shellyharmon (shellyharmon) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2021-10-01 12:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | jd cartwright, john abbott, shelly harmon |
Cards On the Table
Who: John/JD/Shelly
What: A Meeting
Where: Las Vegas, Blindeye Diner
When: Present
Content Warnings: Low
Shelly had dressed down for the occasion, having learned somewhat of a visual lesson a few days prior. Not entirely disguised but not overtly recognizable, either. She traversed the sidewalk leading to the Blindeye Diner, her hair in a single braid down her back that swayed as she walked. Just before she reached the entrance, she dipped into the doorway of some random shop that was closed for the night. It gave her the space to take a breath and center herself before she entered the diner.
The blonde took out her cell phone and used the front-facing camera as a mirror, staring at herself until it felt like she had the mood right. Shelly dipped out of the alcove and entered the diner. She had arrived early by design. Somehow she felt like that would look less suspicious if anyone was watching from afar. If.
She settled into a booth and picked up a menu, her face half-hidden behind it.
Second booth from the wall. That was what had been decided, and it was important to agree upon such things in advance, since it was easy to walk straight past the person you intended to meet in Blindeye. The heavy spellwork involved in disguising conversations and familiar faces could go a bit overboard. John arrived one or two minutes after Shelly, his own attire more in keeping with his position as a professor than his nightlife. The jacket was better off at home.
“Hello, beautiful.” He bent to kiss her temple and took a seat beside her. John fussed with the hair that curled above his shirt collar. “Any sign of our detective?” The vampire let his shoulder come into brief contact with hers, a nudge designed to reassure.
Her posture straightened when she saw John, and she lowered the menu as her eyes tracked him to the booth. Shelly tilted her head toward the kiss and looked at his face, a smile curling her lips. She let her denim-clad thigh fall against his as she set the menu down. “Not yet,” the blonde answered. “Thank you for coming.” Her eyes fell to his mouth, which she badly wanted to kiss.
Shelly’s gaze flicked toward a bored server who hadn’t seemed to notice them yet. She leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against John’s mouth before settling back into place. A glance at the time on her phone. “Any minute now, probably.” The smile widened before she adjusted her facial expression in case the detective chose that moment to saunter in.
“Do you think we can convince them to leave the pot?” he asked, rubbing his fingers over the other palm as he noticed the server, the same placid look on his face as the other employees wore. “I suppose being magically lulled into a state of impassivity whilst on the clock isn’t the worst fate. Oh! No. Just correcting his posture.” John smiled and read Shelly’s menu out of curiosity. What did people eat while negotiating the terms of organized crime, sausage links? Country fried steak?
Well, John thought, it was no Waffle House, but there was something appealing about buttermilk biscuits.
The cooler breeze that had been shuffling scraps of discarded candy wrappers along the sidewalk further down the block slowly subsided as JD approached the diner. The detective always felt a strange itch at the base of his skull whenever he’d entered the aptly named diner, and this time was no different. And as was usual he reached up and rubbed briefly at that spot as the door swung closed behind him and his eyes adjusted to the light inside. A quick glance either way and he started toward the booth identified in the message he’d received, removing his hands from his coat pockets as he did.
He could see two figures seated in the booth, one easily recognisable by the blonde hair. He didn’t recognise the one seated beside her, but had started to recognise the faint pallor that was discernible in the skin tones of those for whom ‘living their lives’ was almost a misnomer, despite their ability to exist in an animated form. JD stopped at the booth. “Miss Harmon,” he offered in greeting as he slid into the seat opposite the two.
She had been about to tell John they may as well start serving themselves when the employee’s eyes accidentally swept over them. The carafe was taken from the bottom warmer of the large coffee machine and the server began his approach just as JD walked in. Shelly raised her chin just a centimeter or two, watching him slide into the booth. She took her coffee mug and flipped it right side up.
“Detective,” she answered evenly, giving JD a polite smile before lifting her hand to gesture to the man sitting beside her. “This is John.” Shelly turned her head to look at the vampire. Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments before turning back. “This is Detective JD Cartwright.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” John made his cup available and sat back to protect his clothing from the splash. The automatic smoothing of a hand down his shirt spoke of someone who often wore a tie, even if the knots were usually loose. “I think I’ve seen your name in print. Are you often interviewed by the press?” John didn’t tune in for the local news, but he was an avid reader of the Las Vegas Review-Journal, which had a daily edition. The server placed a dish of cream and sugar on the table, then laid out napkins and utensils.
JD's eyes held John's for a moment as he returned the greeting, then darted up to the server as he righted his cup and it was soon filled with the hot dark liquid. His shoulders hunched slightly as he rested his elbows on the table, the mention of the media drawing a slight frown and grimace. "When the boss isn't available," he replied as he picked up the cup and took a sip of the hot contents.
“Ah.” John nodded his thanks to the server and picked up his cup. “I can’t say I blame you for that reaction. Journalists are a necessary evil but I imagine it’s unusual to meet one without an angle.” He had taught a few aspiring journalists in his career, those taking literature courses to meet core curriculum requirements. Every conversation had a way of feeling like a bear trap about to spring. Come to think of it, there might be some personality overlap between the aspiring journalists hanging on every syllable, searching for soft points in a story, and those who wanted to go into law enforcement.
He took a sip of his coffee. They weren’t in this orange-bedecked diner to talk about the media, so John looked at Shelly.
Shelly felt an unusual stab of awkwardness, and so she had busied herself for as long as she could by depositing cream and sugar into her coffee and stirring it carefully, as if she were a witch over a cauldron. When she felt eyes on her, she looked up and cleared her throat lightly. “Right.” The blonde glanced at John again before setting down the plastic stirrer on a napkin, a little wet patch of pale brown spreading beneath it. “I’m sure you remember the conversation we had at my apartment,” she told JD. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, fiddling with it for a moment before setting it on the table so that both the detective and John could see the picture displayed on the screen.
“So, he’s definitely in Vegas,” Shelly stated flatly, watching JD closely. “But I suspect you already knew that.” He had artfully skirted around stating that, explicitly, during their previous conversation. She folded her hands delicately on the table before realizing the side of her palm had landed in a half-dried smear of pancake syrup. “I’m ready to cooperate.”
JD looked down at the small screen, his eyes confirming what he'd already suspected would be there. The irony of it didn't escape him. He'd spent far too many hours over the last six months searching for the man on the small screen just to get a picture for her to confirm he was the one at the dinner table with the Doherty family all those years ago. And he now not only didn't need her confirmation, the man had as good as confessed to JD and offered to turn over on those who'd hired him. And now she was willing to co-operate.
He took another sip of the coffee and gave a simple nod. "He's currently helping us with our enquiries," he returned, giving John a wry smile as the age-old 'official response' farmed out to journalists rolled off the tongue with practised ease.
As the words left his lips a small itch niggled between his shoulder blades, different from the usual one he had in here, at the base of his skull.
For a moment, all Shelly could do was stare. After a moment, she pulled her gaze away from the detective’s face and turned toward her left where her expression could be obscured. The blonde breathed and counted to ten before facing forward again, lifting her coffee mug to her lips and taking a prim sip. Once it was back on the table, she spoke. “He’s helping you,” she repeated.
This had been a mistake. Shelly glanced at John again. “Maybe now you can finally arrest someone.”
John refrained from looking at Shelly, instead keeping up a study of his coffee and the collection of empty creamer containers leaking onto a saucer. He turned his own mug in a methodical circle before offering, “If the arsonist from the incident in Syracuse is working with metro police, then you must know his identity and whereabouts. I assume he’s operating under some sort of immunity from prosecution, or a reduction in criminal charges. Meanwhile, Miss Harmon runs into him taking advantage of a fall sale on pillows and throws.”
The situation would be comical, if it weren’t alarming. Though he supposed the arsonist was less likely to set fire to Shelly’s apartment if he had nothing to fear from discovery.
John added, keeping a reasonable tone, “If you no longer need information related to the cold case, and you’ve indicated as much, then what reason is there for Miss Harmon to share anything further?”
JD looked from John to Shelly and back again. It struck him again how some people had such little regard for the law, but then reminded himself that even some of those who swore to protect were as guilty as some they put away. Porter was clearly not a shining example of humanity at its best, and from what JD had pieced together his demise didn't carry any level of premeditation.
He shrugged, again looking from one to the other. "You tell me. If there's something she wants to share, I'm listening." He paused as he lifted his cup toward his mouth, his next words a little muffled as his eyes dropped to study the contents. "Like what really happened to your mutual friend?" The rim of the cup reached his lips and he took another sip.
Shelly had been looking down at her coffee as John spoke. It wasn’t until JD voiced his question that she looked up again, and she met the detective’s eye with a neutral expression. “The same thing that happened to yours, I suspect. Some people can’t help themselves.” She flicked away some granules of errant sugar.
“Before you left my doorstep, you implied that my life was in danger from him,” she said, gesturing to the phone that she then snatched up and dropped back in her purse. “It’s a relief knowing that he’s helping you finally find out the truth after all these years.” The blonde leaned forward, just an inch or so.
“Oh, I actually did remember something,” Shelly added, her eyebrows raising slightly. “Doherty’s brother lied to his family and cheated on his wife, something I told him when I was formally questioned. Did he put that on record, or…? If not, that’s not very honest, is it?”
John sensed the conversation taking an unpleasant turn. He gave a miniscule shake of his head at the return of the server.
“Detective,” he said, hoping to guide them back to course, “You have two people sitting across from you who came prepared to help you piece together some unknowns about a man’s unfortunate death. Before your involvement in the case, the responding officers seemed satisfied with Miss Harmon’s explanation of events in her apartment. So unless I’m mistaken -- and please, I hope you’ll correct my misunderstanding if so -- it was you who wanted to clarify what took place when you spoke to Miss Harmon previously. We came here in hopes of exchanging information in return for protecting Miss Harmon, which you may no longer have interest in facilitating. If not… if you are satisfied with what you know about what took place in her apartment, then there’s no need for us to continue the conversation. I believe the ball is in your court.”
The exchange wasn't helping JD's frustration level. He was tired, pissed off with lies, liars, and those who didn't give a flying fuck about who they hurt, or killed, as long as they were OK. He had spent months trying to track down 'Timicah' to get a photo of the guy and now suddenly not only does the guy turn up but basically turns himself in, admitting to everything, to get protection. And the same thing was happening here. That itch between his shoulder blades started again and he flexed one shoulder back to try and nudge at it.
There were holes in their story he could put a SWAT vehicle through, but right now he was getting way past caring. If the brass upstairs were killing people, even worse their own people, they were who he needed to go after. The big bads lurking out on the edges, out of sight, out of reach. And when he'd done that?
"Yeah, you're right professor, the ball's in my court, and right now you have nothing I need. So guess this was a waste of all our time." The itch caused him to reach behind his head and try to scratch the irritation, not gaining much relief but instead confirming some ideas. He pulled out a few bills from his wallet and placed them on the table before standing up.
"Thanks for the chat." He turned on his heel and left the diner, stopping outside to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.
John watched him go, taking with him their last concerns about Porter’s demise, as cleanly as the rolled-up carpet with the man’s blood stains had been hauled out of the apartment. If only Shelly’s anxiety about the arsonist could easily be quelled. The vampire wondered how Detective Cartwright would feel if things soured with his dark-haired cooperator and Shelly’s apartment mysteriously went up in flames.
But there was no need to give voice to those thoughts. He picked up his mug and took a calm sip of the hot beverage. “That went well, I think. Fruitful. God bless our police.”
Shelly watched the detective leave, leaning back against the booth when he was out of sight. She dropped the napkin she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “I got angry,” the blonde remarked quietly. Her hand brushed against John’s forearm; the material of his shirt and the coolness of his skin beneath it were comforting. “I thought I was in danger.”
Her gaze fell upon the crumpled up bills that JD had tossed onto the table. “I refuse to blame myself,” Shelly stated, crossing her arms over each other, her mouth set in a determined line. “Because I don’t.”
“Nor should you,” John said and, having had enough of his coffee, he pushed it away with a scrape. “Our leverage was gone as soon as he revealed he had his man. If he expected us to hand over the rest of the story about Porter for nothing, implicating you in the process, this meeting was destined to go poorly.” The vampire took cash from his wallet and tucked it under the saucer. “If the only thing you knew about the man who set the fire was what he looked like, and that he was here in Las Vegas, then you haven’t got anything more to fear. The situation has resolved itself.”
“One moment,” Shelly said, wrapping her hand around his wrist and letting her head fall onto his shoulder. She closed her eyes and gave herself a grace period, a tiny window where all she concentrated on was how John felt next to her. Solid. His hair brushed against her forehead as the blonde breathed him in. Seemingly mollified, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “You’re right,” Shelly agreed. “It’s done.” Her gaze swept past the vampire, to the rest of the diner. “We should go somewhere less sticky.”
“Well, hold on,” John protested. “I like some things sticky.” He nuzzled Shelly’s sleek hair with his cheek. “But in fairness, none of them come from a pitcher of syrup.” He took a big, relaxing breath of air scented with fried foods, then led the way out of the booth. The sooner they put this experience in the rearview mirror, the better for both of them.