Highly Trained Agents


brian2_icon.gif deckard_icon.gif the_haitian_icon.gif veronica_icon.gif

Scene Title Highly Trained Agents
Synopsis Brian and Veronica interrogate Deckard about his involvement in the Case case before the Haitian comes in to relieve him of his recollection of it. You can tell they're highly trained agents because Brian says so.
Date March 9, 2009

NYPD Headquarters

It's late. The lights in the cell block have been off for hours by the time Deckard is woken up by the sound of his barred door grating open along its track and dragged drowsily upright. He's considered dangerous now, after knocking Felix out cold. A threat. So this time when he's sat down in a concrete box with one lamp hanging from the ceiling and a long two-way mirror occupying one wall, there is no table. Just a single chair, currently occupied by him.

He's still not all the way awake when they flip the light on, bandaged wrist locked behind his back across its more intact opposite in more restrictive cuffs. He could stand up if he wanted to, but there's nowhere to go, and he stands out more now, all dressed up in his eye patch and a proper prisoner jumpsuit. Classic orange.

"Flint Deckard."

The words come from the young man with one foot on the ground, the other foot on the wall he leans against. Leaning against the wall, the man is dressed in a black suit, his shirt opened up in the top buttons. He is not alone, a woman right beside him. The man though leans casually against the wall, as if this was his umpteenth interrogation. And not at all like it was the first time he's ever been in a room like this with a real live prisoner. "You shot at me." The young man murmurs.

His eyes are cast down at the ground in front of the pair of sharply dressed agents. The replicator's eyes flick up to Veronica, waiting for her to take the lead on this one. As usual, that is. "I don't appreciate that." Brian says, shoving off his perch from the wall, taking a few steps towards the eyepatched inmate.

Veronica is in "agent casual" today — dark black slacks that show her fit body at the top before flaring out a touch at the bottom so just the tips of her black boots show. A snug-fitting burgundy sweater curves to her body, but modestly covers her neck and arms, which loosely cross her chest.

"What do you know about Tyler Case?" she demands, nodding to Deckard, her dark eyes cool and with very little humor in them. "Were you trying to protect him or the Triads? Or just trying to get us killed?" she asks, her voice a touch husky but sharp with irritation at the convict in front of her.

"Brian." There's relief in Deckard's voice — soft in the scruff-obscured lines around his mouth. Then he notices the woman who's with him. And the Brian starts talking.

Lax ease of mind sifts down out of the angles of his face like sand through an hourglass. Baffled unease replaces it, soon to be accompanied by something a little more like fear when he glances sharply between them. Something is wrong. A lot of things are wrong, actually, and the last time he saw her, she had a demon boiling out of her back. At least he's definitely awake, now.

"I shot out your tires," corrected on too much of a delay, he just looks at Veronica, remaining eye stark blue in the room's low light. "What's going on? Does Teo know about this?"

"Tell us about Tyler Case, Flint." Winters repeats for Veronica, a little more adamantly. "Anything you know about him." Though Brian definitely has some other questions he would rather be asking, how they know each other. Or rather how Deckard knows him. Walking deeper into the room, the man circulates Deckard's seat. The relief in Deckard's voice goes noticed, but does not get a reaction. He glances up at Veronica, then back to Deckard. As if asking for permission for something from her.

"Your shooting out our tires almost got us killed, so pardon me if I don't see that much of a difference. And you didn't answer the question. Why were you shooting at us? Were you trying to help Tyler Case? Who is he, and where is he?"

She strides a little closer, crossing the tiny room in a few steps, to stare down at his good eye with her two, their darkness steely and serious. "Tell us where we can find him, and maybe we'll manage to get some time off your sentence for cooperating and being a good little boy. Your choice. Don't tell us, and we'll throw in a few charges for screwing up a federal investigation, Deckard."

"I don't know anything you don't. You were there." Deckard tenses visibly when Brian passes out of his immediate line of sight, spine straight and shoulders braced against the chair back when he tries to twist his head around to keep track of him. X-ray vision reveals nothing that he wouldn't expect to see on any other Brian. If anything, the suit is the weirdest part of him right now. His weight shifts when he looks back around to Veronica; his cuffs rattle behind his back. He looks up at her with dislike, but nothing along the lines of deception. What the hell is going on?

"I don't know where he is. I didn't even know his name until everyone started asking me about him. Jesus Christ lady, all I know is you went after him and some crazy shit happened and everyone and their mother wants to know what."

"Who's mother?" Brian interrupts glancing up at Veronica in an apologetic look as he suddenly takes the conversation. "Who else has asked you about Tyler Case?" Winters asks aggressively, bending slightly over the older man's shoulder so that he can see him. "Why did you start shooting Deckard? Is that your natural reaction to 'crazy shit'? Just start shooting at crap? It's hard for me to believe that. So, go ahead, tell us what we need to know and we'll get out of your hair." He says crisply, stepping around the man once again back into his line of sight.

Veronica crouches down, sitting back on her haunches, her elbows resting on her thighs as she looks at Deckard. "Why did you try to shoot out our tires, if you didn't know anything about him? You claim to know Winters here… you were like his buddy, five minutes before, but suddenly you're shooting out his tires simply because he didn't recognize you? And your gun came out way before the 'crazy shit happened.' So tell us why you shot at us. Why you felt that you needed to intervene. Why help some guy you don't know? You don't seem the philanthropist type, Deckard. Correct me if I'm wrong. What the hell were you doing?"

"I…dunno. Everyone. Felix — " Deckard breathes out half a laugh, teeth bared in something that might pass for a grin in the loosest sense of the term when Brian leans close. "The guy looked like he was having a bad day." Simple, truthful, to the point. He's had a lot of bad days. He knows what it's like. "Brian, look. If — if you need someone to talk to…I dunno. I can try. I can listen at least. I don't know what's going on with you anymore, but this bitch is crazy, okay?"

"Stop calling me that." Brian snaps.

It's like wearing a name tag at work, you know people can get your name, but you still don't like them calling you by it when you never gave it to begin with. He gives an impatient glance to Veronica. "Who is Felix? Who is Teo?" The man demands. "You call her that again, and I'll give you a nice reminder of the night we met, alright?" The agent asks testly, one fist clenching. "Who else is after Case, why do they want him?"

Veronica's dark eyes flash over to Winters, taking in his annoyance with a calculating look. They slide back to Deckard more slowly, narrowing as she surveys him as well. "You helped out Case because he was 'having a bad day,'" she echoes, with a disbelieving shake of her head. "You. Murderer. Arsonist. Whatever else is on your rap sheet. You just wanted to be this man's guardian angel that day? Someone punched you five minutes before, so it makes sense to shoot at Winters, and help out a complete stranger out of some random act of kindness? Holy shit. Save the Oprah bullshit for NYPD. We're not buying it."

She takes a deep breath. "You need to start answering our questions. Start with Winters'. Who is Felix and what does he know about Case? And who else knows what you think you saw in the alley? The 'crazy shit.' I want a list of names."

Intelligence hardens into cold calculation while the two of them talk, the sheen of it harsh in Deckard's unblinking eye. Who is Felix? Who is Teo? Things keep getting more and more wrong. "You really don't know who I am." It's an unpleasant realization to come to, and it's not one that answers any of the questions they're throwing at him. The silence that follows on his end isn't anymore telling, bristled chin dipped to his chest while he tries to shove puzzle pieces into place rapid fire.

"I want my lawyer present for this line of questioning."

"That was the wrong answer, Flint. Now I'll ask again who is Felix, and who is Teo? You don't answer me this time, and we'll give you a full display of what we can do." Winters says, rounding on him, stepping up beside Veronica. His hands go rest on his side, as he tilts his head to watch the older man.

"You already took out someone, from what the desk jockey said. You think anyone's going to question me if I said I had to shoot you, that you attacked me? I know a lot of places to shoot that won't kill you, and my gun won't bring them running, either. There's no one behind that glass right now to come running in to save you," she says. "Or I can just beat the crap out of you. Or Winters. He'd like that, I'm sure," she says. "So. Three questions, Goldilocks. Who is Felix, who is Teo, and who else did you tell about what you saw? We're not going to hurt them if you tell us. We will hurt you if you don't tell us."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Deckard looks up at Brian, searching, then away, to the window. They aren't lying. No one is on the other side. He stays like that, though, not looking at them and not saying anything either.

Where are the cops when you actually need them?

A light sigh is given as Winters steps forward. Bending slightly forward the man's hands grasp on the front legs of the chair. There is a sharp yank as Brian stands up swiftly. "How do you know me?" Brian growls. Moving around to the now downed Deckard. "How do you think you know me? Who the fuck is Felix? And who the fuck is Teo?" A swift kick is delivered to Deckard's side.

Veronica leans against the wall, now, crossing her arms, apparently happy to let Winters do the dirty work. "Go figure. Now he's quiet. Wouldn't fucking shut up the other night, and now he's the strong silent type," she says with a roll of her eyes. "Listen, Deckard. You're cutting off your nose despite your face, and pardon me if I point out you don't have that many body parts to spare. You're protecting people instead of worrying about yourself. First Case. Now this Felix guy. The people you told about what you think you saw. Those people aren't going to get hurt, not if you cooperate. If you don't cooperate…" she sighs and pushes off the wall again to stride closer, standing to look down into his face where he lies on the ground. "If you don't cooperate, I can't promise that."

Arms are important for maintaining balance and having some control over the direction your body moves in. Deckard's are sort of handcuffed into a fixed position behind his back at the moment. The chair legs go up, he goes back and down onto the floor, head rebounding off concrete once his upper back has taken the brunt of the fall. The unholy light in his eye flickers and dulls, returning to full strength again only once he's had a chance to pull in a deep breath. A deep breath that is promptly gasped part of the way right back out again when Brian's foot reintroduces itself to his ribs. One long leg still tangled in the chair, he cocks the other one up into a blunt mule kick at Brian's crotch. "You beat me up. A mutual friend saved me, even though she shouldn't have. Then we mugged a guy together. You shot him in the knee." It's hard to hear Veronica over the blood pounding in his ears, but he lifts his head to try to squint at her anyway. "Felix Ivanov is a the FBI's liaison with the NYPD. By all means, hurt him."

Once, Brian would have taken the shot in the balls, and yelled loudly and angrily. That was before, this is a Brian that Deckard does not know. The kick is quickly recognized as Winters steps to the side, one hand flying out to catch the ankle. The other hand goes to deliver a swift chop at the man's leg before he drops it. "Watch it, old man." Brian murmurs casually, taking a step back. Though he frowns deeply back at his partner.

"The FBI is on this, Veronica?" Brian asks dryly. "What else do we not know about this?" The man asks sharply, looking back down at Deckard. "That sounds like a bullshit story, Flint. How do you know me, tell me the truth. And tell me who Teo is."

Veronica yawns a bit. "And who else you told this story to," she says as if bored. She shrugs a shoulder at Winters. "I don't know. Gun shots, Triads, whatever crazy story he thinks he saw, I guess that'd draw in the feebs. We'll sort it out. I'm not terribly worried. They don't have anything over us," she says, her eyes narrowing to glance back down at Deckard, letting the weight of those words hit him. "We were doing our jobs until you fouled it up. I'm not feeling particularly charitable toward you at the moment, but you could change that. I appreciate the first answer to the first question. Two more to go, Goldilocks."

"Fucking — ow." Brian just karate chopped his goddamn leg. Another, shorter kick is mostly meant to twist said leg back into his own power, but 'Winters' drops it anyway, leaving him all awkward and sore on the concrete floor. He's halfway onto his side to take some the pressure off of his cuffed wrists, but the bandaged one is starting to bleed through anyway. Deckard rolls his eyes (eye) and just stays there, trying to get his breathing under control again. "That is the truth. You're so much of a goddamn boy scout you fucked up a mugging while I was giving you instructions. I was…in hiding. I talked you into taking me to a strip club, but we almost got caught." No answer on Teo. No answer on who else he's talked to.

He was mugging people, shooting people, on the streets and taking old men to strip clubs. That was his life before his accident? That was it? For a moment, he's kind of glad he doesn't remember any of it. "Listen Flint. We're highly trained Agents." Brian says in a conversational tone as he meanders to Flint's side. "We know how to extract information, we haven't started trying yet. So do us a favor and just let slip. If it makes you feel better, you won't even remember giving anyone up? So, who did you talk to, and who is Teo? Why would he be talking to me?" Winters ask.

"Two more questions. That one wasn't part of the three. Winters here just snuck it in when I wasn't looking," Veronica says coolly, examining her perfect manicure. "So Teo, and who else you told. If you're protecting them — don't. They're better off that way. If we have to worry about extracting it, that's a lot more work, and it will make me cranky, and then I'll have to take it out on someone. Maybe your friend Teo. Maybe whoever it is you're trying to protect. And apparently you wouldn't want that. So just tell us, and they'll be safe. We just need to know. And if we find out you lied about any of it?" she sighs dramatically, not bothering to say what will happen. She just gives a shake of her head.

"If you were highly trained agents, you wouldn't have to say so to get the point across, Mister Bond." God this Brian is a douchenozzle. Eye rolled shut, Deckard doesn't try to get up. The floor is cool. It actually feels kind of nice against the ache in his head. "Teo doesn't know anything. I didn't tell him because I was trying to cover your brain-damaged ass." If he'd never come to New York City, he'd probably be in a lot better shape, mentally. The thought occurs to him around the time he realizes that he doesn't actually care very much about what's about to happen. Haha. Hoo. Yeah. No. It's not actually that funny, in retrospect.

"Maybe try telling me more about how badass you guys are. I bet that's what it says to do in the study guide."

A soft sigh is exhaled as Brian turns to Veronica. Stepping over to her, his back to Deckard, one hand goes to rest on her waist as he leans in to murmur softly in her ear. "We probably got all we're going to get. I say we wipe him and pay Agent Ivanov a visit. He doesn't know anything about Case. I suspect this was more about me. Shall we?" He motions with a jerk of his chin towards the door.

Veronica rolls her eyes at Deckard's quips. "And you got 'Be snarky and witty when you have your back against the floor and can get killed in a millisecond' from your 'How To Be A Bad Guy' handbook," she tells the man. She nods to Winters, then strides over to Deckard. She places her very shiny patent-leather boot on the edge of the upended chair, and presses down in a swift, sudden motion so the chair, and Deckard in it, snap back upward into an upright position. No favors to his aching head or wrist, no doubt. "Wow, you're bleeding. You might want to have someone look at that," she says in a faux-concerned tone.

"I dunno. I like to think I'm one of the good guys." This spoken mostly to the ceiling, he has about a second to register that Veronica is coming back over before he travels an abrupt ninety degrees up and around. Head swimming, he squeezes his eye shut once more, trying to kill off the static fuzz that threatens to fill up the inside of his skull. It works a little. He doesn't pass out, at least.

Casting one glance over his shoulder, Brian smirks a little bit at Veronica as she flips Deckard up and starts walking back to him. Once she is back with him, his arm snakes up and around her shoulders as they make their way out of the room. "You're pretty hot when you're acting like a cop." Brian murmurs softly with a grin as they open the door and slide out. The door closes crisply, and then the lights dim.

And so does Deckard's vision.

Finding his ability suddenly and utterly inaccessible, and simply gone a few prolonged moments of silence pass by without event. Unnerving moments, it isn't until a full three minutes later that the door opens, and in steps another agent.

Dressed sharply, a beige suit over a violet shirt, the dark skinned man filling the doorway takes a few slick steps towards the man, his gaze locked on Deckard. His fingers splay out beside him as he moves in, no sound is made. The man hardly makes any noise at all as he closes in on Flint.

The Haitian's hand comes up, and slides over Deckard's mouth. When Deckard wakes up, he will have no idea why he's being held in police custody. Nor will he have any recollection of this meeting.

March 9th: Missing

Previously in this storyline…
Dead or Alive

Next in this storyline…
Introspective Retrospect

March 9th: God and Forgiveness
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