2020-10-04 Cartel Anxiety
Cartel Anxiety
Participants: Jinny
Storyteller: Luu
Location: Post Office
Date and Time: October 4, 2020
Summary: The Cartel finds their woman
Mood Music: Rockwell - "Somebody's Watching Me"
Mail.
Always more mail.
Ever since moving into the Chantry, Jinny has had her mail going to a nondescript post office box in Studio City. Yes, there was one closer to the Foreboding Jacobean, but Jinny wanted to have a bit of separation. They’re chantrymates - they’re not dating, no matter how much she wishes they were.
Pulling up outside of the post office in her Kei truck - the perfect thing for short jaunts across town - Jinny parks in one of the few open spots, feeds the meter a couple of quarters, and heads inside to check her box. 13610. She did sit down and look at the numbers to see if they meant anything and was pleased to discover that they were actually triangular in the ancient Greek polygonal numbering system. Something she always reminded herself she should share with Luu but something she always forgot to do, only to remember the next time. Walking through the not-so-sterile halls of the post office, every third fluorescent light out or buzzing or flickering like a moth on methamphetamine, she quickly finds her box, stabs the bronze key in, and starts unloading letters into her messenger bag. This’ll all get sorted later. 95% will get trashed, certainly, while the other 4% might be necessary in some way, which leaves 1% as something she might actually be looking for.
The Cadillac has been keeping a watch on this area for a bit now, its continuous use beginning to permeate the interior with the scent of unwashed humanity and fast food. If the occupants had any complaints about this situation, they knew better than to address them to any of their superiors. To say anything before their mission was complete would be an even worse fate, something they’d much rather gift to another than receive themselves.
Watching a redhead make her way into the post office, the passenger glances down at the photograph they have been given. A look is given to the driver and a moment later the Cadillac doors open, and they begin to move towards the building to see if they just found who they’ve been waiting for all of this time. The boss would like good news, and it’s best not to disappoint him.
The one thing Jinny was looking for, the little yellow ‘we have a package for you’ slip stuffed right at the bottom of the pile, in between credit card offers and fast food menus haphazardly stuffed in the box. While the post office does have to send them, the pile of junk mail tossed into the bin in the middle of the hallway was a testament to the waste that went through the system every day, the last mile ending with a half-ton of paper thrown out to be recycled. Obvious junk mail is added to the pile as she shoulders her bag, adjusting it just so in order to act as a buffer between people passing on her let and the wall on her right. With the bag she takes up more space and, therefore, should get the right of way. See? She thinks!
As she walks, Jinny pulls out a black Sharpie marker and a sheet of ‘Hello, my name is:’ stickers pausing to scribble her graffiti tag on it and then nonchalantly slapping it where it’s seen but not easily removed - her way of marking that she had been there. Notably, this isn’t what she signs her more accessible graffiti as, like what was in the desert or on the side of buildings for paying customers. This is the subversive, secret one that calls truth to turn its lens on the powerful. Another is written with a simple question; “Why, Endron?” which is placed on the plastic separating wanted posters from the world. Sure, it’ll probably get pulled down in a second, but still, she made her feelings known. On her way to the customer service counter, lost in her own head.
The two men pause outside the door to the post office. Looking in they see the redhead moving about and once more glance down at the photo they’ve been tasked with.
“Es posible.”
A nod is given and the two hang back, not entering the space yet, but instead waiting for the woman to exit. Fewer cameras to deal with that way, easier to make an escape. She might never be leaving the area, but she’ll come out of the building soon enough. Keeping the photo out and in one hand, they put their other hands out of view, and grip steel.
Headphones in, Jinny migrates from the post office boxes to the line inside, bouncing on her toes as she shuffles up to get her package - a surprisingly weighty, yet small one - passing over her yellow slip of paper and putting the package away. Flicking through her phone, she lifts it to her ear as she hits send, getting Luu’s voicemail of all things. She must be doing things with her crew fashion-wise. Ah well. Time to leave a message.
“Hey, it’s me.” They’ve dispensed with introducing themselves on the phone when they call for a while now. “I’m heading home with something that you might find interesting. I’m going to stop by Matsumoto on the way home, too. If I don’t hear otherwise, I’m picking up the boat thing that we got last time and some sea urchin. Love you.” She makes a little kissy noise and hangs up, pushing out of the main door and heading towards her truck.
As the door to the post office opens, the two men see who they’ve been waiting for all this time. They begin to move towards Jinny as if they might pass her on either side, and yet their steps are slightly angled as if they planned to converge on her. Their eyes are slightly averted as to not look directly at her, but it’s clear she’s their focus.
They close in, their shoulders just far enough away from each other that they begin to block Jinny’s path between them. Three of the hands are out of sight, the fourth holding the print out of the DMV photo that they’ve been given. Their gaze finally focuses on Jinny with an incredible intensity, their movement forward stopped.
There’s a long pause, but finally the one with the photo says to the other, “no es ella.” With that, the shoulders part just enough as they walk around Jinny and head into the post office from which she just exited.
There’s a sense one gets, when walking that people are paying attention to you. Even if you’ve got your phone going and your headphones in with a drum and bass track pulsing in your head and Ray Bans covering your eyes, things like peripheral vision still work. In the bright of the California sun, walking down the middle of the sidewalk towards the parking lot, as those two men start to angle towards her, Jinny shifts her bag to be in front of her, ostensibly to make it more difficult to snatch and grab, watching them through her bangs, wishing her sunglasses were over her eyes. This would be so much easier! Slowing her walk, her head lifting slightly, gaze flicking from one to the other and then to the picture they’re holding, her eyes widen slightly.
Oh god, don’t react. Don’t react. Why do they have a picture of her? Why do they have /that/ picture?
She stops, looking at them, in the middle of the sidewalk as they study her, trying to look as sweet and as innocent as one can when someone’s holding the picture on your driver’s license. It’s probably to her credit that it’s in black and white and printed on a cheap printer, too. A little blur and low DPI might make it that much easier for them to not know it’s her. She freezes when one looks at her that much closer and shivers, and then….those blessed, blessed words.
It’s not her.
Jinny shifts her shoulders, giving the pair room to pass around her and, to her credit, does not look at them right away. She does turn to watch them walk off, studying details that she can see while making like she’s pulling on her sunglasses and adjusting her hair - things like tattoos, colors of clothing, boot styles, belts, and the like. Anything that might help her pinpoint who these are and if they’re from the same group. Even if they’re wearing off-the-rack stuff, there might be something she can recognize.
And then? They’re gone. Turning with a shuffling step, Jinny forces herself to walk back to her truck, tossing her bag into the passenger seat and turning it on with a rumble, daring to let out a breath as she puts the truck in gear. She’s got to go home. She’s got to talk to Luu. This was something different. Someone was looking for her. For *her!*
“Why would they want me?” she wonders aloud as she backs out of the parking space, the hills of Hollywood coming into view and immediately the thought comes. The Armageddon Highway. The art they did. The crossing out….
“Fuck…”
She’s got to get home. Forget sushi. She’s got to get home /now/ and talk to Luu.
When Jinnyy arrives back at the Chantry, she discovers on the porch, right before the front door, a few drops of fresh blood …
