The Right Idea


danko_icon.gif phoebe_icon.gif

Scene Title The Right Idea
Synopsis Danko uses one of the numbers he collected out've Joseph's phone to give an unimpressed Phoebe a buzz. Mainly to see where she stands. Also to make a point or two while he has her attention.
Date July 31, 2009

Orchid Lounge

Even the busiest of people must eventually take a moment for themselves. To this rule, Phoebe is no exception. Such being the case, it is unsurprising to find the widow Thornton ensconced at a small table in the corner near the front windows. It is one of those evenings where she has ordered herself a Manhattan, opened a book and is seemingly determined to tune out the rest of the world for a moment or three. So much so that Mosha had been given the choice of a night off, or an evening waiting for her in the car. Mosha, being Mosha opted for the car. Of course, he has made the occassional foray into line of sight just to check on his employer. Whether or not Phoebe is aware of that particular fact? Hard to say.

Phoebe and Mosha aren't the only busy people taking a night to themselves tonight. Granted, Danko's idea of a night to himself basically entails one where he works by himself in civilian clothes rather than with a team in fatigues. In many other ways, tonight is not all that dissimilar from last night. He's on the roof of a building rather than on the ground, black boots crunching for purchase against gravel and tar when he makes his way back over to the corner nearest the Orchid Lounge. As far as martini bars go, this one is more familiar to him than most — but he's not interested in what's being served so much as he is who's being served. It takes time to focus in through the blocks of warm yellow light that mark out the bar's windows. Still more time to zero in on the face he's after.

Once he does, he's quick to slide the stolen block of an unfamiliar cell phone out into his gloved hand, Phoebe's number dialed in without any hurry.

The muted buzz of Phoebe's cellphone stirs her to slanting a glance up from her book. Not recognizing the number, Phoebe frowns faintly as she sets the book aside and waves off the approaching waiter. She does not require another drink and prefers her privacy. She does, however, gather up the phone, a flick of her thumb cueing the answer function as she rests it against her ear. Phoebe Thornton, apparently, does not favor BlueTooth. "Hello?"

"Phoebe Thornton?" The voice that crackles along the other end of the line is lazily distant. Dry. Almost as if whoever it is doesn't care if he's got the right number or not, though he seems to know pretty damn well that he does. "We don't know each other yet, but I think — maybe — with a little time and effort, we might find some common ground to tread over while I've got your ear."

Across the street, Danko sinks more of his weight over onto his right side, steadying the natural waver and fuzz of the lenses pressed up to his lifeless eyes.

Arching a brow at the phone, Phoebe draws it away from her ear to glance at the number, her free hand reaching for her drink as she returns the device to her ear. "I like to think that we can all find common ground given a bit effort and patience," she notes. "And yes, this Phoebe, might I ask who you are?" A sip of her drink is taken as she settles back in her chair the book forgotten, for now.

"This is Charlie." The name is delivered carefully, as if there might be some significance to it. The pause that follows carries the same sort've creeping weight — bait slithered out into the ripple of water while his eyes slide dead across her face. In search of recognition, or fear, or anger. Anything that might qualify as more of a reaction than there should be.

"I spoke with one of your friends last night about a Ferry ride. Joseph. Only — he's not feeling all that well today. I thought I might try you instead."

Ah, Phoebe has decades of mastering her emotions. So much so that very little takes her by surprise anymore and even when it does, she's a fair hand at pretending it doesn't. She does, however, respond rather quickly to one thing said. "Pastor Sumter is ill?" Through the window one could see her smirk. On the phone one can hear her sigh. She's been wanting to have a 'chat' with Joseph for a while now. He's avoiding getting caught rather neatly. It is in response to the rest of the statement that she shakes her head, takes a sip of her drink and asks calmly. "Forgive me, Charles, but I am not following you, which charity do you represent? And under the circumstances I would recommend a yacht, personally." Wait. Ferry. Oh. Through the window one might see the frown touch Phoebe's lips, no doubt there is a hint of tension in her voice. The Ferrymen is touchy subject for her, particularly since Joseph tricked her into that and she's none too pleased or interested beyond fronting the occasional funds.

"…Ill?" Danko's brows tip up at the smirk, canted into each other under the soft buff of moonlight off his fuzzy head, "No, he's not ill. I kicked his head in." Odd how matter-of-fact a voice can be in the admission of such things. He might as well be confessing to not covering up a sneeze for all the difference it makes in his inflection.

The binoculars lower a moment once he's registered her reaction there, shoulder given a rest while he leans out to squint at the sift and turn of yellow cabs between parked cars far below. "You can recommend whatever kind've boat you like, Ms. Thornton. I don't represent any charity. What I represent is the idea that you might want to be a little more careful about what you associate with between trips to the martini bar."

Phoebe's drink is set down, her lips pressing in a thin line as she listens to the voice on the phone. "Yes, Charles, because association with a well respected Pastor nigh unto criminal. As for the rest, really, one would think if you had the skill to get my personal number, you would also know that I have not -ever- done anything even remotely off-colored, let alone illegal or immoral. So, I'll thank you rethink your assumptions, they only make you look foolish." And no, she has not missed the reference to location, that much is clear when she turns her head to scan the street outside. Sadly, like most people, she does not look up. "And really, before issuing threats, it would behoove you to be consider to whom you are talking and discern what, if anything, they might have to do with what has you so very frazzled. I shall, however, take your advice into consideration Charles." Of course, she's also cueing Mosha's beeper which should bring her driver to her location post haste. "And it is Mrs. Thornton for future reference, I expect you will remember that particular bit of information."

Somewhere around 'has you so frazzled,' Danko pulls the phone away from his ear and frowns at it, as if he suspects there might be some sort of mechanical complication or error in its wiring that is making these words come out of it in Phoebe's voice. When no immediate explanation of where the the mixed translation is going down immediately forthcoming, he's left to stand there and look puzzled to himself while he lifts the flip phone back to his ear and she's still talking. And calling him Charles. There is a profound silence on his end through all of this accordingly.

It's another several seconds before he thinks to check the binoculars again — just in time to catch the tail end of her beeping in Mosha. Well. At least there's that. "I'll…make a note. In the meanwhile I guess I'll have to trust you know how best to handle your own affairs." There's another quiet beat while he makes a fine adjustment to the focus of his lenses, then: "Your daughter seemed to have the right idea, after all."

Phoebe's eyes go cold as a snake in response to those words, her visage losing all expression. "Pray," she utters in flat tones. "That I never find out who you really are, Charles." Because if she does, and she damned well intends to try, he is dead. "Your death will be far slower and far, far more painful." Never beard the mama lion with her cubs. "I promise you that," she adds in tones akin to one promising to buy their little princess a pony.

"I'll get right on that, Mama Bear." Even footing rediscovered all at once in that single subtle change in demeanor, Danko steps back away from the roof ledge with a touch of a lift slight at the corner of his mouth. His binoculars fall back to his side. Seen enough, heard enough. Made his point. Almost. "Meant to mention this earlier, but you should really consider working a little color into your wardrobe. Aside from the jewelry. Black's just — so depressing."

"Good night, Charles." And for anyone listening, it might seem that Phoebe is talking to an old and dear friend. It is in the midst of her farewell that her limo pulls up in front of the martini and she rolls to her feet. "Do have a pleasant evening," she adds as she disconnects the call and heads for the door.

Outside, Mosha is out of the vehicle making a point to put himself firmly between his employer and potential danger on her route to the vehicle. And, unlike Phoebe, Mosha does look up. And, providing there is no further incident, Phoebe will be ushered into the car and whisked away.

"Take care of yourself, Phoebe," offered pleasantly enough in return, Danko's well out've easy sight from the ground by the time the line goes dead and he drops his phone carelessly off the far side of the building.

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