2020-08-17 - Meet the New Boss

The method of getting in touch with Reyes is both low tech and deliberately menacing - one day during his shift, Ruiz leaves his office for a few moments to attend to some paperwork, locking the door behind him. When he returns, there's a Save the Date card on his desk, and handwritten on the back is a time, a day (today), and a location: a summer house down by the Harbor, although one that isn't currently owned. The door is still locked. If Ruiz enquires, he discovers it's next to an empty lot, and the previous owner had a very loud breakdown about the neighbor's house just disappearing one day. Which is silly. Of course. It's signed, Your friend, Lopez.

Just in case there's any confusion on who might be sending Ruiz Save the Date cards for secret meetings. Either way, the time is after Ruiz's shift, and the house has a car out front that's clearly from 'Nondescript Sedans 'R' Us'. All the shades are drawn, but there's at least one light on, although no one standing directly in front of the windows that Ruiz could see.

Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful. This is precisely what he wanted to do with his evening. The card is pocketed in his jacket, and his gun's clip ejected briefly so he can count out the rounds before slotting it back into place. Then the weapon's reholstered, and off he goes.

When he reaches the pre-destined meeting place, there's a glance at his watch to check the time. Then the ignition's shut off, and the laptop sitting in the cruiser's centre console shut. Brows furrowing slightly, he lets his mind unfurl in a steady beat of untethered magnetic resonance, hoping to pick up on whether there are people inside that house, and how many he might roughly be dealing with.

Ruiz's mind sweeps across the interior. There are people inside, and their minds have that alert, watchful feel of those prepared for and comfortable with violence, although they don't have the burnt metal taste of active malevolence directed towards Ruiz. They're all in the living area, and they're as 'at rest' as such men and women get when they're on the job, probably shooting the shit with one another from the little bursts of annoyance or amusement that he can pick up.

Their minds sharpen a little; clearly reacting to the presence of the cruiser, but no one comes to the door.

A breath's blown out his nose, and his fingers tap-tapped against the steering wheel a moment. He could just drive away, say fuck it to all of this.

And Reyes would track him down, and make his life (or Joe's, or Itzhak's) a lot more miserable.

He mutters something filthy in Spanish instead, thumps the dashboard with his fist, and shoves his car keys into his jacket pocket. Then swings out, slams the door, and trudges up to the house with that slouchy prowl of his; dark eyes fixed on the window, then the door, when he raps on it, police style.

Only once Ruiz knocks does one of the goons move towards the door, and open it up. It's a woman, dark skinned, her hair braided in neat rows. She gives him a look over, an upnod, and waves him inside. The other three are standing in a loose half-circle around the room, watching with those fuck you cop sort of smiles on their faces. The one who talks is a guy, a bit older than the usual run of gang members, but still about ten years younger than Ruiz himself. He's pale skinned, freckled, with auburn hair that probably got him teased a lot when he was a kid. His eyes are a faded blue. "Chief de la Vega. Congrats on the formalizing of your promotion. Thanks for coming. Lopez would like to talk to you himself, but he's offsite. You don't mind, do you?"

No comment on the formalizing of his promotion. Since it's not a fucking thing, and it hasn't fucking happened, and yet everyone keeps fucking congratulating him for it, and it's clearly wearing on him.

The cop flicks his eyes from cornrows to ginger, and back again, then eases inside fully and tugs the door shut. It's warm enough not to need a jacket, but he's in one. And a faded tee shirt, dark jeans and a ballcap, looking about as far from cop as is humanly possible to get. "Cut the fucking bullshit," he murmurs, taking a gander at their two other buddies who haven't spoken yet, looking each of them briefly in the eye. "We both know he doesn't give a fuck if I mind. So do what you need to do before I get sick of waiting and leave."

The lieutenant - and he must be, judging by how people stand and watch him, oriented slightly so that they can keep an eye on Ruiz and receive any orders at the same time - grins. "Hardass. Okay, hardass," he says, with a shrug, and reaches for something on the table. It's a cloth bag, and he tosses it easily towards Ruiz, "you know the fucking deal. Guns and weapons off, bag on. We promise not to give you the full body cavity search if you promise not to be a fucking dickhead about it. Then we can get you to the boss, and you get to go home pretty quick. Si?"

It doesn't escape Ruiz, the way the others defer to that one. The ginger. The one whose face he suddenly and vividly recalls, as if superimposed over a lucid dream. Voices and pain and blood and darkness and-

He surfaces with a breath, and he's not sure how long he spent in his own head. The guy's tossing something at him, and he catches it, makes a face at him when he realises what it is. Guns and weapons off, and it fucking grates on him. He could slaughter them. He could blow that guy's brains out, and cook her insides, and snap that one's neck probably before he could scream for his mother. How dare they think they could do this to him?

A glance to the window, and he works his jaw slightly, makes a noise in his throat before reaching for the Sig holstered at his hip. There's a beat before he draws, safeties and unloads it into his left hand, all in one smooth motion. Gun and clip are set onto a nearby table, but he makes no motion to put on the fucking blindfold.

Ruiz is watched by four pairs of wary eyes; they're very well aware Ruiz is dangerous - if not HOW dangerous he might be, since none of them seem to have much in the way of Glimmer. The lieutenant has a flicker of it, a faded, struggling light, but nothing compared to Ruiz. They're too professional to relax when he divests himself of weapons, even as one of them moves to slide them out of easy reach. "Is that all?" He shakes his head. "C'mon, de la Vega. Man like you has at least one holdout. Let's not be childish."

That actually gets a laugh out of him. A warm, rough rumble of sound as dark eyes meet the ginger's faded blue.. and hold for several beats. In them, an unmitigated savagery. You can chain up a wild animal, but you can't take away its teeth and claws, after all.

He drops into a crouch, fiddles with his boot for a moment, then tugs a Ruger LC9 free. Straightens, and slaps that down on the table as well, once it's unloaded. A couple of knives, too, from the other boot; both of them ugly things made for killing people. Then he lifts both hands, tattooed and not, in surrender. Eyes still on the ginger, and still no move made toward the blindfold.

The lieutenant can't help but tense up as he meets Ruiz's eyes. He's familiar enough with the dance of dominance and posturing that he doesn't drop his gaze, but his hand twitches, like he'd like to have a weapon in his hand, not just at his hip. But once the weapons are all down, he just gives a curt nod. "Good. Put the blindfold on, and we can get this done. Sure you got people you want to go home to," he adds, ever so casually. Like he doesn't know as much about Ruiz's personal situation as he can manage.

The twitch is noticed, of course. The tension, the unease. The silence from the other three, and de la Vega doesn't move still. He's arguably in the weakest position here; outnumbered and vastly outgunned. They're younger than him, too; he's middle aged and past his prime, what the fuck does he think he's going to do to them?

Except, "No." Because he won't? Or because he can't? He doesn't give an explanation, but simply stares the guy down, and waits.

There's a sigh. Disapproving, and there's a subtle shift as the other three goons stop lounging at the ready and move to a more active, ready stance. The woman comes up on Ruiz's rear, but no one's lunging at him, yet. The lieutenant meets stare for stare. "No?" His voice turns hard. "Don't waste my time. More importantly, don't waste the boss' time. Put the goddamned blindfold off, or we're going to put it on for you. And don't nobody want that."

Nope, still nothing from the ornery cop. Trying to get anything out of him is a pretty futile endeavour; he tracks the ginger with a hard, steady stare. Hackles up and silent, the slightest shift to try to keep all four of them within his peripheral vision, like a wary predator surrounded by younger, wilier rivals.

"All right." That's all. Well, that, and a slight nod to one side. The three other goons close in like sharks, one closing in on each arm, while the third goes for the cop's midsection. They expect him to fight back, of course. They're ready for a fight, with hard eyes and set jaws.

They expect him to fight back, and they'd be right. Because the new Chief is nothing like the old Chief. Thatchery was, above all, a people person. He knew how to play to his audience, and he knew how to say one thing and do another. Javier de la Vega, on the other hand, is a weapon. He doesn't handle you; you handle him, and you do so carefully, and at your own risk. These goons? Aren't so careful. One gets an elbow to the nose, which erupts in blood even as he impressively manages to hold on. Another gets launched into the wall, and the other isn't damaged, but also doesn't succeed in getting the damned blindfold to stay on.

All in all, kind of a pathetic failure for a three on one. The cop bares his teeth at the ginger in a flash of a little grin, as if to say bite me.

There's another of those sighs that says, for the lieutenant, he's not getting paid enough for this shit. He pulls out a burner phone and fires off a text. It comes back almost immediately, and he nods. Without looking up, he says, "Knock if off, you idiots," just as the three are readying themselves for another lunge. The guy with the broken nose glares murder as he backs off, one hand clasped over it, and blood dripping down his chin. The phone is put away, and the leader says, "Boss says it's fine. We're good friends with the Chief." He sounds disgruntled, and doesn't even try to sell what's probably a direct quote. "C'mon. There's a dock out the back." He points Ruiz to a back door that leads to a narrow wooden stairway going down to an old dock, and a small motorboat.

Maybe he's surprised by this new development, or maybe he isn't. Whatever he might be thinking, the cop keeps his expression studiously clear of much resembling a reaction. He gives his shoulders a roll, wipes some blood off his hand and onto the thigh of his pants, and without so much as a backwards glance for the guy whose nose he broke, turns and prowls for the back door that's indicated.

There's a low murmur of talk just barely audible as Ruiz prowls away, one of the goons complaining to the lieutenant, "...teach him some fucking manners..." and an inaudible response that is soothing but not supporting any sudden ambushes. One of the goons stays behind - the one with the broken nose - to watch over the place. Ruiz had probably better check his guns very carefully before the next time he uses them; that guy's pissed.

But the other three seem to have a more professional worldviews. They follow Ruiz to the boat, make sure he gets in, settle in to flank him, and then they're off. There's a variety of small barrier islands in the harbor, most barely worth thinking of, although a couple are a bit larger, out towards the mouth of the Harbor. Ruiz is taken to one that has a couple of nice summer houses. One, to Ruiz' experienced eye, is clearly more secure than the others - there's a guy in a high window with a good view of the harbor on all sides, and if he doesn't have a sniper rifle, Ruiz will eat his hat. A large wood fence blocks easy access to the property; the lieutenant uses a four digit code to open the gate; the slight scent of ozone suggests the wire fence on the other side of the wood is electrified. Reyes is sitting on the back patio - it's a lovely thing, all flat stone work and furniture with iron scrollwork. But Reyes himself is dressed down, showing off all his tattoos. He watches Ruiz approach with one of those empty smiles as the retinue takes up positions to watch Ruiz while not intruding on the conversation.

"Interim Chief de la Vega," Reyes says, cheerfully. "Come, sit. Do you want a beer?"

The guy in the window, of course, is noted. Ruiz is pretty much hardwired to spot these things. Places from which an ambush might be launched, chokepoints, lines of fire and corridors for ingress and egress, and it's clear Reyes has put considerable thought into this little hideout. He's mulling over all of this as he approaches, hands pushed into his jacket's pockets, dark eyes fixed immediately on the other man's face. No smile in return; he's rarely one to bother with such things when he has no need for them.

"I'm fine. Thanks. Vayamos a los negocios. Estoy seguro de que ambos tenemos otras cosas que hacer." A slight gesture with his shoulder, and a noise in his throat like, hm? He doesn't sit, yet.

"Tienes que hacer todo difícil, ¿no? Te matará algún día, amigo." Reyes says, easily enough, and leans back, crossing one leg over the other knee. He doesn't invite, or insist, Ruiz to sit down again, but just watches him with something very like amusement. "But okay. It's a beautiful summer evening, at least for this fucking town where it rains all the fucking time, so let's not waste time with unpleasantness. I'm sure you got places to be." He reaches for a bottle of beer and takes a leisurely pull. "I understand you got one of your fellow boys in blue locked up for that unfortunate fire. How's that investigation looking?"

At that, there is finally a glimmer of amusement that steals across his dark eyes and into the creases that mark the corners of them. Not quite a smile, though it probably wants to be one when it grows up. He sniffs once, rubs inked knuckles across his nose, then after a glance at the contingent of goons keeping an eye on him, opts to take a seat eventually. There's a slight wince like his leg's been giving him trouble, and he takes up space when he sits, and continues to look boldly into the other man's eyes.

"I've tried to keep her distracted," he confides, flatly. "So the short answer is, it isn't." Happening. The investigation. "I'm guessing you're going to need those charges dropped."

Reyes nods, just once, as Ruiz decides to sit down, and his eyes don't miss that wince. He doesn't say anything about it, though. "Yeah, I think that's best. Bright young lad like that, he's got potential. It'd be a shame to kill his career before it even stops, right?" He flashes an easy grin. "Take care of the youth, and they'll take care of you, I always say." He pauses. "I hear there was a body discovered on the beach. Just as a friendly neighborhood notice? Had nothing to do with it, don't know shit. This is an interesting town you got here, de la Vega."

More seriously, he continues, "I understand there's a gaming console that's been found that might be something I'm looking for. That should make its way to Liu or one of my other people."

No response to that. Thatchery would've had a smarmy reply ready, or launched into some kind of convivial agreement about their shared objectives and how there'd be no sense at all in hurting this poor kid's career trajectory. His father's done such great things for the department; isn't it only fair his son have the chance to follow in his footsteps?

The wall he hits makes him nearly audibly grunt with effort, and there's a flare of.. something in his eyes as he rises to that challenge. Snarls and paces and stalks around and around until he finds a way in. And he always finds a way in, doesn't he? Eventually, a soft chuckle, and he glances away, then down at the backs of his hands. "The PS4. Yeah. Lilith Winslow and Byron Thorne have it in their possession. They're going to try to return it to Abitha Machinae." A beat. "They're going to fail."

Reyes' expression changes when Ruiz works his way in. All the humor falls away, and he says, quite seriously, "Do that again, ever, and I'm putting two bullets in your brain." And then he's smiling again, like it was a joke. But his eyes say otherwise. "Good. And I understand you've hired the Machinae woman to do," he snorts, "data analysis. Good. Make sure she stays out of trouble. Some stupid motherfuckers never stop swimming uphill, right?" He's not Samuel L. Jackson, and he knows it, but he still chuckles at his own joke. "I'd hate to have to kill her. Now. Let it never be said that I don't return friendship with friendship." He waves at the lieutenant, who goes inside for a moment, and comes out with a stack of money, that's tossed casually towards Ruiz. "And if you have any other little cravings that need to be filled, Chief, just let me know. We'll make sure you're taken care of."

"Si me matas.. comenzarás algo que no puedes terminar," murmurs the cop, voice low and warm and scratchy-soft, like water tumbled over rough stones. He's still watching the backs of his hands as he speaks; ink that marks him indelibly as the property of the Los Zetas. Reyes may or may not be familiar with the cartel, but he no doubt knows a rival gang's marks when he sees them.

"And why the fuck do you think I hired her on? Out of the goodness of my fucking heart?" He jerks his gaze toward the other man at that, drops his forearms to his spread thighs, expression hard. The money's ignored. "What I'm going to need is some more eyes on me, now that I'm persona non grata with Felix Monaghan." He waits to see how that's received.

Reyes snorts. "¿De verdad crees que a alguien le importará si terminas en una tumba poco profunda? Los hombres como nosotros son prescindibles a menos que estemos ganando." There's no heat to it, really, just more of that oddly gentle amusement, with the empty certainty of nothing underneath. He takes a pull from his beer. "And I dunno. I hear you got more of a soft spot than people might guess. Even a kid hanging around, and did you even ask for a paternity test on that one?" He flashes a grin. "Anyway, so long as we're on the same page, that's fine."

He doesn't seem to notice him ignoring the money, but he nods, slowly. "Protection, huh? Could be arranged. I'd need another little favor, though. Monaghan and his junkyard dog are an irritation. So, you arrange for one of his inner circle people, someone who knows something useful to get to me - willingly or not. And you can have some backup."

De la Vega's expression changes subtly at the response he gets. No sudden surge of aggression, no clash of temper, no violent rebuttal. Just a soft furrowing of his brows, and he gives a little sigh as he sinks deeper in his chair. "Tal vez," he concedes, quiet, after a few seconds spent in rumination.

At the other favour, though, a shake of his head. "I said, what I'm going to need is more eyes on me. You can't give me that, I might have to rethink my loyalties. You give me what I need, and then we'll talk favours. You understand what I'm saying?" No. He's nothing remotely like the old Chief. They're cut from a completely different cloth.

Reyes meets his eyes, squarely. "De la Vega, let's tell the truth and shame El Diablo. You think that there's any chance that Monaghan's gonna take you back at this point? You got two choices: a grave or a protector. And you don't get to bargain. So, if you want to walk away? Go ahead. One of my guys who's still, let's say, moonlighting can have a call to his boss that the Chief has decided he doesn't need any help. I give you, what, two days? Maybe less, if it gets to Monaghan that you're the reason my guys knew where to hit him." Not that it's true - but will Felix really care? That's a question his smile invites Ruiz to ponder for a long moment.

"Figure out what side you're on, amigo, and stop acting like you don't got to follow the rules. I don't have an objection to going through another couple of Interim Chiefs before I get one who doesn't choose being macho over being dead."

If Reyes is hoping to find a cornered and cowed creature in the Chief, he'll be sorely disappointed. The man is silent, and possessed of a flinty, unshakeable calm as he listens to the guy opposite him make those little threats. Jaw hard, he allows only a brief flicker of amusement to slide across his features before it's replaced by something cold and contemplative. "I've told you what I need." He inches his face a little closer. "You're not going to get very far in this town without the cops at your beck and fucking call. And if you think you can simply rustle up another Chief from nowhere, in a tiny town like this, that they're going to fall into line and follow? You're more fucking stupid than I thought."

He glances away, and then back to the other man's eyes. "Give me what I need. A show of good faith, after what I've done for you. And then we'll talk favours, cabron."

There's a movement from the watchers at fucking stupid, a subtle shift towards guns that suggests that they've been eavesdropping as much as the distance allows. Reyes raises a hand, and they go still. He continues to look calm and amused. "I'll think about it," is all he says. "Maybe once Hallisey is out and about again, I can afford to free someone up to be your security blanket. So, if you're really worried about Monaghan and his people," he shrugs, "work fast." Another long pull from the bottle, tilting his head back so he can empty it, then putting it to one side. "Well, this was fun. I'm sure you've got better things to do than keep me company. Unless you wanna come inside?" He tilts his head to the house. "Got some party favors, rustle up some company - girls, boys, whatever, I don't give a shit. Blow off some steam. You seem stressed." His grin is bright, teasing, and entirely insincere.

"Ponte jodido," replies the Mexican in a low snarl that's entirely audible to both Reyes and his security team. Then Ruiz hauls himself to his feet, dark eyes still riveted on the other man's, and waits to be escorted out.

''Buenas noches, Interim Chief," Reyes says, cheerfully. He even gives the departing cop a cheerful little wave, which turns into a gesture for the others to take him out. Which they do; back across the Harbor where his weapons are waiting, and handed over to him without any further fuss or bother. If none of the goons seem entirely happy about the situation, it's clear that they're loyal enough not to take shots at Ruiz on their own.