2021-11-21 - When the grifters tell you to go to the police

Isi should go into that building - she should. Her broken arm has a nice unsigned cast in a sling, and her bruises nice and purpled. Most of them are covered by her clothing, but her neck and face each sport some. Scrapes over her hands and face show the abuse also. She stands on the street side across the house but isn't making her way towards the building.

The thing about a town like Gray Harbor is that everywhere you need to go is pretty smushed together, meaning it's often as easy to walk as it is to drive -- and more so when you're an asthmatic on a strict exercise regimen prescribed by Coach of the Year, Mr My Gym Is Definitely Not A Mob Hide-Out Joey Kelly. Ravn Abildgaard is that asthmatic and he's just heading downtown for a cup of coffee after one of those walks about, and -- whoa hey, that's Cameron and she ain't looking pretty.

The Dane crosses the street and walks up. "You look like you got tossed in a barrel of hungry piranhas," he says bluntly. "Bad dream?"

Exercise is important, and keeping up stamina is important to not being murdered by psycho serial killers in dreams. That's the only reason Perdita is anywhere near the police station OR the fire department. Her athletic wear is form fitting but looks warm, and she only slows when she spots 2 people she knows, turning down to jog down that sidewalk and up to them, her cheerful smile fading into worried concern as she looks Isi over.

"Are you okay?"

It's a good thing it's all smushed together - Isi no longer has a car to drive around so her own two feet are the best that she's got. When RAvn and Perdita arrive close to one another with similar questions her lips curl into a rueful scowl.

"Would it be weird if I said that I wished it was some kind of shitty dream? No-" and here she's going to pause and pull her eyebrows together, "some fucker ran me off the road. Totaled my jeep. Insurance wants a police report."

"Wait, some normal guy ran you off the road? Why?" The idea that somebody might do something like that outside of the madness that is Gray Harbor clearly hasn't occurred to the folklorist who usually has a theory about everything. He understands stories, not people. He glances across the street, at the combined firehouse and police department. ". . . Need us to go with you? It can be a little intimidating, even if you haven't done anything."

He manages to repress a shudder and actually feels rather proud of himself for even making the suggestion in the first place.

"... what the fuck." Dita murmurs, wincing sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, Isi... I'm glad you're not more seriously hurt, though." Perdita's expression is sympathetic, but when Ravn offers to walk in with her, the woman's brows go up, just a bit... before she nods, "We can totally go in with you. For that matter, if you need a ride anywhere, my car's not parked too far away, and... you probably shouldn't be walking around too much if you were just in an accident."

Isi's broken arm twitches - of course it's her dominant hand, nothing else would be fitting, and she winces at the nice painful reminder that she should ~not~ be moving it just yet. Right. Other arm to reach up and sweep stray hairs back behind an ear. "I don't know -" radical honesty on high there, Isi looking at the building. "I don't even know what the hell to say to them. How would they even know I wasn't just drunk off my ass and screwed up? I haven't been back to look at the car."

She's got a whole list of what-if's on her lips that she abruptly clamps her lips down on them.

"Well, they don't," Ravn argues, quite reasonably. "But they also don't know that you were, so unless you're going to tell me that your car is full of empty beer bottles and worse, they'll have to give you the credit of doubt. Do you remember what the other car looked like? Might be someone who makes a habit out of this shit, and he needs to be stopped before he gets someone killed."

Almost succeeded, too.

The Dane glances back. "Also, frankly, some of the people in there are like us. If you tell them the truth, well. . . They're used to covering up shit like 'a dragon ruined the highschool roof' or 'a mass murderer from a hundred years ago possessed his descendant and killed another bunch of people', and by the way, don't bring that one up around an Addington unless you're ready to deal with a lot of trauma."

"Just tell the truth. Did paramedics take you in to the hospital, or a friend? You obviously got medical attention, so they'd have done bloodwork, they could tell if you'd been drinking..." Perdita's expression is sympathetic, but growing a bit... angry. "If you remember anything about that driver, it'd be good to get him off the streets, yeah. The next person might not be so lucky..."

"Yeah - no, no beer bottles. Just a bunch of Indian paintings on the side of the car. " See, that's a voice that is more use to cops assuming the worst. Isi reaches over and scratches gently at the cast, wanting to scratch INSIDE but, that's not how things work.

"Weirdly - Alexander Clayton found me. Put me in a Uber." Isi doesn't look happy about the fact that the weirdest guy she's met so far (well, real guy) was the one that saw her at her most vulnerable. "It was a pick-up truck. Covered in mud - though now that I think about it..." She trails off into thought. "It was only on the bumper and nose. Weird." Usually mudders have mud ~everywhere~. IT's a mark of pride.

"Make sure to tell the police anything unusual like that. And tell them Clayton's involved, too." Ravn can't resist a lopsided grin. "Half of them knows Clayton's the man to ask about strange things in this town. The other half thinks he's a loony bin candidate, and the faster they can close any case with his name in, the better. Either way, less interest in you."

Did he miss the point about bigotry towards First Nations residents? Probably. Man is fluorescent white.

The Dane pauses all the same. "Do you think this was targeted at you? It can be very difficult to tell where dream ends and reality begins. Sometimes things from over there walk over here, and they can pass for normal. It could be a way to get under your skin, hitting your specific fears. Unless of course you're secretly friends with the mobsters from out of town in which case I suggest you get other friends."

There's a small nod from Perdita, and a sympathetic expression, once more. "You have every reason to distrust the cops. All cops are bastards, and... your people, especially, have an acrimonious relationship with them."

Perdita's lips thin a bit. "But unless... you can afford to get your car fixed without your insurance... you'll have to trust that these bastards are at least less bastardy than ones you've dealt with before. We can go in with you. They'll be less likely to try anything with a white guy with you." she grimaces, just a little. "Let's use Ravn's white privilege to our benefit, eh?"

"Fuck - that doesn't actually make me want to go in any more," Isi sighs to the comment about how people will respond to Alexander Clayton inside the police station.

To Perdita's comment, "I don't think anything is fixing that car. It was over twenty years old, I just need the official declaration that it's totaled so no one can try to use the title or something shitty. Not even worth the scrap."

But wait, what was it Ravn just said, slowly, "....mobsters?" Something in that hints that the revelation that that kind of criminal element in two has Isi's brain spinning in a different direction.

Ravn in turn doesn't really look thrilled at the idea of privilege -- but he can't deny that he has it, in spades, and probably even more than the average white guy. "Let's not forget that the Chief is Mexican, too. Gray Harbor is at least used to the idea," he murmurs.

The look on Isi's face causes yet another pause. "Don't tell me you got involved with anyone named Reyes," he says quietly. "I will drag you in there myself. Last time I visited the GHPD? I ended up trying to stab one of his hitmen in the eyes with a pair of scissors, after they bloody well shot the receptionist. For being noisy. Yes. I have issues. And a hell of a lot of scars to go with them."

At the comment about Ruiz, Perdita's face doesn't change much, if at all. "That's the only reason I'm even suggesting giving them half a chance." she points out softly. "But being part of one minority group doesn't automatically make you immune to the brainwashing techniques most police academies use, or from holding prejudiced beliefs around other minority groups, especially when we live in a culture that pushes those beliefs and tries to make us internalize them."

"That said, if any of his officers give you shit, let me know."

Outside of the GHPD stand Isi, Ravn, and Perdita. Ravn and Perdita look like themselves, with Perdita sporting some athletic wear that is more like a second skin. Isi looks like she got hit by a truck (spoiler, not a simile in this case), with a broken arm, a bunch of bruises, and assorted cuts about herself that look like they continue under her clothing. It's fine.

Everything thing in Isi's posture is one of someone who should go into the police station, but is stalling to not do it. To the two of them she says, "No... no one by that name. There was this weird thing at work though, I didn't think much of it. Emil said he was going to take care of it but if the mob is working in Gray Harbor..." It puts a whole new layer of complexity on what Isi figured it was.

Weakly to Perdita, "Thanks. We're far enough off the reservation that maybe it wouldn't be too bad..." yeah, but she doubts it.

"Oh, Christ on rollerskates," Ravn murmurs. "It's Gray Harbor. It's got two hundred years' worth of history of everything that can go wrong, goes wrong. And honestly, if something is off at city hall, you need to tell. Don't want to get caught up in it and somehow ending up taking the fall for it, either. Come on -- this white male privilege that I supposedly have, take it and use it."

He doesn't grab hold of Isi's arm and drag her -- both because Ravn bloody well never touches anyone when he can avoid it, and well, her arm is broken. But he's visibly contemplating the idea.

"Come on. I slept with at least one of the cops in this place, so I have leverage." Perdita starts walking toward the station confidently, her ponytail bouncing as she moves, the grifter counting on her force of personality (or the way her ass looks in those athletic leggings) to get Isi to follow her into the station. If Perdita can do it, disliking cops as much as SHE does, Isi can too, dammit. She pauses, glancing over her shoulder at Isi and Ravn, tilting her head just so. "Coming?"

Isi is INDECISIVE, but there's a Ravn to one side giving off vibes of 'just do it' and Perdita leading the way, so it doesn't leave much room for her to bug out. It's not like she could break and run. A nice sedate walk is fine. It's probably good to mention she's on some pain meds right now. Nothing too extreme since she's like, walking and what not. But sans injuries she'd be high.

"Fine," she says, starting to walk behind Perdita. "But only someone you two trust - no random fucker on the force."

INTO THE BUILDING THEY GO. This is fine.

And thus, little short of physical coercion, Isi Cameron finally enters the combined firehouse and police station. Ravn knows the way at least -- not so much to the firehouse side but he's filed several police reports here -- and of course there was that little incident that ended with a dead receptionist, Mac the game shop owner still refusing to leave her shop almost six months later, and Ravn miraculously not arrested for assault for trying to stab a man in the face. "It'll be fine," he murmurs. "Contrary to common belief, most of these blokes are actually here to help. And some of them are like us."

Meaning, they understand about weird shit because it happens all the time to them too.

Speaking of random fuckers on the force, there's a uniformed officer sitting behind the desk today who can't be more than twenty. Twenty-five, if he hasn't shaved in a few days. He's furiously filling out reports with one hand while *uh huh*ing into the phone tucked between ear and shoulder, and cutting his gaze occasionally to the back door like he expects some fire breathing dragon to come bursting out at any moment and roast his balls off.

The arrival of the trio gets a just a minute finger, and some paperwork pushed at Ravn, who -- with his white privilege -- looks like the most respectable one of the lot of them. Ain't that cute?

From somewhere behind the reception desk, from an office somewhere, echoing down the halls, is a woman's voice, "What do you /mean/ you 'don't remember'? We talked about it /three/ /times/ last month!"

It's a little odd for Perdita Leontes to enter a building with a hard floor and not hear the sound of stilettos, but it's not like she runs in them... usually. When the officer holds up a finger, she glances at her companions. The ponytail comes down, her dark hair gets shaken out, and the zipper on her windbreaker gets slipped down while the officer's distracted, exposing her matching sports bra, which does the most it can with her modest bust in giving her cleavage. That done, she walks up to the desk with a smile, waiting to be noticed. With her luck, it'll be the only man on the force who's either gay or too devoted to his girl to even look.

Man - it's a good thing isn't alone right now, because she would turn on her heel and just walk RIGHT out. Fuck the car insurance, this isn't work it. Others are putting in an effort for her though, (see, Perdita - also, that's nice to look at from a silent bystander spot.)

The sound of Assistant DA Cassidy's dulcet tones echoing out brings a real smile. "I hope she's raking them over the coals."

"I'm sure she is," Ravn murmurs because he recognised that voice too. Then he looks down at the papers he was handed and idly asks himself -- in his inside voice -- when exactly he became respectable and ... Right. The one white male present, represent. Goddamnit, Americans. "But if we're lucky she's busy enough skinning some other unfortunate sod alive, and won't notice us."

At least he can appreciate a good grift when he sees one, and Perdita's an expert. He does nothing to interfere with her, ah, attention grabbing -- at least not until it's established whether her mark will let his attention get grabbed. There's a lot of unspoken promises of grabbing going on in that sports bra, and somewhere on the inside, the Danish also-a-former-grifter is laughing his skinny backside off at the display.

Going by the look on the kid's face -- one part this is the most erotic thing that's happened to me in months and one part I really ought to make her stop before the Chief walks in on it -- gay is not his problem. Cassidy might be, given the way he tenses right up when he hears her voice. His phone conversation's concluded crisply, and he hangs up, averts his eyes from the display in front of him, and calls out to the ADA, "Got a few messages for you, Bennet. Left 'em in your inbox, like you asked." He points to it. A literal inbox. With a post it note that may or may not have something inappropriate scrawled on it. It's quickly collected, crumpled up, and tossed in the garbage.

To Perdita, "Hello, ma'am, how can I help you?" He's really trying not to look at her breasts.

Of course, de la Vega chooses this moment to walk in. Bzzzt as the alarmed door at the back opens to admit him, in uniform today, and downing a cup of coffee. He looks like he's on his way out somewhere.

Cassidy follows not too far behind Ruiz is the one responsible for that clacking sound you heard as her heels hit the hard laminate flooring. "I feel like half this department has early onset dimentia or there's a conspiracy to just fuck with me. How can facts of cases we've worked on for weeks and months just be forgotten about?" She is, of course, demanding an answer to that from Ruiz.

She comes alongside the receptionist and reaches for the contents of her inbox. There is a fleeting look to the inappropriateness of Perdita's cleavage, but it's Ravn's male privilege that earns the communication, "What the fuck are you doing here Rav?"

"Hi, my friend was run off the road earlier by someone in a pick up truck and she needs to file a police report. Is there an officer available that could help us with that?" Perdita smiles sweetly at the officer, tilting her head slightly and smiling at him, leaning her hip on the desk slightly as she does. She gestures for Isi to join her, now. Her voice is ever so slightly breathless, her expression conveying concern for her dear friend who just needs to be rescued. Cassidy and Ruiz get less than a glance, those big brown eyes focused entirely on the officer behind the desk.

"Her," Ravn nods towards Isi -- and then realises what he just said because gah, English. "I mean, I am trying to help Cameron file a report about some jackass who ran her off the road." He manages to keep a straight face, at least.

He seems quite content to hold those papers for the young police officer and let Perdita take the lead. From the display, it's quite obvious that the young police officer shares that sentiment -- yes, please, let the rather nicely undressed young lady come talk to him, that thirty-year-old guy with the Steve Jobs turtleneck is not showing enough skin here to warrant interest. And neither is the young lady with the cuts, scrapes, and obviously broken arm.

Wait wait wait, this wasn't as uncomfortable with Dita's breasts were the focus of this police's attention. Now that she's been pulled back to the fore though Isi takes a half step forward and lifts her broken arm a little bit. "Yeah - Ah, a police report for insurance purposes. But, ah, oh hey, Cassidy." That voice is not one that would be met with relief by most people, but Isi IS relieves to have the DA suddenly in attendance. Or what Ravn said, attempted vehicular homicide, potato potato.

Officer Robert Lavoie is floundering. Sure, he puts on a good show of not being affected by the goods on display, but it's clear he doesn't quite realise he's being played here. And he really should.

Fortunately, Captain de la Vega is there to save him. Or something. "Fuck with you? Who here would want to fuck with you, Bennet?" He squints at her, shoves the last of the donut he'd been eating into his mouth, and mumbles around it, "Besides, you know what this town is like. It'll turn up once you stop looking for it." A bit of icing's licked off his thumb, and in no hurry at all, he ambles over toward the front desk.

"Got a problem here?" His attention cuts toward Isi and her broken arm. "The hell happened to you?"

"Oh. Traffic." Cassidy says, disinterestedly, as she sweeps her eyes over the posse that's arrived to file this report. District court. State patrol. Not her bag.

"There's adhesive residue on this top envelope. Where's the post-it that was her?" She asks Robert.

Poor Robert didn't stand a chance against Perdita, it's not his fault. "It wasn't just 'traffic', it was attempted murder with a vehicle. Someone intentionally ran her off the road and left her for dead. Look at her." The breathless quality to Perdita's voice is fading fast, now that someone she's not going to flirt with to get her way is here. She does, however, shoot Robert an apologetic look, as if to say 'if only your boss wasn't here' but... well. Cops.

Ravn smiles at poor Robert and returns his stack of papers; what is he, a piece of furniture? If his look to the younger man says anything along the lines of, You'll just have to try harder, son, it's entirely deliberate. Then he too glances at de la Vega. "I somewhat insisted. It's not just an insurance matter when someone's literally left in a ditch like that. Might be a random hate crime, might be a drunk driver. Might be something else."

He glances at Robert again. The last guy who sat in that chair while Ravn was here ended up shot through the head for talking too much. It takes him a little effort to repress the shudder.

"Yeah," a vague gesture in Perdita's direction for her explanation. "Actually... Cassidy, would you be willing to hear this?" Grasping for someone she pretty much knows that just EXUDES the straight and narrow. A glance around the room has Isi shifting uncomfortably. "Maybe in private somewhere?"

Look, if Cassidy and the police chief can't manage it, then no one can.

Officer Lavoie appears increasingly flustered as his boss shows up and demands to know what's going on. He rips his gaze away from Perdita and her assets, and tries to look the Chief in the eye when he tells him that, "I tried to get them to start a report, sir, but-"

"That's fine, we'll finish the paperwork later." Javier collects said paperwork, rolls it up into his hand, and gestures toward the door he just came out of. "Let's head upstairs. I'll take a statement from each of you." The suggestion that the ADA be involved gains a bit of sideeye, but he doesn't outright argue it. Yet.

Cassidy sighs and slaps her papers on the desk. She looks at Ruiz with a 'really?' She looks /away/ from Rav. At the cleavage for a milisecond. Then to Isi's pleading.

She lifts her arms and lets them fall back down to slap her sides, "Fiiine." She turns and yanks the door open and starts clacking back down the hall toward Ruiz's office.

"Thank you, Chief de la Vega." Perdita says with a bright smile. Cassidy gets a sidelong glance from the woman... and then Perdita leans across Robert's desk and snags a pen, writing her number on a blank piece of paper before sliding it, and the pen, to the poor beleaguered officer. "Could you call me? When she's down. I want to make sure she gets home okay, but I have to go get my car." she doesn't even give him a chance to respond before she's waving to Isi and heading toward the exit, winking at Ravn once her back is to the assembled law enforcement officials, just a bit more sway in her hips than normal.

The amusement in Ravn's blue-greys is visible as he watches. Then, more seriously, he says, "I think I've provided what little I can -- seeing as I only learned of the accident ten minutes ago myself. But I'll go pick up food and coffee for you, Isi, and you'll bloody well come over to our place tonight to get fed and watered. Arm like that, you need somebody to nurse you better, and you won't find anyone more skilled than Aidan at that."

He glances at the others and then to Ruiz. "Thanks for looking into it, Chief. This town -- you can't not think the worst."

And off he is, like the ex-thief he is -- police stations are just filled with people who see through people like him all too easily.

The SPEED at which both Perdita and Ravn turn and go leaves Isi spinning a bit - or maybe it's the pain meds. Who knows. There's a weak, "Thanks-" to both of them, and an attached smile. "I'll take you both us on that." The drive, the food - and if someone could do something about that arm just, damn, that'd be awesome.

Down the hallway she walks towards the chief's office, only once the door is closed does she seem to relax a bit. "I'm a little relieved they left. Ravn mentioned the mob outside being a thing in this town," a pause to glance at both of them as she licks her lips, "I think - I found something that someone doesn't want found. "

So she spills it out as quickly as she can, hoping that at least one of them is not corrupt because that would suck. She details her job at the city hall, and the work she was doing with the contractors bidding on the various projects the town has out to rebuild after the storm. Routine stuff, till some receipts led her to other receipts (thank god she avoids too many technical details) and in particular the companies Ladson Construction and Wychek and Sons. "They've been over spending for a while now, all with reasonable explinations, from what I found - and they have bids out on the new construction." Isi gets to finally, "so I packed up what I could and took it to my boss Emil Kovacs. You expect some corruption in any contract awarded, but this is more than a little. They're set to make millions and right now their bids are the lowest on several of the contracts. Emil said he'd take care of it but he was weird about it. I figured he just didn't want a mess, but the next day, well," she looks down at her battered body and broken arm.

"My jeep is a managed heap about two miles north of town. It's a miracle I'm alive."

The Chief's office is not an elaborate affair, considering his status as top dog on the force. He has a window overlooking the impound lot, and a cactus sitting in that window that he's managed to somehow keep alive despite his complete lack of a green thumb. A couple of chairs sit opposite his desk, as well as a tiny, threadbare little couch that's probably hosted a distraught victim or twenty, judging by the box of tissues kept handy nearby.

He shuts the door after the pair, sets his coffee cup on his desk, and pulls a pad of paper out of a drawer to begin taking notes. Ladson Construction and Wychek and Sons are scribbled down, followed by him easing into his chair and pushing his glasses on. Emil Kovacs gets jotted down next. "You been by the hospital for that, yet?" he wants to know, dark eyes ticking up briefly.

"Contractors are taking advantage of public funds?" Cassidy gasps from her cross-armed stance in the back of the office, resting her bottom lightly on a shelf.

She reaches for her phone and starts idling scrolling through apps. "Unbelievable...."

"Yes, last night...." she trails off as Cassidy pops in. Well - that destroys any gumption that Isi had in continuing her report. Color rises on her cheeks and she rises right after. "Sorry, this was stupid. I just need someone to certify that my car is totaled for insurance purposes. "

The cop furrows his brows slightly as Isi starts to her feet, and toys with his pen with a heavily inked thumb. His eyes flit to Cassidy on her phone, then back to the injured woman opposite him, and he attempts something like a smile. Plenty of crow's feet that make him look every inch his fourty-eight years. "Why don't you sit back down. I'll put a detective on Kovacs, yeah? See what we can turn up. Meanwhile.." He rips the top sheet off his notepad, and starts another. "You can tell me everything you've got on.." He holds out his thumb. "Him." And then his forefinger. "And this new construction."

Cassidy hums softly to herself as she looks at her phone. Somewhere along the line she notices the room has gotteb quiet. She looks up, confused. People are supposed to be talking, right?

Somewhere in her brain, the conversation she wasn't really listening to finally osmosis' itself into her awareness and she squints a look at Ruiz, "Why don't you start with the paper trail she has for forensic accounting?" She looks back to her phone. "Like Benford's law and shit or whatever it is they do..."

Isi's not reassured by Ruiz' words. She remains on her feet before his desk. "I gave it all to Emil. I don't know - maybe I'm being paranoid. I know someone tried to kill me last night." She explained her theory as to WHY they might be on the murder train for her, but now more details about the crash itself.

"I was driving back from a hike - shit I do to get away," a glance at Cassidy. The assistant DA was on one of those hikes pre-storm. So it's been like half a year, it's fine. "And I was on my way back home. This truck came up on my ass quick and I thought it was just a jerk who was going to pass me. He tried to rear end me but I was able to swerve. He got up beside me and tried to ram me off the side - fuck - I don't even know if it was a him, but I think so. I never saw his face." Random aside, deep breath, then back to the topic. "I hit my breaks and hie sped ahead of me and I figured that was it - asshole moment over. So I pulled over to catch my breath and he turned around and came back. Rammed my car right off the side of the ravine by the side of the rode. I got thrown clear except for," well her entire body right now. "I was laying not far when he got out and stood at the edge of the road looking at where my jeep went with a gun.

De la Vega pauses in his scribbling when Cassidy sticks her nose in, though very pointedly does not look at the blonde when he replies, "That's what the detective is for, Bennet." Because he? Is not a detective. Sure, he's done his time as one, but it's probably been years.

Once he's finished taking a few more notes, his pen's tossed atop the pad, and he lifts his gaze to the woman who's opted not, in fact, to sit back down. "Look. You don't want to talk to me. I get it." He's hardly the most personable man, and he looks like he probably has a pile of things to get back to. This is well below his paygrade. "What I need to know is if you plan on pressing charges, before you leave here today. I'll be starting a file and moving it over to a detective, either way."

"Who would I even fucking press charges against?" Isi replies. Her own deep-seated distrust of the police is all nice and bubbly at the surface again. "No - just forget I said shit. Toss your notes out -whatever. "

She's not as fast as she could be but there's something about having a temper tantrum that gives her just a little pep. Hopefully Perdita has been able to get her car, because this boost of energy is going to run out real quick.