2019-06-16 - Disturbances

Even on Elm it appears that people are keeping an eye on crime. Not that it helps, the place is not the safest in the city.

Genevieve is moving around the rooftop of the small building, planting in pots, transplanting them inside of the small greenhouse. Bags of soil are piled near the roof door, several pots sit around, some empty and some full of dirt. A little radio plays music, not loud enough for a noise complaint but plenty loud enough for her to sing to.

This building had been vacant for almost a year now, and one of the neighbors had called the police when they seen movement on the roof, as absorbed in her work as she is, it's a good bet that Genevieve wouldn't hear anyone coming up the fire escape.

Genevieve might, indeed, be so preoccupied as to not notice the unmarked cop car pulling up on the street below. Black Charger fitted with bull bars on the front and a set of lights currently undeployed on the dash. It idles for a good minute or so, and then the engine's killed and an officer climbs out in full gear. He taps his radio to offer something in a low voice, then after a glance up to the roof, heads for the fire escape.

He's decently fit for a man of his age, and it doesn't take long for him to reach the top. He draws to a halt as he surveys the little scene in front of him. Notably, the cannabis plants. Then, after clearing his throat, "Good evening, Miss. Are these yours?" A nod toward the greenery in various stages of being transplanted. He speaks with a heavy Mexican accent, dark eyes squinted slightly against the setting sun.

Genevieve has a pot in her hands, a pot full of pot, actually. It looks vibrant and healthy. She turns at a noise and there is a man, in uniform no less, standing near her fire escape. Her first instinct is to scream, and if Ruiz wasn't in uniform, she would have. Then his words are processed and she exhales out a faint chuckle, nodding. "Yes, they're mine." Her accent is fainter than his is, something vaguely European. She clears her throat, taking a side step to set the plant down and free her hands. She dusts them off on her denim shorts, leaving behind dirt on them and the black tee-shirt she's wearing. "You uhm.. you didn't come up here for the view, I assume. What can I help you with Officer?" Her eyes are wide, her expression still a little startled.

Ruiz is probably not unaccustomed to startling people with his presence alone. He does offer a slight smile though, that doesn't quite hit his eyes. Something else is spoken into his radio while he moves off into a slow prowl deeper into the little rooftop garden. He's not quite what one would term burly, but there is no small amount of bulk under his uniform and gear. "Just having a look around, miss." No, he probably didn't come up here for the view. "You don't mind, do you?" He stops by the side of the greenhouse, and gazes through the glass for a time to observe the flora taking root inside. It's raining lightly, damp patches starting to form on his shoulders and dark hair.

Genevieve had gone still after she placed the pot to the side, dirty hands folded in front of her. "Please do." She tilts her head toward the lawn chairs. "My purse is underneath the first chair. My license to grow is in there as well as my identification." Her eyes follow him as he moves across the rooftop garden. There are only two pot plants in the greenhouse, the rest are succulents and other leafy green flora. "Did my radio disturb someone?" She asks after a few moments of silence, her hand moving to brush wet hair away from her face. It leaves a smudge of dirt in the vicinity of her nose, a smudge that she doesn't notice. She's already damp from working up here for a few hours, her hair plastered to her face.

Ruiz seems satisfied with whatever he sees inside the little greenhouse, and completes his little perimeter check of the rooftop garden; his movement sets off a soft jangle that might be keys, or might be the handcuffs attached to his rig. To the question, he repeats, "Just having a look around. Do you mind if I..?" He pauses by the lawn chair that's indicated, and then without quite waiting for a response, bends to collect the purse sitting there, and brings it over to the young woman. He doesn't seem incliend to go rifling through it for her ID, but does hold it open for her. No comment on the smudge of dirt she's left on her face. "Wet day to be gardening, hm?"

Genevieve reaches inside the purse, pulling out her wallet. She tries to be as transparent as she can, not wanting the cop to think she's pulling out any sort of weapon. She doesn't speak until she pulls her driver's license and marijuana license from her wallet, passing them over to Ruiz. "Rain makes the plants grow, if I get things seeded this evening they'll get a good soaking and maybe a few hours of sunshine tomorrow." She exhales out the breath she was holding, her voice turning plaintive now. "Officer, did I do something wrong?" His not answering before was ratcheting up her anxiety, her eyes shifting around the roof as she attempts to suss out why he might have come.

Ruiz doesn't seem like a particularly twitchy sort. That, or he doesn't think it's likely she's got a weapon in there. The purse is set aside once she pulls out her identification and paperwork, and he reaches for each of them in turn to have a quick look. A notepad comes out of his pocket, along with a pen, and he jots something down quickly after perusing the ID. The bars on his uniform would seem to suggest he's a captain; unusual for someone of his seniority to be called out for something as routine such as this. "I don't know, why don't you tell me?" The cards are held out between index and middle finger when he's finished with them, and the younger woman's eyes studied thoughtfully.

"I'm planting, unpacking and I didn't think I was being that loud." Genevieve reaches out to take the identification and the license, in her heightened state of anxiety and frustration she might snatch at them, a frown on her face. She takes a deep breath, making an attempt to smother the stirrings of temper. "Do you need to look around downstairs? The shop is a mess, but the apartment isn't as much so. I just.. can't you tell me why you're here?" She clenches her jaw, the muscles there jumping as she reaches up again to push wet hair away from her face. Another smudge of dirt is left behind, this one near her forehead. "I apologize for snapping, really, but you're being most unhelpful right now. Je n'ai rien fait de mal."

The flash of temper is noted, but there's no obvious response to it. He relinquishes her ID and license without complaint, and takes a step back to deliver one last, sweeping glance around the rooftop. "Please. Show me downstairs." Maybe he just wants to get out of the cold and wet. "And if you haven't done anything wrong, I am sure you won't mind my having a look around, miss Dupuis." His own ID, if she's chanced a look at it, claims he's one 'J. R. De la Vega'.

Genevieve blows out a breath, turning without another word to open the roof door, skipping down the steps two at a time. There is a landing where you can enter the apartment but she bypasses that for the first floor. She steps out into the shop, moving to turn on lights without any hesitation. She knows the layout at least. There is a lot of items still in boxes, the glass cases set up, but still needing to be dusted and filled. "I haven't done anything wrong." She repeats in English, standing in the middle of her shop, hands on her hips. "You're welcome to look around as much as you need to, but I still would like to know what brought you here in the first place." She makes yet another attempt to rein in her temper, gazing down at her feet, swearing softly when she realizes she's tracked dirt on her clean floor.

The cop follows along fairly close behind, one hand on the railing presumably so he doesn't take an untimely tumble down the steep stairs. His pace slows as they reach the shop proper, and he ducks inside as the lights come on. A quick glance about the place, but he doesn't seem inclined to go snooping about. Perhaps he's aware of the dirt on their shoes, and the mess he'd be making for her. Or perhaps getting eyes on the shop was only a formality. "As I said, miss. Just checking things out. The building's been unoccupied for a while. But your license seems legitimate, and I don't see anything out of order." He hesitates a moment, then prowls a step backward, for the door. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"It is nice to know that the police are diligent." Genevieve says, her voice still sharp, even if her expression has softened somewhat. She might not be tall but she stands there, regal and unbent, as he takes a step of retreat. "If something seems out of order again, you are welcome to stop and check. We'll be opening in two weeks." She realizes that being rude to the police might not be the best of ideas, so she sighs, shaking her head back and forth. "I apologize for my curt demeanor, you gave me a little bit of a scare." She moves back toward the front door, pulling out her keys to unlock it. "Thank you.." She leans a little closer, her eyes narrowed. "Officer De la Vega?" Not used to rank, obviously.

Ruiz turns slightly to give the young woman a long look at her comment about diligence. He doesn't look the sort of man to smile often, though the fine grooves around his eyes and mouth perhaps suggest otherwise. "I'm sure there won't be any more trouble, miss Dupuis. Again, I'm sorry to have bothered you." If the omission of his rank is noticed, he gives no indication. He does, however, flicker her a quick smile as he meets her eyes briefly. "Nice place you've got here. Take care, now." With one last glance over the shop, he turns to depart.

Genevieve holds the door open, keeping any further comment to herself. When Ruiz passes through the door she will lock it, turn out the lights, and head back upstairs. Faint murmurs of slightly accented, aggravated French follow her up the stairs until the door to the roof shuts with a bang.