2019-11-15 - Business and Personal

Alexander's house looks like the front has been freshly cleaned, and there's a new mailbox, although it's already been dinged up a bit. There are also some new flower beds out front, which although they don't currently have flowers, have been mixed with cracked eggshells and some other things to decay and enrich the soil over the winter. Alexander is inside, in the kitchen, and nothing is on fire It's an improvement. He seems to be making a casserole of some sort, and it actually smells pretty good. Blue Bell has been closed up in his bedroom, which she is not happy about, although Luigi is clearly enjoying the hell out of it. Birds can totally do smug, and he is doing smug right now.

There's a knock on the door. Three of them to be precise, made with the side of a fist, police style. Then silence while the visitor waits to be let inside. It's Javier, of course; stupid ball cap and scruffy tee shirt and jeans, shoulders hiked up to his ears as he didn't want to bother with a jacket on the short hike between car and front door. The car that's parked out front, of course, being his mean-looking cruiser.

The door is quickly opened, and Alexander offers Ruiz a bright, if brief, smile. He waves the man inside, where it's somewhat warmer. Only somewhat, though - the radiant heat from the oven is providing most of the warmth in the living room and kitchen. Luigi whistles - half greeting, half warning - at the cop, and rings his bell in an imperious fashion. A muffled miaow of indignation comes from the bedroom. "How are you doing?" he asks, like he wasn't just breaking into casinos with drug dealers.

The cop hesitates a moment even after he's waved inside. Luigi's given a sidelong look, like a wary dog might when sizing up a smaller animal not worth eating, but potentially annoying enough to make him wish he did. He scratches his nose with his thumb, and shoulders his way inside eventually with a murmured, "Fine." Then, hands still shoved into his pants pockets, he lurks in the entryway and shifts his inscrutable look to Alexander. "So, are you going to tell me what the fuck's going on?"

Luigi returns that look, turning his whole head to one side so can he stare at Ruiz with one beady little eye. And then hop up and down excitedly on the cage, because stomping solves all problems. Alexander closes the door behind him, locking it because it's Elm. "Would you like something to drink? A serving of casserole? I'm pretty sure I didn't burn any part of it, this time." There's a wave to invite him to sit on the couch. Is Alexander stalling? Maybe. He does clear his throat, a little. "Well. I thought it might be worthwhile to take a look inside the casino. So I did. Mister Sumpter seemed to have...broadly...the same idea. So." He shrugs. "I guess you could say we teamed up." Another of those brilliant smiles. "And we found the murder weapon."

The couch is given a long look, and then Ruiz takes the three steps toward it and settles in with a huff of breath through his nose. Knees splayed apart, his bulky frame occupies more of the thing than it rightfully ought. "No. Thanks. Smells all right, though. You've been working on your cooking?" The question's distracted; his mind is clearly elsewhere. Particularly when Alexander mentions the magic words. Murder weapon. There's a glint in his eyes as they lock onto Alexander's. "Is that so."

"I have, yes. It's actually rather fun. Sort of like video games, or gardening," Alexander waves towards his indoor garden, "in that it's meticulous enough to keep my mind from eating itself when I'm stressed." Speaking of - he goes to cut off the oven and pull out the casserole. Isabella has been influencing him, clearly: it's got more cheese than any person needs. Once it's in a spot to cool, he returns, but walks past Ruiz again, into his office. There's the sound of rattling as he opens his filing cabinet and accesses his safe. Then he returns with a sealed baggie holding a pistol. It's placed, carefully, on the coffee table before Alexander settles down beside the cop. "It was in the security room, locked up, in the casino. Don't," he grimaces, "don't read it. It's not a pleasant read. But it's definitely the gun. If you have ballistics, they should match. I didn't get my prints on it, and it's been sealed since I found it. I know it's not an ideal chain of evidence but," he shrugs, "if there's a print, or something that links it to an employee..."

"Engages both sides of the brain, is what I've heard," remarks Ruiz absently, gaze tracking the other man as he pulls out the casserole then slips into his office. It does smell pretty good, and he looks for a moment like he might be reconsidering his refusal to indulge. Then Alexander returns with the gun, and he leans forward with his elbows draped against his knees and a hungry look in his eyes as it's set down. He's quiet for a long while, before reaching out with his fingertips to drag the edge of the baggie closer. It's definitely not an ideal chain of evidence, but, "Thank you. For this." And the look he has on his face right now? He's totally going to read it. And then the million dollar question: "What the fuck did Sumpter want with this?"

"That would make sense," Alexander says, regarding the cooking. Most of his attention is focused on the more murdery side of the conversation, though, and he's watching Ruiz with wide, wary sort of eyes, as if expecting to get yelled at. When he's thanked, instead, his grin is downright boyish. "You're welcome." And even if he recognizes that Ruiz is absolutely going to read it? Well, he warned him. Due diligence accomplished. "Oh, he didn't. I mean, he was mostly feeling snoopy, I think - although I couldn't have found it without him, and he was very helpful, actually. He's not happy about Foster, and I think he genuinely wants to help push back on the guy." He flops his head back and stares at the ceiling. "Although I'm sure there are business concerns involved. There may be something else I can offer, too, but I need to confirm it. Right now, I'm getting mixed answers. I'll let you know once I'm sure it's actually something."

Ruiz studies the gun for a long while, then studies Alexander, his tonguetip pushed against the inside of his cheek as he considers something. "Sumpter's not happy about Foster.. because of the casino?" His brows furrow, then smooth again a moment later. "I'll talk to him." Ruh roh. "And stop being vague. Something else like what?"

Alexander lifts his head and considers Ruiz. "Uh. Actually? Can I? Maybe." He clears his throat. "There are a few things I want to ask him before he gets terrified and stops talking to anyone." Which he seems to believe is the natural outcome of Ruiz talking to him. He frowns at the last bit. "I'm not being vague. I'm trying to be accurate, Javier. There's no point sending anyone down rabbit holes unless something might conceivably be at the end of them." His shoulders hunch a little. "At any rate - there might be a connection between Foster and some pharmaceutical distribution company. Might be. But I don't know, yet."

His hand pauses on the plastic bag, where it had been fussing lightly with the 'zipper', and his dark eyes shift back to Alexander's. A thoughtful silence ensues. "Si. You can. If you tell me what he tells you." The captain smiles slightly, crow's feet sketched at the corners of his eyes. "And I'll know if you lie to me, Alexander." That's spoken a little more softly, a touch of something in his voice there that's hard to discern. It isn't strictly speaking nice, though it's not quite a threat, either. As to Foster: "He's either distributing through Monaghan's network, or using his own. Personally, I'd prefer the latter."

There's a stiffness that settles into Alexander at that quiet condition on Ruiz's part. His frown is hurt and indignant in equal measure. "You probably would, Javier. Because I'm bad at it. And rarely do it. And try particularly hard not to lie to friends." A pause. "Is there something that you think I'm lying about?"

He looks away, adding without inflection, "I would agree that he's probably using his own network. Although, I have concerns about the security. It seemed sloppy. Weird, for a guy who pulled off a hit pretty clean. I don't know why they even hung onto the gun." He scratches at his beard.

Ruiz has the decency, at least, to look chastised at the expression on the other man's face. "Lo siento," he manages eventually, which is practically grumbled. "There's nothing I think you're lying about. Yet." The slightly bloodshot eyes and weariness that sits heavily in his shoulders today suggests it may not be Alexander himself that prompted that comment. His gaze, after lingering on the younger man's face for a time, returns to the gun. "Has it occurred to you that this was planted there intentionally for us to find?" he posits after a long moment.

What goodwill the apology, grumbling though it is, wins back is almost entirely lost again by the 'yet'. Alexander's expression rises and falls with the words, ultimately settling on resigned exasperation. He says, " I'm paranoid, so yes. But rationally? I don't see how. I didn't coordinate with anyone, and there would be no reason to think that Mister Sumpter would give a shit about the gun, even if he'd announced to the world that he was doing it."

Only after that's said does he circle back around. "What's got you unusually untrusting today?"

"I don't mean you two specifically," Ruiz replies evenly, easing back against the couch cushions and weaving his fingers together atop his belly. "What I mean is, they must have known someone would come sniffing around there. More likely us." The cops. "And planted it to.. fuck if I know." He rifles fingers through his hair with an agitated noise in his throat, and looks up when Alexander asks that question. "I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean. You don't work for me. You don't owe me anything, and you're certainly not obligated to stick around if you-" He seems to realise a bit belatedly that he's no longer talking about the man opposite him, and stops abruptly. "I should get going," is offered quietly instead. The bag with the gun is snagged, and he starts to his feet.

"It's certainly a possibility, although it still sits oddly to me," Alexander muses. There's a brief nod of agreement and an echo of Ruiz's own frustration. "It's just something to keep an eye on--and will you sit down?" Irritation snaps in his voice. "I don't owe you anything, but I do actually care about you, Javier. And that is why I asked." He looks up at the man. "This would be about Miss Sutton, then? Sit. Talk. Please? I have concerns."

Ruiz doesn't, truthfully, look like he's putting much stock in that particular theory. Possibly it was simply thrown out there as a result of him thinking through the facts in evidence, which aren't entirely adding up. He pauses though at the irritation in the other man's voice, eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn't yet sit back down. "I don't think I have anything to talk about," he replies tautly.

Alexander stays seated, hands resting uneasily on his knees, face turned up and eyes locked on Ruiz. "Really? Absolutely nothing comes to mind that you might like to talk about with a friend?" His frown returns. "Does that whole don't lie to me thing only go one way?" A pause as he thinks. "You said I was distant. I'm either distant or nosy. I don't really have a between. You know that. So, now I'm nosy. And worried. So. Talk to me. Not because you have to, but because sometimes it's nice to talk to a friend when you're feeling bad."

One needn't be a reader, truthfully, to spot the undercurrent of churning emotion beneath the captain's near-unflinching facade. He swallows slightly, muscle flickering in his jaw. Then after a tremendously long pause, reclaims his seat slowly. The gun is dropped back onto the table, and his thumb and forefinger pressed against his eyes. "I'm genuinely not sure I have anything to say, Alexander. She walked out on me after a.. complicated discussion that I'm sure I could've framed better. I haven't heard from her in almost a week. I assume she's moved on, which I'm frankly surprised she didn't do much sooner. My track record is not the best."

Alexander lets out a breath of relief as Ruiz reclaims his seat. Then he takes another to brace himself as he leans to one side to try and give the other man a companionable shoulder bump. "It hurts when people get overwhelmed by your stuff. Especially when you don't share your stuff very often. And you don't. But," he hesitates, "sometimes people really do need time, and space. And maybe you can use that time to start, y'know, dealing with some of your own stuff. It's been a rough fucking few months. And if she decides she wants to try to deal with it, you might, um, have a better way to frame the next complicated conversation."

Then he clears his throat. "I guess. Before I was with Isabella, the last person I was in love with was a sociopath. So. I'm not great at any of this. But it hurts to see you hurting. And I'm not having sex with you. Probably would hurt a lot more seeing a lover hurt."

The shoulder bump gets a cautious look from the man, though he doesn't pull away from it. The rest, it's difficult to tell what he's thinking. Annoyed? Angry? Distracted? "My stuff? I'm dealing with it the best I fucking can." He drags his hand off his face and lets it fall to his lap. "I'm not sure what more you expect from me." The mention of a sociopath gains a slightly quirked brow, question on the tip of his tongue, though it goes unanswered.

"You are," Alexander says, with a sigh. "And, honestly? I'm pretty surprised that you haven't just exploded from it already. Empath, remember?" He gives Ruiz a sidelong look. "You're carrying a lot. And then you try and carry everyone else's danger and concerns, as well. And there's the job." He bumps again. "I don't expect more from you, Javier. You--" he clears his throat, looks down at his hands. "Do you know? I've been pestering the cops in this town in some way or another since I was ten years old. You're not the first one that's let me hang around in a very unofficial capacity and contribute things on occasion. But you're the first one who's ever thought anything I had to contribute was worth paying for. That's more than I ever expected. From anyone."

His smile is brief and crooked. "It's not a matter of thinking you're not doing enough. I'd be really surprised if any of your friends, or loved ones, think that. Even if it feels to you like we're all wanting you to open up and get all fucking touchy feely, and you hate that. It's more just...thinking that you don't have to deal with all this shit alone, and that if you keep trying, you're going to break into a thousand pieces. And that will be a goddamned shame, because I like you." He rubs at his face.

Ruiz sort of stares at Alexander for a little while, after all of that. It takes him a while to process these things at the best of times. Goddamned feelings.

"If no-one has offered to put you on the payroll before, that would be their mistake," he murmurs low, examining his hands closely now rather than Alexander's face, as if they held the answers to all of this. "And my.. attempt to show someone I loved that I wanted us to be in this together, caused her to leave me instead. So forgive me if I don't buy it when you say that people want to share the burden." His voice is quiet, and threatens to break once or twice.

"Ehn. I'm kinda crazy and obnoxious. I don't really blame them," Alexander says, with as close to a careless shrug as he can get when discussing that particular subject. He leans a little more into Ruiz, like physical contact gets easier. "Caused her to need some time," he says, quietly. "I mean, um. You'd have to tell me - is Miss Sutton any better at feelings and disclosures than you are? Because it's entirely possible to want something, but be overwhelmed by what it actually is, too." A pause. "And it's okay to be hurt by that, too. You took a risk, and it sounds like it went badly. But just deciding that she's gone forever may not be true. It's safe. And safe feels a lot better when you've just put yourself out there and gotten punched for your trouble." He grimaces. "But it may be borrowing more hurt for yourself than waiting and letting her tell you if it's over."

It's likely not gone unnoticed by the gruff Mexican, that Alexander is actually touching him at the moment. And without looking like he might have a panic attack, to boot. This, in itself, is sufficiently distracting to cause the captain to take a minute to organise his thoughts.

Then, "Better. Si. I suppose. But we didn't.. talk much. So I.." God, this is hard. He looks like he wants to crawl out of his skin. "I don't blame her for not being able to handle it. I'm a difficult." He swallows thickly. "Difficult person to be with. And finding out the guy you're fucking has an adult daughter and decided to start seeing someone else without asking your fucking permission.. I can see why she wanted out. We weren't exclusive, it became too much. I get it."

What?

Alexander manages not to actually shout the question at 'adult daughter', although whoa, back it the fuck up can be seen, as if written, on his face. His mouth opens. Then it closes. Then it opens again. Hangs there for a bit, before it closes, slowly. He tries to focus on the whole thing, and not just the adult daughter part, but it takes some focus. "Okay." He takes another moment. "That's a lot to unpack, Javier. Um. I'm guessing the someone else is Itzhak, and if you didn't, y'know, talk with her about it, even if you aren't exclusive, then that's kinda a dick move. Yeah." Another pause. "Did you know you had a kid, um, another kid, or is this all a new thing? Because if you were hiding that, then yeah, dick move. But if you just found out," he just stops for a moment, thinking about that, "Jesus Christ. That's a hell of a thing to find out. Are you okay?"

"Of course I didn't fucking know," he grouses, expression turning irritated. "I found out a couple of weeks ago when she walked into my office and dumped it in my goddamned lap." As for Itzhak, "It's fucking, not dating. What are the rules for this shit? I thought I was doing the right thing letting her know we'd seen each other a few times." He does, to his credit, look genuinely confused.

Alexander leans harder for a moment, when Ruiz's expression grows irritated. It might be his equivalent of a hug. "In your office? Without warning?" His eyebrows go up. "Rude. So, did she come from Virginia, or...?" He blinks. Wait. Not the point. "Sorry." A shake of his head to push back the thousands of questions. Then he smiles, although it's got a touch of confusion as well. "I don't know," he says, slowly. "I really don't. Um. I tried talking about it with Isabella, once, but all I really got out of it is that me having sex would other people would definitely upset her, and that she's a bit unhappy that the thought of her having sex with other people doesn't upset me." He pauses, thinking something over. "Does the thought of her having sex with other people bother you? I mean, if she just brought up that she was fucking someone after she'd had sex a couple of times with them, would it?"

Virginia? The question seems to confuse the man, until it dawns on him what Alexander's getting at. But, "No." He seems half inclined to elucidate, but in the end, lets it go. A discussion, perhaps, for another day.

Alexander's mention of his conversation with Isabella causes the cop to look thoughtful. His gaze goes back to his hands, the ink on the backs examined for a long moment. "The thought of her doing it because of a failing of mine.. yes. On principle? No. So long as she comes home to me." He bites back a swell of emotion there, and swallows. "Like I said, I realize I could've handled that.. better."

Alexander squirms a little, his hands flexing with the brief but strong urge to find a way to shake the answers out of Ruiz. But he is being a Good Friend. Or the the closest he can be, so he sits on it. He refocuses, with a deep breath, and turns the man's words over in his mind. "Okay. So. Yeah. Probably could have handled that better. It'd be a lot to take in for anyone. A little time and space might be required to deal with it." A pause. "Sometimes you walk out on people when they hit too close. Poke at sore things. You've done it with me. I'm fucking lousy at handling that, but," he shrugs, "so far, you've always been willing to talk to me again afterwards. Leaving doesn't always mean leaving forever." He frowns. "If she does want to come back. How do you want to handle it? I mean. How do you really want that to look, Javier?"

Yep, it's a lot. Doesn't seem like any argument there. The squirming is noted with a slight raising of brows, and a light elbow to the ribs. "What?" Then Alexander's talking some more, and God if he doesn't wish he had a cigarette right now. "I.." Go on, Javier, say it. "I don't know." There it is, and going by his vaguely panicked look, it's not hard to guess that the question brings up feelings. Feelings he doesn't know what to do with. "Moving to the Maldives is sounding pretty good right now, I've got to say," he grunts.

Alexander twitches at the elbow to the ribs, but instead of recoiling, he laughs, just a little. "Um. Questions that aren't important right now. Don't mind me." And then he's listening again. There's a slow nod. "Okay." A hasty, sideways frown. "On the not knowing. Not running off to the Maldives. I mean. You can. We can't stop you, not without chains and I don't have a basement. But that's not what I meant. I just mean - not knowing is okay. For right now. But it's maybe something to think about? Who you want to be, with her, if she does want to be with you in the end. You can't make her different." A long pause. "Actually, you can." The realities of having psychic superpowers. "But I don't think you'd ever do that. So, gotta figure it out for yourself. And then -" he gives Ruiz another of those sidelong looks. "Have you asked her how she wants things to look? Or work? How she wants the two of you to be together? If she comes back, maybe that'd be a good question."

There's a dubious look for the whole don't mind me; and given that Alexander's conversing with a man who'd give him a run for his money where the ravenous hunger for information is concerned, it's a miracle he doesn't press the subject. Then the other man is talking about chains and basements and, "At least buy me dinner first," is grumbled, mostly good-naturedly. "Who I want to be?" He pauses a long while, brows furrowed as he gives that a long, hard think. "Someone who's good for something other than fucking." He mms. "And my job." He is pretty good at his job. Other vices notwithstanding. "..no. I haven't asked her that. Should I have?" Has nobody taught this man what a relationship looks like?

Alexander snorts, gestures towards the kitchen. "I did offer," he points out, playful and arch. The amusement doesn't last for long. It's cut off pretty cleanly at Ruiz's response. Alexander stares, and blinks a couple of times. "You are, you know." A pause. "But I know that can be a hard thing to accept, when you're on the inside. And you're very good at your job. And the Chief's job," he adds, a hint of dry humor creeping back in. And then there's a moment of shocked silence. "...yes. Yeah. That's a thing you should ask, if you get the chance." He rubs at his face, hunching over a little. "I mean. If you want a relationship, and not just fun sex punctuated by fights and more makeup sex, then how she sees that going, or wants it to go, is pretty important. Um. I know you like to be in charge of things. But it's one thing where you really can't just say 'this is what we're doing', because Miss Sutton seems too smart and knows herself too well to be okay with that."

Ruiz seems distracted for a few moments, his mind having wandered off elsewhere while Alexander was busy staring at him, vaguely flummoxed. It's not an uncommon reaction to the man. His eyes tick back up though at the that can be a hard thing to accept. "What?" He looks confused, though gives a snort of amusement at the comment on the Chief. He isn't going to touch that one. "Fuck," he exclaims softly, like Alexander's words have crystallized something in his mind. "How did you become so good at this, anyway?" It could be a tease, but it.. isn't.

"I read. A lot." Alexander looks embarrassed. "Did you know that a statistical majority of murders boil down to poorly-handled interpersonal disputes? Romantic or sexual relationships catalyze a significant portion of those just by themselves." There's a pause as he remembers that he's talking to a cop and a former detective. "...you probably did know that. But that, um. I read about how things go wrong a lot. It's just a matter of reverse engineering from there." He rubs at his beard, looking sheepish. "At least, when it's other people. That's an abstract problem where I'm an outside observer and can see the factors at play. It's harder when I'm involved. Before Isabella, every relationship I tried usually ended in a week, with someone screaming at me for a while, throwing things at my head, or walking out. Not always in that order?"

The cop chortles a little at that. Books. Of course. Though the lecturing about murder statistics gains a raised brow from him. "It wasn't that long ago that I worked a beat, you know." He's got firsthand experience with domestic disputes, after all. And given the volume of case files that probably cross his desk? He's got some idea. "Sounds familiar," he grunts at Alexander's last, and then he's silent for a moment before adding, "Is it too late for me to change my mind about food?"

"There's nothing wrong with doing research about subjects of importance," Alexander says, with a hmph at the chortle. Although it doesn't seem all that aggrieved. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't talk to a lot of people who make the same studies I do." A glum sort of nod of agreement to the inevitable end being familiar, and at the question, he rises immediately with a broad smile. "Not at all! It should be edible." He moves to the kitchen to make two plates. Once he digs into it, it reveals itself to be a ham and cheese casserole, with noodles and broccoli, and fresh herbs from his garden. It does smell and taste pretty decent, although some of the seasoning is a bit odd. Like he just tossed a few herbs and spices in there to see what happened, and it didn't ALWAYS work. He returns with plates, and forks, and a roll of paper towels, all of which are put on the coffee table.

Should be edible? Great way to sell it there, Alexander. Ruiz watches him move about in the kitchen, fetching plates and portioning out food, and something about it unwinds a bit of the tension that had been sitting in his shoulders for most of the conversation. How long ago was it that he was in that kitchen, showing Alexander how to make an eggplant casserole? The memory seems mostly fond, and he shuffles forward a little as the food arrives, and murmurs something like gracias as he reaches to tear off a sheet of paper towel. Fork brandished, he carves off a piece. "Fennel?" is queried after a sniff, with some amusement.

Alexander prides himself on accuracy. He plops himself back down on the couch, and grabs the other plate, digging in. "Yes! I liked the way it smelled, so I thought it might taste good, too." He takes a bite. "...hmm. Not bad, exactly. Not what I was picturing. Maybe something different, next time. Soy sauce?" A shrug, and he starts to eat anyway. "I've tried the lasagna a couple of times since you showed me, and I've stopped burning the garlic. Turns out you really should stand right there and watch it, rather than going to do something else." A teasing smile in the other man's direction. "Are you still considering the cabins on Sycamore? Or. Prospective cabins? Miss Liven said if there was anyone I'd recommend, she'd maybe give them a look before they opened up to the general public."

"Not bad," Ruiz agrees. By the look on his face, though, he's going to need a minute to acclimate to the unexpected taste. Another forkful is shoveled in though, so it can't be that terrible. "Considering?" He glances up at the other man. "Well, hoping to get my foot in the door before they sell out. Si, I'm hoping to buy one of them. I've heard construction's been delayed." He looks a bit irritated at that. Not too hard to understand why, given that he's been stuck at the murder hotel for weeks now. "Miss Liven? I didn't realise she was the one managing them." He ducks his head to push another fragrant bite of casserole into his mouth.

"I'll let her know," Alexander says, in between bites. "I think Isolde's interested in one, too. I don't know what kind of down payment she'll be looking for on them, but I'll probably need to talk with Isolde about it. See how that might look." His gaze goes distant, clearly scribbling on a mental list somewhere. "And, yeah. Her dad used to hire me sometimes, and I think he started the development project. Before he disappeared." A sigh, then. "Gray Harbor. But she's nice. The bouncer," he makes a noise under his breath, "not sure about him." A shrug, before he starts to eat again.

Mention of Isolde causes him to smile slightly, for some reason that's not entirely apparent. He continues eating for a little while, just the clink of forks against plates, and what sounds like the rain starting up again outside, and that damned bird making noise every so often. "I've had feelers out on that one for a while, but.." He shakes his head. Nothing. He's mid-bite though, when Alexander mentions the bouncer. And pauses, before finishing chewing and swallowing. "Which bouncer's that?" He probably knows, given the tension stitched right back through him again.

Luigi knows who this house belongs to, Ruiz. He gets to sing as much as he wants. And judge. And his beady little eyes judge a lot. Alexander nods, grimaces. "I've offered to look into it in more detail, if she ever wants me to, but when he first disappeared, I poked around a little, and didn't find any wonderful leads. Might be different with access to his records, though." And there's a part of him that obviously perks up at the thought of it, digging into a new mystery, poking at something unknown. He notices the pause, and the tension, but aside from a sidelong look, his voice is casual, "Cruz. He's a bit interesting."

If only he had five minutes alone with that bird. Who'd be judging then, Luigi? There's a glance sent to Alexander when he makes that comment about records, and access to them. But makes no offer to hand them over. Instead, on the heels of he's a bit interesting, "He's a fucking prick." The vehemence is palpable. And not the man's usual grouchiness that lacks any teeth, either. He resumes eating, though the tension doesn't leave him.

Alexander thinks about it for a bit. Then nods. "Yes. Probably. But not always. Which is why he's a bit interesting." A longer pause, where he watches Ruiz, weighing that vehemence with dark and curious eyes. He doesn't ask questions about it, but he does seem to file it away in his internal archives. Along with, "So you like Isolde and don't like Mister Cruz. Noted." Maybe there's a list in his head of things the cop likes, and doesn't. He continues to eat, although there's a mutter, "Less fennel, more...something else. Buy new spices." God only knows what the next iteration of this is going to have in it.

There's no comment on whether Cruz is always a prick. Or only a part-time prick. The cop shoves more food into his mouth, and keeps his own counsel on that one. And pretty soon, his plate is empty, and a glance at his watch tells him that, "I should get going. Thanks for the food." A beat, and he examines his fork for a moment, like it holds the answers to what's on his mind. "And the talk." Then it's tossed onto his plate, which he collects as he shifts to his feet, furnace-y heat withdrawn along with the Mexican it belongs to. "You could try some oregano next time. Maybe a little parsley or rosemary."

Alexander seems content to eat in silence, although he eats less mechanically than he used to, only months ago; as if he's thinking about the food and its taste, rather than just putting something in his stomach so that he can go on to whatever else he was doing. He offers a smile. "Thank you for the company. I enjoy it, you know." A chuckle. "Even if it wasn't on your plan for the evening, I'm sure. I'll keep you apprised of anything Sumpter has to say that's relevant to the investigation." He stands, gathering up the dishes. "I'll try those. Rosemary smells nice." As he starts to move towards the kitchen, though, he hesitates. "We should talk again. Maybe go for that drive, sometime?" Then a flash of a smile before he puts things into the sink with a clatter, washes his hands, and moves to let Ruiz out. "In the meantime, don't die."

His plate's slid into the sink, hands rinsed off quickly, and dried on the thighs of his pants. "De nada," seems to suffice as acknowledgement of the thank you, and perhaps a return of the sentiment. Even if not explicitly offered. He snags his ball cap, which he'd tossed on the coffee table at some point, and tugs it back on his head. "Be careful with him, yeah?" Sumpter, that is. He watches Alexander's smile, and nods slightly to the mention of the drive he'd promised. "I'd love to. Entonces adiós, Alexander." His eyes are warm for just a moment before he turns and shoulders his way out.