Good Cop, Hot Cop


myron_icon.gif elisabeth_icon.gif

Scene Title Good Cop, Hot Cop
Synopsis Myron and Williams bring another case to SCOUT.
Date February 28, 2009


"I swear, you clock in one day, an' it's just like— God looks down at you and says, 'Your life ain't bad enough. Here, have somebody else's problems.' Today, Terry, that's one a'them days."

Homicide Detective Richard Myron has been a member of the NYPD for over twenty years. Calling Chinatown his home turf, though rough and abrasive cop is collectively known as the grandfather of the precinct. Myron is one of the few long-standing detectives who refused placement into NYPD-SCOUT when the special branch was opened, preferring to handle Non-Evolved casework. Up until the beginning of the Reaper murders, he was pretty sure he made the right choice.

And while that unsolved case remains open to this day, another string of killings is starting to take shape, and despite his non-association with SCOUT, Richard Myron has been called in as a consultant for the case. The force is just stretched so thin these days, they need every hand they can get — even if they're drawn in kicking and screaming through the doors.

"So, Myron — " Lieutenant Terry Williams has known Myron for nearly as many years as he's been alive. With the old, cantankerous detective an old friend of his father's, it's like working with family. "How'd they get you down here again?" The curly-haired redhead sips at his coffee, looking at the overweight and thinning-haired old man looming over his desk.

"Hook, line and sinker," Myron deadpans, sipping at a mug of coffee that smells conspicuously like vodka, "That's how kid." Tired eyes look to the papers on the desk they both stare at, waiting for person who belongs in this office to show up. "One dead Triad in Chinatown, a dead biker in Queens, both…" He waves one liver-spotted hand in the air, "You know, different. Now we got two different eye-witnesses saying they saw the same guy at both scenes? Sounds pretty clear cut to me."

Terry tilts his head to the side, leaning off from the window to the office, looking at the stenciling on the door that reads, HARRISON, ELISABETH, "You ever met this Detective Harrison?" One red brow arches slowly as Terry glances sidelong at Myron.

"Nope," he notes in a gruff tone of voice, taking another long sip at his coffee, "Hope she's a looker…"

Some people never change.

Whether Elisabeth's a looker depends on who you ask — or no, not really. She's a pretty good-looking woman, and she strides through the doors with every evidence of belonging there and knowing it. Her blonde hair is pinned up in the back leaving bangs across her face and wispy tendrils to play about her cheeks, and she wears black slacks and a black suit jacket with a red scoop-necked shirt beneath. She's carrying a mug of coffee that she stopped and picked up at the front desk of the precinct cuz the pot up here might still be plugged in but probably has the consistency of motor oil by now — at least the front desk's is fresh (and they like her, so they let her raid theirs). "Morning, gentlemen," she greets the two officers. "So we've got a gunfight on Canal Street. Talk to me about what's got us called in?" Her tone is polite and … well, if not friendly, certainly casual enough to not be called standoffish.

Myron looks over to Terry as Elisabeth strides in, and both men — divided by nearly as many years as Myron's been on the force — give each other an identical look that says she is.

"Mornin' Miss Harrison," Myron's voice is always a grumble, it's hard to tell if it's from decades of smoking, or from his attitude. Approaching her desk, he slides a manilla folder out from under one arm, laying it down on her desk before taking a step back, another long swig taken from his mug. "Sometime around five in the evening yesterday, we got a call from a tennant at 276 Canal Street saying she heard the sounds of gunfire." The old man rubs at his forehead with his free hand, gesturing to the folder, "That's all the paperwork on it," but it's clear he'd rather go over it verbally.

"Forensics teams are still picking through everything, but this isn't a pretty job." Flipping open the folder, Myron reveals photographs of what looks like gelataneous blobs of reddish fluid scattered in an alleyway. "We got several eye-witnesses who won't really talk, I think the Triads had a shoot-out with somebody. Lady who put in the call says she saw a white van— " He rolls his eyes, because of her lack of descriptive texture, "speedin' away from the restaurant. Nobody down there says they saw anythin, Chang's people've got everyone too scared to talk. Our boys picked up a bunch'a bullet fragments and shell casings, boys down in ballistics are checking them out now. We'll probably pull prints off of the casings, see where that goes."

Flipping through the folder, Myron pages through a series of indications of bullet strikes and broken glass. "We found glass, probably from the van… and youo ain't going to believe this," the next page is clearly a grainy shot from a street traffic camera that points down Canal Street. "You see this?" He tap on a face in the crowd, "We got the corner of the van on film, tryin' to see if anyone can get a make or model on it. But the guy, the guy," He flips to the next page, showing a mugshot of— "

Flint Deckard

"Camera shows him shooting at the van from across the street. We picked up some shell casings from there too. I put those ones on speedy delivery, and we got a match with Deckard's prints on file." But the man in the traffic camera photos has an eyepatch. "We're thinkin' Deckard might've seen something, but you know how hard it is to track down that most-wanted weasel. Good to know he's still in the city, though."

When he slides the file onto her desk, Liz looks up at him with a smile. "I'd rather hear it from you — your perceptions are probably far more useful." She sips her coffee and perches one hip on her desk to listen to him talk, glancing at the pictures while he does so. She hides her grimace at the blood and pulp behind her mug of coffee — she's not a homicide detective, hasn't yet actually been promoted beyond 'officer' even though she hasn't walked or ridden a beat in years.

As he flips through reports, she skims them but her attention is more on his words. She picks up the picture he's pointing to in the 'you ain't gonna believe this' movement, though, looking at it far more closely, then looking at the mug shot. Shit.

Calmly, she looks back at Myron and his partner. "So what makes this an Evolved case? Is our victim Evo, or are you looking for an Evo perp, or…?"

"That's…" Myron glances over at Terry, who takes a step forward. "I got back from checking out the scene about twenty minutes ago, and I was able to draw out a little more info from the people who work at the restaurant. Seems that there's something going on in with the Triads, a bounty put out on a man called Tyler Case." A computer printout is held out to Elisabeth, featuring a young man's mugshot, he looks to be in his early twenties. "Traffic violations, gambling, a couple of B&E's at pawn shops back in 2001; small time. He's managed to get out of doing any jail time though, seems pretty lucky."

Yet this still doesn't make it an Evolved case, not this incident.

"Case matches the rendition we got of the suspect in Queens and Chinatown, we're pretty sure it's him. No record of Case in the Registry, and…" Terry looks over to Myron, who steps back in to the coversation with an exasperated sigh, one hand waving flippantly in the air.

"Those red splatmarks in those first photos?" Myron waves at the folder he dropped off, "Lab tests say they're liquified human remains. Bone, muscle, skin, all of it just turned to Jell-O. There's enough goop in that alley to make up at least a couple of people, we don't have a DNA match yet, that's gonna take a couple weeks. If the Triad have got their nose up Tyler Case's ass, and we've got bodies popping up whenever he shows up, one of 'em is a Triad… and now we got Chinese Takeout ala gunfight down on Canal Street. My gut's telling me this ain't unrelated, and I'm willing to bet our boy Deckard might know a thing or two, since he was part of the shooting."

Elisabeth takes the printout from Terry, reading over it quickly. She's still listening but the words 'liquiefied human remains' bring her eyes back up to Myron. Blowing out a long sigh, she murmurs, "Shiiiiiiit. So let me get this straight…. we've got one non-Evolved guy disemboweled in Chinatown by someone with superstrength and probably bone claws, we've got one Evolved guy electrocuted, and we've got one set of liquiefied human remains that we can't ID as Evo or not who has been, as already mentioned, liquiefied. And it's all tied together by a description of this person, Tyler Case, who we can't get a handle on — he could either be the unluckiest sonuvabitch ever and the Triads are sending a variety of Evo assassins after him for some reason or other, *or* he could be an Evo with multiple power sets who is killing people sent after him? Those seem like the most likely possibilities. And now we've got Flint Deckard somehow involved as a shooter. Was he shooting at Case or at someone going after Case? That we don't really know, right? Do I have this straight so far?"

"Right as rain," Myron murmurs, taking a swig of his coffee, "We aren't sure exactly who Deckard was shooting at, it looks like the van, but the angle's not giving us a lot to go on. He fired off three shots as far as we can tell, we got all three casings." Myron looks over to Terry who just shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

"Lookin' at it, we don't have a lot to go on. Tyler Case's last known address is, well," The paperwork in Elisabeth's hand lists a tenement building on Broadway, which right now is little more than a concrete hole in the ground. "He's been off the radar for a long time, might've cleaned up. But whatever we're looking at here," there's a shake of his head, "It's pretty obvious there's some serious shit being pulled around this guy. Chinatown's been a god-damned hell of a problem since Frankie Civella went off to the hooskow, Chang Ye's boys have been sucking in whatever they can out've the old boy's turf."

One hand rubbing across his chin, Myron looks up at Liz with an expectant stare. "If you want my thoughts on this, Harrison, you got put on this case because the Big Lady," he smirks, "Might be puttin her eye on you for Detective." That raises Terry's brows.

Raising her own eyebrows, Elisabeth seems to consider the idea for a moment, but then she gives a self-deprecating grin at the two men. "Well, it's a nice bonus incentive, but the important part is the case, right? So… being as homicide is not my specialty as yet, do you have any pointers for me, Detective Myron? I have some street contacts who might actually be able to put me on Deckard's trail, but I've also read something about the store owners that you and Damaris talked to sitting on information?"

Nodding slowly, Myron gives a rub of his stubbled beard with one hand, "Yeah…" he mumbles, "Donnie Cho. Guy's a nutter, says he saw the Devil outside of his shop the night that body got torn in two. Glowin' red eyes, horns, hellfire and brimstone— the whole nine yards." There's a big of a shrug as he looks down to Elisabeth's desk. "He's stuck to it though, but there's some holes in his story about what he saw. When I talked to him, he said he was asleep and heard a scream, came downstairs and saw Beelzebub outside his back door," there's a smirk, "Then a'course, when Grimes and Damaris gave him a shakedown, he's up and saying that he saw a man that matches Case's description before the attack, and didn't say nothin' about bein' asleep. He's obviously coverin' for somebody, but I just don' know who."

Nodding to the file, Myron wiggles his fingers in an instructional manner for her to flip through the files. "I tried getting what I can out of Donnie-Boy, you might have better luck persuading him otherwise. He was scared of somethin' though, whatever it was he saw…" Salt and pepper brows rise slowly, "Somebody's covering somebody's ass, an they're leavin' Tyler Case flappin' out in the breeze."

"Mmm. I might be able to," Elisabeth replies with a grin. "A little coercion goes a long way. You want to go along, Detectives?" She includes Terry Williams in the invitation. "It's a place to start, at least."

"Yeah sure I'll shake down Donnie with you, been a while since I pretended somebody could tolerate me as a partner," There's a rough, dry laugh from Myron as he drains the last of his cup, setting it on top of Elisabeth's filing cabinet. Terry, however, shakes his head and manages as much of a grimacing smile as he can.

"No can do, Harrison. Flattered, but I've got to get back to precinct in Queens. If you need me to answer anything more about the Nadler case, though, you've got my number." He notions to the folder, then glances up at Myron, then Elisabeth. "You two go easy on him, right?"

Laughing, Myron reaches inside of his jacket, producing a crushed pack of cigarettes, shaking out one to tuck behind his ear, "Yeah, one of us will have to I guess."

There's a chuckle, and Elisabeth replies, "I'll be on the phone to you pretty damn soon here, Williams. I want to sit and read the entire file first, formulate the questions first. Figure I might as well go along and do this part while I have a pro in my pocket. Thank you, though. I appreciate any help I can get." She pushes her hip off her desk, grabs a large swallow of coffee, and picks up the file. "So… let's have a chat with Mr. Cho, Myron." And just like that, she's ready to walk back out of the precinct.

February 28th: Filling In The Blanks

Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…
The Devil Himself

February 28th: The Devil Himself
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