forum las vegas lights // oxo // closed

Started January 22, 2022 by @larcenistarsonist group

tune

Through Mae's eyes, Felix can see the gears grinding and turning. Whatever he's thinking, he's thinking about it hard and doubling his security so Felix can't get past it. Felix's smirk never leaves his face as he watches Mae control his emotions, logically finding away to approach the gambler so there's minimum backlash and teasing comments. It's all so amusing. Felix wishes that everyone's like this.

The amateurs he's used to playing with give things away like people handing out flyers on the Strip. There's hardly a challenge to it anymore, but Felix continues because the more he wins the more money he receives. The more money he has the more ties he can buy and the more ties he buys the more he irritates his roommate/best friend. He also gets to pamper Jackpot with all of the squeaky toys and cat towers he wants and buy as many boxes of Lucky Charms as his heart pleases. All in all, it's a win-win. Except for the losers. They lose.

At consistent James Bond references, Felix knows how irritated Mae is getting with it. In fact, Mae isn't even bothering to hide it anymore. Felix's smile only widens. "Doll, you know I would never get caught." He punctuates his statement with a wink and stands from the chair. He checks one of his watches on his wrist and smoothly swoops to pick the third from the floor. He pockets the loose watch and heads to the door. "Correct you are, Damian!" Felix beams. "So if you wanna wrap this up, I have a game to win."

Every other minute, he took a deep breath. Some professor in college told him that breathing usually helps with anger and frustration, though practicing breathing exercises seems to make it worse. Glancing at Herrera every second also makes it worse. Yet he knew that it was in his own interest to keep cool, even if that meant to remind himself to do his best at it despite failing.

Damian had to scoff at what he heard. All he knows is that it only takes one little thing for a whole investigation to go down the drain. One thing. Just one feasible little thing. Can he really take Herrera's word on this? Can he really trust the gambler? A gambler for Christ's sake! He is not sure how he can put all of his faith and trust into this guy. Well, the guy literally brought in a rodent into his office. If that does not say much, then he has no clue what he is doing.

He walked in front of Herrera, cutting him off from the door. Taking the key out from his pocket, he unlocked the door, but kept his hand on the doorknob. "We're not finished here yet, Herrera," He seethed. "After every game, you have to meet with me outside to report on everything. I will be in the parking lot five minutes before each game ends so then you don't have to wait." Staring intently into the man's eyes, he sighed before stepping to side. "Now get out."

It's actually hilarious to Felix, watching Mae try and try and try so hard to keep his calm around someone as provocative as him. It's so amusing to watch Mae grow increasingly exasperated at Felix's intentionally childish comments and then demand for the gambler to get the hell out of his office. In fact, as soon as he's out the door of the detective's office, he's in a fit of giggles, clutching his side as he leans against the swinging glass doors of the station.

"Jackpot!" He calls through laughs, snapping his fingers three times in quick succession. The ferret pokes his head out from behind a trash can and scurries over to Felix's outstretched hand. A police officer nearly steps on the weasel and jumps back screaming. Jackpot slithers up Felix's arm and into his coat, making himself comfortable in one of Felix's inside pockets. There's a jingle in Jackpot's pocket. Felix smirks at the ferret, knowing sure as hell the rodent had snagged somebody's bracelet.

Felix waves goodbye to the receptionist and the chief, saving a quick wink for Detective Mae, and then leaves the station with a devil's grin set on his face.

With one foot outside, he stood against the doorway. His eyes stick to the wall diagonally across from him. Quickly his mind began to wander off until Herrera had called the name of that furry rodent of his. In his peripherals, he watched as the police officer was walking by. Damian felt his shoulders tense as they jumped up. His left hand wiped his forehead. Breathe. Although he took a long exhale, it did not work. Was it stress from the case that has jumpstarted his frustration and anger?

Herrera. He knew that he wanted to say one last thing to the gambler, but before he could, the guy had winked then left. It all went by too quick for him. Relaxing against the door, the back of his head slammed against it. Damian did not care for he let out a long drawn out sigh of relief. Alfaro just looked over at him with an arched brow, ready to ask if he was alright. "Just give me five," He said in a deadpanned manner. Picking up the trash bin, he disappeared into his office.

For Damian, giving him five minutes to himself actually means he does not want to be bothered for a while; usually ten to twenty minutes at the least. The chief knew that it would be no use to do anything to help instead to just let him go and hide inside his office. On the other hand, he was not really relaxing. Instead, he sat down at his desk and went back to work. Looking through notes and files, observing CCTV footage, and checking up on witnesses and family. Every now and then, he glanced over at the framed picture. There was a neon pink sticky note on the pencil holder beside it with the date and time of the first game.

Felix pulls up to the Poker Bar in his modest sedan fifteen minutes after his enchanting debriefing at the police station. The car has a few dents in the sides and a slight fade to the once pristine silver, but nevertheless it's one of Felix's favorite possessions. The sedan looks out of place compared to the expensive Jaguars and luxury Ferraris outside of the fancy and high-security bar. However, Felix isn't fazed. He might have piles and piles of cash laying around his house but if he uses it to buy a better car (or a better house, suit, air fryer, et cetera, et cetera-) he'll be a better target. He knows sure as hell it's best to keep a low profile, even despite Felix's straightforward, flashy and flirty personality.

Jackpot chitters in his coat pocket and Felix laughs, grabbing the weasel by his long torso and plopping him down in the passenger seat. "We're gonna have to wait a few rounds before you can come in, Jack my man." The ferret looks genuinely offended. "Okay, let's see if this fancy doohickey works." Felix turns the dial on the side of his middle watch, the hands on it turning to 6 o'clock. "Damian!" He says directly into the watch, hoping the speaker within will pick his voice up. "Can ya' hear me, darling?"

The hidden earpiece crackles in his ear, a loud whining noise causing him to flinch. "Hey, that wasn't nice. I have a game in six minutes and you're choosing to deafen the only chance you have at solving this case? Shame, Damian, shame."

Whatever Alfaro was thinking, he must be a total lunatic for this. Damian just had the urge the moment he watched the guys hand him over listening equipment and setting it up in his car. There's booster seats in the back, He thought to himself.

Then with traffic and his daughter and son calling with his mother in law's phone talking about this giant puppy at the park, he ended up arriving to the parking lot late. Now naturally, this would make him be in a state of frustration and being upset, though he knew that there was nothing to be helped. Yet, he was more upset about the listening devices. Nevada law says they can't record without consent so why even bother?

Damian was resting back into the driver's seat. The light on the device went off as Herrera spoke. Sound screamed into his ears causing him to turn it down. Turning the volume down, he kept swearing underneath his breath.

"He is going to screw himself over," He sighed. A sudden smirk swept across his face as he turned on the mic and adjusted some knobs before turning it off. It kept him amused even as Herrera responded.

Well, he's going to have to give the gambler that. Tragically he has no other choice. Running his fingers through his hair, he turned on the mic and raised it to his lips. "Hey gae-saekki, use these devices during the games, and you will be six feet under." He opened up his notebook, setting it on the passenger's seat. "Just let me listen in and play your game."

"Damian, Damian, Damian, my dear! You're underestimating my abilities," Felix finds himself laughing, He knows that there's no cameras and Damian's on the opposite end of the parking lot in a discrete vehicle, but he hopes the detective can see his grin. Before he had arrived at the Club, Felix had been borderline nervous. He would be playing with five brand new opponents, all with tells Felix would have to decipher in milliseconds and mentally document them for Detective Mae to use to solve a crime. Crime. One of the people Felix is going to be playing is a cold-blooded killer who murdered Crystal Valentine for one unknown reason.

Five suspects. All of which Felix knows practically nothing about. The exclusivity of the club prevented any sort of information to leak. These five opponents that Felix is mere minutes away from playing will pull him apart with a glance. That is, if Felix lets them. He didn't win twelve championships across the US last year alone for nothing. With a sigh, Felix cracks his neck and pats Jackpot's head.

"Alright, I'm going in," Felix says, his voice quieter as he gets out of his sedan and approaches the club.

The bouncer raises an eyebrow at him from behind their reflective glasses.

"Why, hello there," Felix greets with an unnecessary amount of bravado. "I'm Felix Herrera, I believe it's my first time here at this fine establishment." The bouncer says nothing. They just stare Felix down with a reflective glare before pressing their ID to the keypad and letting Felix in.

He scoffed at Herrera's words. Underestimating is only the tip of the iceberg. Not even the ones in the academy act so cocky and full of grandeur. Shoot, even when he trained for the FBI did he even dare to act in such a manner. Damian could only run his fingers through his hair, letting his hand drop onto his lap as he sighed. Dwelling on such things is only going to lead him to losing more time and potential clues; he cannot afford to lose a single second of focus. Not one single second.

No responses had come to mind. The detective just slouched back into the seat, turning the air conditioning to the max. Cool air blew against him. Strands of hair brushed against the side of his earpiece. Yes, they had given him one of his own, yet he does not want to think about it. Hopefully all of this will go by as fast as possible. He does not mind sitting in the car for God knows how long, but on the other hand, his patience and anxiety are eating away at his professionalism.

For some reason, a ping of worry had hit his chest the moment Herrera told him that he was heading in. Whether or not he is worried about the case going down the drain or of Herrera himself is anyone's guess. With every case there is always the nerves getting jolted every step of the way. It is natural after all.

Forcing himself to sit up, his fingers reached to turn the microphone on. His eyes stared at Herrera, watching as he was making his way to the entrance. "Breathe," He said. "Play as you normally do." Quickly, Damian turned it off then went back to relaxing. Another Caprisun sat in the cupholder. He hadn't even opened it yet.

The club is dark, smokey and smells of fine wine. As he makes his way down the short staircase, the temperature feels colder and hotter at the same time - an artificial heat gathered from all of the bodies dancing on the floor. There's music thrumming through the floors, the heavy bass something Felix can feel in his chest. There are flashing lights, highlighting the drunken figures grinding against each other. The crowd is only the finest Vegas has to offer: showgirls in feathers, businessmen in loosened suits, rich tourists in golden necklaces and polished shoes. Every few yards, a security guard presses a finger to their ear. (Huh, guess it really is that obvious. Not that Felix would ever admit that out loud, though.)

Felix weaves his way through the crowd, his eyes snapping to every sudden movement in his area. In the back of the room, just to the right of the bar, is a set of double doors. They're a dark, lush magenta with silver hinges and knobs. Two more security guards stand to each side of the doors. Bingo.

As he approaches the men, clearly the only sober guest in the room, they stiffen. The one closest to the doors juts his chin up. It's cute. Felix isn't by any means extremely tall, but he still has a few inches over this man. "Felix Herrera," He drawls, rolling the 'r's in his last name. "I believe I have a poker game to attend." The man scoffs and asks for his ID, which Felix happily flashes. There's a passcode punched in by another one of the guards, and the door clicks open. Felix spares a wink to the short guard and pushes through the doors.

Stress flows through his veins then into the heart and up to his mind. The listening device was good enough for him to decently hear what Herrera was experiencing at the same time. Damian laid back in the driver's seat, and closed his eyes. With the little sounds he could hear, he tried to imagine what was going on.

He was only inside the place once to talk to Mr. Harima. Like any other casino or club, the place was dim and there was no way of telling whether it was day or night. People there were already drunk by the time the clock hit three in the afternoon. He only got a few seconds to see what the inside the room before the security guards closed the door. Only his memory and imagination can only take him so far though.

Breathe. Patience. He has to remember those words. It is only the first day after all. First day, first game. It might take him weeks or months to get a suspect, and that is fine. Damian has no choice but to put most, if not all, of his faith into Herrera.

The room is dark and smells like expensive perfume. In the center of the room is a half-circle table, the third chair from the left empty. A gorgeous dealer is standing behind the table, her sharp, dark eyes watching Felix as he takes the empty seat. To his left sits a man with coily salt and pepper hair with skin the texture of leather. To that man's left is a woman with an undercut, thin lips, and short brown hair. To Felix's right is a person with blonde hair cut at their shoulders and teal eyes that look hungry. Then it's another woman with poofy hair wrapped above her in a crimson scarf and large, scarlet lips. On the end is none other than Whitney Harima himself, his black hair slicked back with slightly too much oil and his thick lips wrapped around a cigar.

"Glad you could join us, Mr. Herrera," the dealer says, narrowing her eyes to make them even sharper. She reaches behind her, perfectly manicured nails latching onto an unopened deck of playing cards. She looks over to the woman on the end of the table. "Miss Blake," She greets before moving onto the rest of the table. "Mister Dane, Mister Herrera, Mix Rivers, Miss Clyde, Mister Harima."

Felix hides his smirk. His mind switched unconsciously to his poker phase as soon as he laid eyes on the cards. At least now he has a name to pair with each of the five suspects. The dealer's nails break the plastic wrapping on the deck of cards. Felix doesn't miss the atmosphere tense as everyone readjusts in their seats.

"The game is about to begin."

Damian sometimes had to think whether the loud sound in his ears was either his heartbeat or all the sounds he was hearing through the ear piece. The sounds of Herrera walking, seats being shifted, and soft murmurs filled the air as he listened in. Picking up the Capri Sun, he took off the plastic on the straw then poked it into the pouch. His eyes scanned some random couple walking into the building as he waited.

The voice of a woman broke the calmness in his mood. His attention had wavered for a second. It is going to start. It is going to start. It is going to start. The phrase kept repeating in his head like a fire alarm wailing loudly. Sitting up, he rested his index finger on his bottom lip, eagerly waiting for something to be said next.

Clicking his pen, he scribbled down all the names that were announced. Blake, Dane, River, Clyde, and Harima. Those are his possible suspects. One of them has to be the murderer. Strange when one thinks about the fact that the murderer is in the same room as Herrera and is only just a short distance away from himself. And yet, he does not know who it is. He may not know for a while. He may have to be sitting in this car like this on a regular basis for a few months or even longer.

This is only just the beginning. The beginning of something that could make or break him. The beginning of a unknown road he is about to take right now.

(me, halfway through writing this: oh shit how does poker work-)
(anyways, after a lot of thinking last night I finally figured out who would be the one that killed Crystal if you wanna hear it!)
-

A pile of chips is set in front of Felix. White, red and blue, the basic colors. Felix huffs through his nose. He had been hoping for at least something a little more spectacular than basic chips. The woman on the end throws in two white chips, the man next to Felix does the same. Blake and Dane. The value for the white chip is a mystery to Felix, but what better way to find out than playing? Knowing his opponents, there's no doubt the singular white chip is more than half a year's worth of rent. Regardless, Felix also throws in two chips and the initial buy in carries down the table to Mister Harima.

The dealer slides everyone their cards and Felix steals a glimpse at his own. Two red kings, a spade queen, a diamond seven and a diamond four. Not the greatest hand Felix has been dealt, but certainly not the worst. It's workable. Blake slides in three red chips. Felix has to marvel at her nerve. Of course, he doesn't show it in his expression, but rather an internalized widening of his eyes and pursed lips. Dane raises the stakes another red chip. Felix slides in his own four red chips and then Rivers does the same. Clyde folds. Harima puts in five red chips.

And the game continues as such. There's hardly any talking and Felix isn't about to put a target on his back for breaking that unsaid rule of silence. There's only brief statements, such as "fold" or "hit". The game ends with a showdown between Felix and Rivers, Felix now having three Kings and two sevens. A full house. Rivers, however, has four sixes.

"Damn," Felix whistles, watching as Rivers takes the large pot with a shark-like grin.

There's another three deals. Harima wins two of them and Dane wins the last. The dealer then dismisses them with a joyless wave and annoyed eye roll. Four deals every week. The usual here at Harima's Elite Poker Club. Felix loosens his tie slightly, the lack of circulation in the dark room not helping his slight irritation. Of course, Felix hadn't planned on winning today, even through he knew well that Harima had a straight flush that would trump Clyde and Blake's four-of-a-kind and full house. These new opponents were certainly much more difficult to read, but nothing Felix couldn't decipher.

He's just about to exit through the doors when somebody catches his arm. It's Rivers. "Mister Herrera," they purr, blonde eyebrows furrowing over their teal eyes. "I would like to welcome you to the club." Their blonde hair is slightly falling loose from the half-ponytail on the back of their head. Felix notes that they have to be around his age, maybe a little younger.

Felix smiles, one equally as sharp as Rivers's. "Happy to be here, doll."

"Please, call me Helsie," they reply. "And if anything, you're much more fun to have here than that old bat." They lean in close to Felix's face. Felix doesn't shy away. "If anything, I'm glad she was wacked over the head. We needed some new blood in here."

"Oh, really?" Felix eggs on, tilting their nose down. Their noses are practically touching.

"Trust me, I'd much rather have you here than Valentine, Mister Herrera." Helsie's eyes darken. "Is there anything you'd rather me call you."

Felix's smile grows malicious, their golden brown eyes glinting in the low light. "That's information for next time, doll." And then he's out of the room, pushing through the bar and dance floor and dodging swinging arms. He doesn't miss how the bartender sends a glare his way.

(it's all good, i dont know much about poker as much as i do about undercover stuff. it's fun to read though.)
(also, i am on the fence about that. if you want to tell me, go for it.)

There was barely anything for him to go off of the whole time. Kind of disheartening if you ask him really. Instead of writing notes about suspects, he filled two pages of his notebook about possible plans and things for Herrera to do in order for them to get clues. If he is going to spend all of this time in the car listening to silence, he might as well find some way to make it all worth awhile. Whether or not this will be worth it, he does not know, but he does know it's useless if he keeps dwelling on it like everything else.

Of course, this is just on his end. Herrera might have seen things that he would not be able to. Words may be stronger than actions, but if one is smart enough, the actions are the words. It's only the first day and first game, so he shouldn't be getting his hopes too high, especially with the gambler.

Damian laid back in the driver's seat. His legs were starting to cramp up. A groan resonated within his throat. Rolling his eyes, he gazed out of the front window. A look of hopelessness almost settled on his face before a voice ringed through his ears. Thank heavens, it was the stupid ear piece. With a click of his pen, he sprung up in his seat, ready to write.

Helsie. He scribbled the name down. Damian tried to write down everything he heard; well, he did his best by getting the key phrases and through paraphrasing. "New blood…." He whispered the words to himself. What the hell does that mean? Running his fingers through his hair, he looks over at the microphone.

(alright then, I'll keep quiet for now alkdsjf;a if you ever wanna know just lemme know)

Felix shudders off the weird vibes from the bar the second he surfaces. He squints, his eyes desperate to adjust from the dark club to the harsh Nevada afternoon sun. There's an uncomfortable pit in his stomach. It's odd, knowing that he actually owes money for once. Usually he's the one cleaning out wallets and stealing watches with a smile. It's for the better, Felix tells himself. A little bit of cash towards his opponents for a clean record in the future. Maybe Felix might be allowed to actually buy a house for once instead of live in that old apartment with his roommate and her dog. The long game, Felix. Think of the payoff.

Huffing the last bit of tacky perfume from his nose and securing his newly acquired silver Rolex over his wrist, Felix checks over his shoulder and then spots Mae's car in the corner of the back lot. The entrance of the club is actually the backside of one of Vegas's signature casinos, a spacious back room remodeled for the elite and the drunk. The only cars out back are the ones belonging to employees of the casino or to foolish detectives.

Felix cracks his neck and slides into the passenger seat of Mae's car. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, already kicking his loafers up on the dashboard. He pointedly decides to bring up the carseats later. "Good afternoon, Damian," Felix greets, his tone slightly nagging. "Any words on my performance?"

(asjsjxhzl cool thanks, if i change my mind, i'll let you know)

Closing his notebook, he let it rest on his lap. He debated of whether or not he should put it between the booster-seats or if he should have it on him. A worn expression had already settled on his face. His hand pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed. The words of this Helsie person ran through his mind.

At least he was not startled when Herrera got in, except he was already pissed at the sight of the loafers on the dashboard. A string of curses almost slithered off his tongue, but he bit down on his lip before it could happen.

Damian looked ahead as he tried to relax himself. Choosing to not respond, he cleared his throat while carefully flipping to a fresh page. With a click of his pen, he slightly turned his chin to glance over at Herrera with a faint obviously fake smile. "If I was here to comment on a man's preformance, I'd go to club down the street." He sighed. "Now, do you have anything for me?"

Felix settles down further into his seat, that damned smirk never leaving his face. Mae's pen click momentarily snaps Felix's attention away from the detective, but as soon as he turns around to Felix, the gambler is once again laser focused. Oh, that false smile. Felix wants to laugh. Hell, he nearly did.

But then Mae's comment completely throws Felix's off. So unexpected… yet so welcome. His thin eyebrows shoot up, his jaw dropping with the corners of his lips upturned. "Why, Damian-" Felix coos, the delighted expression unwavering. Who knew the detective could actually let loose and pull that iron rod out of his ass. "I didn't peg you as a fan of the Chippendales!" Felix knows he's pushing it. He's well aware that he rarely provokes people as much as he is today, but something about Mae absolutely forbids Felix to quit.

Damian kept his eyes on the blank paper staring back at him. Sometimes he wished things he needed would appear on it, but alas, he has to wait for a complete fool to give him something to write on the paper. A fool who can run his tongue and still not say anything useful; one who is somewhat smart enough to knows its effects. If there is a God or any deity watching him, he begs for them to give the guy next to him some sensibility. At least a drop of it will do.

The comment was enough for him to scoff at, only amusing him for a quick second. Detective Mae has a personality, a life even, it must be newsbreaking. The fake smile on him disappear faster than hid patience still. Hey, at least he had patience to begin with. "Ya, Herrera," He cleared his throat. Bouncing the pen against the edge of the paper, he let it click repeatedly. Click…Click…Click…Click…. "And I didn't…peg…you to be an expert at any of this." Damian ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "Now come on, the more you drag this out, the more your mind is going to forget details. Give me everything you gathered in there for Christ's sakes."

Felix's smirk never leaves his face. Does Mae swing that way? Felix stores the question away in his mind to come back to later. After all, the longer he stays here to torment Mae, the longer it'll take for Felix to get home and he's craving the leftover stake in the fridge. That is, if his dastardly roommate didn't get to it first. He mindfully kills the snark about the Chippendales on his tongue and switches his mind to process what he had seen during the match.

"The dealer's hot and very bothered by everyone," he starts out. "Female, early twenties. Didn't catch her name but she's from Pacific Islander descent for sure. Must get paid well, she had a lot of jewels. Either that or she has a rich sugar daddy." Felix tilts his head. "The table has six chairs, in chair one is a early-thirties Caucasian woman with brown hair in an undercut. She kinda looks like she ate something sour. From the wrinkles on her face, that's her natural expression. I wasn't too focused on her throughout the match but her last name is Blake and she's not afraid to make a statement." He cracks his neck. "Chair two is an older gentlemen, probably in his early sixties. He's African-American, fairly timid and likes to sit back and watch everything."

Felix hums, a smile playing on his lips. "Chair number four, Helsie Rivers, they're about my age. They're of mixed race, but I'm betting Eastern-European and South-Asian." Felix laughs. "Very confrontational, blunt, not afraid to go all in. I'm sure you heard our conversation?" Felix sends Mae a knowing look with his sharp golden brown eyes. "Clyde is chair number five. She's most likely in her early-thirties, and mixed-race as well. Half-White, Half-Black I'd have to say. She kept looking at my seat and she felt off. I think she's shaken by Crystal's death." Felix pauses for a minute to think. "And the last one is Whitney Harima and he's the hardest one for me to read, to be honest. You already know he's half-Japanese, half-Italian and in his mid-fifties. I'm gonna have to go back next week to get a better read on him."

Damian looked up from his notebook, mostly because out of impatience. His lips parted a little after that due to what Herrera said first, but once he realized he was actually getting details, he started to write things down. To be honest, he did not expect to get much really. No, not at all. Part of him believed that he would only get a few things. Of course, Herrera certainly has a way with describing details.

For his own sake, he repeated certain words underneath his breath. Some details were abbreviated in order to get the next one jotted down. All of this will eventually be typed up anyhow so it didn't matter how he wrote it; just as long as he can read everything. He did not look up from the notebook until he clicked the pen then dropped it into the cup holder.

With the notebook sitting on his lap, he began to stretch his hand. Ideas flowed through his mind about possible suspects. He sighed. "I wish I could say more about Harima, but even I couldn't get much from him….hence why you're here, tragically." Flipping to the cover, Damian set the notebook between thr two booster seats in the back. "It's too early to cross off people, but I usually prefer to carry out my investigations that way…..You'll get more later, right?"

Felix watches as the detective scribbles down all the details he can, all of it looking like pure chicken scratch and nonsense. (That just might be the dyslexia speaking, but Felix knows what bad handwriting looks like). As he finishes up his recap, a small swell of pride surges in his chest. An entire page of notes just from the first day.

"Trust me, doll, I'm gonna crack Harima open like an egg," Felix reassures in his usual conversational yet nagging tone. "Next week, I'll get all of their names so you can do background checks or something." Felix inspects his nails.

And then it hits him. Holy shit, I was in a room with a murderer. He snorts. And I'm going back next week. "Well, do you have anything else for me, Damian, or should I just head on home?"

Yes, Damian is aware that his writing is not the greatest. He even jokes about his four year-old daughter having better penmanship than him. Well, if he can read it at eleven at night or after a hangover, then he might as well consider it mission accomplished. Scoffing at the thought, he rubbed his forehead for a few seconds then sighed once again.

His nose scrunches at the fact he was called "doll"; terrible, just terrible. Shaking his head, he glances over at Herrera, watching as the gambler looks at his nails. This really is the guy I have to heavily depend on for God knows how long. Shutting his eyes, he exhaled. Breathe. Names and background checks, he nodded in response. At least he's off to some sort of start.

After shrugging, he dropped his shoulders. "Unless you really want to hear a 34 year-old man swear in Korean as he drives to McDonald's in Las Vegas traffic, you can go home."