2012 04 02 Background Check Morbius Style

Log Title:
Background Check - Morbius Style

Morbius, NPC (Played by Mike)

IC Date:
4 April 2012

Hell's Kitchen

Brief log summary::
After some reasearch into Mick Drago's background, Morbius heads to Hell's Kitchen and tracks down Primo Sorrentino, a 40 something-ish man with a cane in order to ask questions about Savio Carmine Drago.


There is no TS in this log::

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After some reasearch into Mick Drago's background, Morbius heads to Hell's Kitchen and tracks down Primo Sorrentino, a 40 something-ish man with a cane in order to ask questions about Savio Carmine Drago.

(first part of log was eaten)

The Living Vampire is quiet for a long moment, his sensitive ears counting out the beating of Primo's heart. Finally he speaks, "I have no reason to tell anyone from whence my information comes. Indeed, should things become as bad as they are likely to, there should be precious few witnesses remaining." Inwardly, he reflects on how casually such things come to him now, how easily he speaks of taking life, even when he controls his own actions. But best not to dwell on such things…

Primo frowns, picking up his cigarette and fishing out his lighter. Hell if he's going to sign a possible death warrant he's going to have as many 'last smoke's as he can get. "I'm wondering where you were looking if you didn't find ANYTHING on Savio," he comments, shaking his head before he glances up to the vampire before reconsidering that view. He glances back to his lighter, "But…. he has risen quite a bit so it's possible he got old things handled. It's been awhile since I've seen him."

Morbius seems to show a bit more interest at that, "Let's just say…some public records show an interesting, indeed, -notable- lack of the man's presence."

The vampire is given a bit of a look as the lighter flicks on, illuminating the ex-crook's features a bit more as he brigs the flame towards the cigarette he has placed into his mouth. He puffs at the cigarette for a few moments, heart beat seemingly calming as the effects of the nicotine kick in.

The lighter gets dropped on the table as Primo closes his eyes, seemingly blissful from the (legal) drug. When the eyes open, the bliss is gone. "In some lines of business you need to keep a name clean for the usual bits of life." He murmurs, "A legit job. One you can use when you're not working. I guess that'd be his now. Must've cost him a bit to get rid of the early stuff."

"Intriguing," Morbius comments, "So then we -are- speaking of organized criminal activity, aren't we?" He steps away from the door he leans against, but keeps himself between it and Primo, he may not even be aware he's doing it, instinctively cutting off escape.

Primo frowns, puffing his cigarette a few more times before he answers with a reluctant nod. "It's called Hell's Kitchen for a reason." He replies, shaking his head, "Get out of here without joining SOMETHING like that, that's impressive."

"So I have heard." the pseudo-vampire notes, "So, tell me about the 'respectable' Mister Drago. His wife, -was- he responsible? What of his son's difficulties?" Perhaps it seems odd that this monster should be asking about such things, but as he speaks, he again idly turns the roll of bills (looks to be at least 2 fifties in there, maybe others) in his long, pale fingers.

The string of questions leads to another questioning look from Primo. "Wife?" he repeats, "He had no wife. Had his share of, long term companions, but no wife. Probably had a few bastards of his own too." He leans back. Flicking his cigarette, he glances away from Morbius, seemingly finding the grill to be much more pleasing to the eye. All full of ash and what not. He grows quiet for a few more moments.

"But, I only remember one kid who had his last name."

Morbius's eyes open a touch more in interest at that…his mind works back, the name, the dislike of it, coincidence? Possibly not, this may be a lead. "And why would such a man care so much?" he asks slowly, "And how long would he care for…?" he asks, almost to himself.

The heart races a bit again. "What do I look like? His pimp?" The man retorts, shaking his head, "Why are you so interested in his family life anyways?" He flicks away more ash, "As for what kids are named, that's all on those who are actually there when the kid is born. Maybe the mom picked Drago for a last name for the brat."

"My interests are my own." Morbius snaps just a bit, he doesn't like being questioned, it seems. "But you knew which one was named so, apparently." he points out, "Tell me of this child."

A brow arcs as Morbius snaps, earning the vampire a bit more silence as the man considers the situation. There's not much to consider with his exits blocked off. "God, that was a long time ago." Sighing, he brings a hand up to run through his hair, eyes rolling up in thought. "Ok, you got to take in mind some of this is second hand knowledge from some folks who ain't around anymore but, seems when the kid was born, the mom up and left the kitchen with him. Fast forward to when he's around 10, mom gets capped and custody's given to his aunt which moves him BACK over here. Quiet, bookish kind of kid. You see the kid and you could just TELL that he was kept indoors a lot growing up."

"Coercion? Or poor decision-making?" Morbius muses, "Perhaps Drago had aspirations of an heir, hm?"

"Oh that was when the kid FIRST got back here." Primo dismisses shaking his head, "When he was just raised by the mom. Either way, Drago didn't get custody. The aunt did. I'm not even sure if he ever went to meet the kid." There's a stub of a cigarette left which soon gets snuffed out by the man between his foot and the roof floor, "So, mama's boy shows up and sure enough, after that, each day the kid had to leave the apartment, someone'd pick a fight with him."

Morbius tips his head a bit to one side, falling into this narrative of a life, "Go on." he prompts, some of this is proving potentially useful, other aspects…he isn't sure why he listens so intently, but he has ever been a compassionate man, and he feels no small measure of sympathy for the troubles of the musician.

Turns out the kid picks up on things quick. Learned to fight back." He chuckles, shaking his head as he rubs his jaw, as his tone seems almost nostalgic, "Finally had to get people a bit older than him to start picking the fights. Wasn't much of a mama's boy anymore. Then, out of the blue w-they were told to stop."

"Told by whom?" Morbius asks. Again, the story of a life captivates him somewhat, even if some of the things he suspects hold true, it's all so prosaic, such a far cry from the strangeness and horror of his own life.

Directly, the ones that got put in charge of that side project," The man pulls out another cigarette, "But most of those involved with that have met their own fates over time so considering how you're focusing on Drago, yes, likely him in the end." He grabs the lighter again, "That's done, other, teenage drama, kid hits 18, changes name, and moves out of the kitchen."

Primo lights the cigarette. Giving a sigh, "Anything else?"

Morbius hrmmms softly, the sound unsettling and unnatural, "Drago himself…his current activities." he finally decides on, "Drugs, yes…protection? Smuggling? What 'legitimate' businesses does he hide behind?"

Primo nods at the mention of Drugs, lifting up the cigarette in indication of the correct assumption. "Kind of shifted over. Started off with protection but he got pissed off at some of the crap some of the dealers were passing out and went that route." He pauses to puff on the cigarette, "Ain't my thing. I just beat up things. But I hear the quality of the shit out has gotten much better now."

"I have become…aware of that." the pseudo-vampire notes in a chilling tone. Only a few weeks ago, he accidentally ingested the blood of a dealer too high on his own product and experienced the side-effects, "So what reason could he have for keeping tabs on his son?" he muses.

The answer is long in coming as the chosen informant seems to consider the question. "Well," he considers, eyes glancing up as he seems to decide to get indirect in his response. "Dragons are powerful, sometimes cunning, but they're also very cruel." He's quiet once more, seemingly milking the moment for dramatic effect. Or to get another drag of the cigarette.

"I'm not really sure. He could have been pissed at his mom. Or maybe it's a pride thing. Don't think the kid was ever clued in on stuff and considering he just let him leave the kitchen without even pulling him in…" He flicks away more ash, "Hell if I know."

"But it seems to actually be the case, doesn't it?" Morbius asks, almost rhetorically, "I think i know at least one thing I must do…" his tone is quieter now, almost resigned.

Eyes shift to look to the vampire, as the glow of some of the discarded ash dies away. "Oh…that Orsini guy. I have a feeling that he'll be handled once he's found so you don't have to bother with him." He shakes his head bringing the cigarette, "Don't have to still be in to know that you don't just go fucking with the local drug lord's property."

"That was obvious enough, and they get…territorial about it. I may look, but am reluctant to tip my hand by touching." Morbius notes, "Have you no sympathy for the young man?" the doctor then asks, surprisingly.

Primo snorts, shaking his head, "Why would I?" He nods to the cane, "Got a limp, work a low paying job, barely scraping by with rent money and still stuck in the fucking Kitchen. HE got recording deals. HE gets to bump elbows with celebrities. HE gets to travel. HE doesn't have to live here. Even if he's not completely free, he's pretty damn close." He lifts the cigarette in a half assed manner, voice becoming a bit sarcastic, "Good for him." He glances away, eyeing the grill once more as his voice lowers to a mutter, "Lucky bastard."

A few moments pass by before he starts sniggering at the unintentional joke.

"Lucky? Or skilled?" the living vampire asks, "I have often noticed how few of the criminal element manage to elevate themselves…" his sardonic sense of humour rising to the fore, he notes, "One would be surprised how many drug-dealers live at home." his smirk at that is…unpleasant to behold.

The response is not looked upon favorably as the man with the cigarette somewhat scowls, not looking at Morbius, "Fuck you." He mutters, eyeing the grill once more, "Do you really think he'd get that far without SOME interference from someone else?"

Paydirt. Goading certain individuals isn't that hard sometimes. Morbius keeps this little manipulation to himself, pleased with his ability to do so without falling back on his still rather new mesmeric ability, "Do tell?" he says, putting a little air of seeming doubt in his rasping voice.

The red of the lit end of the cigarette is pointed towards Morbius as Primo turns his head, eyes narrowing, "Drago's got an interest in some clubs in the area and last I heard, each of those clubs do music acts. Want to guess how often sonny or the band he used to be part of got booked there? How about that he was able to get a second album out even after half of his band died in the wreck?"

"So, Mister Drago -is- guiding things, it seems." Morbius notes, a suspicion confirmed, "More of an interest than perhaps he let on, hm?"

"I did-" The voice dies away as the cigarette lowers, argument lost as he shakes his head, backpedaling, "I'm just guessing now. Things aren't just coincidences and stuff. Maybe it's the case here. But I doubt it."

"I think that should be sufficient." Morbius notes as he idly tosses the roll of bills to the man. Two fifties, two twenties, "Of course, you won't tell anyone about this little meeting." it is not a question. Indeed, he raises a hand and idly taps his claws together at eye-level, wanting to draw the man's gaze there. He's still figuring much of this out, and eye contact seems to make it easier for some reason…

The money being tossed gets the man's attention, enough to cause for him to drop the cigarette to the roof floor in order to accomodate catching the bills. The glance up does give a bit of a sight of the claws but it's not processed until after the bills are in hand and they've had time to be checked. He glances up, looking to the indicated eyes. "Yeah…" He frowns, the halfassed tough guy expression fading to one of somewhat concern as the realization of just how much was brought up comes to mind, "and you won't too, right?"

"Not at all," the sanguinivore says slowly, "And you will not even think to mention this meeting." He engages his abilities at that, sinking the 'suggestion' into the man's mind, trying a subtle use instead of a prohibition, it just shouldn't seem important, not worth saying to anyone at all.

The money crinkles in the man's hands as he keeps looking towards Morbius, feeling a bit confused. "…why would I?"

"No reason at all." Morbius says with a slight smile as he turns. His thoughts however, begin to darken. The musician must be warned, but as to the method…he shakes his head and takes to the air, turning this problem over in his mind, surely he will think of something…

With the vampire making his departure, Primo's attention soon shifts back over to the money, fingering through the bills in a somewhat befuddled manner. Now how the…?

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