2020-10-01 - About Walter Grey

Vic Grey has spent most of her day hung over, and trying to recover from the return of Easton Marshall at the Twofer last night. There was coffee, and more booze, and a hell of a lot of Excedrin judiciously applied before she felt all right enough to head over to the trailer park, and begin cleaning out her trailer. The repairs have been done to the end that got scorched and water damaged, and she just needs to get her stuff out of it, and make it presentable to rent it out to her Bartending (Sith) apprentice, Ravn.

The twenty-two foot Airstream is still missing it's former patio and awning, but the rest is intact. The scorch marks have been buffed out of the metal shell, the windows replaced, and the sleeping area reconstructed. Vic is in jeans and a tee under a loose canvas jacket as she tosses items into a duffel bag that shouldn't possibly be able to hold them all, but does. There are cleaning supplies set on the little dining table with banquet seating.

It's a small town, and Alexander doesn't live THAT far away. Gossip travels. Admittedly, these days, half the gossip references a false reality. Two people have tried to sell him cocaine since he entered the trailer park, for example, and neither of them actually had cocaine; they just thought he'd be so desperate that he'd snort anything. So his expression is disgruntled as he finally reaches Vic's trailer. He studies the damage, then the bartender, before clearing his throat. "Miss Gray?" His voice, like the rest of him, looks weary. The cast is off, at least, but he still walks with a noticeable limp.

The trailer door is open because cleaning fumes without ventilation are a recipe for a disaster with a hangover. Vic pokes her head out at the sound of Alexander's voice, never mind the gun she's holding out of sight as she checks. The gun is put back in her waistband when she sees who it is though. "Clayton, hey, come on in, don't mind the mess, I'm moving out so I can rent it to someone."

She stuffs a frying pan into the bag without any seeming care for organizing what goes into it. It just disappears inside.

Alexander's nose wrinkles as he steps closer - the mingled smells of cleaning materials and burning aren't greatly attractive. He looks around with a blatant and rude curiosity. "Do you need any help?" A glance at the bag and the way it swallows the frying pan. "Not hauling things, probably. Although I can. If you need. I wanted to come by and report on the task you asked me to accomplish." Another glance, this time at the waistband and the gun there. Eventually, his gaze moves back to her face. "If now's not a good time, I can come back." There's a pause, before he asks, "Who are you renting to?"

Vic follows his gaze to the gun. "Just a precaution. Looks like the fire was caused by someone who threw a molotov. A girl can't be too careful. I have a license and a permit for it." Of course she does, if she used to be a cop. "If you enjoy cleaning, you're welcome to wipe down some surfaces for me while I get the rest of my crap out of here. I'm renting it to a coworker at the bar. The Danish guy. He needs a place for the winter when his boat is drydocked. And I need a place that's a little less vulnerable." She continues shoving things into the bag haphazardly.

Alexander gives a low sigh. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I'd heard about the fire, but not that it was arson." He shuffles over to find a rag if one is laying out somewhere, apparently more than happy to wipe down whatever she points him at. "Ravn? Ah. He's nice. I'm glad you're hitting it off." He starts wiping down whatever seems to need to be wiped. "I apologize. I wasn't able to fully execute the terms of the job. I did put the cameras up, though. They should be working fine. If you get any interference, let me know. I'm sure they can be adjusted."

"Yeah, he's a good guy, if a little naive," Vic says with a faint chuckle. She has a protective streak towards him, maybe because of that naivete he oozes. A brow arches at his words, and she pauses to pull her phone out and bring up an app that shows her the camera feeds and lets her examine old footage as well. "Looks like they're all working, what do you mean you weren't able to fully execute?" she asks, sliding into the seating around the table to watch the bar for a little bit, smiling at familiar faces here and there among the regulars, some cops she knew, most veterans her father does.

"Sheltered, maybe. But Gray Harbor has a way of fixing that, one way or the other," Alexander says, voice dry. His movements are meticulous; he cleans like a professional, or at least like someone who is trying to remove evidence. "I'm glad they're working. I tried to choose optimal camera angles." When she asks the last question, he coughs. Embarrassment flits across his face. "Your father has his own camera in place in the bar. Motion sensor. In case you ever decide to drop by without calling ahead. He's a good man. Worried about you."

Vic's face twists for a moment, from anger to resignation, and she sighs, scrubbing a hand down her face. "Goddammit, Walt." She chuckles then. "I should have expected that. Dad is a crafty old bastard. I still don't fully know what he did for the Army." The words about him worrying about her has guilt flickering across her expression. "Yeah, I had to leave Portland in a hurry, and I couldn't explain it to him. Or why I haven't been back. Tell me what happened."

"He's a smart man," Alexander agrees. "He didn't shoot me. Which was nice, and I appreciated it. He guessed that you sent me. I didn't tell him where you are, but...I don't think he'd have a lot of trouble figuring it out if he put his mind to it. People are watching him. He knows that. I suspect he knows a lot more than you've been willing or able to tell him." His head tilts. "I'm guessing the two Latinos are...Ojeda's people? And the one watching them is...more local than that?" He rubs at a spot on the counter until he realizes that it's a chip, not a stain. Frowns at it like he might make it go away. "How bad is it?"

"Right now? It's pretty bad. You know what's been going on here, under the surface? And I'm not talking about the Veil. I'm talking about on the street." Vic looks at him, trying not to say too much too soon, to protect herself, him, or both.

"I was present at the attempted hit on Monaghan," Alexander says, bluntly. "I won't say I know everything that's going on, but it's hard not to know the broad strokes if you're paying attention at all."

Vic nods and she turns the phone back off. "A few years back, in Portland, Monaghan got me off Ojeda's hit list, and my father by his relationship to me was part of that agreement. That truce has held up ever since. But with this new group here, threatening Felix, if he goes down, well, I'm pretty sure his agreement with Ojeda goes away too. Meaning Walt and I will be at risk again."

Alexander thinks about that. "Your cover was blown?" He glances at the phone. "Your father says that if something changes, and he has warning of it, he'll flash a peace sign at the cameras. He knows where they are. He's also got my phone number." He looks down at the counter. "It's not much. It won't be in time to stop a hit, if one happens, not at that distance. But it's what I could pull together on the spot." His frown deepens. "I really don't like having reasons to keep Felix Monaghan alive, Miss Grey. But I do like your father."

Vic grimaces. "Felix isn't the best person, but I owe him my life, and my father's, so I won't speak against him." She nods about her cover being blown. "Yeah, Stupid mistake on my part, and it ruined my life. I lost everything, and I'm still paying for it. But that's on me. Thank you for your work on this. I feel better. Dad has hidey holes to go to, and some very ornery veterans to back him up if he needs it. I think it'll be ok." At least until someone does take Felix out, then she will need a new strategy.

"He shot me," Alexander says, and from his grumpy tone, no, he's still not over that, even though he's CLEARLY not dead, so Felix can't have been too serious about it. "But I can understand your reasons for signing on." He dismisses the thanks with a shrug. "You paid me, I did the job to the best of my abilities. I'm glad you feel better. For what it's worth, he said the same. He's not taking the threat lightly. It was an interesting job. I need to learn to pick locks."

Vic listens to the list of words coming out of Alexander's mouth. She smiles, genuinely at him. "I can teach you to do that, if you want. Things you learn as a detective. God, I miss it. I miss being a cop every day." She gets a faraway look in her eyes for a moment. "Anyway, thanks. I may throw some more work your way now and then, if that's all right?"

Alexander brightens, visibly. "Really? I would like that. It's become a hampering deficiency in my ability to get in and out of places. And with things getting more...whatever the fuck they're getting, on both sides of the Veil, knowing how to get in and out of things seems more important everyday." He stares at her. "Your father said that you were a good one." And then he moves on, with a nod. "Yes. Depending on the work. But if I take it, I respect my client's confidences."

Vic nods. "Yeah, there are some tools you can use that make it easier, like lockpicking guns. There are electric ones that can get you into most any lock in a couple of seconds. They lack the charm of doing it with old fashioned picks though." She shoves a coffee mug from a cabinet into the bag and it looks like she's all packed. Her father's praise makes her grimace. She is clearly troubled by what happened back in Portland. But she nods at his client stuff.

"I prefer something that I can easily carry with me, so I'll probably go for old fashioned picks. I don't have the ability to conceal things very well," Alexander admits. Then follows up with, "If we get to the point where someone's trying to search me, though, then things are about to get unpleasant either way." A flicker of a self-mocking smile, there. He notes that she's finished packing, and so he folds the rag neatly, and offers it to her. "I can deliver a written report to you, but I figured you might not want one, in this case. Anything else I can do for you, Miss Grey?"

"Less of a paper trail, the better, yeah," Vic agrees with Alexander. "And I'll drop you a text when I have some time to teach you to pick locks, ok? In the meantime, be safe out there. Stay out of Felix's sights if he's prone to shooting you." She smiles, clearly joking, as she tosses the rag into the duffel as well.

Jokes and Alexander are hit and miss; this one causes him to stop and frown, thoughtfully. "I don't think I can say he's prone to it. I don't think it's a habit or anything. But that was the first time I ever met him. So data is insufficient, but the precedent isn't reassuring." But he smiles in response to her smile, and bobs his head. "Let me know. Don't die." And then he just turns and shuffles his way out of the trailer, without so much as a 'bye'.