When it Rains it Pours ((8))

[victoriousscarf]

Macavity swore under his breath as he caught himself on the wall of a building, his other paw wrapped around his abdomen to try and at least stem some of the bleeding.

He was never going to say it was just a routine meeting again.

Also, he was bringing more than five henches to any such sort of meeting in the future, as they have proved to be absolutely worthless and probably dead by this point anyway. Which was probably good for their sakes, since if they weren't, he would kill them.

With another string of curses, he looked around the street, having escaped the pursuers almost a block down. He needed a phone, he decided, slipping toward what looked like a backdoor and pounding on it.

[Meadowlark]

Griddlebone had been cleaning up after an early closing, she knew she probably should have kept the speak open a bit longer, but she was tired and her replacement tender wasn't reachable at the moment.

The white queen startled at a rapping on the back door. Slipping her pistol from it's holster on her thigh she moved cautiously back there, opening the door slightly. "Yes?"

[victoriousscarf]

Mac blinked at the appearance of the white queen. Oh, so that was the door he was pounding on. "I need a phone," he said, leaning against the wall to the side of the door.

[Meadowlark]

Her eyebrows rose, but she stepped aside to let him in. On her way past the counter in the small kitchen she tossed him a dishtowel. "Do try not to bleed on the floor. The phone's over in that corner." She nodded toward a place near the entrance to the barroom.

[victoriousscarf]

Mac reached out to catch the towel and cursed loudly when it pulled the area with the gunshot wound. "I'll do my best," he muttered, stalking over to the phone will less than his usual amount of grace.

[Meadowlark]

She watched him for a moment before slipping out to the front to finish with the basic job of closing up, all the while keeping one ear turned toward the backroom to catch his half of the conversation.

[victoriousscarf]

Mac fumbled with the phone and wished he had not lost his cigarettes on top of everything else. God. Damn. It. Finally he got the number dialed, and waited with no small level of impatience for the phone to be picked up.

"This is the front desk at the Demoniaque," Martin said moments later.

"Great," Mac growled. "I would hope that'd be the number I was callin'. Goin' to need a hench to come pick me up."

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Ah," Martin said finally. "Macavity. I think we were just about to send out to search parties. Where are you?"

Mac growled. "At the..." he tried to remember the name. "Fishbone or somethin' like that. Pub down at the docks. And call up Cohen."

"... Cohen?"

There was another growl on Mac's end. "Got shot, don't ask questions, get a damn hench, a damn car, and make sure the doctor's there when I 'et there." Damn desk clerk.

Martin paused again. "Alright," he said, looking around the lobby for some cat that could be considered a hench high enough to pick up their boss. "I'll send someone out and call Cohen."

"Good," Mac said, resisting the urge to slam the phone down. Instead he was extra careful to set it down in its cradle. "Damn henches..."

[Meadowlark]

Griddlebone re-entered the room, a tray of glasses she needed to wash in her paws. One eyebrow arched. "Henches?" She nodded to a ladder-back chair next tot he small wooden table. "Feel free to take a seat."

[victoriousscarf]

Macavity managed not to collapse into the chair, keeping the towel over the wound. "Wha about my henches?" he asked, voice low but above a growl. It could almost be considered pain filled, except he would never admit anything remotely of the sort.

[Meadowlark]

"Just not a term I would expect a hotel owner to use." She replied, innocently enough, as she turned to begin washing the glasses.

[victoriousscarf]

Mac blinked and bit back a curse. "What can I say?" he said, forcing his voice to sound normal. "I'm just an eccentric type."

[Meadowlark]

Her lips quirked at that, "Indeed. At the docks two nights in a row, too. Not what I'd expect of a cat with such a high-class joint of his own."

[victoriousscarf]

Mac shifted and growled at the pain of the movement. "Maybe I jus' like seein' the old neighborhood."

[Meadowlark]

"Hm, maybe. How'd you get that wound?" She asked absently setting a glass aside to dry.

[victoriousscarf]

Mac paused for a long, probably damning second. "Jus' got in some trouble. Was walkin' by and got caught up in the crossfire."