Really? But no, Cole doesn't disparage. Instead, he waits until Misty's finished, and answers with a simple and quiet, "No. No, you didn't tell me about the freaky no-faced guy that controls sweet-and-sour sauce." And, he manages to pull off the response with a straight face, too!

Cole's not too certain about 'those types' and why the woman doesn't feel comfortable expressing herself in front of them, but rather than worrying about it (or how much Misty may have been drinking before her mission with said 'those types'), Cole is just as eager to move back to their own case at hand. "Well, a lot of his jobs were pretty cloak-and-dagger stuff," Cole confesses. "I mean, we're talking real hush-hush, secret government programs and all that. But," he clarifies, leaning in slightly. "Yours truly did some investigating of his own when he took the job, and I found out that his last lab set-up was funded by a shell corporation used as a cover for..." Cole trails off then, just a beat, his eyes flickering to the side as he lowers his voice more, though he keeps his face directed straight towards Misty. "...Hey. Don't look now, but I think we've got company. Unless this place is hosting a support group for thick-necked brutes that I didn't see advertised on the door."

A deep breath, and Misty's mouth parts about to make some manner of comment over Cole's ever so controlled comments - when she thinks better of it and just huffs out a quiet explicit concerning Cole's mother and his father. Which does some good in getting Misty to feel a bit better about things, so she's only too eager to listen in as Cole begins to explain about the missing scientist's last work place.

The very side of her mouth twists into a slight scowl, as Cole stops speaking suddenly, and Misty's just about to tell him she really hates dramatic pauses - when his next statement as her nearly turning around in her seat to take a look at what the blonde man's speaking about.

She resists the temptation, however, and instead pulls loose a small compact from her purse, to idly pretend to put a little lipstick on. The compact is lifted upwards, as Misty's dark eyes scan the room behind her, while a small tube of lipstick plants a crimson hue upon her lips. The presence of the men is glanced at briefly through the reflection, before the compact is set back into her purse, followed by the small tube of ruby red.

"What, you didn't see the sign out front, bodyguards and beef sticks wanted, apply within?" Misty's tone is playful, as she shifts her body just enough to get a better feel for not only her gun, but an easy way out of the cramped interior of the booth. "I'm not on anyone's want list, and haven't been for some time, so it's either your skinny ass they're wanting, or we're getting a little hot. While you can, check the sketches the daughter gave us, with them." As she speaks, Misty's fingers idly collect the evidence they have so far, pushing it all together in a nice pile, as the pictures are placed on top just enough time for Cole to look at, before being shoved back into a notebook.

The men ever so conspicuously continue to look in the corner that Misty and Cole are within, as they talk amongst themselves at the bar, the drinks they ordered untouched.

As if he's able to sense Misty's temptation to take a peek at the bar - or perhaps can see the way she nearly turns in her chair - Cole whispers quickly under his breath, "Geez, I said don't look!" He grabs for one of the cold cheese sticks again then, forgetting the that the breading is now moist and doughy, and the cheese inside is likely tough and congealed, and sticks the thing in his mouth only to make a rather comical grimace at the texture of the foodstuff. Food being a liberal categorization at this point. The man doesn't quite want to fess up to his mistake, though, and forces down a bite before setting the rest of the half-eaten cheese stick on the otherwise empty plate infront of him, nodding with some relief and a bit of approval at Misty's discreet use of her compact mirror.

"I must have missed that sign when you were telling me about the freaky no-faced guy," he quips back to Misty then, grinning a bit despite himself. "And I can't believe you're not *anyone's* want list. Must not hang out with the right crowds." The last is said with just a hint of innuendo, before Cole continues on as if perhaps he hadn't meant anything specific at all. "But they're not for me. At least, not specifically for me. I think you're right, someone doesn't like the trail we're following. Seems a shame to disappoint them this far in, mm?" As Misty sorts and thumps the collection of notes and photos, Cole's gaze flickers from the stack up to the group of men, and then back again, a dry tone escaping his lips. "Well. They all look like Terminator stunt-doubles, so, we have that. But between the overhanging brows and the meaty jaws, if Bachelor #3's smashed-up nose doesn't fit the girl's description, then I'm turning in my investigator's license." Not that Cole /has/ a license. But, if he did, clearly he'd feel confident enough about the issue to place it at stake. "Think this place needs some remodeling, or should we funnel the Osmond family outside?"

"Osmonds?" Misty begins, parting her lips open to argue, then ponders things, before shrugging her shoulders. "We'll see if they hit the high notes when I'm done with them. Lets take them outside, we're not some freaky mutants that destroy establishments just cause we can." A pause. "Well, at least I'm not a mutant." With that, she shifts her body out of the booth, legs beginning to swing around, as she rises upwards. With a pretense that comes from perhaps a bit too many before, Misty begins to sway a bit from side to side, one hand moving to her head, "Baby, I think I've done had myself too much to drink." She starts, feeling more than turning to see, the eyes of the men at the bar on her. "I think we should head on out, and home." There's a suggestion to her tone, as she speaks, taking a slight step to one side in order to allow Cole to view the occupants at the bar a bit better. Even as she does, her hand is already on the holster of her gun, unclipping the weapon before her steps begin to waver from side to side, as she heads towards the door out.

The steps are taken with a swift gait, even as Misty's peripheral vision takes in the men at the bar as they begin to rise upwards. When her hand hits the handle of the door, her steps drawing past the threshold, the men are standing upwards, and moving to follow.

"Well, I couldn't call them the Jacksons, they're not black," Cole readily answers as he slides out of his own booth, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard by the subject of conversation. He keeps one eye on the men there - the other not too subtly following the sway of Misty's behind as she faux-staggers towards the door. After all, who says you can't mix business with pleasure, at least a little bit? Still, even as he's admiring the assets of the woman he's partnered up with, Cole is keeping his mind on the task at hand, his own hand slipping underneath the folds of his trenchcoat as he moves a few steps behind, pretending like he's searching for his car keys. "Just as long as we're leaving together," he gamely replies, loud enough for the men at the bar to hear. "Besides, I know /just/ what to do to you so you won't get a hangover." He pauses just a beat then, before correcting himself. "I mean, do for you..." Seems like he's enjoying playing a little drunk, a roguish grin splaying across his features as he moves outside with Misty. And just like Misty, Cole is prepared for action as soon as they hit the evening air, his fingers tightening around the butt of his gun and his entire body starting to tense and coil as he knows what's about to happen next.

Just as soon as Misty's boots crunch into the snow outside the tavern, her body's spinning about, both guns in hands as she turns her aim towards the door. When it swings open to reveal the four men, they all pause just outside, surprise written in their gaze as they take in Cole and Misty - who are quite prepared for them.

Misty's grin is a bit too wide, as her fingers shift back the safety with a satisfying click of sound. "Hello boys." She begins. "Mind telling us what you want, before we turn you all full of holes? Or do you want to go straight for the holes, and we'll just search your dead bodies afterwards?"

NOT that Misty's quite so blood thirsty, but really, some times you have to be a bit more rough and ready with thugs, rather than politely asking them what the fuck they're doing or what they want.

The men exchanges glances, before one steps forward his hands raised into the air. "Look, we are just here to deliver this message." His voice is laced with a thick Iraqi accent, he begins to stick his hand into his coat when Misty's gun fires a single shot just past the man's ear, a marksman perfect shot that is close enough to singe his hair - and perhaps nick the very side of his ear. (Not to mention cause the man to stumble to one side with a frightened yelp.) "No, no it in.. jacket. It's in my jacket. I swear! Don't shoot."

The other men's hands are reluctantly raised at this point, as the one speaking pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the snow. "Check. Just check."

Misty's head inclines to Cole. "I've got them covered."

Though he's equally at the ready with his own weapons drawn and his gaze leveled at the door when the four thugs come out afterwards, Cole is content to let Misty do most of the talking - though he does give the black woman a sidelong glance as she threatens to search the men's dead bodies. The look in his eyes seems to say, 'and you were giving me grief for my interrogation of the girl?', but he remains quiet throughout, turning his attention back to the quartet of thugs to size them up as they quickly realize that they are outmatched and outplayed. At least they're smart, Cole thinks, watching as they start to raise their hands into the air.

Or, maybe not so smart. Reaching one's hand into one's chest pocket isn't the brightest thing to to when a gun's pointed at you - whether there's actually a note tucked into that pocket or not. "You kids are new at this, aren't you?" Cole drawls out after Misty's gunshot, a quirky grin on his features as the thugs stammer and stumble over their own words. He casts Misty another glance as she lets him know that they're covered, and his voice is a bit dubious as he mumbles, "Sure, allow me, I love rummaging through another man's sweaty, smelly jacket..." Still, Cole takes a couple of steps forward, holstering one gun while he keeps the other in hand, loosely aimed towards the foursome as he starts to search the interior of the jacket. Sure enough, there's a crumpled envelope there, and as Cole pulls it out a slightly surprised expression crosses over his face. The envelope is addressed simply to 'Cole Cash'.

The surprise turns into a frown of suspicion, and Cole narrows his eyes as he stands upright, eyeing the foursome before awkwardly opening the envelope, one gun still held in his hand. The note inside is withdrawn and ready hastily, and Cole snorts afterwards, crossing back to Misty.

"The name 'Sheik Sil-Addad' mean anything to you?" Cole's voice indicates that'd he be surprised if Misty /doesn't/ recognize the name of one of the Middle East's most notorious oil magnates and suspected drug cartel ringleader. "He's offering to double my pay if I flip sides and bring him Philpott." Cole's fingers start to crumpled the note in his hand, wadding up the paper into a ball as he brings his other hand back up to point his gun back at the de-facto thug captain. "Guess he doesn't think I have much loyalty to my current employers." Cole addresses the thug then, a single eyebrow lifting. "What about you? How's your loyalty to your boss?"

The one who held the envelope keeps his hands into the air, as he takes a single step backwards. "I am loyal to Allah." He begins. "But Allah does not pay the bills." The men next to him snort outwards. Though Misty's hardly impressed herself, as she aims the guns a bit lower, "Look boys, I'd love to stay out in the freezing cold all night and talk about philosophies and religion with you, but frankly; I'm tired. Spill it now. My guess is your boss initially hired me, tried the sob story with the girl, right? When that failed, he decided to try a man, right? Didn't quite realize we're working together, or didn't give a damn?"

Misty's words are met with silence, though she's fairly sure she has a good idea she's correct in her assumptions. "So the girl's a red herring, you're just wanting the scientist and as he's missing, taking advantage of it, right?" Again, silence reigns, though Misty idly wonders if its because she's on, or they're simply unsure so not saying anything for fear. "Well, you can tell your boss to shove it where the sun don't shine." Taking a few steps backwards, Misty's voice commands. "Now all of you turn around, put your hands against the wall, and don't turn back around until you count a thousand." As really, Misty doesn't have a lot to go on to arrest them. The men do as instructed, without having said a word, and quite thankful of it. With that, she scowls at Cole, before turning about to head towards her beat-up car, holstering her guns as she goes. "I'm going home, I'm going to drink Mexican beer, and I'll see you in the morning."

"You really think these guys can count to a thousand?" Cole can't help but ask he turns to leave the mooks up against the wall, following Misty towards her junker of a car and his much slicker looking motorcycle. "Mexican beer, huh? Guess I'm not surprised." He pauses, then, and the glibness in his voice fades as he stands between Misty's beater and his own bike, the man's eyes regarding the black woman with a genuine expression. "Good job back there, by the way. No collateral damage, no bodies to clean up, no mess at all. I'm impressed." Which, judging from the way that he says it, doesn't happen too very often. The moment of sincerity passes then, as he swings one leg over his motorbike and flashes a wide grin at the woman. "I wasn't kidding about that hangover prevention, by the way. If you want to overindulge tonight without regretting it tomorrow, you know what hotel I'm staying at." And with that, he guns the motor on the bike and rolls on out of the parking lot.