Good Day, Old Sport

Who: Ian and Max
Where: Sam's Apartment
When: Late Morning

The Pit Bull was off his leash.

Max didn't see it that way, of course. He saw it as freedom. He saw it as his game. His 'superiors' saw it as the poisonous snake was loose, get up on the tables and gird your loins. There was enjoyment out of it though and Max would take what he could get. So that's why there was a bounce in his step as he made his way into Samantha's apartment building, tipping his fedora to the DiGiovanni employed guard at the desk. His smile broadened at the look of fright on the man's face and he watched the man as the elevator doors closed.

Max didn't care how or why Ian Sullivan came to stay at Samantha's apartment. Whatever those two did in their spare time was none of his concern. What was his concern was what had been going on with this fire at the Drake and Samantha had just left, which meant that Ian would be on his own. Standing before the apartment door, Max gave himself a once over. He brushed invisible lint off of his black suit pants, adjusted the immaculate white cuffs of his shirt and made sure his black silk vest wasn't crooked. Deeming himself presentable he finally knocked on the door with a broad smile still on his face. It was casual. Unintimidating. Just like he was. Sometimes.

Ian had finished cleaning up after breakfast then gone to inspect his new room. He was used to modest living, having made that part of his persona, but being confined to one room had him frowning. Keeping Samantha close had its perks, but at the same time he wondered if he'd feel crowded constantly. As instructed he'd opened a window, letting the room air out some. Once that was done he'd gauged his storage space, determining what he needed and what he had space for.

When someone knocked on the door he opened it without looking first, having a hard enough time navigating his way through Samantha's locks. By the time he got it open he expected her to be there, exasperated at waiting and having forgotten something. Instead he was face to face with a killer. "Max," he greeted slowly.

"Ian!" Max said brightly and engulfed his 'cousin' in a hug. He understood family dynamics. You hugged when greeting a 'loved one'. Releasing Ian, he patted the man on the shoulder and let himself into the apartment. "Good to see you, Old Sport. You made it out alive. That's good. Mind if I come in?" He took his hat off and hung it on the coat rack in the corner. "Weather's terrible out there. I don't advise going out." While it sounded casual, especially considering the dreary, drizzling weather outside, for Max, it was an order he was giving. Ian was not allowed to leave the apartment until he was told otherwise. Whether Ian understood that or not was left to be seen. Max didn't see any reason why he wouldn't understand it. He did suggest that he not go outside otherwise unfortunate things might happen.

Ian did not appreciate the hug. Not in any way, shape or form. He had to fight the urge to leave right then and there, walk out of the apartment and get away from Max, but he fought it. Instead he just closed the door and re-locked it. Max was crazy, the kind of crazy where the family had considered forsaking their own son and Ian knew better than to tangle with a crazy man. "Samantha's not here. She left for work already."

"Hm? Oh, that's fine. I was here to see you." The words that no one who knew Max ever wanted to hear. He took a slow walk around the living room, picking up picture frames. He didn't know Samantha well, nor did he particularly care too, but he knew that sooner or later he was probably going to have to check up on her. He hoped not. She seemed kind of stupid.

Oh, great. Ian had to wonder how Max had found him her, but he supposed the guy could have followed him. "What can I do for you then?" he asked. Unlike the beating in the alley, Ian wasn't as sure that Max wouldn't wait to kill him, but he wasn't going to focus on that. The family needed him. They would recognize that. Plus, for once, he had nothing to do with this.

While Ian might consider himself important, Max did not. Ian was simply just another ant on the pavement under his magnifying glass. That also meant that Max didn't care enough to follow him. He knew Ian was there by the phone call that the doorman had made when Ian showed up. "I'm not sure if you heard or not but the Drake caught on fire the other night. It's now closed for renovations." He lifted the front page of the Echo and showed off the nice picture that was taken of the smoking damage. Lucas had written the article. That was next on his stop. "Along with that, but you were attacked a couple nights ago as well, right?" Of course he was. Max had all this information already. More than Ian knew he might have.

If there was one thing Ian hated it was someone else's game. Especially some sociopath the family should have put down years ago. "Of course I heard Max, I was there. I woke up to my apartment on fire. And yes, I got mugged." That much was still written all over his face. The bruising was fading, but the cuts were still healing and the soot and smoke from the day before hadn't helped any. "Are you suggesting they might be connected?"

Max frowned at Ian's first statement and he looked at Ian with a hurt expression. "I know you were there, Ian. What are you saying? That I didn't? That's rather rude of you. I'm trying to make conversation." He carefully refolded the newspaper and set it back on the table and looked back at Ian's face and the pattern of bruises. He didn't find it impressive. They were simple. Unrefined. Max came closer, peering at the map on his cousin's face, getting into the man's personal space. "Do they hurt?" he asked.

"I"m sorry, I'm still a little shaken up about it, that's all," Ian commented though he didn't really mean it. When Max stepped into his personal space Ian didn't flinch though he didn't look happy about it either. "Not as much any more. The ribs hurt worse." It was the truth, breathing still hurt some and moving around made life worse. It hadn't stopped him, but he wasn't pain free in any way.

Max eyed him with an amused little smile on his face. "Really?" and then he poked his ribs. Hard.

Ian couldn't help but flinch at that, doubling over a little and holding on to his side while he stepped back. "Yes," he said though it was shaky with pain. Fucking asshole probably set cats on fire.

"Mmmm." Max stepped back as well and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm not entirely sure I believe you. Was your mugging reported to the police?" It was not and neither had an investigation of any sort been opened regarding Ian Sullivan and a mugging. "You know what? Before you answer that, why don't you have a seat. We should sit and discuss this like civilized people, don't you agree?" It wasn't a question or any request and Max went over to the comfortable arm chair by the window and kicked his feet up on the foot stool, waiting for Ian to join him.

"What's there not to believe?" Ian said but the words were a little choked. He hadn't been feeling great, but now he felt horrible. "I told Samantha," he said as he moved slowly to the couch, sitting very gently with a wince. "The guy said he was using me to send a message. So no, I didn't report it outside of to my cousin."

Messages were Max's favorite thing in the whole world. Message came in all sorts of shapes and sizes from a simple letter or a phone call to his particular brand of messenger service. Max watched Ian react to his questions, noting the anxiety creeping in there. That choked voice? Ian was worried. He had more information. Whether or not Ian thought it important or not was the thing. "Using Ian Sullivan to send a message? Should I be worried about my job now?" he asked with a chuckle. As if anyone could take his job. As if Ian of all people could take his job. Boy was already king of his own castle. In his head, anyways. "You work for us, Sullivan. What did your attacker send? Or, better yet, was that a warning and you allowed the fire to happen by doing a poor job of taking care of what should've been an important investigation into your attack." Putting the blame of the fire on Ian Sullivan? Max wanted to see what the man would do.

"He didn't work for us," Ian commented with another wince as he leaned back a little on the couch. "He beat the shit out of me in an alley and told me to watch who I cross." Would Dutch burn down the Drake? Really? "Apparently the police found me with dirty money in my mouth. I was unconscious." When Ian blamed him for the fire, Ian's eyes narrowed. "I told Samantha to look into it, called her right away. She was looking into it."

Ian must be stupid if he thought that Max was talking about that guy. Really, he thought he said it very clearly. Filing what Ian said, he crossed his ankles and settled back comfortably in the chair. "You told Samantha to look into it?" He said the word 'told' like he couldn't believe that's what Ian did. Ian giving orders. "Why on earth would you tell her to do that? She doesn't work for us. She is, for all intents and purposes, a civilian. Her family has made that quite clear when she joined the police force. There are others on our payroll however who would be better to talk to. You know this."

It was beyond hard to not smack this crazy little fucker. "Samantha and I have a connection," Ian said, not bothering to elaborate. He was after all, sitting in her apartment far earlier than any man should be visiting a woman and wearing clothes that came out of her apartment. "I called her when it happened, she came over and said she'd look into it. The family knows what happened. I can't really hide it." Ian shifted a little and winced again.

Max looked amused. "Samantha has a connection with a lot of guys, Ian. The slut likes to get around." Getting up, Max walked over to the mantle of the fireplace and picked up a picture of the blond and her family. "Not like there was much for her if she stayed in the family. Between us, I believe she needs to be taken care of, what with all that trouble she caused. Her brother, on the other hand... that boy has promise." Arienne was stuck with no chance of escape. She was smart enough to play the game though. That's why he was so fond of her. He should go take her out for ice cream later. "Mmmm, for someone meant to be so smart, you sure are lazy." Max looked at Ian over his shoulder, the smirk on his mouth but not in his eyes. "So who mugged you? If you crossed someone, the list is small because you don't associate with anyone. So who did you cross, Ian Sullivan, and then you are no longer my prime suspect."

"Even a girl like her has to keep coming back to something doesn't she?" Ian said even though he didn't actually mean it. He'd never even come close to running in that circle. He didn't comment on the fact that Max thought Samantha needed to be taken care of. Ian thought she did as well, but he guessed it wasn't in the same way. to him, someone just need to tie the girl down, not take her out of the picture. "Him? He's still Giacomo or at least partially. That hasn't always been the best combination." At Max' accusation and question Ian frowned. He didn't want to tell Max, but at the same time, he needed to clear his name. "I think it was Dutch," he finally said. Let Max go call on that fuckhead.

By passing the Samantha conversation that Max didn't care about to begin with, he set the frame back on the mantle and ran his finger over the marble to check for dust. "Why do you think it was the beast?" he asked. "What did you do to piss that old drunk man off?" Dutch burn the Drake? No, the man was a lumbering beast. No way he could do that. "And why didn't you inform anyone of your suspicions. Dissent among members of the family is something that has a zero tolerance." Max said it coolly, casual. For all intent and purpose nonchalant... except for the slight edge to it. The one that meant the zero tolerance could extend however Max saw fit.

"Are we still considering him family?" Ian asked with a raised eyebrow. Part of his actual personality was slipping from being in so much pain. He really needed to get that under control. "I told Samantha," he explained, trying not to let it grate on his nerves that he was repeating himself. "But like I said, I only think it was him. Though his lumbering hulk is hard to miss." Ian tried to lean back but wound up holding his side again, breathing slowly for a moment. "And I have no idea what I did to piss him off. He got pissed that I walked into his favorite haunt one night but I had a reason for being there." Would Dutch really hurt him for that? It would be interesting to blame Shoshannah for that.

"He works for us, does he not?" Max countered. "And might I remind you that Samantha doesn't count." The amusement fell from his face and right then was the blank face of Maximiliano DiGiovanni. The killer. The bogeyman in the night. "I don't like repeating myself. It's rude."

Ian didn't like that face. Not one bit. His persona probably would have freaked out, but instead Ian just sunk into himself a little, dropping the mask but not showing much else. Two downright evil people in one room. "My apologies," he murmured. "I didn't see the point in accusing someone who worked for us going rogue without knowing for sure it was him."

Max stared at him for awhile, studying Ian Sullivan standing before him. He was practiced in the art of persona. The art of mimicry and pretend. The saying 'It Takes One To Know One' was true because Max caught the fall of Ian's mask. Well, that was interesting. It was nice to have that confirmed. And he filed that with everything else. "I suppose that could make sense. I also think that could be you withholding information. Aren't you meant to offer persons of interest in a police investigation?" He tapped his index finger against his chin in thought. "Mmmm, I'm pretty sure you are. So here's your chance to make amends. Why were you walking into the Round? You said you had a reason. What was it?"

"Shoshannah Hagel," Ian answered, willing to give that up. It was common knowledge that she was staying at the Drake. Or was staying at the Drake. It was also close to common knowledge that Ian's persona was a little smitten with her. "I was...keeping an eye on her." And finding out who'd caught her attention.

Hagel, huh? "Wasn't there the receptionist or something you were seeing? Amelia?" Max had already done his own preliminary questioning before coming to see Ian. "Was Miss Hagel there to visit Mr Giacomo? I heard she's rather... sheltered." Stupid was more like it. At least, that's what that gossiping woman Delores said. Well, not quite stupid. Naive, but naive and stupid were the same in Max's book.

"Miss Amelia and I went out once, but she's since quit and ended our relationship before it started," Ian explained, though he guessed Max already knew that. He'd known about Amelia anyway. "I promised Shoshannah's father, the good doctor, that I'd keep an eye on her. She seems to be involved with a musician who plays at the 'Round. And sheltered would be a good word to describe her." The poor girl had no idea how the world worked at all. Or that she was dating trash.

Max did know that, but he filed her away as someone of interest. "And he just lost it when you entered?"

"He didn't notice me at first. Once he did he was piss drunk and yelling at me. I walked away before he could do something stupid." Ian hadn't been interesting in picking a fight with Dutch or by getting his clothes dirty from spending time with at the 'Round. He'd only wanted to know who Shoshannah was considering sharing her bed with. Or sharing her bed with at this point.

As much as Ian held back, Max took this to be truth. It was over something else then. "Who else bridges the gap between you and Giacomo?" He was feeling peckish and there was a tempting bowl of fruit on the counter and he went over and picked up an apple, an orange, and a pear. Which one did he want? Maybe whatever one he dropped. That seemed like a good idea and Max began juggling the fruit. "Well?"

"No one I know of besides standard family connections, he's related to so and so and I'm related to so and so. He comes around the Drake for meetings every so often but that's about it." Ian tried to shrug, but it hurt so he gave up halfway through it.

"Doesn't surprise me. Hardly the social butterfly." Max tossed the pear up behind his back and kept juggling. "Is that everything, Ian Sullivan? Am I right in believing that the spineless, sniveling manager of the Drake Hotel who thinks he's king of his castle didn't light his hotel on fire, just forgets to mention things?" It didn't matter if it was right or wrong, Max just felt like saying that.

"I'm busy with work, doesn't lend to a social life," Ian commented with a frown. Inwardly though, he was content with the assessment. It worked for him. "I didn't light my hotel on fire no. That part you got right." The rest was hardly applicable. Well maybe spineless fit who he was trying to be, but who he was trying to be certainly wouldn't admit to that either.

Which meant that the rest wasn't accurate. It wasn't like it bothered Max though. It affected nothing. Simply another thing to file away. "Sounds good. Have a good day." In rapid succession He tossed the fruit at Ian, pelting him in those damaged ribs one right after the other.

Ian swore, managing to at least block the pear as Max tossed it at him. And this fuckhead wanted to take out Samantha. The world would be a better place if they just put him down when he first turned out to be insane. Drown him in the bathwater and have someone fake a death. It wasn't like it hadn't been done before.

Max watched dispassionately as Ian doubled over and went over to put on his hat. "I'll let myself out. Good day, Old Sport." Good day to you, Ian Sullivan.