InsaneJournal

"This is kidnapping now, you know?"
Who: Dany, Pete
What: With Pete, there's no good cop, only bad cop. Of the international variety. FUN TIMES & INFO GATHERING.
When: Today!
Where: On the move!
Rating: PG13, language, gun fun, horrible driving.
Status: Complete!



California sun and Pete Wisdom were at odds. It was doubtful they would ever come to terms, because someone who was either mostly drunk or mostly hungover was not a huge fan of light in general. And being a pasty Brit didn't help matters, since it left Pete looking like a bum who'd been turned vampire, and ran over a few times.

His face was one big magnificent squint as he marched his butt to his rental car, flipping off the sun the entire way in a dual-fingered salute. He got in and hit reverse out of the hotel parking lot with a squee of tires and the aroma of burning rubber, righted the vehicle so it faced in a forward direction, and put it in drive for GO. Go obviously included cutting off several oncoming cars, but they got the same treatment the sun did, because Pete is fond of sign language.

Hi ho, hi ho, off to the nearest liquor store Pete goes! He needed tax free cigarettes and liquor! Immediately!

The car careened to a stop in front of a derelict liquor store, with two tires on the sidewalk as the car was put into park. Pete flipped off with radar-like precision a car that honked at him as it passed, and dragged himself out of the car like his feet were wearing concrete shoes. He couldn't even make it to the door without having to stop and light a cigarette and just...smoke it.

Dany had read the file on Pete before getting into this situation. He was an Interpol agent and one with a bad attitude at that. He drank a lot and Dany suspected that it had something to do with his past. She wasn't sure what it was though. She would try to figure it out later. She might be able to use it against him.

Dany had set herself up at the liquor store that was nearest his hotel. He would need a drink or cigarettes eventually and Dany was a patient person. Instead of approaching him right away she stood back and decided to watch how he interacted inside. So far? He seemed to be in a pretty foul mood, which might make talking to him difficult.

That might also be the understatement of the century, since even Pete's coworkers in both Scotland Yard and now in Interpol tended toward the Can't we get him out of the office and away from us? side of the spectrum. They were happy to play desk jockey and Pete was happy to share the wealth of his presence with humanity at large. If by happy, one might mean thoroughly pissed off no matter where he was.

He took his time smoking, glaring at the door like a man on a mission. He even smoked with the sort of fury that had the filter burning before he spit it out on the sidewalk and ground the heel of a scuffed shoe onto it. That was done with the sort of vengeance that was often reserved for the face of one’s enemy.

Into the shop he went. He paused only a moment to ask the shop owner, "Whiskey?" when they didn't reply, he tried again in Spanish. That got a response! He made his way over to that aisle looking like he wanted to kick the stands over so they'd get them out of his way.

Okay. So, Pete was definitely in a bad mood. That much was clear enough. She wasn't going to be able to flirt her way into this one. He didn't seem like he gave a shit about anyone, not even himself. No, she would have to play a card that would get his attention. Like getting hit by a car. Well, fuck.

Dany took a look out into the parking lot. There were enough cars coming and going that she could easily do it, but she wasn't even sure if he would give a shit. No, it would have to be his car and she knew exactly how she could swing it without him ever knowing that he hadn't hurt her at all.

She had a few minutes so she ran to her own car and got out two large and bulk traffic cones. She hauled them over to Pete's car and put one behind each wheel, giving him enough space to actually speed up a bit. She could hide and then with a kick to his car he would think he had hit someone, or something.

Pete emerged from the store with two cartons of Marlboros and a bag full of at least four bottles of scotch. Since the United States had given diplomatic immunity to Interpol, he got to wave some of the tax on things, and he was taking full advantage of it like an opportunistic bastard ass. Into the car went the bag and he was already smoking another cigarette as he started the car with a rev of the engine. He gave the mirrors a cursory glancing at, went back to smoking, and stuck his arm out as a makeshift turn signal. Of course, he was flipping off traffic again, because that's the only warning Pete likes to give while driving. Into reverse the car went, engine revving again, and bump it went into something.

"FOR FECK'S SAKE, WOT IS GOING ON THERE THEN?!" he bellowed, putting the car in park, leaving the engine running, and starting to get out of the car to kick the dog or whatever it was, out from under a tire.

Dany had just enough time to toss the traffic cones away and lay down on the ground behind the car before Pete made it to the back of the car. Fucking hell. That was close.

"Uuuuugggghhhhh," Dany groaned and made a big show of it, having already smeared a bit of dirt on herself to make it seem more real.

Well she got nudged with a foot anyway. And the most sympathy she appeared to be getting was a fierce scowl and the raise of one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. Besides the scowl and the eyebrow, he looked a bit bored, like this had happened multiple times before.

"Oh, that's brilliant. You daft twat, if the reverse lights are on, you shouldn't be near the boot of the car, should you? No, you shouldn't. Now, can you get up, or do I need to scoot you off the bloody road, meself?"

Well, alright then. She wasn't going to get the sympathy vote, but she could match fire with fire. "Who the fuck are you calling a twat?" she roared, picking herself up off the road and faking a leg injury by placing all of her weight on the other leg. "You're the one who hit me. I sure hope to high hell you have insurance, asshole!"

Pete simply clamped his lips down on his cigarette and held both arms out like he was mimicing a Jesus statue, to indicate that there was no one else around that he could direct the twattiness to. Then he shrugged like it wasn't his concern.

"I looked in me mirrors, you twat. I didn't see you, so you had to have darted out, and that makes it your fault. Here, though, since I'm an officer of sorts, I'll fill out a report." He muttered as he pulled out a pad of paper, a pen, and began to write like he was trying to put the pen through the pad. Then he held it out so she could see that it plainly said in deeply angry chicken scratch letters: I don't care. Get a lawyer then, you plonker.

"Any questions?" he asked, churlishly. "Or do I need to read it to you?"

"Ooooooooh," Dany was seething at this point, or she seemed to be on the outside. Inside? She was really, really amused by this asshole. She aimed a slap right at Pete's face and then reached into her purse for her phone, dialing 9-1-1 quickly and holding it up to her ear. Yep. Let's get the police involved. That will keep him busy for a few hours at least.

"Ooooh, right, you call them. I'll wave this at them," and he took out his Interpol ID, in front of her nose, "and tell them they know where to find me, and I'll be on my way shortly." He grabbed her phone and hung it up, then threw it out into the street. "Get in the car."

Forget patience. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along until she was near the passenger door. "Get in."

All the while, he had a big red imprint of a hand on the side of his face. It was like he was used to that. He probably doesn't have nerve endings in his cheeks anymore, it's happened so often.

Well, that would work too. It actually might work a little better than getting the police involved. She grinned inwardly, but outwardly she was flailing. "You can't just -" but she was interrupted by Pete grabbing her and throwing her into his car. She refused to put the seat belt on and acted all outraged.

"This is kidnapping now, you know?" she told him.

"Call it what you want, petal," he said in a profoundly condescending tone of voice, slamming the door shut and rounding the car, while lighting a fresh cigarette. "Or you could call it me taking you to hospital. Wouldn't want you to be injured, would I?"

He smirked 'cutely' at her as he gunned the engine and pulled out abruptly, sending another car careening into another lane to avoid being hit.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" she exclaimed, holding onto the side of the car for dear life. Okay, maybe she needed the seat belt. Once he was going straight and not careening all over the place she clicked the buckle in place and held on tight.

"As soon as we get there I'm calling the police, you know?" she told him.

"I'm sure you will," he intoned, dryly. "In fact, I'd welcome it." He continued driving at high speeds, and, in fact, passed by one hospital entirely. Whizzed right by it. Didn't even bat an eye. And there went another hospital. Zoom. Gone in a flash. Pete turned his head and spit the cigarette out as he went through a red light, swerving to avoid two cars from t-boning them, and lit a fresh one.

What? Those hospitals looked sub-par. He wouldn't want the lady at some cheap medical facility, would he?

"Oh my god! You're going to get us both killed," she screamed.

When she noticed that he kept whizzing by hospitals she decided to speak up. "You're not going to take me somewhere in the mountains, are you? You know, to rape and murder me then get rid of the evidence?"

"Bloody hell, of course not," he said in a snarky yet bored voice. "I catch people like that, not join them in their escapades."

He finally took a corner on two tires, drove down a road and turned into a nice scenic park's parking lot. The car went into park and Pete sat back in the seat, reached into his jacket, and drew out a gun. The barrel of which was pressed right up against the side of her head, while he smirked and smoked like an angry choo choo.

"So, luv? I'd suggest you sit tight, while I finish this cigarette. I do hate wasting them."

Pete's big book of conspiracy theories: rule number one - Trust no one.

Dany's breath caught in her throat as soon as he took the gun out and put it to her head. Holy shit. Well, now she was scared and so not prepared for something like this. The men in the clubs had never had guns. Just jokes about there being a gun in their pants instead of a hard penis.

"You're going to fucking kill me," she said, her voice shaky. "You fucking psycho. Just do it if you're going to do it! Stop playing around!"

"I might," he said very bluntly, giving her a tap tap with the gun against her head so he made sure she was paying attention. After spitting that cigarette out, he licked the thumb of his other hand and ran it over the smudge with a squeeging motion, so he could see there wasn't any red or scuffing underneath it. Then he smiled, but it held no mirth at all.

"I'm going to play a guessing game with you, petal." His eyes didn't leave her at all and he one-handedly lit a cigarette with the ease of a blind man doing a repetitive task. "First guess and you nod along if I'm anywhere close. Someone sent you. Am I right?"

Dany's jaw set when he wiped away the dirt she had placed on her knee. She was had. The Illusive Man sent her in on a mission she was never going to win. He had set her up. She nodded.

"Right. Does it have something to do with Armachan?" he asked, squinting at her through the smoke he'd just exhaled out of his nostrils like a pissed off bull.

She shook her head. She didn't know anything about Armachan. Jack had kept her pretty much in the dark as to what it was she had been doing. She worked for a front.

"Hm. If I show you a photo, old though it might be, could you nod if it's the person who sent you?" He was reaching into his pocket with his free hand, rummaging about, and he took out a small wallet sized photo, holding it in front of her face so she could see it was Jack Harper.

Dany felt little to no loyalty to Jack Harper at this point in time. He had set her up, the asshole. She was perfectly willing to sell him out. She nodded.

"Smashing. Do you know absolutely anything about his businesses or finances?"

Dany shook her head. She was just Harper's assistant who took on various intel missions when he wanted her to. She didn't know anything about the business or financial side of things.

"And we're done. Painless, wasn't that?" He gave the gun a little tap against her skull like 'there there' and took a photo with his free hand of her 'injury' with his phone, just in case she tried to bite him on the ass. "Now get out of the ruddy caaaaaaar. Out you go, then. Move your pretty bum."

Dany wanted to slap Pete again, or kick him or do something, but she was so shaken that she didn't dare. Instead she just opened the door to the car and stepped out.

And he waved at her with the gun, before pointing it at her again.

"Right, I want you to go back to him, give him a lap dance or whatever it is that he hired you for. If you want to tell him about this, then feel free. I bloody well could care less....ugh..." He coughed, most chunkily, and then turned his head to spit out a huge green glob of phlegm out the window. "Been working that one out all day. Right, then. I couldn't care less what you tell him. Or what he does to you. You shouldn't work for criminals, should you? Have a fucking lovely day."

He started the car and prepared to take off!

Pete Wisdom: Being a bad (but effective) international cop since...forever.