Q and... A?



Scene Title Q and… A?
Synopsis While researching any possible unusual events or people in the Red Hook area, Terry receives very little useful information and an unrelated(?) item.
Date April 30, 2009

Red Hook, Brooklyn

It's early afternoon, here in Red Hook Park. Terry steps onto the grass, and pauses for a moment, looking up towards the sky, over the tall buildings that stand close around the grassy area. His hands are tucked in the pockets of a light jacket, that hangs over his firearm in a shoulder holster, badge clipped on his belt, and more "Company specific" implements near the small of his back. He's been at this for weeks now, and can only hope that others have been having better luck. For now, however, he walks onto the park, and starts looking. Suspcicious activity, obviously, will catch his eye, but for now he's looking for residents of the area. Parents with children, elderly individuals feeding birds, and generally anyone who looks like they may know the goings on here, or even just be more attentive than your average New Yorker.

There isn't much to be suspicious of. Children out enjoying a nice spring Tuesday; adults doing the same. There's a woman out in the grass tossing a frisbee for an older dog. Two young children are painting the plaza in every color of chalk imaginable — and more besides! — under the benevolent supervision of two women who could be their babysitters just as easily as their parents. There seems to be no one out feeding the birds right now, though several joggers make their way down the sidewalk and several other people of all ages wander by singly or in small groups.

After spending a few minutes watching, and wandering, Terry starts walking towards the pair of women watching kids. He makes a point of circling around to the side first, if he's behind them, and walks up to a good conversational distance before saying, "Excuse me," in a polite tone to the two women, and reaching into his back pocket, taking his wallet and tucking it into his coat. "The two of you wouldn't happen to live in the area, would you?"

One, blonde, looks to be in her early twenties; the other, brown-haired, might be a little older. They both look up with surprise as they are suddenly addressed, breaking off their own casual conversation and eyeing Terry sidelong. The children, perhaps four to six years of age, continue making a colorful mess without so much as a twitched hair. "What business is it of yours?" the blonde asks the not-in-uniform cop.

Terry pulls the wallet out of his pocket, and opens it. Inside is his NYPD badge. He shows it to the two women, leaving it out for just long enough for them to identify it, and then closes the wallet. "My name is Detective Collins, NYPD. I'm investigating reports of disturbances in this area, and am looking to ask a couple questions to anyone that lives in the area."

The women both look taken aback by the sudden flash of a badge, though at the same time it seems to put them at ease. Cops are allowed to ask that kind of thing. They don't do it for bad reasons. Presumably. "Yeah, we live here, Detective," the blonde replies, having apparently nominated herself spokesperson. "I'm Susan, and this is Marika." Brown-haired Marika, meanwhile, gives Terry a questioning glance. "What kind of 'disturbances'?" she prompts.

Terry nods his head at both of the women as they introduce themselves, and says, "Flashing lights, unexplainable noises." He trails off for a moment, giving them time to think, and then says, "I'm aware that this is a large area, but can you think of any new neighbors, anything particularly unusual about them?" He pauses while he's talking, and produces a small notebook and golf pencil from it. He flips through it quickly, bypassing pages with a lot of writing on them, until he finds a blank one. "By that, I don't mean a strange odor, or eating habits. I am thinking particularly of neighbors that have shown Evolved abilities."

'Flashing lights' has one immediate connotation in this context, and both of the young women look askance at Terry. The classic 'are you serious?' expression. Except when he mentions /Evolved/ then the subject is most definitely serious. "Um." Susan looks at Marika; Marika looks at Susan. "Evolved?" Susan echoes. "No, not… that I've noticed. There's…" She looks over at Marika. "Was it 8B that got a new tenant a couple weeks ago? He's the only new person I can think of and I don't… He can't be Evolved, can he?" Marika nods, confirming the reference; she can only shake her head at Susan's second question. "I don't… think so?" And the ladies look at Terry as though he might be able to supply the answer.

Terry nods his head, and scribbles a couple things down in the notebook, before looking back up at the two women. He considers the two of them for a moment, and then says, "I highly doubt it's anything to worry about," his voice calm, maybe even reassuring. "From what I have heard, it sounds like people playing pranks on one another." He smiles, and then goes back to writing in his notebook. "Does your new neighbor strike you as the kind of person to take part in something like that?"

The women look at one another again, then back at Terry. "He's very quiet," Marika replies. "He's only been here for a little while, so… but I wouldn't think so, no." There's a moment of silence, before Susan chimes in. "He works down at the supermarket, I think. His name's… Matt?"

Terry nods his head, and then scribbles one last thing down. "Alright, thank you," he says quietly. He reaches into his pocket again, and pulls out a business card. "If you think of, or notice anything, please feel free to give me a call." He holds out the card towards them, waits for them to take it, and then says, "enjoy your day," with a smile, before walking off to find the next person.

Susan takes the proffered card, bobs her blonde head. "We will, Detective," she assures him. The two women watch him go, until the chalk-coated children bounce over to demand their attention.

The woman is still throwing the frisbee for her dog, a black lab with a frosting of gray hairs evident on its muzzle. She doesn't throw the frisbee fast or far, just such for the dog to catch and retrieve. The passers-through have changed, as they are wont to do; a new array of people going places, even if the 'going' is less about the destination than the exercise. An older man has appropriated a bench for himself, and the pigeons are already gathering expectantly near his feet.

Terry keeps the notepad out now, no point in fishing for it every time he starts a new conversation. As he walks away from the two women, he scribbles one last note, and then begins walking towards the older gentleman on the bench. He appears prepared to repeat this conversation ad nauseum, and none too disappointed about the results, so far. If these past couple weeks have taught him anything, it's patience.

The shadow abruptly cast over him gets the man's attention, and he twists his head to look up at Terry. "You lookin' for a place to sit?" he asks amiably. "Got lots of room here." Two joggers move past on the walkway, the pigeons cooing and fluttering as they scatter away from pounding feet. When they settle back down, the man pulls a bread crust out of a small bag and begins breaking it up, tossing the crumbs out for the birds.

Terry smiles down at the elderly gentleman, and then nods his head. "Thank you," he says, and then moves to sit on the bench next to him. He leans back on the bench, and places his notebook on his lap, flipped to the next blank page. "You wouldn't happen to live in this neighborhood, would you, sir?" he asks, talking in a polite, and professional sounding voice. He watches the man feed the birds, while they talk, idly writing down notes as he does.

Questions have a tendency to elicit peculiar looks. The older man gives Terry a thoughtful inspection, even as he tosses the last palmful of bread crumbs out for the birds. They couldn't care less about the joggers who go past now. "That's an odd question to be asking. You're not some kind of — reporter, now are you?"

Terry smirks, and shakes his head. "No, thankfully." He slides his wallet out his pocket, and shows the badge again. Once again, he leaves it open just long enough to prove it's legit, and then tucks it back in his pocket again. "My name is Detective Collins, NYPD." He then falls silent, and focuses on tucking his wallet back into his pocket again. He picks the notepad up again, and waits silently.

"Oh," the man remarks, with the tone of 'that's all right, then'. Only he doesn't immediately reply to the original question. Instead, his brows draw together in a musing frown. "Hm. Now what does that remind me of?" It seems patience is a necessary commodity for Terry today; the older man also falls silent, looking down into the bag as though it might jog his memory.

Terry smiles, still professionally, and attempts to follow the other man's gaze. "What does what remind you of, sir?" he asks. He glances at the bag, and then towards the pigeons again. It would seem that he's fairly off his guard, though he's always at least watching the older man out of the corner of his eye.

"Hm?" He looks up at Terry, and then — "Oh, yes. I was out walking this morning. I walk every morning, you understand. Good for the health." The bag rustles as the man reaches in, seeming not to realize that the detective might take this adversely. Fortunately, he pulls out — a wallet? "But I was down by the river this morning, and I saw this by one of the old warehouses. It didn't really seem like it should be there." He holds it out to Terry. Small and dark in color, it looks like it's been saturated with water at least once. "Can you make sure it gets back to the person it belongs to?"

Terry nods his head, not seeming too startled by the wallet. However, as the man reaches into the bag, Terry's attention does come right back to him. As the wallet is produced, Terry relaxes a little, and then nods his head. He takes the wallet, and then flips it open, checking for identification. "Of course," he says, nodding his head to the elderly man. "I will make sure that this gets where it belongs. Thank you." With that, he says, "you live around here, then?" restating his question.


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