Karma? [Juarez/Public]

[Professor Plum]

All things considered, if she hadn't let her guard down, this wouldn't have happened.

Maybe it'd been a rival mob. Maybe it had been a group of extremist anti-Hispanics. Maybe it was initiation for a gang totally unrelated to her in any way. In any case, she knew it was not just a random act; it had definitely been planned and was done to serve a purpose.

She'd been scouting out the areas outside the mall (mostly behind it and near the sides--the deserted areas), wondering if there was a place she could use to do business at on Saturdays, when she was jumped from behind. It had come as a total surprise, as she'd relaxed herself, not having seen anyone in the immediate area. A big mistake, as it turned out.

Before she even knew what was happening, she'd been bound and gagged by several people from behind. Who were they? How many were there? She couldn't even see them. They were saying something, in English, but her heart was pounding too loudly in her ears and her adrenaline had shot up too high for her brain to translate her second language. Shouts muffled by the (probably dirty) cloth they'd tied tightly through her mouth, she tried to lash out in any way she could (they'd taken her baseball bat and thrown it aside--she could see it rolling down the curb--and her tied-up hands were unable to reach her knife), but she wasn't even landing any hits.

Forcing her to get down on the sidewalk, one of the attackers came into view to squat next to her feet. She thrashed and kicked, but the hooded, masked, and sunglasses-clad man managed to get her ankles tied together.

And then...they left.

For a moment, just a split second, she hoped that maybe this was it, that they weren't going to do anything else. (Of course, being bound and gagged in a deserted street wasn't a fun prospect, but it was better than being killed or worse.) But then, she heard the revving of a car engine, and those hopes were dashed.

Turning her head slowly, eyes as wide as they could go, she saw an SUV coming down the road, with five masked men inside. They were going to run her over.

Screaming and screaming, she struggled to get away, to get to the safety of the sidewalk. The car was coming quickly, but it all seemed to be happening in slow motion, as she broke out into a sweat. Kicking her legs as hard as she could, she managed, perhaps by the grace of God, to get one foot loose. There was no time to stand up and run away, so she tried to scoot back as fast as she could--which is no easy feat on pavement, without the help of one's hands.

And for a moment, it seemed like she would get away.

Until a sickening crunching sound filled the air--not once, but twice, as both front and back tires went over her--and she was suddenly unable to feel her left foot.

Fortunately, they drove off, whether because they thought she was dead or because their intentions had never been fatal from the start, she'd never know. Unfortunately, the pain set in immediately. And her screams of agony could not even be heard, unless someone was close nearby.

((You see a student with a broken leg! foot. :I idk if there is any gang initiation even remotely similar to this, but hey. I wouldn't be surprised at all.))

[babby]

Well, this place was a bust. Apparently the girls at this mall were too classy to do a guy with needle sores all over him. Whatever.

So he had stolen some stuff, clothes, mostly, stuffing them into his bag. It was a successful day in that respect. A mall too classy for him was a mall too classy to think that it's classy customers steal. After he had left with his spoils, he headed out to the back of the building to take a much needed dose.

But, just as he was pulling the tourniquet tight with his teeth, he saw a car roar by preceded only by a strangled cry. Curious more than worried, he put everything back in his bag and headed towards thenoise, not are what to expect.

And he had been right about that. Was that the Latina girl who tried to chop his balls off. She was tied up... And one of her feet was twisted uncomfortably. Very much so.

Sober for once, he felt a little pity (thank god he was too high when they fought to remember much), as he had been in that position before. Walking up, he began to untie her, starting with the gag.

Kids these days. Didnt know how to be proper criminals.

[Professor Plum]

She'd been telling herself that it could definitely be worse--she'd done worse to other people herself, so she should know. She could have been raped, or killed, or tortured...not that this was a walk in the park. But a broken foot could be healed, at least. ...Right? All the reassurances, though, did not help much with the pain. And she wasn't getting off the street any faster, barely able to move as she was. It would just figure if a second car came by and crushed her other foot, as well.

Her plan of action had been to somehow get to her knife, just inches away from her fingers, and undo her hands first. And then...she wasn't sure. Could she walk like this? And it wasn't like she had a phone to call for help. There was no choice but to wing it. Firstly, though, she had to get freed.

Which wasn't going so well. Unlike her feet, her hands had been bound pretty securely.

She was dangerously close to crying in frustration (which would have been almost as bad as getting her foot broken; as a rule, she didn't cry), but then, of all people, the guy she'd fought in the hallway showed up. What kind of messed-up karma--

And her mouth was liberated.

Gasping in pain, breaths coming short, her first words were, "You! You're that guy--" Cut off by a stabbing wave of pain shooting through her lower leg, and she practically howled in torment. It was almost like a woman in labor--her face was pasty and slick with sweat and everything.

[babby]

"'You're that guy'?" He laughed. "That's what everyone says."

He surveyed the damage to her foot. It didn't look good. But he had to do something. Maybe if he did, karma would somehow grant him his own salvation. The same karma that had given her this lovely day. "What happened to you, chica? You piss someone off? Someone with an... Escalade, it looks like."

While he waited for an answer, he looked around the debris and trash for something to splint it up temporarily and spotted an old metal pipe (probably left by a previous gang). He grabbed it and put it against her foot. "This is gonna hurt but..." Then he came to a realization. "But you tried to cut my balls off, so.." Before he even finished the sentence, he snapped her foot back to... Well he thought it was the right place, pulling one of the stolen shorts from his bag to tie the bar to her leg.

[Professor Plum]

Her teeth were gritted, and her voice was strained, but even so, she could not help but grin painfully, "No clue. I've pissed off a lot of people." Truer words had never been spoken. She was the last stronghold of the Juarez Cartel, and every rival cartel surrounding her wanted that wonderfully strategic border territory. Not to mention, the police wanted her dead, the Mexican government wanted her dead, the United States wanted her dead... Even her allies were only on her side for the business. She knew that, given the opportunity, they'd slit her throat and snatch up her turf and whatnot like jackals.

She was going to tell him to forget about it, that if anyone was going to fix her foot, it was going to be a doctor. Maybe she didn't normally care much about the scrapes and such that she got on a regular basis, but come on. Losing a foot was kind of a big fucking deal.

Though, apparently, he was willing to take the risk. With perhaps the fringe benefit of some small revenge.

And revenge, it was. The veins stood out in her neck as her body tensed and arched and shuddered with the unbearable agony. Crying out with her eyes squeezed shut, she focused her mind on two things: not fainting and not weeping. Or even letting tears come to her eyes, for that matter. Ciudad Juarez does not cry. Ciudad Juarez does not cry. She repeated it mentally over and over, as if it was her mantra, a holy commandment.

[babby]

"Who hasnt?" For all intents and purposes, he was the Mexico of Europe. Rampant drug problems, crime problems,along with illegal immigration to get jobs out of the country. Even the government was in on the fun. The only person on his side was his mother, and even that support was waning.

He helped her up, not having the time to wait until she was ready. "Look, I really gotta get going. Got stuff to shoot up, and of I don't leave soon, the mall pigs are gonna come after me." He laughed as if it was a joke. "I can get you to a bus station, but thats all." He threw his bag over his shoulder.

Sober, he was an amiable man, albeit a sad one. Moldovans were a friendly people... Just desperate for some semblance of a livelihood.

[Professor Plum]

Her jaw was clenched too tightly to speak at first as she was rushed into a standing position. But at least the pain had morphed into a kind of dull throbbing. ...Which was bound to become just as unbearable in due time. Against her will, she was forced to lean on him heavily at first, least she fall over and break something else on the concrete.

"Got it," she managed to mutter, before half-limping, half-stumbling to retrieve her baseball bat. Using it as a crutch of sorts (thank god she wasn't so tall that this wouldn't work without her hunching over), she hobbled over, scowling every time her foot touched ground. This needed to be fixed, and quickly. She was sure she had some heavy pain relievers in her stash--though it went against her code, she would use them this once, since it was an emergency. Unfortunately, she didn't have her bag with her.

Didn't he just say that he was about to get a fix, as well? She hadn't noticed before, as his sleeves had been covering it, but sure enough, there were the tell-tale tracks along his arms. Ugh. He must have bought his stuff from the other guy (the dealer she had yet to meet), and for once, he was welcome to take a potential customer from her. She wanted no business with junkies.

Now was not really the time to be thinking of such things, though. Taking off, with or without him, too eager to get out of there to think straight, she hissed venomously under her breath, "If I ever catch those sons of bitches..." Oh, there would be hell to pay.

[babby]

He was in pain so little anymore that he had forgotten maybe some people had serious pain. Especially after getting their foot shattered by a car.

Dimitrie dug into his bag once again, pulling out a bag of white powder and a bottle of pills. Both looked ominous. He held up the powder. "This'll make you feel amazing and forget about the pain," Then he held up and shook the pills. "And this'll make it go away for a while. Cocaine or vicadin."

This was no freebie, she had all that bra money, he expected to be paid back later. He stuck a finger into the powder and oh so casually rubbed his finger along his gums. "On second thought, take the pills." He tossed them to her (she still had two unbroken arms, right?) and began walking to the bus station.

He could have called an ambulance, but then he'd be caught and taken too, like a feral dog to the pound. Then, inevitably, death.

[Professor Plum]

Luckily for him, she'd managed to catch the bottle with her free hand--had she missed, she wouldn't have even bothered to pick it back up. And yet, she tossed it right back. Besides that she hated owing anyone anything (it just wasn't smart to get into debts, no matter what kind), she had better stuff than this; morphine pills were stronger, and she was sure she had plenty to spare. It wasn't as popular as the more mainstream substances.

"Thanks but no thanks. I got my own stuff," she grunted, though she didn't elaborate. No need for a pothead to know she had a veritable goldmine back in her dorm room, courtesy of Colombian associates.

It was good, really, that he wasn't offering to call an ambulance. She wanted to see a doctor, yes, but she had no desire to go to the hospital. Too many questions would be asked there. She had to keep under the radar, if she wanted to keep operating in this country. There were plenty of doctors in Edison, she knew this, and a couple of them were from Texas. She and the cities of that state had a sort of can't-live-with-her-can't-live-without-her thing going on, depending on who one asked, but she had no doubt she'd be able to 'persuade' one of them into helping her out.

[babby]

He just laughed. "I don't see how you can be picky now, but whatever."

Dimitrie knew the location of the bus station by heart. Mostly because he ended up sleeping in it alot due to drug-induced stupor.
He always woke up with a few tickets and fines tacked to his forehead. The police here already knew his name.

"well," He helped her sit. "If ever you run out of stuff, you know where to find me." The same place where they had had a brawl, the basement of the business building.

[Professor Plum]

"Waste of money to buy new stuff when I already got some," she explained shortly. No matter what he thought she had stuffed down her bosom (and that had only been a bunch of ones, considering they'd come from a vending machine), she was dirt poor. A boatload of the money she made went into paying people: her drug suppliers, La Linea (the armed wing of her cartel), the corrupt officials she had working for her in the government and police, bills and taxes, wages and bribes. And then she got to attend to her own needs, including food. After that, there was basically next to nothing left over. And yet, it was a better choice than what else was offered in her home. Even the children aspired to be drug lords when they grew up; it was the only way to make real cash.

Nodding her gratitude (she wasn't quite so good at saying 'thank you' and meaning it; it wasn't really her thing) as he helped her take a seat, she actually stopped and squinted slightly at him when he made his offer. If she didn't know any better...

"Why? You sell?"

It just couldn't be him. The very irony of it would be sickening.

[babby]

"Everyone runs out."

He didn't really care if there was another seller. Where he came from, there was really no competition, the mafia provided it all. Organized crime at it's finest. To the west there was the drug mafia, to the east the arms mafia. All were Russian.

"Would I be carrying all this shit if I didn't sell?" He laughed incredulously. "I take alot but even I can't take all this at once."

[Professor Plum]

Her first instinct was to kill him, right then and there. But that wouldn't be right, even by her standards, after he'd just helped her out. Not to mention that if she didn't get him with the first strike...well, she was in no fit state to fight properly at the moment.

"I don't run out," she grumbled, "I own a cartel; I deal, too."

This was great. Just great. She almost wished (almost) that he hadn't helped her out, so that she could just take him out whenever she wanted, and not feel like she was evading some kind of moral debt.

Because where she came from, the competition was very literally deadly. Especially on the border. She'd been fighting to defend her one city--her only turf in the homeland--for years now. And if she ever lost, she'd be run by a rival gang; it would be like the Russian mob coming in, taking over, and running all of New York. It was very much a real war, except she had no military to adequately back her up. The cartel was a necessary evil, because without it, there was nothing to fall back on. She'd be killed in a heartbeat.

[babby]

Criminal industry was as necessary to his survival as it was to hers, albeit for different reasons. Without criminal dealings that fed the mafia and the corrupt government, there would be nothing. There was no real industry otherwise, now that the steel mills east of the Dniestr weren't technically his anymore.

Anyone who did make a living for themselves in an honest way eventually left the country the first chance they got. And anyone smart enough to take care of themselves left eventually for a real job, anyways. All that was left were the poor, the prostitutes, the children, and the criminals that made it all happen. Although there was no real war (but the very real threat of another about to happen), the wasteland was allowed to fester and stagnate until it was rooted too deeply to be scratched clean and started over.

"Well, good luck with that." He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. They dealt with totally different sides of the track. Him, the poor, hopeless; she shipped to the rich who didnt care to know what had happened to get their drugs into their hands. "I want that shirt back." He winked at her, beginning to walk away. He had helped someone today, and he wasnt sure how he felt about that.

[Professor Plum]

One thing about them that was exactly similar was that both were in too deep. By this point, starting over was not even something she fantasized about, not even something she mentioned in even her most desperate prayers. 

She didn't really feel it was something she deserved, after all the things she'd done. Her citizens deserved it, yeah, but even they knew there was no changing her. Every day, she watched them go escape to live with her sister, El Paso, much in the same way the honest left him behind. 

It was like the question of whether it hurt more to leave behind or be left behind, and whether one was talking about death or anything else, the latter always seemed to be the hardest.

She eyed him suspiciously, wondering what kind of deceit was hidden behind his words. 'Good luck with that?' Surely that was some kind of lie to make her lower her guard. ...Right? Then again, he wasn't Mexican, or even Hispanic--maybe drug dealing was different in other places.

"Yeah..." She finally said, watching him turn and walk away. Someone had helped her, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.