2021-11-28 - Handshakes, Shoes, and Tequila

Overcast and cold; two things that autumn and winter in Gray Harbor are very good at. Alexander's breath doesn't quite fog as he breathes out, having hiked all the way up here with a plastic bag dangling from his hands, getting to the cabin only after night has fallen. He's dressed like Alexanders are usually dressed, except that his black workboots seem to have been replaced with a pair of battered, black sneakers. He trudges his way to the door, making no effort to conceal his approach. In fact, he even calls out as he reaches the door, "Itzhak? Javier? It's Alexander Clayton." He knocks, briskly, just in case no one heard that.

Of course someone heard that. And the moment they did, there was a shiver of something like the wind shifting. The sound, maybe, of a beast's steady breath in the gloom and the scent of burnt fur and golden eyes gone to smoke. Alexander would know the feeling of that familiar presence like the back of his hand.

And then it's gone again, and the door's tugged open, and Javier's standing there in some ratty tee shirt and jeans, barefoot with a bottle of what looks like beer dangling from a tattooed hand. He looks vaguely perturbed to have company; but when doesn't he? "Clayton," a gruff murmur followed by him itching the side of his nose. "What's up?" The pot bellied stove is going, and so is the television with some sort of game. Kind of like it was the last time Alexander turned up here unannounced.

As always, Alexander doesn't try to resist that presence when he feels it brush against him, but welcomes it with the faintest suggestion of a smile, the twinkle of a far off light reflected from glass stars. That same smile is there, briefly, when Ruiz opens the door, although it fades quickly at the perturbed expression. His head ducks, apologetically. "Sorry. Am I interrupting?" He lifts the bag. "I brought...snacks. I read the paper. I thought maybe you would like snacks." He toes the ground with his sneakers. "I can go, if I'm interrupting."

Javier's brows furrow a little at the apology, and he glances toward the television. Then back to Alexander. A shake of his head, and he moves aside to let the other man in. "Not interrupting anything. We're losing, anyway." He chuckles, and heads toward the kitchen with a glance over his shoulder. "Get you anything to drink?" It looks like he's home alone, tonight. No sign of Itzhak; even his reptile's asleep in her terrarium.

Alexander hesitates for a moment, then walks inside. "Um, a water would be fine?" Once there, of course, his natural curiosity takes over, and instead of settling like a normal person, he roams the living area, looking to see what has changed, and what hasn't. The reptile in her terrarium is given a warm smile, but he doesn't disturb her. Instead, his circuit brings him back towards Ruiz, and he looks for some place to put down the bag. There's a solid thunk: a box of donuts shows its logo through the thin plastic, as well as a bag of onion rings, a bag of chips, and even some cheese curls. "Are you all right?" Alexander asks, staring fixedly at Ruiz.

His hand pauses on the fridge door a moment, then he shifts to go crank on the faucet instead. A glass is fetched from the cupboard, filled, and held out to the man who's opted to follow him into the kitchen. Then he takes a swig of his beer while poking through the bag on his countertop with his other hand. "The fuck are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he mumbles. "And I'm fine. Assuming I can hire myself a decent lawyer." He digs out the bag of onion rings, and makes a face, like, really?

Alexander takes the glass, then walks backwards to retreat, keeping a bit of distance between himself and Ruiz. His brow furrows. "No?" Then he glances at the snacks. "Oh. No. It's just, if bad things happen, you should eat unhealthy food and bitch about them to your friends. That helps. Or so I've heard. And I still don't cook all that well, so I thought I'd buy things that definitely wouldn't make you sick in the, uh, immediate sense. Or there's punching. Easton prefers punching." He takes a sip of the water, and continues to stare at Ruiz. "What happened that you need a lawyer? This is the McNeely case causing issues? Or...uh. Something else?"

Javier sets down his beer while he busies himself tearing open the bag of onion rings. Then fishes one out so he can give it an experimental bite, crunch. It's entirely possible he hasn't had these before. "Huh?" Crunch, crunch. "You mean you had all that time on your hands--" He means the time the veil spent fucking with them, probably. "--and you didn't spend it learning how to cook?" He chortles, and dusts his hands off on his pants. "Why would I need to punch you?" His eyes crinkle up with a funny little grin. "I'm fine."

As to the lawyer, well, that sours his expression a little. "Yeah, the McNeely case. There's some evidence supposedly linking me to it, and.." He goes for another onion ring.

Alexander waits for Ruiz to get an onion ring, before reaching out to get one for himself. He hunches his shoulders at the all the time on your hands, but shakes his head. "I don't seem to be any better. I can cook some things. Thank you for teaching me." There's a shake of his head. "I don't know. I think it just makes some people feel better." Another onion ring. "What happened? You have no reason to have been involved in the original case. You weren't even here. What sort of evidence?"

The tension, and the silence that follows, remove any trace of amusement from the other man's face. He glances toward the television, and the ad for some car he doesn't need playing. Then back to Alexander. "I was, uh. I was joking. About the time on your hands. I'm sorry." He reaches for his beer, but doesn't drink from it yet.

The evidence? "Fuck if I know. You know how things are around here. Maybe Monaghan's trying to fuck with me. Send a message." He downs about half of what remains in the bottle.

Alexander shakes his head. "No. It's fine. No need to apologize. I don't--like not knowing what I did. Where I was." His brow furrows. "What I did, though, is harder. But that's not your fault." He takes a breath, offers a tentative smile. "I lost my shoes. That really irritates me." Then his brow furrows. "Why would Monaghan do that? Unless he had someone in place to replace you. But killing two people in a public way like that, and ressurrecting a twenty year old cold case is a bit elaborate. For him. He'd just have you killed. Generally." He munches thoughtfully on an onion ring. "Can I help?"

Mute sympathy from the cop, understanding conveyed in the hard line of his jaw and the brief swallow that bobs his adam's apple against his throat, though not a word's said. Then he finishes off his beer, and lobs it into a recycling bin that's already close to overflowing. Someone's been hitting the drink a little too much, lately.

"I don't claim to understand half of what that fucker does," he murmurs. "Though I agree, it does seem more his style to just get rid of me the easy way, he wanted me gone." Not that there'd be anything particularly easy about killing de la Vega, mind. He scruffs his fingers through his hair, then pushes off to go find another beer. "Yeah, actually. I'd like to hire you."

Alexander's gaze follows the beer to its final resting place, in the graveyard of its fellows. He doesn't say anything, just stares at the bin for a while. When he breaks from that, he turns back, and nods. "Yes. Elaborate plans aren't his style. Neither is turning one missing persons into a media circus. Doesn't mean his organization isn't involved, somehow, but it's probably someone covering their own ass, if so." He reaches for another onion ring, munches mechanically at it. Then he stops. There's a sidelong look at Ruiz, almost suspicious. "Um. You do?"

The fridge is hauled open with the sound of things jostled against one another in a discordant clitter-clatter. Then, with a frown, it's shut again when Javier realises he's out. Instead, a cupboard's opened up and a bottle of Patron slid out. Followed by a glass. He doesn't bother asking if Alexander wants any. "I do," murmured as he pours. "I, uh. I trust you." The words are nearly lost to the drone of the television, "more than anyone at the precinct to figure out what the fuck's going on. I'll pay you, of course." He caps the bottle. "If you're up for it."

Alexander sips his water, watching Ruiz with those slightly narrowed eyes. Almost like he's trying to figure out who replaced the man in front of him. But I trust you, however softly spoken, makes him blink, then blush and duck his head. His sneaker toes the floor of the cabin. "Of course, Javier. Whatever you need. You know that. You don't have to pay me. We're friends." He glances up then. "And I'm always up for this sort of thing. People are dying. That should stop."

He thinks about that a minute, while tap-tapping his glass with a couple heavily tattooed fingers. Then, dark eyes crawling from Alexander's foot, back to his face, the cop proffers in a low murmur, "Boots. You do this for me, I'll buy you a new pair of boots like the ones you lost. Can't have you walking around in those godawful shoes, yeah?"

The smile that blooms on Alexander's face is sunny and uncomplicated, brightening his whole face. "Yeah. I hate the sneakers," he confesses, after a moment. Then he hesitates, before carefully offering his hand. "We can shake on it. Make it a deal?" He watches Ruiz's face, bracing himself for the handshake, if it comes. "I'll need a rundown of the information, and whatever it was that's targeted you in this case. Forensic evidence? Witnesses? Anything like that."

Alexander can't be blamed, really, for being hesitant to offer his hand. Things haven't been easy between them. And maybe Javier's thinking about what he did to that hand, the last time he touched it.

His tonguetip's skimmed along his lower lip slowly as he considers, then withdrawn. And he pushes off his lean against the counter to clasp it, finally, in a rough hold against his own. A single shake to formalise the deal, eye contact brazenly held, and then he releases it again unless stopped. "I grabbed what I could on my way out of the office, so I'll run it by my lawyer and forward it on to you. There isn't much."

Handshakes, or any contact at all, are not generally Alexander's thing. But certainly, the last contact between them likely has something to do with it as well - or is a deliberate offer to the other man, a return on that trust that's given. He doesn't try to prolong the touch, but shakes that once, meeting Ruiz's eyes with his own, then lets his hand retreat as soon as it's released. "Okay. I'll see what I can get from the precinct, too. Quietly." His brow furrows. "Anyone on your side over there? Who might be willing or interested in helping out?"

A chortle from the cop when sneaking evidence off the premises is alluded to. He shakes his head, and takes a sip of his drink. "A couple. Yeah. Officers Carlson and Williams can be trusted. And, uh." He hesitates a moment. "ADA Bennet." Speaking of trust, and going out on limbs. "Wouldn't call her on my side. But she'll want to know the truth."

Alexander takes a small notebook out of his inner jacket pocket, scribbles down the names. There's a pause at the last one, and he gives Ruiz a skeptical look. "She doesn't like me," he points out, even though it hardly needs to be said after certain text conversations. But he writes the name down, anyway. "I'll look into it. Find out what I can. If there are lawyers involved, you should be careful. Means people are paying attention." He frowns. "Anything else I can do for you? To help?"

Javier grimaces when lawyers are mentioned. As if there were any doubt what his opinions on those were. "The fuck she likes me, either," he argues, downing a little more of the tequila. There's a shake of his head at the last question. "Be careful. That's all. I don't know what the fuck's going on here, but if it drags you in too, then I'm going to have to come help you. And I'm getting too old for this shit." One corner of his mouth crooks up like he might smile.

"Hm. Maybe she doesn't like anyone. She doesn't seem corrupt, though." Alexander smiles, briefly, his eyes flicking to the tequila glass. "I'll be careful. Nobody's tried to kill me in at least a couple of months," he points out, with a touch of dry humor, "so I'm due. It'll be fine. But if things look like I'll need backup, I'll call you. Of course." His eyes twinkle. "And you're okay. Not old. Yet."

He snorts softly at that, and collects his glass as well as the bag of onion rings. "You want to come sit down or something? We, uh, could watch a movie or something. Unless you've got somewhere to be." Big shoulders slouched, he pauses halfway out of the kitchen to watch the other man questioningly.

Alexander brightens again. "I don't have anywhere to be," he says. "I could stay and watch a movie." He trails Ruiz obediently out of the kitchen, pausing when the other man does. "Isabella is still in Alexandria. She's okay." He has to say that last very quickly, more like he's telling himself that than Ruiz. "Luigi and Bluebell have been fed. I have no other commitments. I do have an office, though. It's probably going to try and kill me, but it's a very nice office."