Coffee With A Cop
Roleplaying Log: Coffee With A Cop
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Frank meets with Dick. Perhaps surprisingly, it goes swimmingly.

Other Characters Referenced: Barbara Gordon, Dinah Lance, Ronin without being named.
IC Date: January 05, 2019
IC Location: New York City
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 06 Jan 2019 05:11
Rating & Warnings: PG-13 for language
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Frank Castle has a pretty distinctive face, it's true. But the beard helps some, as does the watch cap pulled low over his eyes. At least the weather supports that pass at disguise — summer is going to be a bear. He's staked out the area around Grayson's precinct for a couple of days, and so once Dick is inside the coffee joint, Frank gives it a couple of minutes to let him get his coffee, then moves toward the coffee shop at a slow walk. As he nears the front door, he makes sure his head is down, toward his new combat boots, and he pulls his hands from his pockets, making it clear that they're empty. He glances around to spot Dick, then moves in that direction, looking to put a hand on the back of the chair opposite the police officer and murmur, "Grayson? I'm Red's friend." There's a wariness to the words, a care, the man's broad shoulders half-turned as if preparing to retreat if needed.

*

Of course there's two versions of the man at work here: there's the 'hotshot' Detective Dick Grayson, at least in the sense that he's young and relatively new to the force for the position, who carries himself with a certain cocksure air to match that expectation. Or the Wayne association, although he gets less of that in NYC, and kind of prefers it. And then of course there's the Nightwing side, the part of him that picked up on the man surveilling him almost right away, and has spent the better part of those days putting on a convincing show of having no idea. Bless you Alfred, and those acting lessons. So the man found in the window booth looks quite at ease, spread out on his side of the table, sipping his coffee and splitting his attention between an old-fashioned newspaper on the table next to his plate and the world passing outside the window. He looks confident, 'in charge' of what he sees as his city, his beat. Its very cop. He does a good job of looking a bit alarmed as he finally notices Frank approaching, but also seems put at least partially at-ease by his peace-bringing posture. "Yeah, we just talked, she said you'd want to meet. She give you my terms?"

*

The surprise causes Frank to spread his hands in a placating gesture, evidently taken in by the acting job. As the other man settles again, Frank grimaces, "Naw, haven't heard from her. Figure she's over-scheduled as usual." There's a dry sort of amusement behind the words, and a good bit of over protective forbearance. "Why don't you tell me what they are? Figure it should be fine though."

*

"Alright, that's fine," Grayson answers, waving toward the other side if Frank wants to sit. Perhaps unwisely, the cop-version of him doesn't seem too intimidated, treating Frank like any other CI or contact. "So the short version is, if I'm giving you info, I don't want you treating it like a hit-list. There has to be some kinda effort to work with us in return, or at least you've gotta leave us perps in the kinda condition where we can still book them, versus taking them straight to the county morgue." He doesn't treat the potential deaths as morally reprehensible, just… inconvenient to paperwork. Not a code, a practical business. "You've got friends on the force, people who appreciate what you do. But when things go too far, it makes us look bad too, you follow? Can't have that."

*

Frank sits down carefully, putting his hands on the edge of the table. He definitely has the horse-taming sort of feel down, being as inoffensive as possible. He nods at the conditions laid out, "Better than I was lookin' for," he admits. "I mostly wanted to clear some things. Open up comms. But yeah. I dropped one off at Midtown North New Year's Eve. Hellraiser." Unfortunately, as soon as the man disappeared into the system, he turned up dead in custody. "Wanted to share what I found out about Jennings' Ball," he keeps his voice to a low growl, rather than the whisper that draws ears, "and give you what you need for proof I didn't do TCLEC or Reyes or Tepper." The shootings right before the attack on Barbara in her apartment. "Just so we're clear that I draw the line way short of cops doin' their jobs."

*

"Good, good. If we're square on that, we can make this work. You want a coffee or anything?" Its a very familiar image and scenario, the detective buttering up their informant with… what, donuts? A little silly for dealing with Frank Castle, but clearly a Winning Play for the young detective. "Yeah Barbara told me about the guy you talked to. I looked him up. He did turn himself in, day or two later. Then he ended up dead in his cell. Our bad on that one, but it means these Hellraisers, they've got juice." After that, he settles back. "If you're looking for me to make the heat on you go away, that may be tricky, depending what you got. 'Some friends' means just that. The brass would still be happy to make an example of you, it'd make a great story, you know? Pin all kinds of bodies on you, why not, right? Bump our numbers a bit."

*

Frank nods at Dick's response, and then there's the question about coffee. The siren call of the bean pulls at him, but he shrugs, "I'll pick one up on the way out, thanks." The news that the guy he very nearly walked into a precinct ended up dead draws a grimace, "Damn it. That's bad." Frank's features draw down into a scowl, and he has a very good face for scowling. "Part of what I was worried about. Knowin' where to throw these assholes would be good. 'Cause I know what I get ain't admissible in court." Or he knows now, after Foggy told him. "I'm not lookin' to get off the hook." At least not for the stuff he did, "Just don't want cops thinkin' I'm a cop-killer." He draws in a breath, glancing out the window, past Dick, and back into the rest of the coffee shop for a moment, just a casual scan of the place. "I'm gonna get a piece of paper outta my pocket." And one hand moves slowly down to pull a small piece of notepaper from his outside jacket pocket with two fingers, putting it on the table. It has three times on it — the approximate times of the three shootings he mentioned — and three addresses, "Within a couple blocks of each. I'm sure there's cameras near enough to spot me." There is clearly not one for Barbara's shooting. That definitely wouldn't help, since he was in the building at the time.

*

"Seems good odds the councilman himself may be dirty," Dick decides to offer next, in part because he's somewhat confident this won't actually be new information, that Barbara would have told Frank sooner or later. "But it's hard to say how dirty. There's always a bit of that going around, it's just how the system works," he explains, like a cop more veteran than he is. "But there's dirty and there's dirty. Guy doesn't strike me for having the balls to set any of this up himself, it my read at least. So maybe there's someone leaning on him." The ritual with the paper draws a look, but again this Detective Grayson doesn't show himself as quite so perfectly careful as he should be. Once Frank lets go, he reaches for the scrap and takes a look. "Alright. I'll make sure someone pulls the camera footage. I don't know what'll happen exactly with that information, but people talk, word gets around. Can't hurt any."

*

"The Hellraiser said Jennings had a deal with them. All the threats were sound and fury." Frank has had a lot of time to read in the mornings lately. He nods at Dick's read of the situation, "Sounds solid." Nodding his acceptance of what Dick will offer in regards to the footage, he adds, "Dunno how much Red told you about what I got from him. He said they didn't do the Ball. That they don't do magic shit." Sounds like he understands that by his tone. "Real easy to fake wearin' demon-bones, too. The guy thought they were bein' set up, and I think he was right." He grunts thoughtfully, "The Hellraisers are shitbirds anyhow. But I don't think they're the ones with the juju." There's a moment's pause, and then he adds, "Oh yeah, and I don't use a bow, just for the record." That seems to amuse him, although it may not be so amusing for an officer of the law, considering that there have been a few Hellraisers showing up perforated by arrows lately.

*

"He had a deal with the real gang, but then someone else showed up, pretending to be them, and messed with his big fancy gig?" Dick walks through it aloud, attesting to the complex nature of the situation and how confusing it should appear to a fairly non clued-in cop. "That sounds like a mess. But it does sound a lot like someone leaning on Jennings. Well." Again, there's some show of working through evidence and pieces of the case. "To me it reads like he had some deal with this gang, then some bigger fish gets a whiff of it and wants the deal, or something like that. So they come muscle around and throw the blame on the guys they're muscling out? Or something like that." Nightwing-Dick isn't too concerned with being precisely analytical here, after all. "I didn't think it matched your MO," he'll add, regarding the archery. "None of them fancy cape vigilante types use guns. Its always bows, boomerangs, wingding-doodles, silly junk like that."

*

Frank nods his agreement with the scenario Dick proposes, "Yeah. Pretty much what I figured." He's not a detective himself, so he's just putting pieces together where he can. "Or some new player tryin' not to get attention by lookin' like someone already in place." To be honest, his MO has evolved, from automatic weapons fire to pistol work to even some non-lethals. Although there was the minigun against the demons in there too. No arrows though. The commentary on vigilante work causes Frank to chuckle, however, "I know, right? It's like, is a carbine too easy? Then again, they do wear fuckin' capes." Amused derision threads through the words, but he sobers again, honest concern filtering into his heavy features. "Red tell you she's thinkin' of quittin' the library and workin' in Metropolis?"

*

"Yeah, it could be a few things I guess. And whoever it is they're, well, they're not small time with what they pulled at the gala." As any policeman should be, Dick looks properly spooked by the open displays of supernatural weirdness. Then a good laugh is shared on the topic of the caped crowd. Obviously this is the piece de resistance, where it comes to his whole 'totally Dick Grayson the normal cop and not a vigilante weirdo' performance. "Alright. I guess that's all I've got. You got any way you prefer to keep in touch?" he wonders, while seemingly bringing things to a close. "Yeah, some kind of tech job," he answers regarding Barbara's new gig, albeit vaguely.

*

Once more, Frank uses two fingers to pull out a card from his jacket pocket, the left this time. It has a simple phone number on it, a second burner. Welcome to the twenty-teens, Frank. "Won't get any message there quick, but I'll get it." Which suggests that he's probably not going to keep it wherever he's living. The vague answer draws a nod from Frank, "I'm worried about her. And about Dinah. Them livin' together's good for both. Red's workin' down in Metropolis, I'm worried she gets tired of the commute and decides to move down there. That'd be bad for both of 'em. Might just be good to check in now and then."

*

Dick accepts the card like the first one, still without a great deal of apparent wariness. They're friends now, right? Sure. "Alright. I get anything on this, I'll drop you a line about it." The somewhat more detailed concern about Barbara's situation, even bringing Dinah into it, earns a bit of thoughtful look, but ultimately Dick shrugs this off. "Me and Babs, we've got our history but I can't exactly go around bothering her about what she's doing with her life these days, y'know? New gal wouldn't like it, and I dunno, it might come off a little stalker-y or something. We meet up sometimes, keep in touch of course, but I'm just kinda keeping it casual. You get that, right?" Here, he channels a little more of the playboy Wayne into the character.

*

"Send me a text so I've got a way to get in touch with you too." Then Frank nods slowly at the response to his concern, "Yeah, you gotta do you. I'm just sayin' that things could get rocky if Red's commutin' to Metropolis every day and workin' every night. Dinah could use the friends too." He shrugs helplessly, "I'm sure they'll figure it out." He sounds… mostly sure. Letting out a breath, Frank grimaces, "And that ain't business. I'll let you know when I've got more." Pausing a moment, Frank offers out his right hand, "I ain't gonna quote Casablanca, but good to meet ya."

*

"Yeah, I'll give you a number where you can reach me pronto." The policeman shouldn't have any of the same concerns of secrecy, after all, and presumably wants any information he gets in return while it's fresh. "Sure. Yeah, I know Dinah." And a quick flash of a slightly cad-ish grin, to back up that image of him playing the collective Gotham field. "I'll give her a ring about it too, just to see what's up. Nice to have a reason to say hi." Which seems to settle that for him. "Alright," Dick concludes. "Nah we don't have to do anything cheesy." He reaches out to accept the offered hand and give a firm shake. "Keep in touch, and I'll work on those cameras."

*

Frank's silent response to the cad-ish grin is something between a smirk and a grimace, but he keeps quiet. After shaking Dick's hand, a single clasp and shake, Frank pries himself out of the chair, grimacing ever-so-slightly in a way that suggests at least bruised ribs. "Yeah." He glances toward the counter, looking covetously at the caffeine there, but ducks his head and makes for the door instead. No sense sticking around a place where at least one cop hangs out.

*

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