Participants:
| Scene Title | Surprise! |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Felix and a group are dressed up but find they have no where to go when their hostages suddenly come through the front door. |
| Date | August 18, 2009 |
Nearly a third of New York's finest are stationed in North Brooklyn. Despite that, the precinct in Crown Heights is a gritty place. During peak hours, the lobby is packed with whores, pimps, pushers, drug dealers, and every other sort imaginable. The reception desk is protected by a wall of impact-resistant glass set with a grille for communication and a slot for paperwork. One side of the room is lined with benches, the other with doors leading to offices and interrogation rooms.
It's been a while since it was genuinely quiet, for Fel, at work. Realizing he barely missed averting a hugely public kidnapping has left egg all over his face, professionally, and he's been living up to that nickname of 'human hurricane' since. So when he's told that they've been sighted, it's time to call in the cavalry. He's strapping on a vest blazoned with FBI in huge yellow letters, and geting ready to head out. Only so recently made scarless, and here he setting out in expectation of a firefight….along with an entire squad of NYPD.
The cab pulls up to the curb, and Peyton realizes they have no cash on them, despite Wendy's promise to the driver. "Um. Hold on! We need to get the cash inside." The door is opened and she heads out, barefoot, her heels in her hand, and tugging Wendy out with her. The two head into the lobby. "We've been kidnapped, we just escaped!" Peyton says breathlessly in the lobby, knowing that will get help quickly. And, as an afterthought, "We promised a cabbie 100 dollars to take us right away, and we don't have our purses…"
Disheveled, bleeding, torn clothing, the taller of the pair shoeless and what little clothing she had on is surely heading to the shredder. Nearly hand in hand the two stumble through the front doors. "My name is Wendy Hunter! I need some help! Please!" She babbles at the same time as Peyton. It's a police station, surely the two are safe there. The cab driver comes in behind them, yelling in Russian at the two and demanding money. Cabbies do have priorities. "Humanis First had us. But we escaped" She holds up her fabric wrapped hands with the rust stains and the multitude of gouges in her palms. They match Peytons. "I think.. I think we need medical help"
Cabbie is in for the shock of his life. Because what's in front of him is an assortment of fully armed cops and one spare Agent. Who greets him in Russian, «Sir, calm down. You will be compensated.» By which he means Felix opening his own wallet and skinning off five twenties, which he hands off. And then nods to the cops - the cabby'll get questioned, too. The cops present look more than a little bemused to have their targets come dashing in, but they do recover with aplomb, and surround the women. The EMT types come, and they're all ushered off to one of the questioning rooms to be dealt with. FEl is absolutely nonplussed. "How'd you get away?"
"You!" Peyton says with a gasp, looking surprised. She's sporting a grazed calf, her lower leg splattered with blood. Her eyes are a little wide and she backs away from Felix — one of the last people she saw before getting into the cab that was her personal chariot to hell. "You didn't have anything to do with it, did you?" she asks. It's not rational, but recently kidnapped women are rarely rational. "We took out the air conditioning unit." Well, at least she's polite and answers questions, even if she's not rational.
'Speedy mc Speedster now.. mr. magnetism!" Wendy's got a bullet hole it seems on her side and favouring a foot. Both their hands have seen much better days and will take far many more paraffin baths and tea tree oil and vitamin E to smooth away marks. "We got the shanks out of my shoes and worked the screws of the air conditioner in the shipping container and got out through the hole. They chased us though. Humanis first. They shot at us!" Wendy is not so concerned that the FBI agent was at the bar, nor is she convinced that he's Humanis first because of the sheer fact that he's evolved himself
Which has some of the armed and armored cops dashing to the door, presumably to fend off that possible pursuit. All eyes go to Felix. It's well known that he screwed the pooch on this one. "No," he says, slowly, "I was not complicit with HF in this one." The women are already being inspected for their wounds by a very tall, very brusque doctor.
"It was on the docks… Dock 8 or 9, I saw both signs while we were running," Peyton calls after them. "Dark maroon shipping container with a hole in it where the air conditioner was, like three rows or something from the water." Who knew she had an eye for detail. She turns and looks back at Felix. "In this one? Are you complicit in other ones?" Maybe she should look into a career as a lawyer if she gets tired of the party scene. "Ow," she says as the doctor prods a painful spot.
Peyton stole the words out of Wendy's mouth. Complicit in others? The two are where they are used to being, the center of attention, many people touching and pawing at them, asking them questions. Amazing how the two situations can be so alike, and yet… so different. Wendy howls when one person prods her side and it prompts a glare and a curse from the taller of the two. "You'll find red mutilated Laboutins outside them. It was all soundproof"
Wendy looks over at Peyton all of a sudden and leaps towards the other woman, winding her arms around her. "We're alive! We did it! We saved ourselves!" Tears suddenly welling as the reality that no, they're not dead hits her.
There's a snicker from some unidentifiable source, and Fel goes red to the ears. "NO," he says, heatedly, before he manages to calm himself, and say, quietly. To one of the cops, he asides, "Get the recording gear. And have them scouring the blocks around the station for HF."
Peyton hugs Wendy back, then gives Felix a scowl for getting angry at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I should have t-t-t-" and there they come, her tears along with the stammering, "taken your offer to get us home safely." There's that overwhelming feeling of guilt both girls have had on and off during the past few days — It's my fault! No, it's my fault! — yet again. "I think it was the guy who called us the cab," she says earnestly. "He was all about Wendy once he knew she was Evo, wasn't he? Do you know who he is?"
There is gossip in the lobby, and gossip in the corridor — and though he wanders through it in a desultory, indifferent fashion, Det. Yamaguchi ambles in pursuit of the source of the excitement like a lazy fish considering a hook. Under the rumpled flop of black hair and sleepy droop of eyelids, curiosity turns the corners of his mouth down into a dignified frown. Conference room, check. He parks himself in front of the door and inspects it gravely.
Coren pages: Yes, sadly.
Two women, page six material - if they weren't serious states of dishabille, bloody and looking 5 days in captivity - are in the conference room with Felix, EMT's, other cops and the like. Both in different states of tears. "They stopped chasing us when we got out of the warehouse area" She supplies, starting to describe the Irishman, and his general statue and looks. She's so discombobulated and in a state.
"I should have insisted," Felix says, quietly. "I knew something was wrong there, and I ignored my instincts. Did they hurt you while they had you in custody?" he wonders, as the medics bustle around them. "I've already done an identikit on the guys I saw there, the one who called the cab. That's a tightly coordinated operation, there, maneuvering them like that."
"He hurt Wendy. He slammed her into the wall. And they made me read this, this…" Peyton sobs at the memory of having to read the Humanis First statement. "Oh, God." She swallows hard, and gives a shake of her head. "It was like something on the news, when they abduct prisoners of war." She turns her tear-stained face up at Felix. "I feel so dirty. Can we take a shower?" Some of that is physical, literal grime from blood and rusty screws and sweat and tears, but some of it is emotional — having to say she was an abomination, having to read that horrible statement — just talking about it makes her feel nauseous.
Peyton speaks the truth, there's a faint trace of blue on the side of the womans face, her hip and a heel print bruise on her lower back. "I don't.. I don't think we can take a bath yet Pey. I think.. I think they need things from us, like our clothes and.. and shit" She remembered Peyton having to read out the letter and her own realization that this wasn't for money.
"They were going to kill her …." What day is it? "on the 20th, and they were going to use me to hunt down other evolveds" There's another howl as the EMT's keep poking and prodding, taking blood pressure, applying gauze and taping it in place on her and on Peyton.
The page six Yamaguchi reads actually /prefers/ women in states of dishabille. He leans in, flattening one shoulder against the side of the doorway, and tips his glance askance to regard the scene. Recognition flickers briefly in the detective's face at the sight of the women. "You need another hand?" he asks of nobody in particular, polite. His gaze drifts across Felix in quizzical inquiry.
"It'll be a little, yes," Felix agrees, calmly. "But you're safe now." One of the female detectives on hand pats Peyton gently on the shoulder, murmurs reassurances. Fel does stick out, being the lone Fed in a swarm of NYPD. He steps back for a moment, and starts to unbuckle the vest - there are still a lot of armed cops, looking like they were just about to ride out to the rescue. Only, it's proved unnecessary. "You working on Humanis First?" he wonders, wearily, as he gets the vest off, looks for somewhere to properly stow it. There's nowhere, so he's left holding it, rather awkwardly.
The young socialite nods, and smiles at the female cop that pats her shoulder. "I'm sorry I accused you of being with them," she says to Felix, her tears having cut through the grime and blood on her face so that the streaks reveal cleaner skin below. She reaches a hand over to Wendy, needing the contact for now.
Wendy's hand closes on Peyton's, followed soon enough by her other one. She's holding tight when she notices another addition to the police in the room, Yamaguchi and his inquiry if Felix needs or wants a hand. Wendy's goldfishy eyes swim between the two men then back to the myriad of cops.
"Homicide," Det. Yamaguchi says, apology drifting across his unaccented baritone. Dead people. Not his fault. He pushes himself off of the door's frame and ambles further in, his hands in his pockets, to exchange places with one of the uniforms — "Hey, man. Your girlfriend was looking for you," — and play the role of yet another useless male appendage in the room. "Drink of water?" he offers the trio amiably, following that up with a thoughtful, "—or scotch?"
"Ladies, please, sit," Fel says, trying to approximate graciousness, and only partially succeeding. He's gone pale, that red washing away. "Are you hungry?" Their immediate wounds are mostly tended. "Or do you want a drink?" He nods to Yamaguchi, offers him a faint, distracted smile. And then wonders of the other cops, "Shelby or O'Shea been notified?"
Peyton moves to one of the seats, sitting. At the mention of food, she nods. "Something besides granola bars, and a Diet Coke?" she says with big eyes. Her stomach growls to punctuate her words. "Or Scotch…" She bites her lip. She's not 21, they're not going to give her Scotch. "If they find my purse — the people who took us, they have my purse, my ID, my cell phone… I mean, it doesn't matter, not compared to what could have happened, but if they find it…"
"God. I could so use some …. scotch" Scotch, vodka, Refrain, a hit of weed, anything. Anything to cure the shaking in her arms. Wendy proffers up a smile, strained it may be. "Peyton said.. like yesterday or the day before, I don't know what day it is. That she really wanted a screwdriver without the vodka, but I can tell you, right now.. right now I could do with a screwdriver WITH the vodka" She still holds on, tight. "what day is it?" Wendy's sitting, feet up. At the mention of food from felix.. "Yeah.. If I see another granola bar, I think I might just shoot myself"
"Oh." Yamaguchi considers for a moment, before confessing, "Don't think we got any scotch. We'll get you some of that crap herbal tea we have in the kitchen and some—" He sketches something vague with a hand, apparently proposing to feed them packing material or hot pockets. And by 'we,' he meant, 'the nearest low-ranking uniform.' An amiable elbow in another man's ribs makes the point clear, and sends his colleague off on a scrounging mission. Yamaguchi, less energetic, slouches against a wall to keep it from falling down. "Which O'Shea did you want? Bob? Or Molly?"
"I fear you're not legal," Fel says, apologetically. Rules, rules, rules. "Soda and sandwiches and something hot we can get you, there's a subshop right down the block." Like he's proposing to go himself.. Then Yamaguchi's sending some poor rookie off in search. "Do you feel up to giving a statement now, telling us just what happened?"
"We haven't done that already?" Peyton says with wide eyes. Bummer on the Scotch, but it's a police station, what did she expect? "We just told you everything." She frowns and realizes they haven't really, since Felix already knew the first half of it. "I guess. Yeah, we can." She slumps back in her seat. She really wants a shower.
"what I really want, Officer, Agent, whatever, is to …" What are they supposed to do? Are there victims rights? "I want to call my parents, and.. I want to go to the hospital, like my parents will demand, and I want.. I want…" Wendy's mind just shuts down, hiccups a bit internally. "We've been through a lot and I'm sure, that once we don't look like drowned, really mascary bloody rats, we'll be in a better.. state.. to give statements. Cause.. I know I got shot and .. no offense to the really hot guy here patching me up… but… "
An independent-minded sort, or perhaps just perverse, Yamaguchi twitches the corner of his mouth in Wendy's direction before reassembling himself in a more or less erect posture. The answer to his question notwithstanding, he restores his hands to his pockets and wanders off — perhaps in search of Shelbys or O'Sheas. He is a detective. He can detect this sort of thing out.
"Then we'll get you the care you need, and you can give your statement later," Fel says, looking dispirited but not at all surprised, really. He's left holding his vest, looking like a performer watching the stage lights dim before he ever got to go on.
Peyton frowns and glances at Wendy. "I don't want to go to the hospital," she says suddenly, then looks at the EMT guy. "Do I have to go? I'm okay, right?" She looks back at Felix. "I'll give you my statement. She can go… I don't want to go there." There's an edge of hysteria to her voice. The girl really doesn't want to go to the hospital.
She'll stay here and tell Felix her side of the story, and Wendy can give hers later after being checked out. For now, all that matters is that they are safe.