2021-01-08 - Cops and robbers

The job is in a few nights' time, and Seth has been doing his due diligence in getting things arranged for Daryl's unexpected 'meeting' with Joey, but it hasn't left a lot of time for any target practice. The enforcer is hoping that things don't end up in a gunfight with Daryl's boys, it is what all this prep work has been for. The job is supposed to be a simple snatch and grab with no collateral damage and no casualties, but expect for the worst and hope for the best is Seth's motto when it comes to jobs like this, so he needs to squeeze off a few rounds and make sure everything is in working order with both his equipment and his body.

Seth has made his way out to the not-so-secret clearing in the woods where it seems most, if not all, gun owners in Gray Harbor end up discharging a few rounds from their firearms which may or may not always be legal enough to be fired off in the town. He is dressed for the weather, and for the terrain, wearing a pair of thick jeans, flannel top, and a pair of steel-toed workboots adorn his feet. Currently, he is at the tree line on the far side of the 'range', setting up a few paper targets. Back by the firing line on the ground are a pair of heavy cloth duffle bags, zipped up to conceal the contents.

The crackle and snap of movement deeper in the underbrush suggests that Seth may, in fact, have company. Something big, from the sound of it. And something that knows perfectly well that he's there.

Rifle slung across his shoulder, the police captain may or may not be fairly quickly recognisable in a ballcap and pair of dark-rimmed glasses. A hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows is worn over battered black BDUs and scuffed hiking boots; and as he draws nearer, the unmistakeable profile of a civilian model Sig holstered at his hip. His dark eyes track the other man on his approach, then tick toward the pair of duffle bags. Then back again. He pulls to a halt and sniffs sharply, rubbing at his nose with his knuckles. "Monaghan," he greets, without a smile.

Tacking up the last of the targets onto a tree, Seth starts to head back towards the firing line when the noise from de la Vega's approach causes him to halt his movement and raise his eyes to see who it is that approaches. Of all the people it just had to be him, didn't it? Because of course it did. There is an almost imperceptible shake of the enforcer's head at the amusement of the absurd irony as a small grin takes form on the younger Monaghan's face. "de la Vega," returns Seth, the grin still evident on his face, like he just finds this whole situation amusing.

Another second ticks by before the enforcer resumes his way towards where he left the duffles. "Fancy meeting you out this way," Seth exclaims as he continues towards the bags, "Nice rifle." Pause. "You going to shoot me if I open a duffle?"

It is a fairly nice rifle. A heavily modified Russian SV-98 that someone (probably him) has clearly put a lot of sweat and elbow grease into hand-tooling with a custom grip and sight. It's long and slim, its tripod currently in pieces and stowed along with a set of reticles in various pockets strapped to his body.

"Mm, I come out here a lot," he offers in a low rumble, moseying in closer with that ambling prowl of his. The question garners a raspy chuckle, and he pauses to pat himself down for what winds up being a pack of cigarettes. "Depends what's in them," he offers with a little moue of his mouth, tapping one out. Then another; it's offered up to Seth with a questioning look. But he's going to have to come and get it.

"Would you be surprised if I said there were guns inside?" smirks Seth as he squats down behind one of the duffles, moving slowly and keeping his movements deliberately overt as he starts to unzip the one in front of him. Once unzipped, the enforcer removes his hands from the bag and stands, using his foot to open the flap as best he can. "Unloaded for transport. Ammo it in the other."

The offer of the cigarette gives the enforcer a moment's pause, glancing from de la Vega to the pack of smokes and back. "Thanks," Seth starts, adding in a small shake of his head as he looks back to the pack, "I don't usually smoke. I'll have a cigar on occasion, and maybe a cigarette socially when the mood hits." The redhead takes a moment to think about it, shrugging as he takes the step forward to retrieve the offered smoke. "Fuck it. Why not. You only live once, so I have been told. Though from what I have heard Alexander say, that isn't always the case."

The cigarettes are actually spiced cloves. Kreteks with some sort of foreign brand name on the carton. The smoke's scissored between two fingers, heavily inked in what's unquestionably gang markings. Letters and symbols scrawled all the way up to the first knuckles, interwoven with the odd scar. "De nada," he replies with a chuckle, relinquishing the thing. No sudden movements from him, either; he doesn't reach for his sidearm. Doesn't so much as flinch, as the enforcer goes for the cigarette.

Once Seth withdraws, though, he does turn slightly to take a look inside the duffle bag that was gestured to. Prowls a couple of steps closer, boots kicking up dust on the trail as he moves. Then he sinks into a crouch and eases the flap open wider so he can have a look at the weapon inside. The gun is withdrawn, and it's hefted against his shoulder, checked to see if indeed its magazine is empty. "What brings you out here today, hmm?" as he checks the sight.

The inside of the duffle has been modified with compartments to that the weapons it carries are not all rattling around against each other like one might expect. The foam core holds each piece it is designed for with a gentle grip as de la Vega reaches in and starts to remove them. There are two automatics, a desert eagle 1911 and a Glock 19. Also inside is a scoped AR-15 modified with a bump-stock. True to his word, the guns are unloaded, the magazines being kept in their own separate compartments next to the guns. It's almost as if someone knew that a cop might be around here sometimes and someone was playing it safe.

"Same thing as you I suspect. I just wanted to get a bit of target practice in," explains Seth as he lifts the clove between his fingers as he fishes around for a lighter in his pockets. "Got a light? I sometimes carry one around, but not today apparently."

It's that modified AR-15 that de la Vega's got his hands on, of course. Bump stock noted, before he slides it back into the bag and reaches for the desert eagle. "Yeah?" He taps the other bag with the muzzle of the pistol, then gestures to Seth with the (unloaded) gun in a lazy turn of his wrist. "Let's see what you've got then, hotshot." It's tossed atop the bag, and he pushes to his feet slowly, keeping his eyes on the other man. The request for a lighter has him tucking his cigarette between his lips and patting himself down for the thing. It's tossed over lightly.

"I should start carrying one around, if nothing else for Vic," Seth says as he lights the clove with a flick of his thumb before tossing the light back in de la Vega's direction.

Seth reaches over to the other duffle, unzips it and pulls out a box of ammo for the eagle before walking over to get the magazine from the other bag, "'Scuse me."

As the enforcer starts the process of loading the magazine for the pistol, he looks over at de la Vega, "So, what's the deal with you and Vic? Know you two worked together but that's about it. Rumor has it that it was more than work, though."

The lighter's snagged neatly in midair, a twinge of a smile given to Seth as the cop tucks it away again from whence it came. His own clove is dragged off of, smoke exhaled away from the other man. Dark eyes follow each and every movement he makes, as if on guard for anything sudden. Anything unexpected at all.

As to Vic, he purses his lips slightly, makes a noise in his throat. Somewhere between a grunt and a snort. "There's not much to tell." He reaches for his own pistol, the Sig holstered at his hip, cigarette still pinched between two fingers. The clip's checked mechanically, then the slide racked to drop a round in the chamber with a dull clack. "We worked the cartels undercover. Dirty fucking work, but someone's got to do it, yeah?"

"I can imagine," Seth agrees as he finishes loading the magazine and reaches over to pick up the eagle. He slowly slips the magazine into place, holding the pistol to his side and finger along the slide. "I've seen the scars. Amazing she isn't dead, but I'm happy she isn't ."

Seth moves over to the line to stand in front of one of the targets, "So how did the two of you end up here? "

Taking a firing stance, Seth raises the gun and squeezes off a singular shot. "Small world."

"No," replies de la Vega quietly, all humour having left his voice. Leached away; and in its place, a contemplative raspiness. Like his mind's elsewhere. "No, you can't." He watches the other man in silence, then, as he lines up his shot and fires. And squints slightly at the marked target downrange after the crack of the gun's report starts to fade.

"Not bad," he concedes, low voiced. A slight adjustment of his glasses, and his Sig is braced in both hands. Finger along the barrel, slivered eyes hunting the underbrush. Then, "Green target, four o'clock. Second ring." The safety comes off, his stance shifts minutely, and his finger drops to squeeze the trigger and put two rounds in it side by side, straddling that ring he mentioned. Not perfect, but damned close.

"Same way any cop from the big city winds up in some shithole small town," he murmurs, lowering the gun. "Because they fucked up. The fuck do you think?"

Looking down range as de la Vega takes his shots, Seth lets out a low and slow whistle. "Nice shots, Chief," the enforcer compliments as he shifts his stance slightly and takes another shot. He doesn't try calling it, just sends another round downrange. It isn't as impressive, but it still tags the target.

"How the fuck would I know? It's not like I went and pulled your jacket and read up on you, not that it would have had anything interesting in it anyway. I'm sure all the good shit is redacted. For all I know you followed her out here with some unrequited love bullshit."

Seth smirks and lowers the gun again, slipping his finger from the trigger as he turns to de la Vega, "As I said, rumors."

Safety on while Seth takes his turn with the target, the cop drags off his cigarette and flicks away a column of ash that's accumulated on the tip. He chuckles at the implication that there's nothing of substance in his service jacket. Which, to be perfectly fair, there probably isn't. Just in case Seth's gone looking. His career - at least officially - has been the epitome of by the books.

The unrequited love bit, however, has him re-safetying his weapon, just as he's going to rack the slide and take his shot. "You're fucking with me, right?" Seth's glance is returned with a speculative one, like he's trying to figure out if he's being played. A beat, and then, "Vic followed me here. She happen to mention that?" A step closer, though his posture's not particularly threatening. "And let's clear something else up, while we're at it. We've fucked once or twice, her and I." He shakes his head. "I don't have some.. thing for her. You can relax."

"Nope." Seth says, clove cigarette twitching as it dangles from between his lips. He exhales through is nose as he stands his ground while the cop approaches, "We never really talk about you, other than a few bits about you working together. This was just me being curious." The news that Vic and he had a sexual relationship doesn't seem to phase him, his reaction remaining neutral.

Seth slides the desert eagle into a holster at the small of his back, taking the cigarette from his mouth and ashing it onto the ground before taking another drag off of it, "So, I heard you were there when Felix was almost killed. Mind giving me a rundown? It's been shit figuring out what happened. I know there is no love lost between you two, but I'm not exactly asking you for any secrets here. I already know the basics and I know the aftermath. I also know what happened to the hitter." Seth shifts his eyes over to de la Vega, small smile on his lips, "I just want information. I don't give a shit about what the deal is between you and Felix. It isn't my business. Someone trying to off him is."

"Mm," is all de la Vega seems to have left to say on the topic of he and Vic. His own sidearm is held loose in hand as he continues his approach; dark eyes on the cigarette, then on Seth's face again. There's that hunter's intensity, that efficiency of movement. Like a predator conserving energy for the fight, for the kill.

Then Felix's name muddies the waters, and he actually chuckles, and glances away. "Shit, you don't beat around the fucking bush, do you?" He halts perhaps three or four feet away, just on the very edges of the taller man's personal space. Then, finally, shoves his gun into its holster without taking his eyes off the enforcer. "You're going to have to be more specific, Mr. Monaghan. Tell me what you want to know, that you don't already. Smart guy like you, I'm sure I don't need to spell things out, yeah?"

"Beating around the bush is just a fucking waste of time, so why do it?" Seth says as he looks down towards the Chief in whatever kind of standoff the two are having. The taller enforcer crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, reaching up to remove the cigarette from his lips.

"What do you know about the guy that set it up? Reyes? How about Daryl de Bois, or whatever. From what I have heard, and I have no reason to doubt things, you have just as much reason to want them gone as anyone. So how about we put aside shit and deal with the thorn in both our sides."

The cop continues to maintain steady eye contact, save for the occasional flick of his gaze to track something deeper in the treeline. Perpetually vigilant for signs of a threat; particularly when that name is mentioned. It's subtle, but not impossible to spot his hackles coming up. "Is this where you try to give me the enemy of my enemy talk, and convince me we're.." He gestures between the pair of them with his cigarette, then murmurs low, "amigos?" A rusty sounding chuckle follows. "Because I'm not buying it."

"I'll tell you what, though." He eases in a step closer, now well within Seth's personal space. And does he give a fuck? No, he does not. His smoke is flicked into the dirt, sputters, sputters, dies. And he reaches for something in his pants pocket. Slow, to make it clear it isn't his gun. "I'll make you a trade, yeah? I give you something. You give me something in return. Es mejor que ser amigos."

"Oh fuck no. I know we will never be friends. Allies on the same side? Maybe. Ravn or Alexander made an interesting point the other day, that if we...and by we I mean a generic we...found ourselves on the other side of the veil, what would win out? Would you or I 'be a little to slow' popping off a shot that might save someone we might see as an enemy? I had to think about that, and I came up with my own belief that I think I would serve humanity over Them. I would hope you might feel the same, but you may not....if not then fine, but I find this situation somewhat like that. I don't have to like you, you don't have to like me. That didn't have to change. But I think we both want these assholes out of our town." Seth says, taking a step forward to close the distance, personal space be damned...now it is striking distance.

"What is it you want from me, de la Vega? I'm willing to make a deal, if I can."

He seems willing enough to hear the other man out, at least. A slight narrowing of his eyes when serving humanity is mentioned. A huff of amusement, like, have you forgotten who you're talking to? He is a cop, after all. An officer of the law. Isn't that what he's sworn to do? Serve and protect?

It's his cell phone that's withdrawn, the cop's scruffy profile illuminated by the screen's glow once he switches it on. "You can think whatever the fuck you want," is murmured as he starts scrolling through some files. Then seems to find what he was looking for, and holds it up for the enforcer. Just out of reach. The guy could fight him for it, of course. That's certainly on the table, given their very close quarters.

"A favour of my choosing. To be determined at a later date." No smile, now. Just the quick flash of canines, the faintest edge in his voice.

Yeah, he's a cop, sure. One that has done some things that are not exactly all that cop like. Seth may have his own ideas about just how much de la Vega serves and protects his own self interests.

The enforcer's eyes flick to the phone for a brief moment before he settles them back onto de la Vega, his brow arched. "What are we doing, shady deals 101? Yeah, I don't think that is going to work. We both know that kind of thing never works out. Seriously, what do you want? None of this favor in the future bullshit, because you will end up asking something I won't do and then it gets ugly."

"Then you're going to have to trust me. Aren't you." The phone's held in place. And the enforcer's got a few inches on de la Vega; if he wanted to make a play for it, he might even win. Where that'd land them, well.

"You want the information, you play by my rules, Monaghan." The sun's dipping below the horizon, and it's getting cold as shit out here; his breath's starting to fog the chill air between them as he waits.

"For fuck sake, for all I know you have a photo of your cat on that thing," Seth says with an exasperated sigh as his eyes flick over to the phone again. The enforcer reaches up and rubs at the stubble on his face, scratching his chin.

"Yeah. Pass. I won't say I don't want the info, because I do, but my loyalties aren't so easily bought, de la Vega. Owing you a favor just is to high a price that could bite me In the ass. I'll just have to do without."

Seth's exasperation might just be mirrored, ever so briefly, in the Hispanic cop playing keepaway with his cell phone. He runs the tip of his tongue along his lower lip thoughtfully, dark eyes on the ginger in front of him. There's a long pause before he flips the device flush with his palm, and switches it back on again.

"Tell you what. I'll make this one a freebie. You don't owe me anything." He thumbs through a few conversation threads, then seems to find whatever he's looking for, and hitches his chin at the enforcer. "Number? If you want it."

Seth eyes the cop for a long moment, reaching up to scratch at the growing stubble on his chin. The words 'free' and 'not owe' seem to turn the tide in the chief's favor as Seth quips out, "555-392-5968" quickly, rattling the numbers off the top of his head. "Now, it's getting late. I think we are just about done here, aren't we?"

Once the number's handed off, de la Vega enters it into his phone with a few keystrokes. Moments later, assuming Seth hasn't given him the wrong number, a message pings on the enforcer's cell. Then the cop sniffs once, rubs his knuckles across his nose, and shoves his phone back into his pants pocket. "De nada," he offers with a wink, giving the remaining targets one last glance before taking a step backward. Then another. "I'll see you around, Monaghan."

Rifle strap hitched onto his shoulder, he turns to go.

Glancing briefly down at the phone when it dings, Seth returns his gaze towards de la Vega and nods once. "Yeah, I'm sure you will. It's a small place to live."

The enforcer watches de la Vega turn to go, keeping an eye on the cop and with a sigh he calls out, "You know, for what it is worth...thank you." Sure, he hasn't looked at what de la Vega sent him, it could just be a dick pic for all he knows at the moment, but still he gives the cop the benefit of the doubt. "In another time, it might have been nice to work with you. You are as good a shot as they say."

A bark of laughter for that observation, Javier sending the other man a brief glance over his shoulder as he departs for the main trailhead. "And you don't make me want to put two bullets in the back of your head when you open your mouth, which is more than I can say about your cousin." He lingers a moment, then hitches his chin toward Seth. And turns to go, with a crack of underbrush beneath his boots.

If the enforcer does happen to check that message, it's short and sweet and.. possibly a little cryptic. It's an address. Of a house out on Elm, to be precise. Nothing else, save a little note at the bottom stating that:

next one's going to cost you.
-Javier