2021-11-22 - Semi-Professional Pride

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Chief de la Vega.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Alexander Clayton. What can I do you for

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : How are you?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Fine. You?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Still missing a few months. House got flooded. But was wondering - anything come up about a wrecked Jeep on the road to the trailhead in Firefly.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Flooded? and yeah, as a matter of fact, why?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Yes, flooded. Did Ms. Cameron report it?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : What, your flooded house? No.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : No, the Jeep. 🙁

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Is this on the record or off

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I'm unlicensed. I don't have a record.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Actually, I do have a record. Check your files.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : All that lost time and you still don't have a fucking license?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : It's all very minor, though.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I can't get a license.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Yeah, your history with the precinct's extensive, no need to remind me

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Anyway. Ms. Cameron. Did she report it, or someone else?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : What do you know about a wrecked jeep

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I found her after the incident.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : I'm going to need you to come down to the station then

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Can I look at the files?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : What files?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : All of the files.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : You're going to have to be more specific

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I was making a joke about trying to get into the police files. I'm bad at jokes. Sorry. If you need me to come down, I will. I don't know much, though.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : I guess I'm bad at jokes, too.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : And anything you can add will help. at this point, we pretty much know shit all, so it's all about filling in the blanks so we can figure out what the fuck's going on

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Think someone tried to kill her. Skid marks on road are suggestive. Your guys might want to take a look at the car; some white paint on the front grill that doesn't belong.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : And it's okay that you're bad at jokes.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : I got that impression. The car's being brought in for a full workup, and are you trying to tell me how to do my job?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : These days, isn't your job paperwork and schmoozing with the mayor?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Yeah, and making sure my detectives are doing their fucking jobs

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Half of them are on the take, and most of the rest are half-asleep. Good luck with that.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : And I suppose that makes you the only person with an investigative license worth a damn in this shithole town

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Wait, you don't have a license. my fucking bad

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I don't have a license. Yes. But I am a very good investigator.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : With questionable morals

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : What does that mean?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Never mind. when can I expect you down at the station?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I'm always trying to help. Always. And I can be down there in twenty minutes or so, if you need.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Sure. I'll be here.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : On my way.

There's an officer present to fetch Alexander, and bring him upstairs to the precinct proper when he arrives. A stocky young woman with a no-nonsense sort of look on her face whose rank appears to be Sergeant. She directs the Investigator to the cramped office at the end of the hall that reads Javier R. de la Vega, Chief of Police on the door, then briskly departs.

Inside, the cop's reclined back in his chair with a pen trapped between his teeth and his cell phone held to his ear. Apparently on hold while he contemplates the impound lot outside his window.

It takes twenty-five minutes for Alexander to get to the police station, and a couple of cops and firemen leaving as he comes in give him dirty looks and mutter things under their breath like oh no, not again. He seems to ignore it as he slinks inside, bundled in an offensively green sweater that hangs down almost to his knees, and his old olive army jacket over that. His hair has gotten a bit long, and is a little disheveled from the way he runs his fingers through it. He's clean shaven, though, and hollow eyed from his typical lack of sleep. He's quickly collected by the officer and follows her up, looking this way and that with his usual nosy interest.

When he's shown inside, he opens his mouth - then notices Ruiz on the phone, closes it, and just roams around the office, touching and looking at things. At least he's quiet about it?

Javier doesn't move from his lazy slouch, which -- given his weight, and the limits of that ancient chair -- has got to be about an inch or two away from collapsing it entirely. His dark eyes track the interloper across his tiny office, though. It has seen a slight upgrade since last Alexander visited; he's finally been moved into Thatchery's old digs. Complete with threadbare little couch by the door, upon which sits a box of tissues. Two floor-to-ceiling filing cabinets against the opposite wall, and a couple of uncomfortable looking chairs sit facing his desk. Which is piled with paperwork, a laptop (currently closed), a coffee mug (currently empty) and a cheap stuffed bear holding a Mexican flag with the words HAPPY 48th! on it.

"Sure," he's mumbling into the phone, once he removes his pen from his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, you got it." A warm chuckle follows. "No, I haven't forgotten." Then a long pause, eyes still on Alexander. "Mmmhm."

Alexander hovers by the filing cabinets, his fingers dancing over them as if he'd really like to pull them open and explore whatever's inside. Even he isn't quite that bold, or rude, though, so after a moment he moves on. The stuffed bear is noticed, even smiled at, and eventually the investigator makes his way to one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs and sits down in it, his body slumped but his eyes alert and fixed on Ruiz with that reptilian intensity. He waits, but not patiently; his fingers nervously fiddle with his sweater, his jacket, his knees, and the arms of the chair, a constant dance of fretful attention.

The filing cabinets are locked, alas, save for a drawer or two containing non-sensitive promotional material. Still, Alexander's watched steadily as the consideration's made. "I think something can be arranged," proffers Javier into his phone, and flicks his pen atop his desk. Then he eases upright in his chair, bids his farewells, and hangs up. The phone's tossed aside as well, and he scratches at his nose with an inked thumb while he considers his visitor.

"Sorry about that," after a moment. And, "Let me go grab the file." And he pushes to his feet to go do so. He's dressed like a civvie today, as he usually is. Jeans and a tee shirt; with the gun and the heavy tattoos, he looks more like a gangster than a cop.

One day, Alexander will learn how to pick locks. Fear that day. But for now, he seems...if not content, then at least tolerant of slumping there in his seat, watching Ruiz watch him. When the phone is tossed aside, he sits up straight for a moment...then immediately slumps down again when Ruiz stands up. "Okay," he says, with a shrug. Which isn't to say he's not interested. Those dark eyes follow the Chief as he moves, all the way out the door, unblinking.

Not out the door, fortunately for Alexander. It's tucked away in one of the filing cabinets he was just nosing around. Which is re-secured once the thing's found.

"So, uh. I'm going to ask you to tell me again what happened. And if you don't mind me.." He holds up a little portable tape recorder before dropping back into his chair. Because even in the digital age, these things will never die.

Alexander eyes the tape recorder, then shrugs. "I don't mind." He waits until it's running, before he says, "As I said, I don't have all the details. I was walking in Firefly Woods," and there's a hesitation here for a moment, before he continues, "I heard the sound of a crash. I walked that way. By the time I got there, whatever other car was there was gone; Ms. Cameron was on the side of the road, injured and clearly distressed. I did what I could to address her wounds. Broken arm, cuts, bruises. Her Jeep was at the bottom of the ravine. She must have climbed up from it. I put her in an Uber to go to the hospital."

"Approximate time?" It's asked without glancing up from the notes he's scribbling down. "Of the crash. And was anyone else present at the scene?"

"Late afternoon, heading to evening. About sundown," Alexander says, after thinking about it for a moment. A shake of his head. "By the time I arrived, there were no other people for at least a mile in any direction." Which may be an odd thing for most people to say, especially on the record, but with Alexander's abilities, it's very likely to be entirely true.

It should raise alarms, a statement like that. It should get the cop's hackles up, make him suspicious; but he doesn't even look up from his notes. "Did Ms. Cameron appear, in your estimation, to have been drinking at the time of the accident?" He sifts through the paperwork like he's double-checking something. "There's no record of an emergency call being put through." His dark eyes tick back up to the Investigator, and rest there steadily. "Is that correct?"

"No. She was shaken, some indications of shock, but entirely sober," Alexander says. "I went back to get her wallet when she realized she'd dropped it, and there were no signs of intoxicants of any sort in the car." He doesn't show any disturbance at being asked the questions; his answers are flat and without hesitation. "There was no emergency call put through, so that's correct."

More scribbling as the answers are given. Then his nose is scratched at while he contemplates what he's written so far, followed by a sharp sniff. "One more question for you. You don't happen to know anyone by the name of, uh.." He squints a little as he consults the file. "Emil Kovacs. Do you?"

Alexander's head tilts to one side. He thinks about it, then says, "Yes. Head of accounting for the city. His name is on the city's webpage. I believe he would be Ms. Cameron's superior--ah." His eyes widen, interest flickering into them. "I see. That would make sense."

Javier's pen pauses on his notepad for a long while, but in the end, nothing's actually written down. Probably this is not new information to him. Instead, a slight smile creases the very corners of his eyes. "I think that's all I've got for you, for now." He raps the pen twice against the pad of paper before reaching across to turn off the recording. Then quickly rewinding it, like he wants to make sure he caught it all.

"Thanks for coming in to talk to me," is murmured as he tears the top sheet off the notepad and tucks it in along with the rest of the report. "Appreciate it. I'm sure a detective will be in touch for some more, uh, thorough questions." He mangles the word thorough pretty thoroughly.

"All right." Alexander disapproves, that much is clear in the sudden downturn of his mouth, but he just shrugs, and moves to stand up. "I don't mind talking." A pause. "Ms. Cameron. What's her phone number?" he asks - and even as he's asking, he's leaning forward to see if he can get a look at that file Ruiz brought out. He's even reaching out a hand to see if he can turn some pages before Ruiz stops him.

The file's snapped shut, of course, before Alexander can get so much as a pinky finger on it. "You know I can't give you that information, even if I had it," he replies tautly. The file folder is collected, and he's on his feet with a soft grunt of some part of his body disagreeing with getting up. "And why are you making that fucking face at me."

Alexander makes a disgruntled sound, but he straightens up, and turns a near-black gaze on her. "I know that just means you don't want to," he says, with a scowl. "She could be in danger. She's an asshole, but she doesn't need to be a dead asshole." He takes a couple of steps back, shakes his head. "Nevermind. I'll keep an eye on her. Not hard to find out where someone lives in this town." He turns, and starts walking to the door.

Javier opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Shoves the folder back in the filing cabinet, and closes and locks it. "You're a resourceful man. I'm sure you'll figure it out." There's a brief glance for Alexander as he crosses to the door. "Thanks again." Which he seems to mean, despite the gruffness. Then he goes to drop back into his chair and flip open his laptop. Presumably to catch up on the million and one other things he needed to get done today.

Alexander sighs. "Anytime," he says, quietly, without looking at Ruiz. "You know that. Don't die." And then he's gone, trudging his way out of the office and out of the police station, head bowed and not looking much at anyone.