Participants:
| Scene Title | Clannish |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Teo takes a blind stab at trying to call in the promise and succeeds. Minea shows up in Harlem, very much alive and they discuss Samantha Tanner. |
| Date | August 10, 2009 |
Restaurant in Harlem
The request had been simple, transmitted via text message, without even any visible assistance from their invisible lady goddess of the Wireless, the sender as promised and the recipient unexpected only insofar that Minea Dahl is supposed to be dead.
Tanner time. Pio's 0900, Harlem.
This was— precisely two hours' notice, which was generous enough, the powers of all available ninjas considered. Harlem's squalling and shrieking outside the diner's plateglass windows, construction cracking concrete and pounding the stale smoggy air with the runoff of machinery, a big yellow busload of rocking by as fast as the traffic jam will let it. No one's been shot on this street for a few weeks. Civilians go about their business, then, giving the newsstands their quarters or unperturbed shoulders, as unmoved by David Monette's death as by the chalk marks fading away from the sidewalk in front of the neighborhood's taller apartment complexes.
Teo watches the pedestrians from where he's sitting, mostly with his eyes. He's seated one table further in than the booths, choreographed with decent respect to the doors, a cup of coffee neglected by his hand, the faint shadows under his eyes at odds with the lucid light staring raw out of the pale of his eyes.
Not dead so much as… captured and god only knows what via courtesy of the company. But with the subsequent clearing of her and no orders for limitations to Fort Hero, and presumably under the excuse and desire to get some fresh air, Minea escaped from Montauk Park and in a company car hightailed it to Harlem. The 81 malibu is.. likely still in an impound lot and will eventually make it's way to an auction. There's a hope that someone will buy it and give it a good home. So she pulls out a few blocks from where they are to meet and walks in. Likely when he see's her is when she see's him and soon enough, Minea the not so dead and disappeared agent is making her way towards him. "Laudani" See, not Caravaggio.
"What happened to Caravaggio?" He's either tired or being deliberately obtuse or— oh, look there, cracking a grin, now, sharp-cornered and shit-eating. It's too early on a Monday morning for Puck to be making his rounds, but Teo does his best anyway. He motions at the chair opposite with one arm, starts to pull himself of his other seat using his other, fingers gripped on the horizontal bars of the furniture's construct, all sweet Catholic politeness to offset the earlier token mirth. "Welcome. Almost thought you wouldn't come. What with the not having a deathwish, and all that shit."
"Oh, I'm sure your technopath is just biding her time to sink her little knives in me. If it helps any, ferryman are exempt from any and all information that I pass over during my stay with your erstwhile and very over trusting terrorist companions" Down the agent sits. 'I thought you hated me calling you Caravaggio, Caravaggio. I came because I promised. Promised to at least look into stuff for you and give it a try. I'm assuming you haven't found her yet, or you have, and you need me to stick my nose in and see what I can do to help"
A single leaf of menu, laminated in plastic, is frisbeed over at the woman's end of the table with an easy flick of Teo's wrist. He settles back and hooks the little round handle of his own coffee mug the next moment, peering into its contents with a slitted eye. "It doesn't really help, no," he remarks. "Phoenix will either fucking learn from this or they won't." They.
His use of the word is thoughtless, automatic, neither insult nor Ghost's heavy-handed concept of protective distance defining the sharp monosyllable. It might even be precisely what she'd said: erstwhile, though God knows, Teo'd run a far more paranoid ship even during his term with the burning bird. She'd met him, then, with Christian, Deckard trapped in a shithole Ferry house for months while the Vanguard hunted him. "On the other hand, any and all information is bound to go bad on a lot of different people directly and peripherally involved in its transfer.
Which I figure you know too." He smiles, no teeth; half-hearted the way Ghost refused to be, understated the way Teo never was. "She's hiding pretty fucking good. Trail's mostly gone cold. All I have is the due probability that she wants to kill one Teodoro Laudani. Unfortunately for her," his voice slows, stays steady, despite his grimace. "His trail's gone pretty fucking cold, too."
"You bet they'll learn. Marched half the fucking cell right in front of me. Liz was the most stupid, dragging me right back there. Though in her defense, even I didn't know that I was going to be shot. But we'll see" Information has already begun it's ascension through the appropriate ranks and sketches and names of everyone she could give that was Phoenix. But enough on that. "Ahh, Teodoro Laudani, the scourge of the New Jersey police, and suddenly, so i've heard, possessed by a body jumper and therefore, not responsible for the acts committed by him while possessed. Am I still talking to the jumper, or the real Cravaggio?" The menu is snatched up, looked at and a few items studied closely. "You're going to use yourself as bait?"
Indifference makes a negligent waaave out of Teo's free hand: whatever, whichever, whomever he is is of no consequence, according to… Sylar. You can take Sylar's word for that. He pulls the coffee mug back from his mouth, watches the liquid rope its translucent membrane down the inner wall of the porcelain. "You don't get my family killed, I won't go after yours," he responds, with pragmatic simplicity, as if he were explaining the color combination of a Lego house rather than reciprocal threats.
And then he makes a face. Bait. "That sounds like a fucking awful idea. You have a better one, any chance?"
'She's after Evolveds yes? How's she getting her targets, are there any patterns to her targets? If it's Teodoro Laudani that she's after, give her him. Not in the strictest sense of the word and not obviously hand it to her on a platter. Lay a trail of breadcrumbs that she can follow, subtle bread crumbs. Toss in a few red herrings, dead ends. And then, lead her right into a literal dead end." And it's obvious what you do there.
"Like flyfishing. Bass thinks it's a bug, when in truth, it's thread and feathers and little shiny beads"
But the threat, about family. That gets a raised brow. "Nice Laudani. Smooth. I'm not above if I have to, if i'm required to, to putting a bullet in your forehead. Same as i'm sure you'd have no qualms doing so to me. Your not so wet behind the ears as the others"
The Sicilian picks up one shoulder, partly in shrug, or else— just making himself comfortable in his chair, propping his elbow up on the armrest. This time, when he smiles, there's a faint edge of clean, white teeth. "It's only personal when one of the kids dies," he says. His tone implies this is supposed to be reassurance, a gentle reminder, comfort that things haven't gotten to that level yet. The fact that his kids are nineteen-year-old terrorists and hers are— God knows which— is expendable for all purposes to the conversation.
Which then switches topics, as adroitly as a pop of a finger in its socket. "There are only a few patterns to her targets other than the fact thay're Evolved. Registered, generally. Everyone from William 'SCOUT' Harvard to the unmanifested twin five-year-olds. She's after Teodoro Laudani for different reasons. The breadcrumbs she's been following so far have involved former workplaces, a few past associates from what I can tell. I figure she's monitoring police bulletins, at the very least. I have no particular desire to physically flash my ass at the law, but I'm beginning to think that's the only way I'm going to get her attention without being way too fucking obvious. A few phonecalls to old friends who like to talk, maybe a forged ID, new credit trail.
"What do you think?" Teo's asking pretty nicely, all things considered. Considering family.
"I think that I can for sure, help you in the ID section. But then, you already knew that" Talk about dying terrorist kids is brushed aside as easily as he changed topics. It's a given. You got members in law enforcement, I'm sure flashing your ass to them won't be that hard, if you let them in on why. Goes without saying that you sure as fuck don't utter my name" Duh.
'Credit trail, with the ID's and Wireless making her voodoo, you could easily do the credit trail. I suggest small business, to purchase stuff and not big generic stores. That way she can find information from the individuals who run them, and you'd be more memorable"
Dead terrorist kids, dead Dahl kids, dead goat kids, so much fluff best left for a different time. Tanner's afoot. "And then the fun part," Teo says, making a playful scrunch out of his face, as if squeamish at the prospect of asking this large a favor (maybe he is!). "Chances seem pretty decent, this case is going to need more bodies.
"Not just the boys in blue who're going to be legworking around New York and scribbling notes about my credit history, God bless their souls," which isn't the same as God resting the souls of the dead ones, notably, "but people who know what the fuck they're dealing with. The quarry, the bait, the non-elements.
"I'd take care of her all by myself, but following somebody who's following me would require a shitload of ouroboros theatrics and— I figure— why do that when I have," he gestures at her with a generous arc of his free hand, lips thinning around a smile. "That was a Company care you were driving, wasn't it? You still get all the bells, whistles, contacts, Haitians and backup to play with, or what?"
"we're one big happy ball of Homeland now. So I've been told. More like Homeland vehicle. I can't touch my Malibu and I can't touch a credit line to get a new car yet till things with me are sorted out with my employers. Fuck, for all I know, they may be retiring me somewhere and I get to till a garden in like.. Holland. But until then" There's a lift of her shoulders. "Depends. You wanting to be the one that takes her down and take the credit or would you rather it be homeland that does? Because if it's the latter, they might be more willing to play ball. Maybe. Len wasn't all that pleased that Lizzy was lying to his face, when he was telling the truth and trying to help"
Ball o' what. Teo arches one eyebrow at this choice of words, amusement threatening the sanguine shape of his mouth. His eyes sharpen, clicking back into focus without having particularly betrayed that they had momentarily slid out of it.
Coast is clear, in case they hadn't known. Sixteen-year-old kid's rapping in Espanol under his breath as he towels cups dry in the back, and the fat lady at the counter is checking the paint on her nails, listening to the blare of a narrative romance on the radio. "Much like the boy you're used to dealing with," wearily genial, this, like a threadbare suit or fine wine out of a rusted cup, "I don't give a fuck about credit. I don't want Liz or any of the rest of the baby birds within five fucking miles of this. If Len can't see the distinction between— whatever you're talking about, and what we're discussing now, he isn't the kind of guy you'd be bringing to this party anyway, si?"
"You'd be surprised what Agent Denton can bring to a party Cravaggio" This isn't Teo, and this isn't the guy she dealt with in the car. She's sure of that now and it's written on her face. "Tell me what you think you'll need, and I'll bring it to the table with certain people, see if it interests them. If it does, it does, if it doesn't… well… Then it's just me and my guns. And we both know how I am with my guns"
Though fortunately, at least Teodoro's never been on the receiving end of them. Except, you know, hypothetically. With friendly words. Drained, the coffee mug contacts the table, a resonant click emanating into the air with the still-dense scent of beany steam. "Her ability originates from her eyes, something to do with generating heat, it seems like. Not pyrokinesis as I've ever seen it, though.
"So— for the extraction team: puppeteer, persuasionist, negator, cryo- or thermokinetic, telepaths or empaths to a less direct extent. Anybody who knows their way around a false identity to pick up her trail after she's picked up mine. I could use a few pieces of identification under a false name— you can make it up, whatever you think is appropriate— Columbia University student ID, driver's license. Breadcrumbs. I'll figure out where to drop them. Hey," he jerks his head down at the menu quiescently ignored in her hand. "I'm buying."
The mental list is copied down. Teo's company Christmas list. "Want a pony too? Maybe a red rider BB Gun. Careful, you'll shoot your eye out" He may be too young to know what she's talking about. "College student. I'll have to get access to one already to replicate it. The college ID, but I think I can do that" Of course she can do that. "I'll take the bacon cheeseburger. I'm starving"