Like Blood From a Stone


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Scene Title Like Blood From a Stone
Synopsis Veronica goes to get information on Adam from Dutch, and to ask a favor, but to no avail.
Date May 10, 2009

Dutch's Office

In a generic looking office building over in Queens, is the regional ATF headquarters. Down beneath the marble entry way, and the polished aluminum elevators is a basement and then a sub basement. In this sub basement, is where the SRT lives. Its a decision made both out of security, and because the building they used to operate out of is now highly irradiated.

Through narrow hallways decorated with bare concrete, its cool and dry and altogether bunker like. Through a heavy security door towards the end of the hallway, was a room known as "The Sniper Shack" according to the magic marker on the dull grey door. The walls were covered with iron plates, which bore chalk scribbles denoting their distance and the shooter. There was otherwise just five little offices here, covered in gun cleaning crappola, screws, nuts, knives, magazines, empty rifle casings, paperwork and in Dutch's case little model dirtbikes. The little partition around his desk, was covered in plaques from various shooting competitions he's placed well in. The very largest of which, mounted on a simple plank of unfurnished wood was noted simply as the "Hide Cup, First place."

At Dutch's desk, was of course Dutch. Filling out paperwork, and eating those delicious little candied orange slices. The office was otherwise empty, everyone was either at home or out on deployment. So theres no din of conversation, no background television. Just a humm of the ventilation system, and the tak-tak-tak of little laptop keys.

Vee flashes her badge and asks around and soon is on her way through that dungeon that leads to Dutch. She's quiet enough, but she's not trying to sneak up on him — so her approach is marked by the staccato footfalls of her boots on concrete floors. She leans in the doorway to his office and tilts her head at him. Today it's probably more obvious she's some sort of agent than the last time he saw her — "secret agent black" from head to toe, black boots, black slacks, a black blazer. Only a pop of jade green, her signature color when she wears one, from the t-shirt beneath her jacket, gives the outfit any color.

"So you do have a name. Not that it's one I can pronounce," Vee says, with a nod toward the certificates. Of course she knew that before wandering in here, or there's no way she'd have found him.

And indeed Dutch hears Vee coming. "goodness, its you again."Dutch spins round in his chair, pushing the laptop closed and setting his full attention on Vee. He's dressed pretty casual, camoflague boardshorts, beat up "GAP PRECISION" baseball cap and of course a "Boom headshot!" T-shirt.

"When did they start letting girlscouts in here? I'd really love some samoas or whatever they're called, if you leave your pricelist I'm certain I can get the rest of the squad in so you can earn your merit badge."Dutch grins, just a touch. "I mean, I know how homesec operates right? Sell cookies get a merit badge, because stealing ATF funding isnt enough to pay for all the really gucci toys right?"

"I actually prefer Prada and Versace, to be honest," Vee says, pushing off from the doorway and entering the room without waiting for more of an invitation to do so. "So… I can try to slaughter your name or just continue to call you 'Hey, You,' which works well enough for me, or you can tell me what to call you that I can actually say," she says, turning one of the chairs around and straddling it, setting the file she carries in her hands on his desk, but folding her hands on top of it. "You might have forgotten my name. Veronica Sawyer." She offers her right hand, her left staying on top of the file.

Dutch shakes, but its that indifferent sort've business handshake. "Dutch is what everyone calls me."he shrugs, settling back, with arms folded. "So what business does Homeland security have with the ATF, or did you just wander by to not sell me delicious cookies and make me regret not having words with your supervisor?"

Vee shakes and rolls her eyes. "My supervisor really won't care about anything you'd have to tell him, Dutch," she says, with a toss of her head, flipping those dark locks of hair tumbling over her shoulders. "I wasn't doing anything that they'd have a problem with, except the fact that I got snuck up on by an ATF agent. My only fault in that was not being quicker than you, and being the one who got pinned, so to speak." She shrugs, but there's something in her eyes that hints that rubs her all sorts of wrong ways.

"Anyway. As much fun as it is to relive that night and all, this is about business and not pleasure." She flips open the folder, and hands him the contents: a photo of Adam, though the name is nowhere on the picture. "You took this man into questioning a few days ago?" she asks.

Dutch nods softly "I sure did."Clearly not eager to volunteer any additional information. "Its all in my report, and the interrogation is all recorded. He didnt make any additional statements of substance, nor did he surrender any additional intelligence on the whereabouts of Mortimer. So we cut him after twenty four, unlike DHS we cant just port people over to Gitmo whenever we desire."

"Right," Vee says. "Why did you think that he had something to do with this Mortimer?" she says, with a tilt of her head. "And why did he get in touch with you? I don't quite understand why he came looking for you. Pardon me if I don't have all the details. That's why I came to chat." She smiles, showing bright white teeth and two dimples in either cheek that complement her full lips.

Dutch is not amused. "He called the tip line, his call is on record too. I met him to discuss his tip, the rest is all in my report. I was very careful to make sure it noted all of the truly important information there, I dont have much to offer that isnt already on record."

"I'm not buying that he called in to tip you about some Staten Island thug, Dutch," Vee says with a sigh. "He's not a nice person, trust me." Her eyes narrow and for perhaps half a second, she actually looks like she might cry before she blinks hard and looks at him, waiting for anything else he might want to tell her.

"My mother, wasnt a very nice person. So until you can arrest people for not being nice, then its not my problem. I ran his shit, he had no warrants, no prior arrests, no prior nothings so if your saying I caught the boogieman then -you- let him out not me. If this dude has some prior shit, then its your inability to build an arrest record has endangered the nation at large. So dont even come and tell me, oh this and that and the otherthing. Bullshit. I got him, if he's a bad dude then you lost him."

She actually pales. Talk about kicking a girl when she's down. Of course, he can't know that she did lose him, because she was trying to keep Katherine Marks' blood from spilling onto the asphalt after he'd shot the agent too many times for her to survive. But her words contradict her expression. "Not me personally, Dutch, but believe me, I don't plan on letting him get lost again," she mutters. She tosses a card down on his desk as she stands, leaving the photo with him. "If you see him again… anywhere… you don't have to do shit, you don't have to arrest him, you don't have to talk to him. But please call me. Text me. Just give me the location, and that's all I ask of you."

Dutch shakes his head, pushing the photo away. "I'm sorry, but unless he has some paperwork thats not going to happen. I pursue felons, people with paperwork. If this guy doesnt have weapons violations, and paperwork then I dont give a fuck. Everytime I call DHS for help, you people dont even return my calls so no. I aint helping you. Take that shit and get out of here. Dont kick me, and then expect me to help you jackasses out."

She frowns. "You've never called me and had me refuse to help you. I've never kicked you, and then asked you to help me, have I? Don't treat me like crap just because somewhere someone in my agency did, Dutch. That's just illogical," she says. "I'm not asking you to pursue him. I'm asking you to let me know if you see him, if you happen to run into him. I don't expect you to chase him down and find him for me."

Dutch shakes his head "Sure thing Mrs Spock, if I see him I'll just breach operational security and turn on a cellphone in the middle of my job because clearly attending to some chick who walked all over my last stakeout is my number one priority."Dutch lifts the photo, dumps it into the waste basket and points to the door. "That way, is where you should be going. Now."

"God, are you obtuse," Veronica growls. "You might see him in your off hours. You might not be in the middle of a job, where turning on your cell phone is a problem. You might see him in the grocery store when you're shopping for your goddamn bell peppers." She stands and moves toward the doorway. "Self fulfilling prophecy, Dutch — had you called and asked me for a favor, you might have gotten it. Now you sure as hell won't." She stalks out of the door, her footfalls quicker, more staccato than her entrance.

Dutch erects one middle finger, and then the other after she leaves. And then, he neatly plucks the photo from the trash bin and tucks it into a thigh pocket. "Fucking gestappo."

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