f (foundling) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-12-09 18:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, cristián martin-argüelles, louis donovan |
Marvel, SVS office→Staten Island: Louis D & Cris M
Who: Louis Donovan & Cris Martin-Argüelles
What: partners talkin'
Where: Marvel, Manhattan SVS office→Staten Island
When: recently
Warnings/Rating: liable to be mentions of violence, assault, gore, &c.
A lot of cops didn't like paperwork. It was the more mundane aspect of the job, tedious, desk-bound, often nothing but pen to carbon paper when the computers went on the fritz, but Cris happened to like it. Now, maybe he didn't enjoy it, but it was a nice chance to get everything into order, and he was desperate for that. Putting all his ducks in a row let him feel like maybe he had everything under control. So that was where he was, fingers hard on the keyboard of his outmoded computer, when the captain came out to tell them they had a 187, Staten Island Franklin D. Roosevelt Boardwalk and Beach, a Carson Matthews, male, white, his ID putting him at 41, ME on the scene—and someone had done him over good. It was theirs because the man was a suspect in an open attempted rape investigation, the victim his 12 year old niece, Anna. Eyes on Cris, she told him to take his partner (where was Donovan, anyway?) and go to the scene. The others would check in with Anna and her parents. Go!—The summoned calm of paperwork was trashed with the empty tin of his chalky energy drink. His focus cracked like a prism as he covered for Louis, saying something about the man having just told him he was on his way up. So much for ducks in a row. Someone had come and kicked them over, scrambling Cris' thoughts back to the boxing room in the gym, to Sam and that sliver of sweetness on her face. He thought about Teresa at school, a knot of worry lumping with the tightness of memory in his stomach. He thought about helping her with her homework, about looking over what they were doing in catechism. Dios. He was mixed up, no? He had a body to go see and a partner to track down. He stood, abrupt, his suit jacket and coat tugged on. He snapped his monitor off and moved out of the broad, bright-lit room to one of the narrower corridors, an off-shoot from the elevators. He dialed Louis as he paced the cramped space, elbows tucked to his sides, dark blue fabric shushing together and black shoes clicking, anxious. |