[For little ONSen purposes, there's a secret night raver club underneath here, next to the facade of the music store.]
Jamal looks over the street somewhat nervously, having heard sirens before fleeing Regan. The kid's run was interrupted by hunger, which the pair of ahrouns would have found tracking the youth's scent to McDonald's. There it was almost a disaster area of scents, and trying to pick his out of a veritable hodgepodge of teens on a Saturday night was tough. John's keener knowledge though, led them back from Regan, east and north until they reach a part of Elson where the music from The Underground nightclub is thumping so hard the ground nearby rumbles.
The two Garou sensibly keep to the shadows, wherever possible, until the scent leads into the club; the scarred wolves couldn't hope to even begin pretending to belong in this landscape. The lupine Walker spends a few moments looking for somewhere to shift, in the shadows of the various alleyways. The boy needs to be interrogated. Homid for this hunt.
Wildfire just stands there for a times, scowling at the nightclub and the assault upon his ears. Only when the Walker has found a suitable spot to shift does he move to follow.
They emerge only a few moments later. Enough for John to straighten his jacket and coat, and pet himself down-- noting sourly the absence of weaponry. He looks to Owen. "We'll find out who his friends were and what they wanted. And then we'll kill him. Objections?"
Owen simply shakes his head. "Not yet I don't."
There's security, at this music store fronted nightclub. And for the moment, all seems normal for a late Saturday night. A gaggle of rebellious looking punks emerge from the door, laughing together at the last snide remark made. They stop as Jamal walks up to them, hoping for a good receival. "Yo dawgs!" The obviously older members immediately sneer at the youth. "Yea sup Jamal?" The youth looks a little nervous as he leans back, feeling a little insecure without his own weapon. That, and his balls are still throbbing from being attacked maliciously by a young 'helpless' woman. "Hey man... I kinna... I need a new blade." Scowls echo left and right from the others. "What d'ja say? A new blade? Like this one?" The questioner pulls up a long switchblade, the knife popping out with a slip. Jamal backs up a step. "Shit man, it's not like a fucked your sister or anything, damn. I just lost the one I got. You got another one?" The jeers from the opposition sound low and ominous. "How'd you lose it Jamal?" The tone was quite serious.
John nods to Owen, and then moves to observe, hands slipping into pockets. For now, he just looms by the steps that lead down to the entrance. Watching and waiting. The need for information isn't so important that he won't let these punks cut the boy up.
Owen keeps a short distance away from the Walker, watching the apparent target of this newest hunt while failing to look non-chalant. Too bad he doesn't have his dufflebag with him tonight.
Jamal is pretty tall for his age, but compared to the older, tougher youths around him he's just a boy. He shrugs off the question, adding in a grudging notion, "Fuckin' shit. Keith has it, ok?" A lie like no other, obviously fabricated. Anyone paying attention and not smoking crack would notice it. "The fuck're you tryin' to shit on man? You got into a scrap an' lost the only signal that got you in, Jamal?" The gathered almost growl in unison, as if the younger youth wasn't worth their attention anylonger. "Fuckit Damian. Let's get outta here and ditch the loser. S'not even worth the cut." Various sounds of agreement follow, before Jamal flares up in anger. "Fuck you! I earned my place in the Blade! I told you Keith's got it. That one's old. I want a new one. A bigger one." Now with the youth making demands, it sparks a flare in the knife wielding punk. Without a second thought, Damian jumps on Jamal and tackles him down. "Don't fuck with us anymore," comes the threat before a punch twice to the kid's face leaves him whimpering on the ground. The rest of the teens move off, laughing and joking again without even a second thought. "Bye bye bye!" comes a mocking singsong tone.
You paged the room with 'They'd be part of the locals. Those crunchies. :} Jamal's on de ground if you want him.'.
John could almost be moved to pity, with the thoughtful look he gives the kid on the ground. Hands still in his pockets, he watches the gangster wannabes as they make their way off. When they're beyond earshot - not hard, given the music - he calls out smoothly and lowly, "Jamal."
Owen watches as the apparently more senior members of the gang pass his way. He stands there, hands on his hips, not bothering and almost seeming to make a point of not moving out of their way.
Jamal groans with a short curse as he lifts a hand to his face and touches a quickly forming black bruise. "Fuck you want?" he almost shouts out. The youth's figure at the bottom of the steps gets up onto his feet, glaring around darkly for the voice.
The senior members of the group see Owen, pausing for only a moment in a flash of debate. Then in a deliberately rude gesture, two of them pass right by Owen, knocking their shoulders into him to shove him off one way and the other. The other two look to be subordinates, who manuever around the Get easily even if it means stepping in the street to avoid him.
John calls down smoothly again. "Time for us to have a little chat about that knife, Jamal." He adds in a familiar tone of command, "This is not negotiable."
Owen decides to be a suitable distraction. He doesn't budge when the two street punks knock shoulders with him. In fact, as they do so, both of his arms go up and grab each of the by the tops of their shirts, holding them in place for a moment. The one on his right he force to look at him, his own glare burning with a hatred only such as he give. "Head or gut?" he says, nearly snarling.
Owen pages: Showing him my rage. Using intimidation and invoking Visage of Fenris.
Jamal touches the bruise again and issues another "Mutha fuckin'... assholes." John's tone does get his vague attention, before his glare sent up the stairs is lost in the dark. "Leave me alone," he snorts. "I'll get the fuckin' knife back, shit." The youth then proceeds to go into the music store, the mere act of opening the door sending streams of loud dark metal throbbing into the night.
"Fu--urk!" Damian on his right, the leading punk who punched Jamal, stares with sudden fear at the Get's burning gaze. "Huh?" he manages a slight choked question. Head or gut?
John shakes his head mildly, with a resigned look on his face. He looks at Owen as if seeing him for the first time, and tilts his head, watching the scene for a moment. He shrugs, and then starts down into the store, muttering under his breath. Reputation hasn't spread far enough, stupid kids with death-wishes... think they'd know their stalking doom if they saw it...
Owen pie-faces the one on his left away from him. "Wrong answer, shithole." With his now free hand, he slams a fist into the punk's gut, then lines up an uppercut once he's doubled over.
Inside the store, Jamal ignores the isles of various CDs and genres of music, heading for the backside of the basement room. A large bouncer is there, glaring at the youth. He doesn't even question him vocally, only pinning the kid with a questioning stare. Jamal hunts around in his pockets before slipping up an ID. The bouncer doesn't look impressed, even in the dim light. "Who're you tryin' to kid, kid? Get outta here and buy something before you go." This is clearly not Jamal's night. "Look man I'm fuckin' 21! Can't you read?" The bouncer crosses his arms over his thick chest. Jamal looks about to explode with indignity, but the youth backs up from the bouncer. "Fuck it! Shit, I don't need this. Fuck!" The black youth turns and goes down an aisle a couple of rows down from the cash register and the stairs.
Doubled Over Damian gets his face knocked up with a swift and powerful strike to his chin. Blood is sent flying in an arc followed by the youth's body as he hits the ground with a thud. The two that had previously ignored Owen by going around him, suddenly run back and take out their renowned knives, while the pie-faced one recovers from his sprawl. He, however, doesn't opt to fight Owen. Not even a concerned look is sent Damian's way. "Shit man, let's just get the fuck outta here!" The youth runs, seeing as he's not going to fool around with someone Owen's size. Not without help, anyway... The two knife-wielders look at each other briefly, then at Owen. They hesitate in their decision to abandon the downed Damian.
John is standing in the doorway, obvious, with both arms folded. Waiting for Jamal.
Owen glares back at the two knife wielders, still that inner fire burning in his eyes. "Well? I can either stick those toothpicks up your ass or you can get this piece of trash out of my face." He kicks Damian in the side to emphasize who he's referring to as trash.
Jamal's eyes flash briefly as even his exit from the store seems to be having trouble. Then as he peers at exactly who is blocking him, he shrivels. "Oh shit!" His turn is like a rabbit who's been flushed out from the bushes. The cashier looks somewhat impassively at John and Jamal. "Don't mess up the store," the girl who's likely high on something notes. Before turning back to the trashy porn novel in her hand.
Outside, the two knife holders swallow hard as Damian is kicked again. The knives are quickly put away, and the two of them approach slowly to grab Damian by the arms. Those two look up just a couple of times at Owen before they haul ass with Damian behind them, running as fast as they can with their fallen.
"You /won't/ get that knife back, /boy/." John growls harshly, as he snatches Jamal up by the collar, and moves to drag him outside. "Because I have it." He opens the door, and starts dragging the boy out; whether he's willing or not.
Owen remains standing there, glaring after the streetpunks until they are clearly out of sight. Only then does he turn around to look for John.
"HELP! *gurk*" Unfortunately the boy is rather helpless against the Walker's pull, only more frantic now at the ahroun's words. One hand at his collar to try and loosen the hold, the other flailing for something to grab ahold of, there's little he can do, and that ever creeping feeling of doom brings a sour taste of fear into his throat.
The bark comes as he drags the boy up the stairs. "Shut your hole, and you might live through this, you little shit." he snarls. Looking again, once he surfaces, for somewhere dark. Private. He does pause a moment to take in the lack of blood or bodies near Owen, absently.
Owen is quick to get in step behind the other ahroun, letting the lesser ranked take the lead in this matter.
Jamal whimpers, his efforts futile as he's dragged up the stairs and to a nearby alleyway. It's dark, forboding, and stinks like every other place in this red light district - sex, drugs, money, blood, and fear. The last of which, Jamal is filled and overflowing with. He looks for any help, and now seeing there's TWO who want him, the boy chokes a sob. "Don't kill me! I'll tell you everything!"
In that alleyway, John presses the little punk up against the wall, ignoring his whimpering. "I said shut your fucking hole." He looks over to Owen, simply noting his presence, and murmurs, "Make sure we're not disturbed?" Then looks back to Jamal, covering the boy's mouth with his hand. "You're not going to have to work very hard to stay alive. All I want are some simple answers. First: who was with you? Second: what were you doing? And third... why? Answer. Now." He lifts his hand.
Jamal has tears now, pathetically muffled by John's encompassing hand. For all his blubbering now, he certainly doesn't look like the type that would do any damage at all. Or at least, he hadn't learned to do so yet. When the hand is lifted, Jamal takes a hard swallow and sniffles quietly. "Keith... h-he said he wanted Randy to have a good time... and Taylor came with... I didn't know what he wanted to do! Fuck I thought we were g-goin' to MickeyD's..." The youth squeezes out more tears. "Randy was shittin' how he couldn't get any... an' then Keith saw the asian chick an' pointed her out. We didn't know she was with you!" Owen simply keeps watch now as the Walker gets to business, gaurding the alley from any anwanted eyes.
John appears almost sympathetic as he shakes his head mildly-- this is the wrong track of conversation, let's get back to what's important... saying almost softly, "Shhhh. Answers, Jamal." His grip is still strong, though. "Tell me the names of the boys who were with you."
A few passerbys don't even stop, ignoring Owen and whatever the alley activity seems to be. There's the sharp sound of metal clanging to the floor deeper in the alley, but the origin is just a mangy alleycat who hisses angrily at John and moves on. Jamal squeezes his eyes closed, praying to whatever god he believes in, which would be just about every single one on the damned planet. "I told you already man... Keith, RC and Taylor... we were jus' fuckin' around... I swear..."
John shakes his head, and moves to grip the boy's throat, tightly. His lips thin. "You're not helping me. That could be fatal. Full names."
"Por-ter..." Jamal chokes quietly, feeling his dry mouth suddenly fill with a gag reflex. "Randy Porter..." If John would just, let go just a little...
John does so, obligingly. His head nods with vague approval at the first name. Good, good... "That's better. ...and?"
Jamal inhales sharply, having had an obvious lack of air. Between gasps he names the other two. "Taylor Robinson... we call him Ty... I don't know Keith's last name is..."
John tilts his head. "What's his nickname? Where does he live? It's important, Jamal." he warns, smoothly and softly.
"I don't know shit man... he was my bro fo' the Blade..." Jamal is really sobbing now, looking like he's coming to grips that he's got to tell everything. "I don't know anythin' about him. He dropped out long time ago. Shit! Is he dead? You killed them?" Sudden panic refills as Jamal straightens from his limp and eyes widen at John fearfully.
John sighs, and shakes his head. "Randy Porter, Taylor Robinson, and... 'Keith'. Right?"
If he weren't cornered up against a wall he would be tearing his way through one with his fingernails. Jamal nods silently, flashes of his life dancing in his head.
John straightens up a little, easing back and nodding to himself. "Mmmhmm." he murmurs, looking to Owen for a moment. When he looks back to the boy, he pulls him away from the wall, and spins him about-- Jamal's not given much choice in the matter. The Walker's powerful arms flex and there's a sickening *snap*. The boy sags lifelessly in John's arms, and is then tossed unceremoniously into the dumpster. "Got my names. Sick of dealin with fuckin' rapists." the Walker grunts. "Let's get back, hmm?"