No Money No Love

[Oriana Rovere]

In her time working as she did, Oriana learned to recognise a few faces. They became easily familiar, despite the fact that it was most definitely a bad thing when they did. She had always been strict in her own right; at least, she had seemed strict compared to a great many crooked cops who found themselves working in the greater LA region. 

Particular clubs were those female officers often strayed away from. They didn't like the natural way they were looked at when they walked in the door all suited up and itching to incriminate. Oriana, however, was hardly the type to shy away from any assignment. Someone was wanted for something, and while she had very little details, she knew one person in particular who might be able to help her.

It was the worst feeling, in a way; having to ask a stripper for any kind of help just seemed wrong.

But there she was. Early in the evening before any kind of crowd could wash in, she walked into the building with a simple flash of her badge. A proclimation that she wasn't there to make trouble; that no one was in trouble, at least, not that she knew of.

She caught sight of the man she was looking for before he saw her, which was good. A deep breath filled her lungs and Oriana exhaled it slowly. Her shoulders squared, hands pressed to her lips as she slowed in her stride.

"Jacob." She called, trying her best to ignore the sense of familiarity his name brought to her lips. At least she smiled, and it was the kind of knowing expression she was sure he'd catch.

[Jacob Adams]

He'd barely even had time to change, let alone get up on the elevated stands where the strippers were supposed to be. When she called his name, he was shamelessly flirting another man out of his paycheck at the bar. He didn't even notice when she called, totally unfamiliar to being called Jacob as opposed to Jake, at least in this place. Most people didn't even bother to say Jake, since apparently 'J' was enough. Charming. Eventually, the bartender poked his arm, making him retract his hand from the other mans tigh slightly. He looked at the bartender, who in turn pointed to the cop, making Jake turn around. “Shit.” he uttered, obviously not in the mood for sugar coating his frustration. Why couldn't they just mind their own business?

He turned himself all the way around on his chair, turning his back to the other man, mustering up a slightly forced smile. If he'd wanted to, he could have faked a real one. If he'd wanted to. “Oriana. Man, feels like yesterday. What brings you back? Business or pleasure?” he said, tilting his head slightly. At least the suggestive smile always looked genuine. It always worried him slightly when she arrived, after all, he did know a bunch of people who weren't exactly in the safest work environments ever. Hell, the club itself wasn't a safe work environment. Too bad the cops only showed up when they needed him, as opposed to when he needed them. But whatever. No hard feelings. As he patted the empty seat on his other side to invite her to sit down, he tried to recall when he'd last heard from all of his co workers, as well as the other friends he could think of that could have gotten themselves mixed up with the cops.

[Oriana Rovere]

For Oriana, she only knew the man by his full name; the one attached to his miniscule record. the one on his driver's license. She might have known what he preferred to be called, but those were minor details she opted not to concern herself with.

As was the chair he offered. She didn't even look at it. Rather, she raised her head a fraction, arms still settled at her own waist. She'd rather not make contact with a single stint of furnature in the place. She'd rather not make contact with him, too, but some things were completely out of her hands.

"Business." Always. The corner of her mouth pulled further, because it was almost cute of him to ask considering he easily knew the answer.

And then, she looked at his company. It was a long enough look, bordering on a stare. A few minutes and she could likely figure out who he was disgracing by being here, but she didn't have to. A look was enough. She glanced back to the proverbial stripper instead; "Let's talk."

[Jacob Adams]

Hah! Of course the cop was too good for sitting down at a place like this. For all she knew, the seats were riddled with AIDS, right? Stupid, rude, better-than-thou cops. Although, she did grant him an in to make some extra bucks. “Ey, you want my help, you play nice.” he pointed out when she gave the other man that look. For all he cared, she could arrest him on the spot, but acting like he gave a rats ass might play in his favour later.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, leaning back against the disk of the bar. Was he allowed to be drunk for this? Better not risk it. After all, he couldn't remember the rules for being drunk at the workplace. The rules always changed, after all, when a badge had been flashed at the entrance. “You know, if I walked into your place of work in the middle of a shift and asked for a lap dance, that'd be considered rude. But sure, whatever. What can I do for you?” If she'd just tell him what the hell this was about so he could stop worrying about who might be laying dead in a ditch somewhere, that'd be awfully nice, actually. Still, for some reason, he didn't feel like asking.

[Oriana Rovere]

Threatening looks aside, Oriana almost scoffed at the way someone so unfortunately petty spoke to her. It was as if the little defense would win him something greater in the long run. She didn't answer; it wasn't a sub-fight worth getting into.

"Oh, I doubt you'd ever walk into where I work." She replied. Escorted by police and in handcuffs? Highly likely, but she wasn't so sure the likes of Jacob would have a problem with the hardware.

"A friend of your is missing," She announced, in full view of the company he kept that he wouldn't part from; "But if you'd rather mindless banter, I suppose we can keep going."

[Jacob Adams]

He slumped down when she hit him with the news, changing from defensive to slightly hopeless. He wasn't exactly surprised, nor did he bother to pretend that he was. He leaned his forehead against the palm of his hand for a while, staring at the disk of the bar before deciding how to react. ”Let's go outside.” he said, finally, realising there was little point in trying to solve this here. He was dying to know who it was, but he couldn't have this conversation in front of a bunch of clients. If the person was even a little bit connected to this place, one of them was bound to be mixed up in it somehow. On the other hand, since when did the cops care if a stripper went missing? Who the hell would even report it to the cops in the first place?

He got up without waiting for an answer, making sure the tips didn't stick out of the lining of the underwear-like outfit that was his work uniform. He leaned over his previous focus of attention briefly, snapping back into workmode for a split second. ”Hey, can I borrow your shirt for a while?” he said, putting his hand on the other mans shoulder to grip the sweater he was wearing with two of his fingers. Lucky him that the guy wore several layers. No matter, as the guy happily got out of his shirt, he seemed like he would have stripped down to his undies if Jake had asked nicely enough. He gave him a smile, squeezed his shoulder slightly before pulling on the shirt and turning back to the cop, letting go of the stripper-persona as quickly as he'd put it on once his back was turned to the client.

[Oriana Rovere]

As usual, Oriana stood stoic while she watched the way things progressed. She was grateful he'd managed to find something to wear, because anything was better than how she had found him. At least she felt no need to judge him; he knew exactly how she felt about the work he dove so intently into. His interest seemed to fizzle out the moment he turned his back on the nameless individual he'd found himself with. That was good, at least.

She stepped aside for him, raising a hand and pointing towards the very door she'd walked through. "Lead the way." She requested. Unless, for some reason, he thought it better to force her to follow him through to the back entrance. The choice landed on his shoulders.

[Jacob Adams]

He thought about it for a while, but decided pretty quickly on using the front entrance. He had no interest in standing around in what was basically a dark alley with a cop. He didn't consider himself the kind of person who would benefit from that at all. Instead, he walked through the club to the main entrance, the slightly sped pace he kept making it obvious that he was, in fact, worried about what she was going to tell him.

Once outside, he stopped to talk the bouncer into getting him a cigarette and a lighter, looking around as he lit it to try to find an appropariate place. Eventually he settled for walking to the nearest streetcorner, hoping it was good enough. ”Who is it?” he asked, leaning against the wall, letting his worry show more now that he was outside of his workplace.