2019-10-06 - Where's my perp?

The parking lot of the Firefly Club is currently occupied by one (1) agitated Mexican cop with a cigarette pinched between two fingers, and a scowl on his face. He's pacing near the open driver's side door of a blue Chevy truck, and apparently taking a breather from whatever was about to push him over the edge in there. It's started to rain some time in the last few minutes, a light drizzle for the time being that spatters his dark hair and the shoulders of his leather jacket.

It is soon enough occupied by the echoing sound of Cassidy's pumps - heels of - connecting to concrete as she traverses the parking lot toward the Chevy. She has a cigarette of her own pressed between her lips and she lights it as she walks.

"Having a bad day?" she asks with enough feigned concern that it /might/ pass as genuine interest. She slips by him as he paces and welcomes herself to taking cover from the rain under the roof of the truck by sitting on the very edge of the side of the driver's seat, legs hanging out the door.

There's a restless, almost aggressive energy about the man as he prowls with his cigarette while slowly getting drenched by the downpour-in-the-making. The inside of his truck's no warmer than the outside, though at least it's clean and dry. It's a few years old, though looks well-maintained and used primarily for offroading. "Ms. Bennet," he greets politely. Or what passes for politeness with the captain. Which is to say, unaccompanied by f-bombs. His low voice is roughened at the edges, likely from doing too much of this: smoking.

"I don't keep anything work related in the truck." You know, just in case she thought she might rummage around while she's in there. "Can I help you with something?" A flick of his thumb to ash out his cigarette, dark eyes seeking blue.

Cassidy takes her menthol from her lips. She crosses one leg over the other and rests her elbow on her knee. Smoke is blown into the rain before she answers. "You could find me a perp. That would help me very much." Her tone only slightly chiding, but also amused. "Or maybe give Gabriel some direction so he can. The DA's office is very close to calling in help from Seattle, you know? They don't trust Clarence can handle it." The last bit there sounding like it might be a bluff.

Silence and stillness from the captain, like he doesn't notice or doesn't care that he's being rained on. That it's ruining his artfully coiffed hair. Which, no, his dark curls are scruffy at the best of times. "Find you a perp. What, like pull one out of a fucking hat?" So much for the lack of f-bombs. He takes a step closer, and braces his hand against the open doorframe, well within Cassidy's personal space. He smells like leather and cordite and, of course, cigarette smoke. Pall Malls. "You want to loop Seattle PD in on this, you be my fucking guest. I'd love to see them chase their tails on this one."

Cassidy locks eyes with the Captain and leans her head forward a bit and shakes her head irreverently, speaking in some manner similar to him, "...pull one from wherever you usually pull them. I don't care if one comes out of your hat or your ass, just so long as no one fucks up the chain of custody on any forensics." She puts her own cigarette back in her mouth and it bobbles while she talks.

"You think I would get some gratitude for letting you in on the boss's plans. It's not within my authority to call Seattle. And I wouldn't. I think GHPD can solve it." ... "Maybe." She blows out another stream of smoke. "At least tell me there is progress. The last two officers I asked didn't seem to know."

He doesn't back down, of course, from the eye contact. The captain's no wilting flower; never has been. He's also not one to stand on protocol or formalities, unless he's playing games with someone. Which, to be fair, he's occasionally fond of. "Ms. Bennet," he begins, voice kept low as if he half expects someone to be listening in on their conversation. "You know as well as I do who owns that club." His chin ticks toward Firefly, though his dark eyes don't leave hers. His cigarette, meanwhile, burns away between his fingers; a few flecks of ash waft to the wet asphalt, flare and die.

"The same man who owns the GHPD. And if he doesn't like the conclusions the evidence supports, the chain of fucking custody becomes worth less than the records he bribes Clarence to clean up for him." He leans in a little closer, elbow against the doorframe now, his face all hard lines, jaw tight. "Now, if you're asking me for information on the status of a case, you're going to have to be more specific about which one."

"Those are some wild accusations about your boss." Cassidy says in low whisper, all pluck and grit behind those blue eyes. "Maybe if you had some proof of all that I could help you." But she knows /that's/ not going to come any time soon.

"Which case? The serial jay walker on Elm Str -- the double homicide, Ruiz. I've seen two rookies working on it, meanwhile you're here yelling at bar patrons." She puts her cigarette in her mouth and takes a drag. "No mames." Despite the words themselves, her overall tone and demeanor lack real ferocity, she is really just being a ball buster at the moment.

Cassidy may or may not be aware that the captain's been off on medical leave for the past week. Probably that nasty flu that's been going around. The guy's a workaholic, so maybe it's more like stress leave. "The Kruegers," he replies evenly, flicking some more ash from his smoke before touching it to his lips. "We're working four or five separate murders at the moment. What's got you so interested in this one?" A beat. "Quintanilla's no rookie." And he wasn't yelling. Technically.

"It's the one that seems most straightforward as far as giving me someone to bring charges against." Cassidy answers simply. She toss the butt of her cigarette to the ground and fishes another menthol out of her purse. She offers the pack, open, to Ruiz in case he would also like a Kool. The green kind. "Unless you want to give up your boss. I'll take that one too. I'm not picky." She lights her cigarette.

"It's straightforward until it isn't," replies the captain flatly, his gaze finally dragging away from the blonde's to focus on the open pack that's held out. It's a while before he moves, tossing the butt of his burned-down smoke to the ground, crushing it out under the heel of his boot. Then reaching for one of the menthols. The backs of his fingers are inked. Letters, odd symbols. There's more, of course, though little of it visible under his jacket. "Thatchery?" He snorts softly, digs his zippo out of a pocket and lights up. "Convince the magistrate to approve a search warrant on his house." He's not serious about that. Much.

"Convincing magistrates to search property is a detective's job." Cassidy says. "You're the second officer I've had to remind about that tonight. The other one wasn't a rookie, either - so I'm told." She sighs and slides out of the truck, ducking under his arm to exit.

"But real talk, Captain Machismo? We need a perp on that case. And soon. The DA is up for re-election next year." She crosses her arms with her cigarette still in her mouth and turns to walk to her own car - a Kia Rio. Go figure.

She's trying to get under his skin with that comment. He knows perfectly well whose job it is, and he's probably beat his head against that brick wall a few times. "Mouthing off to me isn't going to score you any points, or get you a perp any faster, Bennet," he reminds her, shifting slightly once she's ducked past, to climb inside his truck and dig for his keys. "Que tengas una buena noche." No comment on the DA. Or the Kia.

"Y tú también," she calls back.