pleasuretoburn (pleasuretoburn) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2021-01-15 16:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | noah restic, npc |
The Abyss Opens Up
Who: Noah/NPC Doherty (Written By Jess)
What: Dialogue
Where: Las Vegas, Rabbit Hole/Blind Eye Diner
When: Present
Ratings/Warnings: Mention of Murder, Death, Violence, Substance Abuse
Doherty’s curiosity got the better of him. After a depressing holiday, the cop managed to crawl out of his nest and decided to check out the Rabbit Hole. The fascination had grown since the conversation in JD’s office, blooming in his mind until he could think of little else besides visiting the odd establishment. He had gotten his movie ticket, which he held in his palm with some measure of bemusement as he snaked his way through the surprisingly dense crowd.
The police officer elbowed his way up to the bar, half listening in on any possibly informative chatter. He waved down a bartender, ordered a beer and tried to glance casually about him. He noticed some interesting looking clientele, and remembered what JD had told him about the place. Doherty probably should have visited here sooner. It definitely seemed like the place to be.
He drained the contents of his first beer and as he was ordering the second, Rob leaned in and asked the bartender, “Who can I talk to around here? Who has their, uh, ear to the ground?” The cop slid two twenty dollar bills across the bartop, which the employee pocketed with a smirk, said nothing as he refilled Doherty’s mug, then stalked off laughing to himself. Doherty closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
Noah had spotted the man right away. He was an outlier, conspicuous in his normalcy, care-worn form barely propped up on a stool. The pyrokinetic witnessed the exchange between him and the bartender, and recognized an unusual opportunity. He swooped in, taking the empty seat next to the question-asker.
“Look, I’m going to level with you,” Noah told the older man, leaning in slightly. “You don’t come to a place like this and try to bribe people for information. At least, not with money. That’s not always the currency of choice here.” He leaned one elbow against the bar, mirrored the posture of the newcomer. “But I might be able to help you.”
Doherty regarded the stranger with an openly skeptical expression. “And why exactly would you want to help me, then?” he asked. “If it’s for the money, that was the last I had.” He brought his mug to his lips, the foamy head making way for the beer beneath it. It was decent, but he was also the kind of guy that didn’t turn his nose up at most kinds of alcohol. He thought of his brother Graham, how he liked to play amateur bartender at their family parties.
“Okay,” Noah smiled, holding his hands up, palms facing outward. “I’m here a lot, but if you don’t wanna hear what I have to say, fair enough.” He made like he was going to get up and walk away.
“Wait.” Doherty straightened, a deep sigh issuing from somewhere tired and broken inside. He wasn’t in a position to turn down information. “Okay. So you’ve clocked that I don’t belong here. What do you got for me?” He swirled his mug, watching the suds move across the surface. There was something shifty about the younger man, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on, and that intrigued him even further. Who was this guy? He could have been anyone off the street, and yet…
“Yeah, we can’t talk here,” Noah informed him with a wry smile. That was a little too easy, the guy was obviously desperate. A cop, maybe, working a case with little to no leads. Not uncommon in Las Vegas. And if he was coming to the Rabbit Hole for information, that meant he was looking at something supernatural. He liked desperate people. They were soft and malleable like clay. “But I know a place.”
“I’m supposed to go to a secondary location with you?” Doherty was dubious. What was the other man’s game? If it was mugging, he’d be sorely disappointed. And he did have his service weapon on him. He drummed his fingers against the bar, considering. Contemplating. How badly did he want the inside scoop? Then he thought of his family, of John Shram, the poor guy’s grieving parents. Ah, shit. “Where did you have in mind?”
“It’s really more of a show, don’t tell kind of place,” Noah answered. He held out his hand. “My name is Micah. Micah Koval.” The other man seemed like the kind of person to put stock in such gestures. Little building blocks of trust. The pyrokinetic smiled warmly, as warmly as he could manage, anyway. It made his face feel weird.
Doherty hesitated for just a moment before returning the handshake. “You can call me Doherty. My tab is all settled up as far as I’m concerned,” he said, shooting a dark glance in the bartender’s general direction. “Let’s go.” He drained the contents of his glass.Two was his limit for driving, anyway. “We can take my wheels.” He felt better that way, more in control of the situation. As long as Micah didn’t turn out to be a psycho who grabbed his steering wheel or something equally crazy, the cop was sure he would be fine.
Noah paused. Doherty. That rang some kind of fuzzy bell of recognition in the back of his head. He shrugged and nodded. “Sure. Works for me.” He slid off of the stool, and waited for the other man to gather his few belongings. They exited the Rabbit Hole together. He knew people would recognize him, and see him leaving with the maybe-cop. That wasn’t all bad. The pyrokinetic was sure he could spin it in his favor, if he needed to.
“I’m parked just around the block,” he told Micah, digging through his pocket for his keys. They rattled in his hand as they walked side by side down the busy sidewalk. He wasn’t going by the book, though Micah wasn’t technically a CI. Not yet, anyway. The cop patted his pockets looking for a smoke, then realized he had quit again for New Year’s. He let out a gusty sigh.
“You forget something?” Noah asked, noting the way the older man patted himself down. “You leave something at the Rabbit Hole, you’ll probably never see it again. Sometimes that includes people, too.” A ghost of a smirk passed over his face.
“Yeah, I forgot I was trying to be healthier,” Doherty told Micah bitterly, the sentence punctuated by a telling smoker’s cough. “I was a two pack a day smoker. Cut down to one pack, now I’m going cold turkey. I was thinking about trying one of those vape things, I went into the shop and everyone working there looked like a baby.” He wheezed out a laugh as they approached his used Kia Forte. “Stuff was so damn complicated, I walked out. They probably made fun of me after I was gone.”
“I doubt they thought about you at all,” Noah replied, watching Doherty unlock the driver’s side. He tugged at the handle. “Um, you mind?”
“Oh, sorry.” Doherty stabbed a finger against the side console. The lock clicked upward and Noah slid into the passenger seat. “I’m used to riding solo.” He started the engine and navigated his way out of the parking spot with ease. “So, where are we headed? If this is an attempt at a stick-up, by the way, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” He motioned to an ATM receipt in the ashtray. Curious, the pyrokinetic picked it up and examined it. Seven dollars and fifty-one cents.
“Noted,” he told the cop, letting the scrap of paper fall. “So, there’s no Mrs. Doherty waiting at home?” His eyes drifted to the man’s hands as they rested on the steering wheel. No rings. He took the liberty of inputting the address he had in mind into the car’s GPS.
Doherty snorted derisively. “Not since 2012. Divorce is brutal. I don’t know how people who get married multiple times do it over and over again. Maybe they’re addicted to the drama.” God, he wanted a smoke. He followed the directions on the GPS for a good ten minutes before his resolve crumbled. “Hey, do me a solid and check my glove box for a smoke?”
Noah complied, rummaging around, taking note of the contents in case anything turned out to be useful. He came up with a crumpled pack of Pall Malls. “This is like the worst brand you can possibly smoke,” he laughed. “Do these things even have filters? Hang on, I have something much better.”
The pyrokinetic didn’t smoke tobacco products, but he carried around a pack of Sobranies as an ice breaker and conversation starter, especially if the person he was talking to was from back home. He lit one of the slim, black cigarettes and handed it to the cop by the shiny gold filter.
“That works,” Doherty shrugged, taking one hand off the wheel to accept the cigarette. Black, green, purple, he didn’t care as long as it had nicotine. “This is a normal cigarette, right?” He glanced at Micah out of the corner of his eye. “Not trying to drug me?”
Noah rolled his eyes impatiently, slipping the box back into his pocket. “Why do people always think someone’s going to waste their good drugs on them? Like those people in the 60s that were worried about hippies painting doorknobs with LSD. That shit’s expensive.” He could see the neon sign advertising the diner up ahead, flickering slightly in the darkness. “Right up here,” he instructed Doherty.
Doherty leaned forward and squinted. “Blind Eye Diner,” he read, then shook his head in quiet disbelief. “A diner? That’s the special place you were talking about?” He shot a sideways glance at Micah, wondering what was up with the guy. Weird cigarettes, weird demeanor, weird diner. What exactly was he doing here? Then he remembered the brick wall he was facing and sighed. He had to branch out, examine new angles. This was a new angle.
He circled the block until finding an open spot, navigating the Kia between a motorcycle and a pickup truck. Doherty found a pay box and slid in his debit card. Micah was standing near the entrance of the diner, watching him with a laser-like focus that he sent a weird chill through his spine. Once finished, he joined the younger man and they stepped into the diner together. The strange vibe he was feeling wasn’t abated once they entered the eatery.
Noah led Doherty to a booth, smirking as he watched the cop’s confused reaction. He sat down, the cheap vinyl creaking beneath him. It had all the smells of a normal diner, coffee and eggs and sweet maple syrup, but it was like they had gone through a veil of sorts, ensconced in their own little bubble. “It’s called privacy,” he said. “Don’t question it. It might break your brain.”
“My brain’s been shot for years,” Doherty replied dryly, letting his weight drop into the booth, suddenly exhausted. He picked up one of the menus, paged through it idly before deciding on a coffee and a short stack “So, I’ve been on pins and needles. Tell me what you know.”
“First, I want a promise,” Noah insisted, unwrapping the napkin that held tarnished cutlery. “Immunity.” He paused as a server ambled their way, filling their cups with coffee before wandering to the next table. The pyrokinetic picked up the mug and took a swig. It was lukewarm. He shrugged.
Doherty sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes, his gold wristwatch catching the fluorescent lighting. “It doesn’t really work that way,” he told Micah, then shrugged. “But following the rules for the past 20 years has gotten me here, so...sure, whatever. I just need information.” He wondered briefly what Graham would think of him now.
Noah tilted his head, not missing the note of defeat in the cop’s voice, the weight of the world on his shoulders posture. “You have a personal connection to a case, or something? I thought that was a no-no for LE.”
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who wants to be an informant,” Doherty told the other man, a sardonic note to his voice.
He needed to steer this ship back on track, he didn’t want to lose his hold on Doherty. “I’ve been involved in crime,” Noah said, letting a note of shame creep into his voice, but taking care not to lay it on too thick. “I’m in over my head.” He looked down at the table, closing his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking back up at the police officer. “I’ve seen things, heard things. Done things.”
Rob paused in the middle of pouring the sugar into his coffee, and listened intently, looking at Micah with a neutral expression. “It happens,” he said. “We prefer it not to, of course, but…” He trailed off. He had to walk a mental tightrope. He had come from a family of law and order, but more importantly, he had grown up in a two-parent household, middle class, never really wanted or struggled for anything. It was easy to think in black and white, to wonder why anyone would ever choose a life of crime. The reality was murkier, gray. He made sure to remember that. To understand.
“I don’t want to do it anymore,” Noah continued, swallowing. “I’m tired. I’m really tired. Every day is the same, and I can’t see this ending in a white picket fence, you know? I think it will kill me, ultimately. If I don’t go to prison first.” He made a show of fiddling with his napkin, twisting the ends, the paper dry and rough in his fingers. “At first, it was just the money that kept me from walking away. But now, there are people who wouldn’t be happy if I did.”
“I can’t guarantee that I can keep you safe,” Doherty told him. “I don’t wanna lie to you. Hell, I couldn’t keep my own family safe.” He turned to glance out the window, at the people streaming by on the sidewalk. “But I’ll try my best. It’s up to you if you want to do this. I just want you to have the whole picture before you do. This is dangerous.”
That was interesting to hear. Noah tilted his head slightly, studying the careworn face of the man across from him. He had maybe two decades on the pyrokinetic, though his line of work and personal history could account for some of the lines and valleys that made up the topography of Doherty’s face. “You really care about keeping me safe? Even knowing what I am?” It struck him then that Officer Doherty was like a man out of time, the kind of cop that naive kids dream about becoming until the harsh reality hits them. When the currency of idealism no longer holds any value.
“What, um...what happened to your family? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Doherty paused, turning away from the window. He looked at Micah with some level of caution. He was a stranger, a criminal, but at the same time, sometimes it was easier to tell deep, hidden things to strangers. It felt less like opening an old wound. A stranger would either be uncomfortable and change the subject, or offer some weak platitude in lieu of having something meaningful to say. Both of those were preferable to the pain in a loved one’s eyes when you told them something wasn’t right. Not that he had many loved ones around, not anymore.
“My brother, my sister-in-law, my two nephews. They were killed on Christmas morning. Early in the morning, while they were all asleep. A fire.” Doherty pushed the words past the automatic tightening in his throat. He took a sip of coffee. “Everyone kept insisting it was faulty wiring, but there were some fishy things. There was a witness who left the house before the fire began, the college girlfriend of my older nephew. She said there was a guest there having dinner with the family, a strange dark-haired man.”
Doherty cleared his throat and set the mug down. “That was years ago, back in New York. I couldn’t stand staying there, so I hauled my wife to Vegas to start over, join the precinct here. I became a workaholic. Some other kinds of ‘holic, too. She started gambling. The rest writes itself.” He smiled bitterly.
Noah was experiencing an odd and unfamiliar sensation. He couldn’t begin to give it a name. It was like the diner had depressurized, his ears on the verge of popping as if he were on an airplane. His hands tingled. It was hard, very hard, not to smile. The pyrokinetic ducked his head on the pretense of discomfort and pity. “That’s terrible,” he told Doherty, trying to inject some inflection into the statement.
“You never found the guy? Do you think he had something to do with it?”
“I know it,” Doherty replied with a hard whisper. “I know it more than I’ve ever known anything. As certain as I was about becoming a cop, or knowing that I was in love with my wife...I know it in my bones. I fall asleep thinking about it. I wake up and think about it. This stranger I never met. He murdered my family and I want to know why.”
His hands shook slightly as he rubbed the side of his stubbly jaw. “They sent me to a shrink before I could return to work,” he told Micah. “Told me that I was traumatized, that I needed to accept that these things happened. That the evidence showed it was an accident, and I was letting this phantom man live in my subconscious, to rule me. And I would keep seeing him in every perp, it would skew my instincts, make it impossible to properly do my job.”
“What happened after that?”
“I lied. I said I accepted it was an accident. That the girl wasn’t a credible witness. She had lied about her own name, after all. Pretended to be another girl at the school.” Doherty closed his eyes. “I hate her a little, too. If she hadn’t been sketchy herself, maybe my colleagues would have taken her more seriously. And then I feel guilty as hell for thinking that. So it’s just one big fucking mess of guilt and grief and anger. I was supposed to be at that dinner, Micah, but I canceled. You wanna know why?”
Noah nodded slowly. He was holding his breath, he realized. Captivated. It was like visiting a museum and seeing a long lost work of art he had created years ago and forgotten about. A reunion.
“I was pissed at Graham. He was older than me, but we were both up for the same promotion. I was tenacious, you know, work was my life. He knew how to balance it and his family. So I thought I deserved it more. And I fucking hated him when he got it. I disinvited myself from Christmas dinner.” He squeezed his hands until they were white.
“If you can’t find the killer of the people you love, making yourself the scapegoat is surprisingly easy. And that’s where I am now.” Doherty sort of cough-laughed-sobbed. It was a jarring sound. It disgusted Noah, yet fascinated him. It was human and animalistic at the same time. He could tell it came from a deep, black, unfathomable place. Maybe even the same place he had been born from. “Still wanna be my CI?”
Noah was quiet for a moment, looking down at the inky blackness of his coffee. He could sort of see his reflection. Pale, dark-eyed. Blank. “Yes,” he said finally, looking up at his companion.
“Absolutely.”