Throwing Their Voices

As he usually did when moving through the streets, or out in public, Arnold grasped a heavy case in his hand. Within, Scarface rode in silence, only letting the occasional muffled comment out, if such would go unnoticed. But he did have to be careful. Occasionally, someone would try to snatch the case, and run off with it.

It never ended well for them. And Arnold hated having to wash the blood off of the case.

Awkward and shy in public as always, he carefully made his way inside, a small smile crossing his face as he spotted Peyton. He carefully placed the case on the floor, and sat down opposite her before opening it, and placing Scarface in the chair beside him, between him and the wall.

"I'm not late, am I? I'm not really familiar with this place," he said, nervously trying to catch a waiter's attention.

Arnold fiddled with Scarface a bit more, straightening his jacket and ti, and adjusting his hat. While he was, through some means or another, polished glass eyes were turned towards Peyton, as if staring at the bruise poorly concealed around her eye. As Wesker adjusted his hat, the puppet's gaze came from beneath its brim, enhancing his scowl.

"Um, yeah, about that. Um, Mr. Scarface has a man, uh, watching the door. We shouldn't be, uh, interrupted," he said, a bit nervously. Rhino, as the man called himself, was the biggest man he'd ever seen. He glanced up at the waiter, then back at the tabletop. "Um, I'll take a Milk punch, please. Thank you," he said softly.

He glanced up at Peyton's black eye, then back down, fidgeting with his tie. He glanced to the side as the waiter moved away, then back at Peyton. He knew Johnny was no good. And he really hated seeing Peyton hurt. But Johnny Sabatino had connections. Big connections.

"We got us a babbo what needs to be whacked?" Scarface growled softly. Unlike Wesker, Johnny didn't scare him. Not was he an abusive thug, he was stupid. A babbo. His only redeeming quality was his connection with the Sabatinos.

"Um, uh, are you alright?" Arnold asked, sill a bit nervous. He knew what Scarface had in mind. He and his boss had discussed Johnny at length, back at their apartment. Someday, sooner or later, if he didn't wise up, Johnny Sabatino would be 'on ice'. But he didn't feel comfortable discussing such business in public. Even in a private place like this.

Scarface leaned back a bit. If Peyton wanted to play it that way, then he'd go along with it. For now. Someday, when he was no longer useful alive, Johnny Sabatino would get what was coming to him. Provided his stupidity didn't make him too much of a liability before hand.


"Okay, so we gotta do a piece of work on behalf of Sabatino. So, dere's only two questions. What's the payoff, and is dis a message job? he asked. If the Sabatinos wanted help dealing with the Falcones, they should be made to pay for that assistance. And, if it was time to make the Sabatino-Riley alliance official, it would have to be made obvious.

Arnold, for his part, nervously brushed his fingers through his hair, looking around in apprehension despite Rhino's looming presence just outside. He tried to work up enough courage to speak a couple of times, but before he could, Peyton asked if they had any information, so he instead inspected the tablecloth as he accepted his drink.

"Word on da streets is da Bat is back. But with da clown and da masked man Bane both in Gotham, da Bat's got bigger fish ta fry. We should be able to continue business as normal," Scarface stated. As long as they didn't let any business get too...ugly, they should be fine. "Otherwise, we got a few...private enterprises to tend to," he added after a moment.

Arnold glanced up at Peyton for a moment, wondering how she would react when she learned what they had planned. Scarface had put together a list of banks and businesses owned by Rupert Thorne, Roland Daggett, and a number of other individuals involved in illegal enterprises. He'd said they needed some cash if they really wanted to start to make a name for themselves.

"Just a few odd jobs around town," he said softly.

Arnold's eyes twitched back and forth, and all around before meeting Peyton's for one brief moment. The look she was giving him made him feel...strange. Flustered. But not nervous. At least not nervous like he usually did when dealing with people. As she spoke, he slowly shook his head, denying what she was implying.

"No, that's not it at all," he said softly, looking straight at Peyton for a moment, a look as hard as the one on Scarface's appearing on his own for a split second, gone almost too fast to have seemed to been there at all, and he just looked at her from beneath his eyelashes in a shy manner. In all truth, he just wished he could do more for her.

"Sure, course I got your back. I've thrown my lot in with da Rileys. None of da Italians would even look twice at me, let alone do business," Scarface stated, leaning forward again and placing a hand on the table with a soft thump. "It's like dis, see. We're nobodies, with nuttin' to our names besides the shirts on our backs. We need some moolah for ourselves, that's all, he explained. He fully intended to see Peyton Riley (Sean was getting old, and showed a disturbing lack of judgment if he trusted Johnny Sabatino) rise to power over Gotham's criminal underworld. And he would rise with her.

"You've got to have money to make money, or so they say," Arnold said quietly, almost more to himself than to Peyton.