New York Minute 10
May. 16th, 2005 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbard*grumble* Stupid German teacher. Can you, mayhap, tell I have extreme issues with her? Do not like at all.
So, NYM 10, which is mostly plot. Some Flack being paranoid, some Danny being surprisingly attentive, and let's play spot the bodyguard, shall we not?
“Flack,” Danny called. “Hey, Flack, wait up.”
Flack stopped obediently. “Hey, Danny,” he said, slurping at the mocha he held.
Danny eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t come home last night,” he said. “You finally get a new apartment, or were you working all night?”
“Working all night.” Flack tried to grin, but it came out twisted and a little grim. “Hey, ya’ gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Any leads?”
“Prints came back a match to some JDs from a couple other robberies. Matched ‘em to some of the prints came up when we ran Akers’. I think we’re definitely dealing with her people, here.” He cocked his head to one side, considering. “You’d think anyone smart enough not to get caught would wear gloves when they’re robbing the Met and the Smithsonian and stuff, but evidently not.”
Danny shrugged. “You never know,” he said. “Maybe they wanted to get caught. Look, I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go over to the Marriott, see if we can get a head’s up on whoever Akers was staying with. Search the place. You up for that?”
“Sure,” Flack said. He tossed the empty coffee contaner into a garbage can and cracked his knuckes, stretching his arms out in front of him. No (visible) sign he’d gone at least twenty-four hours without sleep, and it scared Danny, somewhere deep inside, where he kept his secrets (but did he, really, anymore?) and his loves and his lusts. He found himself searching Flack’s broad handsome face for any sign that differentiated his insomnia from Mac’s, for –
– any sign that he was cracking like plastic left out on a cold winter day –
“I’m driving,” Flack added.
Danny looked at him again, met Flack’s eyes, chips of cold ice and sapphires set in the flat planes of his face, then nodded without really realizing what he was agreeing to.
“…wait, what?”
*
“Great,” Joey muttered to himself, turning the key and letting the car rumble reluctantly to life while he checked under the dashboard for his spare gun (just in case). “Kid’s moving. Why can’t he just stay cooped up in the lab like any normal scientist? Not much chance Patriso’s gonna get to him there.”
*
“Just a moment,” the woman at the front desk of the Marriott Hotel said, glancing briefly up from the pile of paperwork she was going over with a customer. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
Danny smiled politely at her. Flack was prowling around, looking at this and that and wondering out loud how anyone could bother keeping this clean. “You lab rats can’t even keep the lab clean.”
Danny blinked in honorbound insult. “Hey, the lab’s clean. It’s gotta be clean, if you’re dealin’ with evidence.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that,” Flack shook his head. “Place freaks me out. Too white. Shows dust too easily. All that thousand-dollar equipment in one place. One perp sneaks a bomb in, you got a million bucks down the drain, easy.”
“Which is why we search people when we cuff ‘em and bring ‘em in,” Danny pointed out.
“Not suspects or witnesses,” Flack said grimly, and maybe he had a point there, since they couldn’t legally frisk someone they didn’t have enough to dirt on to arrest.
Danny cocked his head to one side, considering. “Okay, maybe ya’ got somethin’ there. But what are we s’posed to do ‘bout it? Not like we can search anyone without a warrant or probably cause.”
Flack shrugged. “Wait for the lab to blow up and the city to implement new laws.”
“…I don’t think that’s gonna cut it, Flack.”
He scowled faintly. “Yeah, I suppose someone’s gotta be pretty dumb to do that. Or pretty desperate.” His head turned automatically to track the progress of a man coming in, who pulled up the hood of his overcoat as he scuttled across the lobby and into the bar. There was something faintly predatory in those blue eyes, or maybe it was something wounded, prey thick and heavy with the stink of fresh blood, too hurt to run but too desperate to back down.
“I’ll help you now,” the woman, sending her customer off with quick birdlike motions of her hands. “You have a reservation, I assume? Your names will be –”
“Detectives Messer and Flack,” Danny said, flashing his badge. “From the NYPD. We’re here about one of your customers, a woman named Shannon Akers.”
She – her nametag read Carolyn in neat black letters – flinched back a little in startlement, then cocked her head curiously to the side. “Can I ask why?”
“She’s dead,” Flack said brusquely, coming up behind Danny.
Carolyn’s eyes went wide. “Oh my Jesus,” she breathed. “Here? She died here? No one told me –”
“In a shooting yesterday,” Danny said. “I was wondering if we could find out what room she was staying in, to see if there’s any evidence that might pertain to her death –”
“Naturally,” Carolyn said. She bent over the computer, manicured nails clicking away on the keyboard. Her face crinkled in confusion when she looked up. “I’m sorry, there doesn’t seem to be a Shannon Akers staying here. Are you sure you have the right hotel?”
Danny pulled the folded credit card reports out of his pocket and looked at him. “It’s definitely this hotel. Run her number.” He pointed it out to her.
Carolyn bent over the keyboard again. “Okay,” she said, looking even more confused. “Rooms 345, 346, 347, and 348. They were paid for by a Shannon Akers, but the rooms are registered to a Serena Archerson. Party of six.”
“Are they still here?”
She glanced back at the computer screen. “Well, they haven’t checked out yet.”
Danny and Flack exchanged looks. “We’re going to have to get a look at those rooms.”
*
Danny knocked on the door. “NYPD. Please open the door.”
No answer.
Flack put his hand on the butt of his gun, and Carolyn looked nervous.
“NYPD,” Danny tried again. “Open up.” He cocked his head to one side, listening, then nodded to Carolyn. “If you’d be so kind.”
She slid the keycard into the slot, her hands only shaking a little bit. A man in a windbreaker and a Yankees baseball cap standing at the vending machines a little down the hall gave them a curious look, then went back to looking incensed as he kicked at the coke machine. Carolyn paid him no attention.
Danny pushed the door open quickly, gun out and ready. Flack followed immediately behind him. “NYPD!”
The main room was empty. So was the bathroom, Flack pulling aside to shower curtain and pulling open the cupboard doors under the sink to be sure. He glanced up at Danny as he pulled out of the closet. “Whoever was here is gone now.”
“We’d better check the other rooms.”
Rooms 346 and 347 were both empty. 348 wasn’t. Flack rifled impatiently through a purse lying in the bed. “Man, this chick had more identities than a Russian spy.” He tossed a handful of driver’s licenses out onto the bedspread. “Pictures match Shannon Akers, though.”
Danny glanced around. “Somebody searched this place,” he said. “I know Aiden’s apartment’s a mess, but no one leaves their hotel room this much of a mess, ‘specially when they gotta pack it all up in a suitcase again.”
“Also, all the doors are hangin’ open,” Flack pointed out sensibly. “So Akers gets whacked, her friends pull off the robbery and skip town. After someone goes through her room.”
Danny turned to Carolyn, who was white-faced now. “We’re gonna need the names of everyone traveling with Shannon Akers or Serena Archerson, whatever her name is. Are we gonna need a warrant?”
Carolyn glanced at the wreckage on the floor. “Why don’t I just give you the names and you can talk to my boss later,” she said.
Flack grinned. “Hey, we’re fine with that.”
So, NYM 10, which is mostly plot. Some Flack being paranoid, some Danny being surprisingly attentive, and let's play spot the bodyguard, shall we not?
“Flack,” Danny called. “Hey, Flack, wait up.”
Flack stopped obediently. “Hey, Danny,” he said, slurping at the mocha he held.
Danny eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t come home last night,” he said. “You finally get a new apartment, or were you working all night?”
“Working all night.” Flack tried to grin, but it came out twisted and a little grim. “Hey, ya’ gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Any leads?”
“Prints came back a match to some JDs from a couple other robberies. Matched ‘em to some of the prints came up when we ran Akers’. I think we’re definitely dealing with her people, here.” He cocked his head to one side, considering. “You’d think anyone smart enough not to get caught would wear gloves when they’re robbing the Met and the Smithsonian and stuff, but evidently not.”
Danny shrugged. “You never know,” he said. “Maybe they wanted to get caught. Look, I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go over to the Marriott, see if we can get a head’s up on whoever Akers was staying with. Search the place. You up for that?”
“Sure,” Flack said. He tossed the empty coffee contaner into a garbage can and cracked his knuckes, stretching his arms out in front of him. No (visible) sign he’d gone at least twenty-four hours without sleep, and it scared Danny, somewhere deep inside, where he kept his secrets (but did he, really, anymore?) and his loves and his lusts. He found himself searching Flack’s broad handsome face for any sign that differentiated his insomnia from Mac’s, for –
– any sign that he was cracking like plastic left out on a cold winter day –
“I’m driving,” Flack added.
Danny looked at him again, met Flack’s eyes, chips of cold ice and sapphires set in the flat planes of his face, then nodded without really realizing what he was agreeing to.
“…wait, what?”
*
“Great,” Joey muttered to himself, turning the key and letting the car rumble reluctantly to life while he checked under the dashboard for his spare gun (just in case). “Kid’s moving. Why can’t he just stay cooped up in the lab like any normal scientist? Not much chance Patriso’s gonna get to him there.”
*
“Just a moment,” the woman at the front desk of the Marriott Hotel said, glancing briefly up from the pile of paperwork she was going over with a customer. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
Danny smiled politely at her. Flack was prowling around, looking at this and that and wondering out loud how anyone could bother keeping this clean. “You lab rats can’t even keep the lab clean.”
Danny blinked in honorbound insult. “Hey, the lab’s clean. It’s gotta be clean, if you’re dealin’ with evidence.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that,” Flack shook his head. “Place freaks me out. Too white. Shows dust too easily. All that thousand-dollar equipment in one place. One perp sneaks a bomb in, you got a million bucks down the drain, easy.”
“Which is why we search people when we cuff ‘em and bring ‘em in,” Danny pointed out.
“Not suspects or witnesses,” Flack said grimly, and maybe he had a point there, since they couldn’t legally frisk someone they didn’t have enough to dirt on to arrest.
Danny cocked his head to one side, considering. “Okay, maybe ya’ got somethin’ there. But what are we s’posed to do ‘bout it? Not like we can search anyone without a warrant or probably cause.”
Flack shrugged. “Wait for the lab to blow up and the city to implement new laws.”
“…I don’t think that’s gonna cut it, Flack.”
He scowled faintly. “Yeah, I suppose someone’s gotta be pretty dumb to do that. Or pretty desperate.” His head turned automatically to track the progress of a man coming in, who pulled up the hood of his overcoat as he scuttled across the lobby and into the bar. There was something faintly predatory in those blue eyes, or maybe it was something wounded, prey thick and heavy with the stink of fresh blood, too hurt to run but too desperate to back down.
“I’ll help you now,” the woman, sending her customer off with quick birdlike motions of her hands. “You have a reservation, I assume? Your names will be –”
“Detectives Messer and Flack,” Danny said, flashing his badge. “From the NYPD. We’re here about one of your customers, a woman named Shannon Akers.”
She – her nametag read Carolyn in neat black letters – flinched back a little in startlement, then cocked her head curiously to the side. “Can I ask why?”
“She’s dead,” Flack said brusquely, coming up behind Danny.
Carolyn’s eyes went wide. “Oh my Jesus,” she breathed. “Here? She died here? No one told me –”
“In a shooting yesterday,” Danny said. “I was wondering if we could find out what room she was staying in, to see if there’s any evidence that might pertain to her death –”
“Naturally,” Carolyn said. She bent over the computer, manicured nails clicking away on the keyboard. Her face crinkled in confusion when she looked up. “I’m sorry, there doesn’t seem to be a Shannon Akers staying here. Are you sure you have the right hotel?”
Danny pulled the folded credit card reports out of his pocket and looked at him. “It’s definitely this hotel. Run her number.” He pointed it out to her.
Carolyn bent over the keyboard again. “Okay,” she said, looking even more confused. “Rooms 345, 346, 347, and 348. They were paid for by a Shannon Akers, but the rooms are registered to a Serena Archerson. Party of six.”
“Are they still here?”
She glanced back at the computer screen. “Well, they haven’t checked out yet.”
Danny and Flack exchanged looks. “We’re going to have to get a look at those rooms.”
*
Danny knocked on the door. “NYPD. Please open the door.”
No answer.
Flack put his hand on the butt of his gun, and Carolyn looked nervous.
“NYPD,” Danny tried again. “Open up.” He cocked his head to one side, listening, then nodded to Carolyn. “If you’d be so kind.”
She slid the keycard into the slot, her hands only shaking a little bit. A man in a windbreaker and a Yankees baseball cap standing at the vending machines a little down the hall gave them a curious look, then went back to looking incensed as he kicked at the coke machine. Carolyn paid him no attention.
Danny pushed the door open quickly, gun out and ready. Flack followed immediately behind him. “NYPD!”
The main room was empty. So was the bathroom, Flack pulling aside to shower curtain and pulling open the cupboard doors under the sink to be sure. He glanced up at Danny as he pulled out of the closet. “Whoever was here is gone now.”
“We’d better check the other rooms.”
Rooms 346 and 347 were both empty. 348 wasn’t. Flack rifled impatiently through a purse lying in the bed. “Man, this chick had more identities than a Russian spy.” He tossed a handful of driver’s licenses out onto the bedspread. “Pictures match Shannon Akers, though.”
Danny glanced around. “Somebody searched this place,” he said. “I know Aiden’s apartment’s a mess, but no one leaves their hotel room this much of a mess, ‘specially when they gotta pack it all up in a suitcase again.”
“Also, all the doors are hangin’ open,” Flack pointed out sensibly. “So Akers gets whacked, her friends pull off the robbery and skip town. After someone goes through her room.”
Danny turned to Carolyn, who was white-faced now. “We’re gonna need the names of everyone traveling with Shannon Akers or Serena Archerson, whatever her name is. Are we gonna need a warrant?”
Carolyn glanced at the wreckage on the floor. “Why don’t I just give you the names and you can talk to my boss later,” she said.
Flack grinned. “Hey, we’re fine with that.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-17 02:04 am (UTC)Wah, when I wake up I'm more tired than when I went to bed and my back hurts extremely much.
Get Flack just drunk enough to be mopey and amenable to comfort, but not so drunk that he can't get it up or enjoy it. Go to town. Flack? Will sleep the sleep of the absurdly contented. And probably drool all over Danny.
Hmmm. Plot bunnies. Either that or wake up screaming out of his mind and give Danny a bloody nose, whereas Danny will respond with his Mad Tanglewood Skillz and not help at all. Then they can have a pillow fight.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-17 12:25 pm (UTC)Oh, aye, there's that too. And waiting to fall asleep. And waking up and not being able to go back to sleep. x_x
Either that or wake up screaming out of his mind and give Danny a bloody nose, whereas Danny will respond with his Mad Tanglewood Skillz and not help at all. Then they can have a pillow fight.
My initial reaction is to snort and declare that Danny can't fight to save his life. But that's not canonical, it's just a sense I have. ;-) (I mean, I'm sure he can manage to fight, I just don't think it's his...best subject, so to speak, but anyhow). Yeah, Flack... given what you say about his nightmares, would take a few (painful) minutes to parse the fact that the sleepy person next to him is Danny and not, in fact, Curly, or anyone else he needs to pummel.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-18 01:46 am (UTC)I'm guessing that when he fights, he fights dirty. Or at least, when he stops thinking and starts acting. If he's thinking about it, he'll probably start out trying to fight fair, especially if it's, like, a cop or something, but the moment he gets hurt he's going to let his instincts take over. Not the best fighter, but he's got other skills he's developed to use instead, I'm guessing.
Yeah, Flack... given what you say about his nightmares, would take a few (painful) minutes to parse the fact that the sleepy person next to him is Danny and not, in fact, Curly, or anyone else he needs to pummel.
Definitely. Especially if the Tanglewood tat is what he sees first, which really isn't going to help at all... *is amazed* We may actually end up with NYM Danny/Flack. Although I'm aware I said this for Snafu and it never happened, so...
Flack is extremely tense. And stressed. And probably hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in a month. Also, faint PTSD, which is, like, not of the good.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-18 01:57 am (UTC)Oh, yes. Yes. Danny, I suspect, is a *biter* when he's afraid and hurt. Bite, scratch, kick in the balls, go for the eyes, *hurt*.
Not the best fighter, but he's got other skills he's developed to use instead, I'm guessing.
like his l33t slut skillz?*Ahem* Exactly. He's a talker, and he's a *smart* talker so he can keep just this side of BS in case anyone's got the brains to call him on it.Especially if the Tanglewood tat is what he sees first, which really isn't going to help at all...
*wince* Oh, jesus. Yeah. That. Would be *very* bad. And...well, if Danny was asleep and woke up and couldn't *see* what was going on, he just felt pain and there was someone on him? Hello, meltdown. Poor boys.
Also, faint PTSD, which is, like, not of the good.
Ah. Yeah, makes sense. He's been through hell, poor guy. Brain's waaaay overloaded.
And! Oh. Oh! Have you ever read "CopShock" by Allen R Kates? Perfect book for that. Talks of PTSD in both police and military, and as I recall is informative and detailed. (I haven't read it in...a couple of years.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-19 01:33 am (UTC)I get the sense that when Danny really gets desperate, or starts reacting instead of acting, he'll use anything he's got. His voice, his body, his mind - anything. Not really sure why, just...a hunch.
*wince* Oh, jesus. Yeah. That. Would be *very* bad. And...well, if Danny was asleep and woke up and couldn't *see* what was going on, he just felt pain and there was someone on him? Hello, meltdown. Poor boys.
Meltdown, and bruises, and possibly blood, which will really not go over well, especially at work the next day. And trauma on both their parts.
And! Oh. Oh! Have you ever read "CopShock" by Allen R Kates? Perfect book for that. Talks of PTSD in both police and military, and as I recall is informative and detailed. (I haven't read it in...a couple of years.)
*interested* Have never heard of it, but then, I live a pretty sheltered life. (unless it comes to ancient pre-civilizations and Atlantis. then I'm your girl.) I'll check it out on Amazon.
Ah. Yeah, makes sense. He's been through hell, poor guy. Brain's waaaay overloaded.
I think he's mainly in denial right now, but it's going to hit him hard sometime. I should figure out how his family deals with learning he's been kidnapped. Not. Well. To say the least.