The Trade

kenneth_icon.png zan_icon.png

Where: Outside Pearlies Diner

When: September 3, 2012; Afternoon

What: Both players make good their promises in fair trading.

Lunch has only just ended, the stragglers and last minute meal grabbers filter in or out of the iconic diner. Most of those around are in business dress, casual or formal, ties or polos. A few college age denizens appear in jeans and tees or strappy shirts and shorts. And during a lull in the foot traffic another appears. A red and black ball cap rests on his head, displaying the Rebels logo in all its glory. And though his jeans are nondescript, the gray t-shirt he's wearing also proclaims loyalty to UNLV.

And as Zan exits the diner, he glances left then right to look up and down the street. He chooses to go left, taking a few steps away from the door before positioning himself against the window and under the sign naming the establishment. He adjusts the hat on his head, tipping the bill forward just a little, then tucks his hands into his pockets. If anything, he looks nothing so much like an adolescent waiting for the bus or a ride elsewhere.

Kenneth took note of the description of the person he was supposed to meet, so he doesn't hesitate when he comes up the street in his usual t-shirt and jeans. He makes right for that ball cap and stops a few feet from the kid. "Oh," he says with mild surprise. "It's you. Small world. Do you have my money?"

A glance lifts up when Ken approaches, and Zan's brows raise upward. Definitely not a face he was expecting. He tilts his head toward the street. "Let's start toward the drive, I'll give it to you as we go," he advises, gaze flicking toward the passers by. With the amount of cash on him, he doesn't want to be seen handing it out while waiting on a street corner.

"Fine," Ken agrees, and starts strolling. "I hope you put it in an envelope or something." Ken doesn't fancy getting mugged, either.

Shoulders rise and fall in a shrug as Zan falls into step with Ken. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a plain, small manilla envelope. With complete casualness, he passes it off to the man beside him.

Kenneth frowns a little at the stiff envelope, but he folds it down as small as possible and jams it in his pocket. After a bit more strolling, he passes Zan a tiny key. "You have to come with me to get it," he says. He lets some more silence elapse before glancing aside at Zan. "Wouldn't daddy get upset if he knew what you were up to?"

Taking the key, Zan puts it into his hip pocket. He seems content to walk along in silence, but when the question comes up he casts a look at Kenneth. "It's money I earned," he answers, as though that would explain where his dad's opinion ranks in his dealings. As far as the public knows, the Caldecotts are a happy American family.

Kenneth gives a quiet chuckle, walking along with Zan. "Easy," he says softly, "I'm not trying to make any trouble. You're just not the kind of person I expected to see."

"Don't read too much into it," Zan says quietly. Another shrug shows itself before he casts a sidelong gaze at Ken. "So where'd you find this drive anyway?"

"Into what?" Ken wonders. "I found it on the street," he says in answer to the question. Whether or not he's telling the truth is impossible to know. "What's your interest in it?"

Zan shakes his head and curls his fingers around the key in his pocket. "Which street," he asks, conversationally. "Anyone else come asking after it? Invisible or otherwise." For his interest in it, he's not saying.

"The strip," Ken answers with a smile. "And sure, who hasn't come after it? But you didn't answer me. I'm not going to give /you/ information and get nothing in return."

"You're already getting cash and business with my brother," Zan points out. "You're asking for information that I may not be willing to share without negotiations to that price." He grins then, though the expression holds no humor. Looking away from Ken, he scans the street signs and nearby buildings. "How far to this safe deposit box?"

"Then we'll both have to stay ignorant, because the price you paid didn't include any extra info from me," Ken replies. "It's just a few blocks down." He gestures with his chin.

A shrug follows Ken's answer, and Zan dismisses the disagreement all together. "Fair enough," he says. He keeps pace with the older man, though he doesn't seem much for small talk. He goes off of Kenneth's directions, following until they've come to the location of the drive.

Kenneth is content to be silent, too. When they get to the bank, he pauses outside. "It's this bank here," he says. "I'll go in with you to make sure everything's on the up-and-up, but you better give me the rest of the money here so it won't look suspicious."

Zan considers the idea, but eventually shakes his head. "I'll give you the money inside," he says, "once I have the drive. It'll go into the box for you to take after I'm gone. My trust in faith only goes so far. But to ease suspicion, I'll carry it in so it's visible. Just a deposit for your safe." To make good his promise, he pulls an envelope similar to the first from his other back pocket, but that he keeps tucked under his arm.

"Okay, fine," Ken agrees. "I don't have any reason to keep you from getting the thing. If I wanted another one, I'd just make another copy." That said, he pushes the door open and heads into the bank. He asks to see his box and lets Zan open it. The only thing inside is the drive.

Again, Zan follows after Ken, looking rather impassive. A teenager on an errand, at least his adolescence comes in handy for that. The key is produced once he and the other man are left alone with the safe deposit box. In one motion, the envelope is slid under the drive and the drive, in turn, is caught up with fingers and removed. He even closes the lid and locks the box, but leaves the key in the chamber.

"Inside you'll find my brother's business card with his contact information," the younger man explains. The drive is placed within his hip pocket, fingers still wrapped around it. "I suggest only calling him if you're in dire need of legal counsel. He doesn't take too well to social calls."

"Why in God's name would I call a lawyer just to chat?" Ken wonders, lifting an eyebrow at Zan. "But I'm telling you, if he stiffs me on this…"

Zan raises a finger to stop that line of thought. "I'd be very careful on how you finish that sentence," he says quietly. But every meter of his tone holds an unspoken threat. He holds the conversation there for a long moment, then lowers his hand again. "This is where we part ways and forget this ever happened." He doesn't wait for a response, but turns to leave the safe room and then the bank itself.

Kenneth makes no attempt to stop the boy from going.


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