Through the screams that echo throughout the city of Las Vegas - some are not that of joy, celebration - quite the opposite. Some quarrel's end with blood, usually with a musk of alcohol attached enforcing the rage of sordid acts, which the local law have no time to deal with such a common courtesy that is embellished throughout its states.

Following through onto the streets - hearing a chopper nearby, Scratchy hears its engines die down and then screaming - running over to the barrel of noise, watching for a bit he see's RedRum - an associate of Hardcases beating on a guy nearly half to death, seeing it not ending - Scratchy runs over to a Phone boothe, calling one of his 'guys':

"Need a clean up, someone's made a mess and it doesn't look pretty," Scratchy begins to say as the person on the other end begins to ask questions of locations. The chopper engine starts again, seeing the dust kick up in the air as Scratchy watches with his hand on his forehead, a brief five minutes pass, the Wife crying over the now dead husband, asphyxiation of his wind pipe and torso being crushed, three people dressed in officers uniforms arrive at the scene while one of the officers pick up the body, the other exchanges hands with a couple of bills. Tears streaming - she nods, knowing what happens if she steps out of line.

With Scratchy in the shadows - a third officer walks up to Scratchy, giving a slight tip of his hat, begins to say quite loudly: "Alright, nothing to see here," as his right side of his body passes by Scratchy, bills are followed though into the Officers pocket.

Walking back to the Club, as intended in the first place - Scratchy makes his assistant call RedRum to where he is, as they can talk.

Walking into his office - Scratchy closes the door behind him as he see's RedRum walk back into the room. Beginning to speak with a calmness to it: "You know, word gets around to me faster than Joey Olbose in some cases," Scratchy Pauses as he begins to walk back and forth while still looking towards RedRum, "Sometimes, I don't even need to use my ears - I can just look around me and see shits like you do some dense and vacuous, lack-luster - brainless and every other word in the damn vocabulary," Scratchy walks to the middle of the room where his desk is, slams his fist on the desk infront of him;

"Ten grand, next week - no questions," Scratchy looks at RedRum, "Get out, before I tell Joey what you did, this is a kindness on my part.." Pointing towards the door, Scratchy awaiting RedRum to exit from it.

With eyes dulled by his ramblings - ethics and matters don't follow through with him, as the accountant of the family - Scratchy exclaims to him as he walks out of the office: "Bodies cost us money, whore beaters don't," Scratchy ends with an aggressive movement reaching for a cigarette - going through his desk draws for a match. 

With moments passing - Scratchy takes a few inhales of the cigarette, beginning to relax in his chair.

The night was alive just as it was every other night in Los Angeles. Something about this night though, seemed different. As if something had been misplaced. It wasn't often Tharlee walked the streets at night, but she was looking to try and earn some cash by being a bartender for the family she currently was an associate of. She was glad for them to give her the chance to prove herself, and prove herself she would in any way possible. For now though, she'd make it so the boys and girls of The Hardcases got good drinks that were properly made. 

The only reason she even really knew how to make drinks properly was due to the fact her papa had been such an alcoholic drunk. Couldn't even make his own damn drinks that while his daughter was younger he made her do it. The alcohol finally killed him off, which was a blessing for Tharlee. Gave her a new sense of freedom from a life trapped in a shitty apartment with a couch potato drunk of a father. 

As she went to enter the establishment where Scratchy was normally found, she found RedRum leaving the place. Not looking all that happy if she were one to take notice, but she didn't stop to question him or anything. She knew they were all bound to have their secrets and skeletons buried in the closets. For now, that wasn't something she ever needed to worry herself about. Not when she needed to focus on her donations and proving her loyalty.

"Evening, Scratchy..."

Her voice was quiet, she'd never been a loud talker. At least not unless she was provoked. See.... Tharlee could be a ticking time bomb if need be with her temper. She learned the patience over the years on how to control her outbursts but even then once she was angered it was only a matter of time until she blew up in your face. For now, she was quiet, calm and collected. Her focus on trying to figure out Scratchy's mood currently which would soon be followed by slipping behind the bar to work up whatever concoction he might want. She could see he was already smoking.

"Long night?"

Her sapphire eyes were narrowed slightly, almost as if judging to see if he was going to talk about whatever might be bothering him... or if he was just going to simply ask for a drink. Almost as if on auto-pilot she moved to be standing before the bar, pushing her midnight black locks away from her face, wishing now she'd put it up in a loose bun instead of the slight waving curls she had it in. Obviously the hairspray was refusing to hold, but that was a problem for another time, right now it was just figuring out if Scratchy would want something to relax with.. or something stronger...

Hearing two sets of footsteps as the entrance of the building creaks, Scratchy lifts his head up from his sunken being - elapsing his hot headedness as greets are made by Tharlee - not seeing her as much as the travels of Los Angeles have kept her contempt in their business, Scratchy gave a faint yet fake enthusiasm, "Evenin'..". Reliving through the moment Scratchy just passed - his thoughts needed to be transgressed, exorcised into a glass of strong alcohol. 

Standing up from his already imprinted chair - Scratchy walks through and out into the open area where Tharlee assumed the position of the Bartender, sitting on the near by stool, Scratchy inhales and exhales his cigarette with a slumped arc'd back. Replying to Tharlee, Scratchy begins to speak: "Might as well take down the 'X amount of days with incident' sign," putting his two hands through his hair, slumping down looking towards the bars flat surface, "S-sorry, the night shouldn't be all about my troubles," affiliating his eyes on the vintage glass of Whiskey in the background across the shelves in the background, Scratchy begins to speak; "Gimmie a glass and i'll have refills until my brain turns numb.." 

Turning around as the night shrouds the halls with only the incandescent flickers of light bulbs, pressing hard against his eyes - causing him to squint. Looking back to Tharlee he straightens his back as the cracks begin - he lets out a large sigh getting out his wallet, putting some bills on the bar. Even though he bought the whiskey and it's contents, the exchange was more of a wage for Tharlee than anything.

Tharlee nodded when Scrathy returned the greeting. Her eyes were constantly taking in everything, having already noticed that the bar looked quite different from the last time she'd been here. It looked a lot better nicely, making her think that the income of the family must be doing quite well in order for it to be upgraded quite a bit. When Scratchy came to sit at the bar, she noticed he seemed off, stressed even as if he'd just dealt with something he hadn't quite wanted to. She took the number down off of the sign that showed how many days without incidents, placing the number under the bar counters.

"Dare I ask whom's temper flared?"

She spoke quietly as she noticed the whiskey Scratchy was staring at before pulling off the bottle and placing it in front oh him, as well as a bowl of ice and a glass. Some people liked their whiskey on the rocks and some didn't. That choice she would leave up to him as she didn't fully know him well enough to tell if his mood would wish for the rocks or not. Though seeing him place money on the counter she shoot her head, pulling out a small stack from a hidden place among her clothing. 

"Keep it, it's about time for my dues again, Los Angeles has been quite kind to me as usual, so that it as an early tribute. I'm in town for a short while before I'll head back out to LA. It's quite out there, nice. Though it ghastly during the day... that dreadful heat it almost worse than here."

She chuckled slightly as she leaned on the counter. She wasn't exactly the clean worker either, always working with the dead, stealing what they no longer had use for. Not to mention that the drug runs weren't too hard to control in an area where there wasn't too much traffic.