After agonizing over multiple choices for all of a few minutes, Jess finally decides to go with a somewhat conservative dark red cocktail dress.

*Better order the handbag from the agency...*

Jess and Samantha buy their things and leave pretty much at the same time. Standing outside of the dress store, Jess spots your typical "heavy" with the word "Goon" practically tatooed on his forehead. The guy has one of those ear-mikes and generally conducts himself (albeit without much subtlety) in a "professional" manner.

Samantha...completely aloof to the Goon's presence, pulls out a phone from her purse and begins dialing.

When said Goon sees Samantha exit, he immediately approaches her.

"Miss Winter, I'm here to drive you back to the house."

Samantha, despite being a little slow on the uptake, looks at the goon with some scrutiny.

"Hold on a second. You're not the normal driver and I was told to call and someone would then pick me up. Who are you? You do realize who my husband is, don't you? Or are you truly that stupid?"

Jess stops at this point to watch the conversation. Before she can put down her bags, she spots the classic gooinsh tell of, "Oh crap, the jig is up!" He looks around for a quick second then gives the proverbial Eh...fuck it look. The goon strongarms Samantha, not in a threatening manner...more like a cop trying to subdue a suspect. Samantha wails like a 50's horror movie Scream Queen.

It can be heard throughout the mall, including at the antique store.

(Edited by Dieter at 2:20 pm on Nov. 15, 2002)

*Thank God I haven't gotten around to placing a new order for personal equipment...*

Jess calmly unslings her backpack, reaches for her Colt inside and presses the bag - including Colt - against the back of the goon.

"My friend, I do have the impression we should sort this out somewhere else. I'll hear your story and her story, and then we'll see where we go from there."

The goon is either beguiled by Jess' beauty or by the simple math of Move + Defend = A cap busted in your dumb ass.

Whichever the case may be, the goon unhands Samantha and appears to cooperating with Jess' demands.

At this point, some of the Casino's rent-a-cops (4 total) arrive on the scene. They aren't presently armed with anything significant, but a two of them have what amounts to tazers and billyclubs at the ready. One of them shouts at the trio.

Sir, step away from the women. This is your only warning!

It's hard to tell if the goon's going to go quietly into that good night.

"I'm .. uh.. I'm going to see if that's anyone I know. Care to join me?" I ask Osprey. I'll be grabbing a coatrack/poker/baseball bat/antique cavalry saber from the store and jogging in the direction of the noise.

Jess keeps the gun in position, then shouts back at the security guys.

"It's alright, my man had a bit too much to drink."

What they probably won't hear is the following whisper.

"You're coming with me, capiche ?"

The goon seems a bit puzzled at Jess' proposition, but likes the idea of not being thrown in the slammer for the night. He seems to play along.

"Hey occifer...erp. I mean officer. She's right. I was just asking this hot babe if she wanted to join me and my old lady for a little manage her twa...erp...if you knows what I mean??!"

The cops seems to buy the act, as they put down their weapons and approach the trio slowly. The cop who initially gave the order goes over to Jess.

"Ma'am. Whatever you and your man want to do in the confines of your room...heh, that's your business. This is a family resort and we don't tolerate that stuff in public. My suggestion is to leave immediately and sober him up."

Artis and Osprey show up moments later to see what appears to an explosive situation that just got difused.

Jess sees the two, then makes the educated guess that the man besides Artis is the new field operative.

"Anthony ! Rupert ! Help me get Theo to the hotel room !"

*Don't blow it this one time, Art...*

She then shoulders her backpack once more and bows to Sam.

"I'd like some answers, but if you'd like to go home, I can relate."

Samantha nods to Jess.

"Thanks. I owe you one. If you and your friends are what I think you are...I ask that you go easy on our thug-of-the-month. He wouldn't have gotten too far in his car."

At that point, Samantha shows a little leg...with a PPK attached to it.

"After a while, you get to wear one like a glove. Bye for now. I'm sure we'll run into eachother again."

Samantha picks up her bags from the dress shop and takes her leave.

Jess smiles at Sam's exit, then turns to the goon as she leads him towards her allies.

"Don't quit your day job, big shot. It appears you're out of your league."

Marvelous...15 minutes on the ground and already the team was running around, having delusions of granduer and heroics. But...well the woman, apparently the "pretty face" front of the operation, was playing nicely, and from the looks of the thug, another pair of eyes and a little Creden Hill muscle couldn't hurt.

His eyes flickered around the street, scanning it like it was Bosnia rather than Vegas...goons sometimes had backup, and it was best to know about it BEFORE it started shooting.

Harry laments the "disneyzation" of Vegas as they walk back down to Mandalay Bay to lick their wounds.

'Nighthawk' decides to learn how to put his powerful intelligence to use, and buys the most reputable-looking book he can find on card counting, as well as a biography of Lyndon Johnson.

Gavin mentions that a voice modulator gadget might help Harry's performance.

((OOC: I thought I'd posted that in OOC. Whoops!))

(Edited by Infested Paladin at 2:23 am on Nov. 18, 2002)

"Naw, I got it together. Just as important as the singing, is the attitude. You have to look, act, and feel like the real deal, straight outta Hoboken. People have to know you don't take nothing from nobody. Someone comes in and holds up the casino, you tell 'em to knock it off, or its ring-a-ding-ding for those bozos. Got me?"

Gavin stands there with a confused look on his face.

As the team ponders what to do with their new pet goon, he begins to get a bit unruly.

"Look, whoever you are...whoever you work for...it doesn't really matter to me or my employer. How much will it take to forget about this?"

"We're just concerned citizens. Remember that, and keep your hands off the lady. I tend to take things like that personal."

"Whatever...just do what you need to do soon, I've got places to go, people to do. Certainly a person in your profession can recognize that. Tell me, who are you and your men working for? Is it that twerp Milton over at the Riviera or perhaps that sleaseball Toricelli over at the Venetian? I'm telling ya right now, when Mr. Benedict finds out that you're interfering in his affairs...he's gonna have kittens."

Brian let the attractive woman do the talking, but game the thug a "bring it" look.

Vegas Casino types, local mob bosses and the like couldn't measure up to IRA terrorists and Bosnian warlords...it was one thing to shoot a guy in the desert...it was something else entirely to rape, murder and burn an entire Croatian village. He had seen worse than whatever corpulent pinstriped strongman this slab of meat worked for.

"Somebody obviously needs the Cliff's Notes for this one. We're not working for the competition, we're not out to get you, your boss or his friends, and we don't give a damn about what your boss thinks he can do to us. I was just making sure you'd pay proper respect to the lady next time, Captain Charming. As of now, I'd advise you to leave this place and forget about us. If you don't make any trouble for us, we're not going to make any trouble for you. Capiche ?"

"Capiche?!", the goon says as he looks over to her companions.

"I think your lady friend has seen one too many gangster movies. I'm not even Italian, 4th generation Greek (straightening his tie). I've got no beef with you and your friends, so if I can leave now...thanks for nothing."

The goon pulls out his cel phone and begins to leave the scene.

"Hey Mikey...it's me. Me who? Fuck you Mikey. It's me Nicky, that's who...you fucking Irish dope. Anyway, as I was saying, the soon to be former Mrs. Benedict just left and I wasn't attached to her. Oh...why? I was unavoidably detained. Well, (looking back at Jess) my detainer was about 5'6", red hair, legs for miles. Anyway, Mrs. Benedict was shopping at Mandalay with that new sugardaddy scumbag of hers. She'll no doubt be heading back to the hotel. Make sure someone's there waiting for her. I'm on my way back."