Running with it
Jul. 7th, 2011 11:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
randomcatFor wallwalker‘s prompt over at fic_promptly on dreamwidth,
@ 2011-02-20
The Sting, Johnny Hooker, fleeing
obviously, not mine.
Warnings; just don't let the music get stuck in your head.
Everything changed once Hooker hit the big time. He'd hit the ground running, and now Hooker could write his own ticket. Not that he did, he paid minor grifters to do that for him these days. He had his own reputation , ran his own big cons, wore his own hundred-dollar suits these days.
Maitre d's sat him at the best tables everywhere he went, tables big enough for the showgirls who flocked there between numbers to drink his expensive booze and leave keys to their dressing rooms under their glasses.
He'd squirreled away more money than he and Luther ever dreamed of, in schemes that checked out legit, more solid than any schemes he would ever come up with. He even had a legit home- a penthouse in The Big Apple, even if it was just a set-piece for stings, and a hotel in Atlantic City that Luther's family managed for him. Hooker used the hotel mostly for parties, he got a cut from the games they ran there without lifting a finger.
There'd even been a couple hungry-eyed wannabes he called "kid", and laughed to himself every time he said it.
He didn't have to play it close to the wire anymore, but sometime he missed the thrill. Sometimes he let those hungry-eyed comers set him up, because the grapevine needed to know Hooker hadn't lost his edge.
When the mark yelled cheat and pulled a gun, Hooker ignored the startled gasps around him. He leaned back looking down his nose at the angry mobster, ignoring his shiny little gun, and shook his head.
"You know, I don't care for that kind of talk. It's bad for business and it hurts my feelings." He scooped up the stack of money on the table and waggled it.
"So I'm tempted to make you eat this right now. But since you've obviously had too much to drink, we'll play one more round with a fresh deck and then you will apologize for being such a sore loser."
He stood up from the table, waving for a passing cigarette girl's attention. She nodded, and Hooker brought his hand down hard in the bodyguard's gut.
The mook folded easy as pie, Hooker stepped through the space he'd cleared, right past the gun. Step-dodged around two crowded tables and a kissing couple, to the balcony and over the rail.
He hit the ground running, nothing behind him but angry shouts. At the corner he looked over his shoulder, grinning, and gave the mark a lazy wave with the hand still holding the money.
Luckily, not quite everything had changed since Hooker hit the big time. Success hadn't slowed him down any.
@ 2011-02-20
The Sting, Johnny Hooker, fleeing
obviously, not mine.
Warnings; just don't let the music get stuck in your head.
Everything changed once Hooker hit the big time. He'd hit the ground running, and now Hooker could write his own ticket. Not that he did, he paid minor grifters to do that for him these days. He had his own reputation , ran his own big cons, wore his own hundred-dollar suits these days.
Maitre d's sat him at the best tables everywhere he went, tables big enough for the showgirls who flocked there between numbers to drink his expensive booze and leave keys to their dressing rooms under their glasses.
He'd squirreled away more money than he and Luther ever dreamed of, in schemes that checked out legit, more solid than any schemes he would ever come up with. He even had a legit home- a penthouse in The Big Apple, even if it was just a set-piece for stings, and a hotel in Atlantic City that Luther's family managed for him. Hooker used the hotel mostly for parties, he got a cut from the games they ran there without lifting a finger.
There'd even been a couple hungry-eyed wannabes he called "kid", and laughed to himself every time he said it.
He didn't have to play it close to the wire anymore, but sometime he missed the thrill. Sometimes he let those hungry-eyed comers set him up, because the grapevine needed to know Hooker hadn't lost his edge.
When the mark yelled cheat and pulled a gun, Hooker ignored the startled gasps around him. He leaned back looking down his nose at the angry mobster, ignoring his shiny little gun, and shook his head.
"You know, I don't care for that kind of talk. It's bad for business and it hurts my feelings." He scooped up the stack of money on the table and waggled it.
"So I'm tempted to make you eat this right now. But since you've obviously had too much to drink, we'll play one more round with a fresh deck and then you will apologize for being such a sore loser."
He stood up from the table, waving for a passing cigarette girl's attention. She nodded, and Hooker brought his hand down hard in the bodyguard's gut.
The mook folded easy as pie, Hooker stepped through the space he'd cleared, right past the gun. Step-dodged around two crowded tables and a kissing couple, to the balcony and over the rail.
He hit the ground running, nothing behind him but angry shouts. At the corner he looked over his shoulder, grinning, and gave the mark a lazy wave with the hand still holding the money.
Luckily, not quite everything had changed since Hooker hit the big time. Success hadn't slowed him down any.
