Here Be Dragons


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Scene Title Here Be Dragons
Synopsis Detective Demsky pays Mr. Jacob Brent a visit at his office to discuss the impending arrest and trail of Italian mobster Frankie Civella.
Date August 28, 2008

Upper East Side, Jacob Brent's Office

Jacob Brent is not an unfamiliar name at Crown Heights. In fact, it comes up more often than most of the officers stationed there would like — Detective Judah Demsky included. It is with a heavy heart and a troubled mind that he stands outside Mr. Brent's office in Manhattan's Upper East side, trying to justify his reasons for being here as he shifts his weight from foot to foot and idly stalls for time by smoothing out the collar of his jacket and turning up his sleeves. It isn't too late to turn around and go back to the bullpen. If he tells Commissioner Lau that Brent was out to lunch, maybe she'll send somebody else to— No. Man up, Demsky! He's only a lawyer. What's the worst he can do? Breathe fire at you?

Knock — knock — knock.

Don't discount the firebreathing just yet. Silence reigns for almost a full minute before the doorknob suddenly jerks and then twists, pulled open by the hand of the lawyer that owns it, who is standing just behind the threshold with a couple of ten-dollar bills clutched into his free fist. The ex-DA stares disapprovingly from behind his glasses at the detective who is very much /not/ the Chinese Delivery Guy, his naturally sour expression getting less appealing by the second. "Do you want something?"

"I was hoping for a few minutes of your time," Judah says, somewhat taken aback by Brent's abrupt appearance, "but if you're expecting company, I can come back later." Chinese Delivery Guys aren't the only people you pay with wads of ten-dollar bills, after all, and while Judah has never had the displeasure of dealing with Brent personally, he's spent time with enough time with other defense attorneys to know that they're not all as clean as they proclaim to be.

More staring follows, and very slowly Jacob's lips thin out into a severe line. "I'm expecting food." The answer is terse and snappish, but after another bout of uncomfortable nothingness the man steps back, letting his hand fall from the doorknob. Jacob them turns back into the office, moving towards the large wooden desk sitting near the back of the room. "If you want my time, then don't waste it. What do you want?"

Judah follows Jacob into the office, closing the door behind him. Apparently, whatever he wants isn't something that he'd like to be overheard by passersby in the hallway outside. "I was reviewing case records last night at Crown Heights," he explains as he reaches into his coat, pulls out his badge and lays it down on the desk so there's no mistake about who Jacob thinks he's talking to, "and I couldn't help but notice that several of your former clients have ties to Frankie Civella. Do you mind if I take a seat?"

The lawyer turns again as Civella is mentioned - but it's not out of surprise. It's to lean back and take a seat on the edge of the desk, one leg folding while the other dangles with the tip of his shoe down against the thickly carpeted floor. "Take a seat, don't take a seat - I couldn't care less. I assume you have some kind of preposterous and unconstitutional court order that I'll have a judge rip apart in your face if you think you have the right to hold a conversation about this?" Jacob kindly holds one arm out, gesturing towards the two uncomfortable-looking chairs in front of the desk.

Judah takes a seat in one of the chairs and pauses to stretch out his legs, wiggling his toes inside his leather loafers. If Jacob picked his furniture to ensure short visits, then he chose wisely; the detective looks as comfortable in his seat as a cat in a kennel of starving dogs. "Actually," he says, "I'm here off-the-record. Commissioner Lau is looking to take Civella down on charges related to a robbery that occurred earlier this month. If your clients are willing to testify against him in court, we might be able to cut a deal and shorten their sentences."

"Their sentences will be shortened anyway once their appeals and paroles go through. No one's going to say a single cross word about Mister Civella, and frankly I find your department's allegations against him insulting and slanderous." Jacob suddenly smiles at Judah, tilting his head. "But then, the NYPD never really did encourage its actions much in the direction of class." He gives his foot a tap backwards, his heel bumping against the front of the desk while he folds his arms across his chest, trapping his tie down against his stomach.

Judah smiles back at Jacob. It isn't a particularly nice smile, or even a very human-looking one for that matter. There's a reason that lawyers give him the heebie-jeebies; almost all of them are better than he is at pretending to be normal, well-adjusted individuals. "I think you'd be surprised, Mr. Brent, just how far a few words will go." A pause. "From the Commissioner. During a parole hearing. In either direction." He reaches out to retrieve his badge from the desk and turns it over a few times in his hand before returning it to his coat, where it belongs. "I'm sure, though, that a man of your experience doesn't easily misplace his confidence. If you're positive that the appeals will be successful, then you're absolutely right — we don't have anything to discuss."

Well, now. This is entering into those gray areas of the legal branch. Jacob leans forward, putting himself just a bit closer to Judah while his desk-height and natural height allow him to fairly loom over the other man. "A few words into the right ears can also make sure that a man will be stuck pushing a pen behind his desk for the rest of his career with the boys in blue," he murmurs, his voice flat and frank. "Alluding to skewing the parole process for coercion - well. I don't think that's really the correct stance for a Commissioner to be taking."

"I would argue that accepting bribes isn't really the correct stance for a District Attorney to take, but to each his own." Judah doesn't allow Jacob to loom over him for long. He rises from his seat and tips his head to the side, working the kinks from his neck as he stops to recompose his thoughts. Threatening Brent probably wasn't the wisest move for him to make, but at least he's speaking in a language that he's sure the lawyer understands. "If you change your mind," he tells Jacob, adjusting his coat, "feel free to call us. If not, we'll find someone else who's a little more amenable to the idea."

"Get out of my office before I call security." That seems like it's a real threat, since Jacob's hand is soon grasping the receiver of the phone atop the desk with its index finger poised to dial an extension. "And send up the delivery if it's here. You're wasting your time, detective, and using petty threats against me will do you no good either. Give my regards to the Commissioner."

With a nod of farewell, Judah turns on his heel and leaves Jacob's office the same way he came in, once again closing the door behind him with a gentle click. All in all, that could have gone a lot better. It could have gone a lot worse, too — and for that the detective is grateful. The last thing his record needs is another spot on it.

August 28th: Bullet in the Brainpan
August 28th: Collision
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