You Don't Belong
Closed starter for @rxdkillchef
Getting into the seedy bar was simple. Lou had been a bit worried that his fake ID wouldn't pass the smell test by the bouncer, but the guy had barely glanced at it, as if asking for it in the first place had merely been a formality. Maybe they really don't care who gets in here, Lou wonders as he steps inside, nose wrinkling slightly at the smell of spilled beer and sweat. Or they're so used to fake IDs that their veracity doesn't matter. I'm a new face. That might be enough identification on its own.
Lou neutralizes his expression and walks with his head on a swivel, subtly scoping out the place. He doesn't want to pretend that he belongs here, because it won't be believable--but he can at least not look like a fish out of water. The noise level here is, surprisingly, bearable, but his eardrums throb in protest nonetheless. Lou catches snippets of meaningless conversation as he weaves slowly through the bar: parties, sex, drama. Nothing of note just yet.
It's there, at the far end of the establishment, that he sees the person he's been looking for: "Big Dave," a regular with a mouth as big as his muscles. He might not be "employed" much longer if this keeps up; traffickers have low tolerance for drunken rats. Dave is playing billiards and yukking it up with some friends. Perfect, Lou thinks, sitting down at the end of the bar so he can eavesdrop. He orders a soda by passing a note to the bartender and feigns interest in the football game playing on the TV; his full attention is on the game of billiards just over his shoulder.
