Oliver Quentin Grey sighed as he looked up at the gaudy neon sign that advertised “Girls, Girls, Girls” and another that spoke of “Live Nude Girls”. For a moment he was perplexed. Oh, come on, he knew what a damned strip club was. Actually “Strip Tease” with Demi Moore was one of his favorite non-horror, no killer-suspense movies of all time, but the damned sign boggled his mind for a moment. Live Nude Girls? As opposed to the dead ones that littered every street corner, invisible to the casual observer? Or was it maybe that the club had a strict “No Zombie’s Policy” but of course that bit of mental tomfoolery made him smile even as he considered the sign’s most ironic and perhaps most funny meaning.

“No Vampire Chicks!”

Not that a vampire would be caught dead or rather undead stripping for a bunch of mortal tomcats. Not that there weren’t a few immortal tomcats about too. After all Ollie was here to me just such a tomcat and that perhaps was what made him smile even as he strode toward the entrance of the perhaps less than reputable establishment. Of course just as he’d thought he didn’t get more than halfway across the street that divided the ally whose shadows he’d just left behind to move toward the door, than he got a shout from the big gorilla of a goon that stood out in front of the door with at t-shirt that matched the large neon sign at his back. A t-shirt that was stretched within an inch of its life and clearly screaming “uncle” at an accelerated rate.

Of course Ollie ignored the first shout and even the second, where the word’s “Hey kid” had been replaced with a theory of Oliver’s parentage. One that Ollie couldn’t object to if he’d wanted, after all his mother had been what she was, no changing the past. Not that he gave a flying flip what the muscle bound idiot at the front thought. If anything, Oliver simply took his shouting until he was close enough, standing in a stray pool of light created by a nearby streetlamp, and it was then that Oliver lifted the brim of the hat he wore and met the man’s gaze clear and center and all the curse and bluster and even the reach he’d been making for Oliver’s flawless suit coat fell away and the man’s eyes looked slightly unfocused as Oliver hit him with a whammy, otherwise known by his master or rather his sire as Subliminal Hypnosis.

Catching the man’s eyes was all it took, of course while Oliver couldn’t make him do anything he wished (usually only things within reason or along someone’s usually routine, though there were ways of twisting things a bit) but in this instance what Ollie wanted was simple. The man opened the door without a word and quickly followed Oliver inside. Once they reached the den of music and gyrating bodies, most attention fell away and those that didn’t Oliver either caught there gaze or used his suddenly “hired” muscle to get them to step aside. He worked his way through the club that way, until he found what or rather whom he was looking for.

A nine year old child in a pinstriped suit might have looked odd, especially with matching fedora and a wide plastered grin, but when that grin flashed fangs, Oliver knew his would be associate would have no trouble understanding who and what he was.

“I’d like to talk to you.” He said rather neutrally, but a bit of his charmed amusement couldn’t help but enter his voice. “I have an offer. The proverbial, Offer you can’t refuse…”

Hammer might seem like the typical sort who would frequent strip clubs but, in all honesty, this was the first time in a while that he'd actually been to one. And even now it was mostly business - though that is not to say he wasn't enjoying himself. He wasn't entirely sure why the male brain cells collected just below the belt when pretty girls took their clothes off to music, but decied to go with it anyway.

But, business, Hammer reminded himself.

As nicely as could be, the broad-shouldered vampire leaned forward until his face was just a little too close for comfort in Louie Carson's. Carson was an average-sized man with an above average taste for cards and below average proficiency at them. Carson owned the establishment, such as it was, and liked to diddle some of the dancers on the side. Thus far he'd been discreet enough that his vapid Barbie wife didn't know about the second part.

Hammer wasn't enitrely sure why the guy bothered because there obviously wasn't any real love in that marriage, but it wasn't like it mattered anyway.

He smiled, the scar on his face twisting as he did so. "Louie, Louie. Ere's the thing, chap, you owe Compass, and by extension me, a shade over seventy thousand, not even factoring in the interest. Tha's a lotta money. Compass, and by extension me, would like to have that money."

Carson fidgeted nervously, the armpits of his cheap suit dampening with sweat. "Well, ah, I - you see..."

Hammer cut him off. "Seventy thousand," he repeated, reaching forward to take one of Carson's pudgy hands. Lightly, Hammer tapped a finger on a knuckle. "Take care of your hands, don't you, Louie? Don't pop the knuckles, don't punch things."

His eyes watering, Carson stared, petrified, at his small hand engulfed inside Hammer's much, much larger one. He'd heard some of the rumors as to how Hammer had gotten his nickname. Carson wasn't sure which ones were true, but he knew he didn't want to find out. "I can... Liquidate - assets - I mean, get my hands on - I... ten! Ten in - in - two days. Two! Ten. Good faith, right?"

Hammer hesitated, still tapping his finger on the back of the man's hand. Then he leaned forward again. "Ten thousand? That's only a seventh, Louie. Can't you do the math?" he squeezed slightly, watching more sweat pop out on the man's forehead. Abruptly, he leaned back again. "But fine. Get me the ten, Louie, and we'll forget your entire debt." Hammer paused and drew some folded papers out of his leather jacket. "As long as you sign these while you're at it."

"W - What are they?" Carson stammered, not yet ready to believe his good fortune.

Hammer smiled again. "You'd be signing over a majority holding on this club as well as thirty-five percent of Silver Dollar." He paused, watching the slight indignation bloom on the man's face. Hammer lifted the man's hand, shook it slightly. "Everybody's happy, Louie. You're forgiven a lot of your debt, we recoup our losses, and the cherry on top, you get to keep taking very good care of these hands." Just like that, Hammer saw the man wilt.

Chewing his lip, Carson took the papers and an offered pen, dashing his signature with a shaky hand.

"Nice doing business with you," Hammer grinned, before being interuppted by a small boy wearing a pinstripe suit. Which made him wonder who made pinstriped suits for small boys. "Now go away Carson," Hammer ordered absently, tucking the foldedd papers back ilnto his jacket.

Relaxed, Hammer leaned back in his seat as Carson scurried away, heading to a bottle of antacids, no doubt. "Been a bit since hearing someone else from the mother country," he said aloud, studying Oliver closely. "So talk, boyo. I'd like to hear an offer I can't refuse."

Oliver Grey took the man in carefully, his eyes grey and dark like the sky before a storm truly lets loose. They were eyes sharp with intellect, but even sharper with age and understanding, as well as more than a touch of bitterness and loss. All in all they were very frightening eyes all by themselves, but then they weren’t children’s eyes. No. Oliver hadn’t been a child for quite some time; the old walk, talk, and acted as a child, thing was still a favored ploy of his, but with Hammer there was no need for that ploy, no need for the mirth that always danced behind the darkness in his eyes, that touch of something that wasn’t sweet or charming, or even close to appearing human. Ollie was pretty good at playing a child, even better at playing human and playing civilized, but the eyes, those never lied and more often gave away the animal that lurked just underneath the skin.

Taking a seat, Oliver waved his hand and his newly “recruited” bouncer friend turned his back on them. Right about now he’d believe he was protecting the door again; he’d also believe that he was in one hell of a surly mood and didn’t want to let a single person inside. It wasn’t much of a stretch so far as Oliver’s hypnosis could go, but it was always the easy ones that worked best and most efficiently and despite his wry nature and perpetual smile, Oliver was a man that truly believed in efficiency. May it be ever so ruthless, there was nothing like it. Efficiency kills without blood stains on your new suit or your fingerprints at the scene, it also was pretty good at turning murders into accidents…Oliver had no doubt that he had come to the right people if he was searching for those of a like mind.

Taking a seat, Oliver crossed his ankles underneath the table, sitting in the spot recently and most hastily vacated by Carson. It smelled a bit of sleaze and fear. A lot like the swear tunnels actually, but ignoring it, Oliver leaned forward onto the smooth surface before, him, elbows supporting his arms even as his hands cupped his face in an almost bored gesture. It was the first thing the little boy had done that looked childish and yet when he spoke there was child only in the pitch that would never change from that of a nine year old boy.

“Ah yes, jolly ol’ England…” Ollie said then. His voice didn’t sound so jolly, but he didn’t bother to hide his accent. Indeed more than that he let it out as it was. Sometimes it came out a touch cockney, other times crisp and refined; the truth was a little bit of both. And it filled his voice like water from The Channel flowing into a rock hollow.

“My name is Oliver Grey, dear Mr. Hammer, and while I’d love to go into pleasantries I’m not much for them and you’re a bugger that I doubt much cares. So right ta the point den. I represent certain parties in the city, or rather a certain party. I’m sure you’re rather well aware of them no doubt-ya know being undead and all. Anyway I represent a rather powerful lady that is looking to go into a few finance ventures amongst the seeder elements of this city.”

That almost made Oliver laugh. Seeder elements? He was pretty sure that gangsters and racketeers couldn’t hold a candle to anything that the covens had their hands in for downright seediness, but he digressed and went on.

“As far as she is concerned she’d like to thin the pack and direct the cash flow, if you know what I mean. And in doing that she thinks, indeed I think you would be an invaluable adviser. You are already in trenched in matters that I’ll admit I am a novice in; however I’m sure you know just the right sweet spots to scratch and vermin to eliminate to make my lady’s wishes come true and so that is the offer. In return you have our word that we will stay out of yer business ventures and those of your current employer as well as you can expect a tide sum as well as certain unfriendly elements put down with extreme prejudice.”

Again Oliver almost laughed. So many words just to promise to murder all his enemies horribly and reward him handsomely from their picked pockets. Ah, he could see why this whole gangster thing could be both amusing and tedious.

However his eyes darkened then and his smile became a touch sharper, more vicious.

“And while I hardly like to make threats.” He leaned forward so as to whisper. “I personally would rather put a knife in a back without the warning thank ya very much, but mi mistress has asked dat I tell you the coven might not be exactly thrilled if you’r were to say no. So that I suppose is the not being able to refuse part of things…”

That said, Oliver reached up a sleeve and a moment later there was a thin silvery-steel stiletto in his small hands. The thin blade wasn’t particularly impressive and yet at a moment’s notice it could disappear and reappear anywhere, including a man’s heart. However at the moment Oliver simply used it to scrape at a bit of none existent dirt beneath his nails, as he regarded the other man carefully.

“So what do ya think den?” He glanced about at the other patrions, knowing they probably couldn’t hear over the den of the music. “Come on, don’t you want all your enemies to die a horrid screaming death and to be paid like a king when all’s said and done? That sounds like quite the contract to me.”

Hammer rolled his eyes, the wicked blue exceedingly bored. “Been watching too many mob movies, my friend,” he stated, his accent somehow enhanced by his sarcasm. Unlike Oliver’s, Hammer’s accent didn’t change, stayed thick as syrup and sounding of the streets. “Do I look like I need ten bleeding pounds of fancy talk?” He leaned forward, his dead blue eyes matching Oliver’s in terms of sheer darkness. But Hammer’s held the faintest glimmer of amusement, the sinful kind. “So, my choices are work with ya and make a mint, or say no and get nothing ‘cept maybe a nice noontime walk.” Sitting back, he paused for a moment and smiled. “See how simple that was to say?”

Gesturing, the businessman in him somehow showing in that move, Hammer indicated the club around him. “Now, some could say, he don’t need to take this offer. He’s got himself friends in high places, is owning more an’ more of this dank city by the night, earns himself a good commission doin’ it. Do he really need more money?” Hammer smiled. “Now what I would say is, money’s a damn fun thing to have. And I spend it like water. Why not? I can do what I do ‘til this world turns black and falls into the fuckin’ sun. I want all the money I can get. An’ no, I don’t wanna worry ‘bout getting a sticker in me back. Damned annoying.”

And, of course, there was the added bonus of more mayhem. Mayhem was something Hammer particularly enjoyed. “Listen to me gwon an’ on. I think you rubbed off on me, Mr. Grey.”

Oliver couldn't help but laugh. It was a wry sort of laugh and yet it was dark. The kind of dark that had nothing to do with amusement and everything to do with pain and blood. Of course that had sort of become Ollie's normal laugh over time; his sire had been so kind as to see to that so yeah not such a cause for alarm really, but Oliver’s smile was sinister regardless. Actually while he might not off hand admit it, Oliver liked this guy. He wasn't simple. No, just looking at him Ollie knew he wasn't just muscle or just one of those annoying as fleas on a dog's back side kill crazies that just give vampires a bad name in general and more often than not end up as a stain for the Amman to wipe off the sides of their boots.

Of course one good eye roll deserves another.

“Maybe just a little,” He grinned in response to the jib about movies, giving a flash of wicket double fangs. “What can I say, I don’t exactly got yer wealth of gangster knowledge dear sir!”
Ollie let the old cockney out special for that last little bit. It made him chuckle, after all it made him sound like something out of a Dickens novel. Not that folks really didn’t talk like that at the time, indeed, his own touch of rusty cockney was proof if nothing else. Though it was still touched with the proper English that his creator had forced upon him. Completely adverse to what he’d come to call-“gutter speak” of course Ollie had kept as much as he could, just to spite the old man.

He’d really enjoyed spiting the old man, at least where he could and not have to worry about being boiled alive. But now he was free and while no one joined him to celebrate each and every day, it was a celebration and one that he’d taken to savoring. Indeed that was why even at the worst of times a smile wasn't very far at all from his lips. It was part of his poker face now and he’d be damned if he wasn’t just fabulously good at it by now.

Of course with poker face in place Oliver laughed at the other’s joke even as he nodded.

“I guess that wasn’t so hard to say, except I don’t expect you’d be getting a noontime walk. Actually that’d probably be a few touches nicer than what da old boss lady’d do ta ya if ya said no and hurt her pride.”

Ollie just couldn’t help chuckling then.

“Actually da same can probably be said bout dat sticker in the back too, mate. She’d probably skin ya and make a rug dat she’d wrap you in while she beat you over and over again with the bad kinda whips and chains…but well ya know I’ll quite boring ya with all mei fancy words and what not. Just because I come from the age of waxing poetic and all, don’t mind me…”

That last was with a teasing enough smile; but all in all pride aside, Oliver agreed with Hammer’s summery of things. He was spot on and when he agreed, Ollie would admit that it would have taken more than a bit to make him happier. It was possible, but there was just something about a plan coming together nicely that was always soul soothing. Even if you probably don’t have a soul to call your own.

“I wonder if my taste and class would rub off on you?” Ollie asked then, his smile gone teasing, even as he met the other man’s gaze. “Now, now, don’t get all huffy on me. I’m glad you said yes and as such that concludes our official business. But ya know since ya did say yeah, I can’t help but wondrin’ if you’d be up for start ‘en some hell tonight? After all I’m an impatient blighter mi self and the soon we start a little ruckus, the better in my book. So whadda ya think? Up for it? You can even have whatever we find. I'm less in a makin' profit mood in and more for some chaos and screams.”

Hammer smiled. “’Ere we are, twen’y-first century an’ all, an’ you’re telling me you ain’t never seen The Godfather?” He shook his head in mock disillusionment. “How disappointing.” Ah, what could Hammer say? He liked the whole motion picture thing that the humans had turned into a gigantic industry. Anytime you could sell someone something they couldn’t touch, Hammer got a surefire kick out of it. People paying to watch an elaborate ‘let’s pretend!’ show... what wasn’t to like?

Listening to Oliver go on about this so-called ‘boss lady’ Hammer had the oddest reaction – he grinned. “Soun’s like a lady after my own heart; cold and dead as it may be” he mused, touching a finger to his chin thoughtfully. “This might even be more fun than I’d thought, iffin I’m goin’ to be working for a gal like that.”

He quirked an eyebrow at Oliver’s mention of taste. “Ya sayin’ I ain’t got taste, chappie?” Hammer asked as if affronted, but then he leaned back. Indicating the strip club they were sitting in, he remarked, “Guess we ‘ave what you might call differin’ opinions on that.” But he grinned again. “Ah, ya may no’ know it tah lookit me, but I can class it up if need be.”

Well, the jagged scar on his face tended to work against the tuxes he wore, but that couldn’t be helped.

Sighing as Oliver spoke again, Hammer cast an almost regretful look at the women wrapping themselves around long metal poles for his enjoyment. Who knew what made that so endearing to a man? Then he replied, “My ‘dear sir’ you’ll find I’m always in the mood for a ruckus. Especially when it involves chaos and screams.”

Oliver couldn’t help his witty smile.

“I do believe that I haven’t told you anything of the kind…” He muttered after the comment about The Godfather. After all Oliver was something of a movie lover truth be told. Yes, yes, yes he’d been told a thousand times what a useless hobby it was. Especially his unrequited affection for horror movies. But then again he had to admit that while most of his hobbies tended to be frowned upon in general for any number of societal values currently in play, movies were the one that was most easily satisfied, both at home and abroad. His DVD player always got a healthy work out right before dawn, plus he rather enjoyed movie theaters.

Dark and slightly oppressive, a place where screams could go unheeded and slight “indiscretions” or at least what he could fool people into thinking were “indiscretions” were politely ignored. It could be heaven on earth, especially if you enjoyed playing games and Ollie always was a bit of a gamer. Obviously something he’d picked up off of his sire. After all they hadn’t called him The Gambler for nothing and how he had loved a good game indeed. Perhaps that was why Oliver followed his dear coven leader as he did. Well that is his reason outside of complete and utter terror, that oh so convent emotion that she inspired in all that were healthily sane and seeking to survive as long as possible and without that survival involving copious amounts of agony.

The thought of that, while frightening, also made Oliver smile. Actually it was more of a smirk and it was joined by a chuckle at Hammer’s response to his talk of Euthalia.

Oliver nodded.

“Dat’s da spirit.” He agreed with a grin. “Course it’ll be fun; Euthalia Akakios is The Tarepha leader. You’re not likely to meet a better party girl if dat sort of thing is ya cup ah tea. The blunt toothed mightier than thou holy-rollers don’t call us all a bunch of savages for nothing after all…” He said that last bit with all the contempt he could manage for The Amman.

The so called Guardians and “big guns” of the covens really were just a bunch of uptight fossils. Or at least that was Ollie’s take on things.

Ollie laughed then. He just couldn’t help it. Mr. Hammer really was a funny guy. A welcome change really. The last guy Oliver had been thrown together had been sadistic alright, hell even hella powerful, but a bigger stick in the mud Ollie had yet to find. Hale really needed a hobby, well besides torturing mortals to death, well that and he needed a humor transplant, stat.

Oliver gave a rather Gaelic shrug, a gesture that could mean anything and nothing at the same time. It was a gesture he realized he’d picked up from his sire. The old guy had a poker face that you couldn’t break with a Mack truck, but he’d passed a little of it on too. And that was how Ollie agreed without actually agreeing. Like the class comment though, it was more tease than genuine sentiment.

“I’m sure ya can.” Ollie added; a wry voice to the comment.

Then his gaze followed Hammer’s briefly. Truth be told while the scenery was nice enough, he supposed, he was still more or less a child. Okay, not mentally, indeed never mentally. But libido was something he’d only learn through proxy and osmosis. Besides even if he did have that particular ‘cross to bear’ or so to speak, he was pretty sure a strip club wouldn’t be his first choice. Or even his second. Indeed probably not his eighty-ninth either, but live and let live was his motto. Or rather it would be if he’d ever wanted a motto. As it was, Oliver Grey was only ever interested in living his life and living it as long as possible. So he didn’t have much time to think about giving a damn about a particular life code. Instead he did what he wanted, when he wanted and that had pretty much worked out well until this moment and it would probably work out again tomorrow night. When it stopped working out well, he would adapt and change or if that didn’t happen, he wouldn’t care. Mostly because he’d probably be dead.

Permanent, as in dead-dead.

Getting to his feet, Oliver gave the other vampire a slight nod and a tip of his hat.

“A man after ma own heart, ya are.” He said smiling. Then he was headed for the door, whistling a jaunty little tone with images of eminent slaughter dancing through his head behind his storm colored eyes.

Ollie didn’t walk fast, besides even if he had, Hammer could easily catch up. Bigger stride and all that. One of the many draw backs of being a child vampire. Of course if Oliver wanted to run or disappear he would, but for now he just walked to the door, slipped out into the night and looked to the east. Sniffing the air as if already he could scent blood, Oliver laughed. The gesture hadn’t been melodramatic actually, he was actually picking up his own scent. After all he’d just checked the place out before he’d met with Hammer. Made sure the cops hadn’t already beat him to the punch or maybe so rival faction or another. But no. Everything had been in its place. And pretty soon Oliver was once again in front of an abandoned apartment complex. Except it wasn’t so abandoned. Indeed a rather large drug operation was working out of the basement.

Walking up to the iron door, he gave a cheerful knock. The man answering the door looked suspicious but had to open it seeing as the door was a single large piece. He never got the chance to fire the gun in his hand as Ollie met his gaze with a hypnotic stare.

“You my good man are going to invite us in…” He said cheerfully, looking around for Hammer.