Above The Law


elisabeth_icon.gif logan_icon.gif

Scene Title Above the Law
Synopsis Logan files a complaint about a radio show… and gets far more than he bargained for at the police precinct.
Date Oct 12, 2009

Police Station

By the time John Logan is, for the second time in his life, walking out of the precinct after walking inside freely, the afternoon has ripened into the later colours of an early sundown. He's not quite there yet, still sequestered within the old brick and untidy surroundings of the NYPD HQ, a somewhat out of place mark in his waistcoat with its silken back of blood red and pitch black front to match the fitted slacks. The shirt beneath is a similar black with an open collar, and his shoes are zippered and black leather.

Throwing a peacoat over around his shoulders without pushing his arms into the sleeves, Logan is making his way out the door at a brisk stride, glad to be able to shake off the nervousness of being surrounded by this many coppers all at once. But overall, worth it. Petty victories so often are, even if they are most penpushing, long minutes of waiting, and men and women who are utterly disinterested in what you have to say.

Democracy is being whiny, anyway. And how else are you meant to thank a policeman for piddling in the jury pool? Logan checks his watch as he goes, and sneers a little at how much time has been eaten away.

As she's heading back into the precinct, the sight of someone entirely unexpected brings Elisabeth up short. And she narrows her blue eyes. The best part about manipulating sound is that she can emit a high-pitched whistle directed at two uniforms as she passes them without letting anyone ELSE hear it. When she catches their eyes, she jerks her head toward Logan and makes a hand motion to ask them to back her up. They're not officers she knows well, but she's seen them around… and whether they're pro- or anti-, ignoring the summons will get their asses in a sling. She approaches Logan and her expression is very carefully neutral. "Excuse me…. are you Mister John Logan?" she asks him politely enough.

Fortunately for Elisabeth, she isn't recognised, although whether that matters is arguable at best. Swinging around to a halt, Logan looks faintly distracted as he pulls his coat on properly, hands tucking to fix his waistcoat over his shirt. There's the faint mark of a bruise low on his jaw, a yellowish smear that doesn't account for much - more telling would be an obviously injured right hand, three fingers wrapped in bandaging that is mostly covered with a metallic fingersplint that's had a run in with a Bedazzler, a row of rhinestones glittering under the light.

"Yes?" he responds, impatiently, casting a pale eyed look up and down the woman, identifying her as police rather than a random run in. "Was there something else? I've got to go to work."

"Actually, there is, sir." Elisabeth keeps her tone both calm and professional. She gestures to one of the uniforms at her back to lock him up. "You're under arrest for the kidnapping of Abigail Beauchamp. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you." Nice, neat, simple. And the uniformed officer on her right steps forward with his cuffs to take Logan's arms behind him while the one at her left merely puts his hand on the butt of his gun so as to be ready if there's a problem. "Do you understand these rights as they've been explained to you?"

When he'd cracked Caliban across the face just several days ago, the shock of pale could easily be attributed to the torrent of blood that had followed. Here, this is no blood spill, but there is certain blanching to Logan's features as his rights are read out, words he'd like to avoid ever hearing, and he takes a twitchy step away when a cop moves in behind him, his hands drifitng up.

"And what if I don't?" is a quick and thoughtless response. "There's got to be some kind of mistake— do you know why I was in 'ere?"

"No, sir, I don't. But I'm sure you can explain it to your lawyer and he or she will be happy to talk to the DA about it. Officer Benjamin, please escort Mr. Logan to booking?" Elisabeth says mildly as Logan continues to talk. She'll wait for the officers to get the cuffs on him, noting to the officer, "Careful of his arm, we don't want him hurt in any way. Officer Dalton, please contact the FBI liaison and tell them we've got a present for them." She looks at Logan, gesturing easily toward the building. "If you wouldn't mind, sir." It's not really a request.

Logan's mouth opens; Logan's mouth closes. It's all happening very fast, with this blonde woman dealing out orders to the cops, about escorting, and FBI, which gains an incredulous and almost honest in its incomprehension squint from the erstwhile pimp. It takes some conditioning, and a Britishly stiff upper lip, to not jerk and wrest free of the policeman's hands coming to maneuver and direct his arms. He takes it like a man, for the most part.

But it's the click of the second cuff locking into place that snaps him. It doesn't manifest in struggle— although it should be noted that his legs go stiff, unwilling when they direct him in the direction Liz requires he go— but in mood, in heated glares and hissed words. Anger has always transformed him.

Normally, he's attractive. "Why don't you do that? Why don't you hurt me? Go on, take a swing, it's about the only shred of justice you're going to get."

"Officer Benjamin," Elisabeth says calmly, "Let's go." She leads the way back into the precinct, Dalton bringing up the rear of the little convoy. He peels off and picks up a phone to call the local FBI office to let them know that we have someone in custody for them, and Elisabeth goes with Benjamin and Logan down to booking so he can be printed and photographed and Evo tested and all that fun stuff.

Fuck the mainland. Staten Island has its benefits, where things are settled with fists and knives. None of this nonsense. Never mind what he came here to do in the first place, or anything. Logan's mouth clicks closed as she talks past him, the beginnings of a protest at the back of his throat dying out before they can form words. Knees, ankles, these things stop being quite as locked down, and though it's with a stilted and reluctant gait, he moves as he led, expression like thunder.

"And who're you, anyway?" is growled towards Elisabeth's back. "What's your name? Because you realise that as soon as they're through with Magnes bloody Varlane, it'll be your neck on the line. I'm doing you a favour, love - let me go and we'll forget any of this ever happened." Apparently, the right to remain silent isn't awfully appealing.

As she walks with him, Elisabeth merely walks along with him, her expression pointedly neutral and professional. She doesn't respond in any way to his heckling, and as she and Benjamin get to booking, Elisabeth looks at the sergeant in charge tonight. "Evening Gordon… got one more for you to process."

The sergeant is a grizzled guy who looks like he's just shy of retirement from the PD, and he looks up with a grouchy expression. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Put him in front of the camera, Harrison, I ain't got all day." Benjamin nudges Logan forward, uncuffing him to have his picture made. That's a fast process, and computers have made it so that fingerprinting is also a pretty simple scan. The last part of the process is the needle stick for Evo testing, and this is where a lot of people balk, but it's becoming a standard part of the process at the NYPD. The tech comes in and says, "Hand please."

The tech gets a look about as cold as an Arctic wind, and Logan isn't quick to offer a hand out. He doesn't, in fact, his uninjured one curling defensively. He hates hospitals for this reason - no, not the needle prick, he can handle that much. The process, however, of all of it, gets under his skin. Taking a breath, he manages to take some savagery out of his voice as he ignores the technician, speaks directly to Elisabeth despite his failure of previous efforts. "When do I get lawyers? When do I get a phonecall? I'm not letting you people stick that thing in me."

"Sorry, Mr. Logan — standard protocol in all booking procedures nowadays. Everyone gets tested when they're arrested," Elisabeth says calmly. "As soon as we're done here, you can have your phone call, and I'll put you in a comfortable room to wait for your lawyer." Her expression is implacable, and the rest of the officers in the room have seen this at least a hundred times by now — almost everyone balks, but everyone gets stuck anyway. And though nothing of her feelings shows in her face, it will please Liz to no end to have Logan on the Registry. Abso-frigging-lutely. "Please let the tech do his job, sir." And then she pauses. "Unless, of course, you have something to hide. You do know that Registration is the law, right?"

Logan is quick to scout out the expressions of the other men in the room, but those are just as easily read as Harrison's - which is to say, not at all. If there's a loophole, a mistake, anything at all, Logan either can't see it or doesn't know it, and he stands quiet and stymied for several moments, narrowing his eyes at the woman.

"Yes, I know the sodding law," is stated, petulant. "As an employee of Daniel Linderman," and now he holds out his hand with all the disgust and detachment of an adolescent, his injured one planting itself on his hip, "I'd want to, wouldn't I?"

"Of course, Mr. Logan. I assumed you would. Nobody likes fingersticks, and I'm sorry to put you through it," Elisabeth replies easily. The tech, his hands gloved appropriately, steps forward to use the little fingerstick dealie, putting a droplet of Logan's blood on the test strip. He holds it up for everyone to see and verify that he's done nothing untoward with it, hasn't in any way altered it, and sticks it into a little baggy to be stapled to Logan's intake paperwork.

And what do you know? It turned colors for positive results. Elisabeth looks at the paper and purses her lips. "Oh … well, that adds a layer to the paperwork, but it's simple enough. Homeland Security will want to see you before your arraignment, sir. If you know what your ability is, we can fill it out on the forms, though, so it won't hold you up. I'm not sure if they're making arrangements for testing before or after arraignments in federal court these days." She gestures to Benjamin, who silently cuffs Logan again, and they all start trooping toward an interrogation room. "You can make your call to your lawyer from here, and then we'll put you in a holding cell to wait for him or her, Mr. Logan. You should probably let them know to meet you at the Federal Building, though. The FBI liaison is certainly already arranging transport."

"I don't know what you're talking about the FBI," Logan says, showing teeth between his words with his limbs taut against the cuffs behind his back, certainly not doing much to speed up the march down the hallway, his foot steps lagging. "As far as I'm concerned, Harrison, you've made a horrendous mistake, and I'd like the opportunity to let the whole fucking precinct know all about it before I'm carted off."

It's a lot of bluster smothered over the fear that's probably only evident in the speed of his words, occasional flashes in pale green eyes. Either he's smart enough not to use his power, or he doesn't think to.

"I'm sure you would, sir," Elisabeth replies mildly. "You're welcome to let your lawyer handle it. I'm merely executing an outstanding federal warrant for kidnapping — I'm doing my job, Mr. Logan. I have no choices here, it's up to your lawyer to clear up any misunderstandings about the warrant. The only thing I can tell you is that kidnapping's a federal offense and therefore the federal court will be the one to arraign you." She seems entirely unflappable here, walking through the halls with a cuffed Logan and officer Benjamin. When they reach an interrogation room, Benjamin once again uncuffs him and Elisabeth gestures to the phone. "Feel free, sir. Benjamin, stand guard, please?" She'll sit inside the room so Logan can make his phone call, and then she'll remove the phone, as is standard procedure. One call, no more.

The phone is eyed, and then Elisabeth in turn, resentment for her continued presence written plainly in expression, posture, movements. But he doesn't demand she leave, at the very least, moving towards the phone and picking it up. If there's one thing that can be said between his time in the Rookery, and his time in Manhattan, it's that Logan at least has a number to call.

As much as he doesn't want to. And as much as he wishes he hadn't broken the man's face last week. Rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and showing Elisabeth his back, light making oily reflections off red silk that seems even more inappropriate giving he's not going in to work today, Logan dials Robert Caliban's number. Kain Zarek doesn't get the satisfaction.

The call is reasonably brief, all things considered, Logan's words limited both by the continued police presence and his own pride. He got arrested. Kidnapping. Mention of the Federal Building. Send a lawyer. It's with as much reluctance he sets down the phone as when he'd picked it up, and folds his arms as if he could physically contain panic.

Elisabeth moves forward only when he's through with his call to retrieve the phone. She keeps enough distance between herself and Logan to make sure he can't just jump her, though. As she turns to go, she asks the man, "Can I get you a bottle of water? A cup of coffee while you wait, Mr. Logan?" she asks politely.

"If it's not a gin on the rocks then I'm not interested," Logan states, pulling out the chair to sit down, the sharp scrape of its legs against the floor enough to add punctuation to his words. He sits at a sprawling, and, as if already bored, picks at rhinestones on his fingersplint with a fingernail.

"As you like, sir. The agents transporting you will be here shortly," Elisabeth replies. And she knocks twice so Benjamin will let her out, leaving the phone outside the room. "Stand guard until the agents take him," she orders Benjamin. "And thanks, Joe." She grins ferally. "That's the fucker who grabbed the little blonde healer."

Joe Benjamin quirks a brow and then laughs. "Well, at least SOMETHING good fell in your lap this week," he comments. "Nice job, Liz." He salutes briefly. "I got it covered. Get the hell outta here, woman."

Elisabeth's already on the phone as she heads for her desk to call a certain little now-redhead to relay this news. Cuz even though Liz already knows Linderman's involved with Logan, you know what? It's a Good Day.

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