A Little Dirt Under The Fingernails Never Hurt


lawrence_icon.gif len_icon.gif

Scene Title A Little Dirt Under The Fingernails Never Hurt
Synopsis Len has a nice little chat with Lawrence.
Date May 4, 2009

The Office of Len Denten

Having finally unpacked one of the boxes he actually transported himself, Len Denton's office has miraculously transformed into a shrine of Texas-based sports. Texans and Rockets gear decorate the walls and the desk.

Having sent out a memo request one on one meetings with all the agents, that they come in at their convenience, he has made himself available by sticking to his office and catching up on current case files.

This sort of study requires the proper posture which consists of him reclining back in his chair as far as possible without tipping back, his cowboy boots up on his desk and a cowboy hat upon his head. His door, as it always is unless in private counsel, is wide open.

Lawrence walks into view, peering owlishly at Len's door, or lack thereof. Well, now he can't really back out of having his meeting, so the tall agent pokes his head into the office. "Agent Denton? Hullo. I'm Lawrence Cook."

There's a shift of the head, as the cowboy hat turns in the direction of the incoming agent, followed by the biggest set of white teeth anyone could have ever possibly seen. "Well, lookit that. Agent Cook, please do come on in and stay a spell. I've been looking forward to chatting with you. What say you we go ahead and get that little train off the track and we can both be about our busy days?" Feet are lifted off the desk and thud to the floor as Len reaches out his hand to offer a proper greeting to Agent Cook.

"…What train would that be, sir?" Lawrence inquires, puzzled. He heads for the chair in front of the desk, eyeing Senor Cowboy's booted feet and hesitating before clasping hands with the other man. Mentally, he searches for something to say. "…Nice boots." It sounds about as sincere as… something that sounds not quite sincere.

"Don't you worry none about that train. I can already tell it has left the station." He grins, giving a firm handshake before plopping back down in his chair. "These boots are nearly 25 years old. The most comfortable pair I have ever worn in my life." he nods. "But we ain't here to talk about some boots, Agent Cook." He reaches into the stack of folders and pulls on out. "How about tell me a little some-some about yourself. Something I wouldn't find in here." He tosses the folder onto the desk, closer to Lawrence. It happens to be his personnel jacket. Len continues to smile, good natured that he is.

Lawrence folds one leg primly so his ankle rests at his other knee and clasps his hands in front of himself, peering over at Len like a large. "Everything important is in there, sir," he says after a long moment's thought.

There's a bit of a snort in that response as Len continues to grin over at the other agent. "It does not tell me what you do for fun, Agent Cook. What do you do that takes the edge off of this job?"

"Oh," Lawrence says quietly. He blinks twice and, again hesitantly, admits, "I knit."

That doesn't seem to phase the cowboy one bit. "You don't happen to sing karaoke, do you?" he narrows his eyes some.

"…I don't handle crowds of strangers well," Lawrence admits, pursing his lips primly. "Not for recreational purposes, in any case. Karaoke is a little… a little like an assault with hearing like mine. Like being beaten about the head with batons. Unless I medicate."

The cowboy's grin seems to wane a little as he digs out a piece of paper from under a stack and draw a line through something. He leans forward, elbows on his desk and his fingers interlaced. "Back to business. What's your current assignment, and what's the status? You just got wrangled up with a new partner, ain't that right?" Len asks the two questions in succession, and though all these can be answered by looking at some files, it's always nice to get it straight from the horses' mouth, if you will.

Lawrence tries not to look nervous about the crossing off. He clears his throat gently. "Yes, I've recently arrived and been partnered with Agent Dahl. I think we'll work well together." And he sounds a little relieved there. "At the moment, we're investigating Hiro Nakamura, but I'm sure that's in the files."

"Ain't he that funny little guy who likes to go all that time control nonsense?" Agent Denton waves his hand over his hat. "All that stuff just goes right over me." Or perhaps he'd like you to think so. "Keep you eye on on his, as I've heard he's a pretty squirrely guy. I mean, I take it since it's an active case you've not tracked him down yet, ain't that right?"

Lawrence eyes Len owlishly at the whole 'that stuff goes right over me' comment. He sniffs. "It would appear so," he says. There's another pause before he tilts his head to the side. "What purpose do you see in presenting yourself as inept?"

Len lifts a finger and give it a wave towards Lawrence. "Don't you worry about me. It's my job to be worry about ya'll here that work for me." Moving right along. "Okay, last thing we need to discuss is this whole Agent Marks business. We have ourselves a suspect, but he's out there running loose. Now we know he can't be the numero uno guy we're on the lookout for — everyone knows who that is, right? — But I am making the capture of Adam Monroe our next highest priority. I want to see him hanging from a noose — the sooner the better, if you're understanding what I'm saying, Agent Cook. He got one of our own — now we're gunna get him." There's no joking nature in this instruction. The cowboy seems to have a serious side when it calls for it.

Lawrence's eyes track Len's finger. He sees fingerprints, any grime under the nails, individual hairs, all that fun stuff. Acute sight is the sense he usually chooses out of the lot he has. And his gaze narrows slightly at Len's first answer; he nods and asks, "Has anyone tried to drown Mister Monroe before?"

Len is tempted to ask if anyone has taken that stick out of Cook's ass before, but decides that perhaps that might not be the most professional of responses. "I haven't heard of such a thing, and there's nothing in his file to suggest that, so I reckon that it probably has not been tried. Do you have some sort of foundation for asking that question? Some way of thinking that drowning might work better than say - decapitation?"

No, not successfully. Re: the stick. "It's an idea for another option," Lawrence replies, glancing down at his own hands now. Oh, gross. Something's under his thumbnail. That could be just about anything. Disgusting.

Len wells, and stands. "I suppose it is. Well, Agent Cook — it's been a pleasure to meet you. Don't worry too much about that karaoke thing, I'll eventually get over it. A man should not go to karaoke alone, and I am striking out on finding someone to tag along!" He offers his hand again. "You make sure to let Agent Dahl know that I am looking forward to meeting her too." Meaning, she needs to get her ass in to see him as soon as possible. "I look forward to reading your reports." That is the truth.

Lawrence unfolds his leg and rises from his seat, attempting to conceal the mild shudder that runs through him at the prospect of shaking hands again. He can shift senses, but he'll know what he saw earlier. Too late, it occurs to him he should probably smell this guy. No time now, though. Handshake. Release. "I'm sure it will be a pleasure to work with you," he says automatically and politely.

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