2019-11-08 - Pizza, Underwater Caves, Illegal Drugs, and Beer

As usual, Isabella is true to her word - once Halloween is over and Andy has returned from his trip to Portland, the two of them set aside together a time to meet if not just to indulge in a tried and true American tradition of pizza and beer.

Tonight finds her smartphone relatively silent save for the sergeant's texts; there has been no word from Byron about Lilith (and really, she has been chomping on the bit for news there), and the day is the first in what will possibly feel like an eternity of not speaking to Alexander, electing to give him some space after the stressful situations he had been placed under in the last several days. They've done this dance before, pushing it would only end poorly and while she isn't happy about it or can't help but worry about it, she accepts it because this is just how he is, remembering that first conversation and the following ones afterward; that it can be too much, that it can be overwhelming.

It doesn't stop her from toying with her phone, though, or examining the lock screen that has his image on it.

Finally, she sighs and clicks the button on the side of the device, leaving it dark and his features hidden, and bustles around the living area of her houseboat. She places a call to her favorite pizza place in town, whose employees know her by name and address as she rarely if ever cooks for herself (and cooking is an exaggeration as to what she actually does, which is at most chopping vegetables up to make a salad or slapping meat and cheese between two slices of bread), and checks the liquor supply in the fridge; a few packs of beer take up the bottom shelf and she nods to herself. That would have to be enough.

When Andy arrives, she opens the door, a ready smile on her face and clad in a warm, cashmere sweater dyed a dark crimson, the moonstone pendant gleaming in prominence against the front. A pair of jeans shorts have been paired with it, as well as black, thigh-high knit socks that keep her legs modest. Long hair is bound up in a loose, messy arrangement behind her head, skewered there by a pair of takeaway chopsticks. "Before you say anything, I didn't want to assume you like pineapple on your pizza, because apparently whole bloody battles have been waged as to whether it's acceptable and I'm pretty sure I'd lose if we had to fight, so I just ordered one with meat, and one plain cheese." She steps sideways to let him in. "How are you doing?"

Andy is dressed in defiance of the dropping temperatures, facing the crispness of early November's autumn with a pair of worn jeans and a loose black t-shirt that advertises Augustus Parsons' Cashew Company, a pair of well-used Timberland hiking boots and a Red Sox hat. The sleeves of his shirt are short enough that the tattoo of a pair of stylized wolves peeks out on his left bicep, though it's somewhat marred by the nicoderm patch. He's firing off a text message as she lets him in. "I'm fine with pineapples, really. I mean, I've spent the better part of a decade in Portland, where pizza can mean cheese and pepperoni or it could mean a white pie with chanterelles, venison, arugula and balsamic vinegar or an english muffin with a single little tree of broccoli on it. And before that, Boston, where pizza means putting mozzarella on a vinyl album, cooking it for two hours at a thousand degrees and then convincing people to eat it for sport. So meat, cheese or meat and cheese are fine with me." He glances back at his phone, shakes his head and sets it down face down. "I've been better. But come January things will get better. How 'bout you? Found any ancient underwater ruins recently?" It sounds like a joke, but he looks legitimately interested.

Once Andy enters, she shuts the door behind him. "Oh, good, so you won't complain then - there's beer in the fridge, I don't know what you drink, so this'll be a learning experience for the both of us." Isabella turns and clips her thumb against the remote panel somewhere in the wall; the electric fireplace in the main living area lights up for additional warmth.

As the man ventures deeper into her living space, he'd find most of the couch and coffee table taken up by research - textbooks, academic articles, a laptop computer, papers published on the latest marine conservation efforts, and even a map. But what looks new and shiny, because it is, in fact, recently purchased, is a very incriminating title: THE MODERN LADY'S GUIDE TO MEETING HIS PARENTS, proof positive that they do, in fact, write books about every small social problem a human can have, these days.

"Why, what happened?" she asks, concern flitting over her features. "Is your mom...?"

His words about underwater ruins earn him a quick grin, but it is brief. "I wish, but there have been a lot of finds lately. Recently, they found the Clotilda - the last known American slave ship, at the bottom of the Mobile River in Alabama, and there were more shipwrecks just discovered off the Mediterranean and South African coasts. It's been very exciting for my field the last few months, but nothing I had participated in myself - I'm in the middle of writing my doctoral thesis." She doesn't look happy about it, but what can she do?

"Not like there aren't some interesting things around here. I mean, I heard that there might be underwater caves in Gray Pond, which is kind of ridiculous because it was a man-made reservoir built in 1908 and anything like that would have been documented somewhere, but...there might be a small plot twist to all of that." She opens the fridge and sets a pack of beer on the granite countertop. "How was your visit to the Res?"

"Maybe that's how to beat the casino. Just go plant some PNY native stuff up there. Preferably from a tribe known for a deep and abiding love for NAGPRA. Get the whole thing shut down while a tribe demands a full federal investigation into possible land and artifact claims." Andy doesn't sound like he really means it. Mostly as an amusing diversion. The idea of faking a Quileute or Quinault find definitely wouldn't sit well with him. "No, no. Not my mother. She's absolutely fine. I'm not sure I'd say she's getting better, but she's definitely more energetic. I think she may be returning home soon, which is good, but means I should probably be finding my own place sooner rather than later." He listens to her talk of other finds happening around the world, smiling a bit at her excitement when she speaks of them. A beer is opened and quickly consumed before he asks, "Have you ever heard of the Quabbin reservoir in central Massachusetts? It's where most of eastern Mass gets its drinking water. They flooded three towns in the 30s to build it. I always wondered what it's like down there, far enough down that the sunlight is a ghost, walking through a town square where once there were shops and homes but now there's just lake fish and turtles." Dropping into a chair he gives a quick laugh when she gets to the meat of it. "I honestly don't understand. Clarissa says that the Quinault are friendly with the local project out of a sense of professional courtesy, but there's no such thing as professional courtesy when it comes to casinos. At the best of times casinos are viciously protective of their territory. And it's not the best of times. I'd be very interested to know what exactly who has on who." As a cop he's not about to say 'the mayor is dirty, right?' but his face suggests that one of those whos on either side may very well have a last name that rhymes with Bladdington.

"The blowback on that one would be massive," Isabella points out. "But you're creative, Andy, I'll give you that." There's a quirk of a smile, before she lifts her finger at him when someone knocks on the door, moving over to answer it. Retrieving two pizza boxes from the delivery boy, a freckled teenager who calls her by name, she gives him a folded bill plus tip before the door closes. Turning around, there's a bit of a squawk, and she attempts to, gracelessly, lift a leg to shove the incriminating book away and let it slip under her couch. Unfortunately, the rest of her textbooks topple in a pile across the carpet. She groans.

She leaves that for now as she brings their dinner over to the granite counter and sets the napkin dispenser next to Andy. There's also some parmesan, because she loves cheese and she has the good stuff on board, as well as red pepper flakes, which she practically dumps on her first slice of cheese pizza. "I'm glad to hear your mom's coming home soon," she offers. "As for the casino, it's already built - the only thing we can do now is find some way to keep it from operating and have the building appropriated for a community-based, environmentally-friendly use. If the Kruger murders really are connected to it? That might be the way. Did you find anything on Joshua Foster while you were up at the Res?"

His views on the Quabbin reservoir has her flashing him a grin. "I'm familiar with the place, but not its history and I've never been. That's interesting, though. According to the historian I talked to about Gray Pond, there were a lot of mishaps that occurred during its construction, and some labor-related disputes. We didn't get to talk about the particulars much, but she confirmed that there are definitely no underwater caves there." At least, on this side, but these are words that she doesn't say and the thought of it has her falling silent, watching Andy for a while and how he shines - like her, he burns like the sun.

This wouldn't be the first time she has wondered how much of the town's weirdness he actually knows about.

"I'd be interested, too," she tells him, expression faintly resigned. "But you're the cop, not me. Maybe it's time to follow the money."

"Yes. Joshua Foster. Well-liked. Not a bad word to be said about him. Of course it's an open secret that he's trafficking drugs through the reservation. I didn't really get what type, but considering the area I would guess pills." Andy grabs a slice of the meaty stuff and shakes some red pepper flakes out onto it, but doesn't go too too crazy. "That's the sort of stuff that I'd normally keep to the department, since I've already briefed Quintanilla and Morgan on it, but I went there as a civilian and as a favor to you. Honestly not sure how the Captain knew I even had relevant information. " Andy gives that some thought, but not too much thought since there's pizza to eat. "They're good at their jobs. I haven't known them long, but I've seen their casebooks. Given the pressure and the resources coming to bear I have faith that the Kruger case is one that will be cracked. But that may just be a hapless sense of optimism." Gray Pond gets a deserved frown, but after another bite or two Andy admits, "While the idea of diving around and looking for mystery caves is appealing, it's been a long time since I got my PADI and I've never been spelunking, so it seems like a good way to drown."

"I owe you," Isabella tells him, simply - because that's the truth, he did go there as a favor to her. "So if there's anything I can help with in turn? Let me know, okay? No matter how difficult." She's always up for a challenge. She pushes more pizza and beer in his direction.

Chewing absently on her slice, she doesn't sit. She leans against the counter adjacent to him, blinking once when he tells her about the drugs. "I didn't know that before, scrips, you think?" she wonders - that's especially new information to her and she can't help but glance out at her one-way windows towards the water, remembering what everyone has said about crime. "Wonder if he intends to use the water as an easy distribution center if he's into all of that," she murmurs from around her pizza crust. "When I spoke to Detective Quintanilla last, he said he got the body in the water case too. He's a busy guy. I don't know Detective Morgan very well, but I know a few who grew up with her and they all think she's solid. That's the best case scenario now, looks like - have the operations shut down somehow if Foster is guilty of some wrongdoing and then have the city decide what to do with the building and the land." She purses her lips. "I wonder if there's anything that could be found on the water..."

Andy's remarks have her blinking. "You were certified before?" she asks. "I mean, underwater cave diving is especially dangerous even for masters - my father tried to get me to promise him that I would never do it and told me all sorts of horror stories about it, but considering my line of work I couldn't really guarantee that I wouldn't. I could always re-certify you if you're interested. Getting too cold to give you the expedited course though, we might have to wait until it gets warmer for that."

"Yeah. Busy guy. It's a city that makes for busy cops. I mean, we've got, what, four times the average number of cops than the average city our size? Means we've got four times the problems. Though I think that's understating it. You can have a hundred times the problems and only be able to convince people to raise the budget for the PD and FD so much." Andy shrugs, expression strongly implying that this is a conversation he's had more than once. Possibly a conversation he's had with himself a few times. "There's always something. Though the days around the Kruger murders was certainly a hell of a thing. That was a lot of violence, even for Gray Harbor. But a city like this should be sleepy, and we're anything but. Hoquiam is just about the same size and has a fraction of the ... everything, really." He finishes off his slice, goes ahead and grabs another. Gets another beer while he's at it! "Yeah, graduating at Quantico requires basic certification. If I wanted to just go crazy I could have, but I was never a big swimmer. But sure, come spring maybe I should get back into it. Still going to avoid underwater caves, though. Never done the regular caves thing, really. I enjoy above ground. It's worked so far."

"Quantico?" Isabella looks surprised, but then she remembers mentions of a field office somewhere in Andy's history, and realization sets in. "Wait, you were FBI?" She furrows her brows, and tilts her head back to look at him, even leans into it, as if reassessing him under a new light. It's only for a moment though, before she bursts out laughing. "Okay. First of all, you? Were holding out on me." She points at him accusingly with her pizza slice. "Second of all? Kinda hot."

She twists the cap off her bottle of beer, and takes a swig, though the reminder of Friday the 13th murders has that earlier spark of levity sobering visibly. "Spring sounds good," she tells him. "Definitely not teaching you how to cave dive, hell, even I wouldn't do it unless I absolutely have to. But honestly a lot of things happened that summer to the point that it's really hard to keep track of all of it, and it's really only getting worse as Autumn goes on." She rolls the bottle between her hands, drawing a quiet sigh. "I don't even want to think about what's going to happen come Winter," she confesses quietly. "My brother used to tell me that the summers were the safest in Gray Harbor, but it didn't feel like it, this year."

"Yeah. I worked out of Portland. It was my dream job, really. But... closest field office is in Olympia. They weren't about to make me some kind of full time Gray Harbor agent. Even if Gray Harbor could probably use one." Andy holds up a slice of pizza and pulls a face. "Not that I'd want that, either. TV makes being Mulder seem a lot cooler than I imagine it really would be." Andy gives a shrug. "So now I'm doing the next closest thing. Manning a desk, special agent of approving hours." Her second comment gets a snort. "It's the only way Clarissa's willing to tolerate me. If she can pretend I'm not really a cop." He nods slowly at the last and grunts a dour, "Well, global warming, you know. Things are only going to get worse." As he tucks into his latest slice he says, "Honestly, I don't remember it being so bad here when I was a kid. I think--" He stops when his phone buzzes. When he picks it up whatever he sees makes him grimace. He quickly types a response, then says, "I'm probably going to have to cut this short. Sorry. Loved the pizza, though! Beer, too!"

There's a lift of her brows at his truncated sentence.

Isabella doesn't press it, though, and she grins. "Hey, if duty calls, duty calls." Clarissa's mention is noted, and there's a hint of surprise there - but considering how the Chairwoman had been talking about Andy before and her sudden one-eighty with her attitude towards him, it suddenly makes all sorts of sense. There's a grin, and one that she tries to smother from round her bottle, and takes a swallow of her beer.

"It's still law enforcement," she says with all mock-innocence. "Sounds like an excuse to me."

She waves a hand. "Well, I'd hope so - you're not human if you don't." She squints at him playfully. "Later, Andy. Stay safe."