ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-11-25 08:33:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, carol danvers (captain marvel), killian jones (captain hook) |
Who: Killian Jones & Carol Danvers
What: Hiring a shady PI for shady purposes
When: Wednesday
Where: A quiet 'wine pub' in Anaheim
Rating/Warnings: It's low - some talk of CIA coverups and stuff
Status: Complete
It had taken Carol a while to work on things, long enough for her dreams to get to the point where she was sure she wanted the truth this time -seeing Michael in her dreams, alive and well, it just furthered those notions too. She wanted to know what happened. Jessie mentioned a friend of a friend, something of an information salesman. She didn’t make it sound utterly illegal, but Carol would prefer to go through these methods than try to do anything through proper channels, least of all since she’d lost everything in a very organised brake in back in New York. And Killian Jones seemed like a suitable option at the time. Carol had the money, saving for most of her adult life for things she occasionally thought about doing -houses, marriage, vacations, notions that rarely panned out. So her Christmas gift to herself this year would be information. Maybe some answers to questions she’d had for over a year now. The place in Anaheim wasn’t too far away, and she’d finished up early from work to change into something more suitable for a pub-grub kind of place. Looking around for the ‘scruffy Irish-man in leather’ she spotted a suitable person and made her way over, “Mr Jones?” Nice generic last name for this sort of thing too. Killian did a lot of things in his line of work - the common misconception about Private Investigators was that you didn’t ever really require one because you could handle your own shit, your own business. But that didn’t account for all those other times when you just needed someone to do the dirty work for you - it happened quite often. Background searches, surveillance, locating people - then there were the less personal aspects too. People wanted to know whether or not they should invest their hard-earned money in a financial deal, or they needed to sniff about a potential business partner; he got many of those, because the business world was a cutthroat world. He charged more than a legal PI would, but then again - he had more connections. Not to attorneys or law enforcement, but to other players in the criminal underworld who were good at what they did and took on odd jobs here and there, receiving a cut of the profits. Not to mention he also went that extra mile for his clients, bypassing many of the legalities that other licenced PIs wouldn’t. So when a woman named Carol contacted him about obtaining information regarding a CIA operative, he immediately took on the opportunity. He’d done similar things in the past, and was already planning the route he’d take - he was a cartographer, and that included devising a map for his cases too, from Point A to Point Z. The rest he’d fill in, as she shared the information. “Aye, that’d be me,” when she greeted him, he stood to shake her hand, a gentlemanly dip of his chin to also acknowledge her presence. “Please, have a seat. I ordered a bottle of red wine - if that’s not your preference, we can get something else.” It was more an oaken sort of red, with interesting undertones - vanilla, toffee, a bit of smoke. Killian rather liked it, and he wasn’t usually much of a wine drinker - but in what was deemed a ‘wine pub,’ they fit in nicely, just any old two people sharing a bottle. “Red is fine,” Carol was in no way picky about her wines, she couldn't tell you the difference beyond what tasted nice and what tasted horrific. She was content with an alcohol content at this point. “Thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice.” Possibly an insight to business practices, possibly just a slow week, but it was getting Carol what she wanted so she wasn't about to complain in the least. If half of the people she contacted about job requirements were that prompt it would make her job a hell of a lot easier. “Although I suppose you get that quite a lot?” He didn't look the part of typical Dick, but then that was likely the point. And she would agree to his earlier statements to the point where she could see charm aiding him greatly in many aspects of the job. He chuckled a little, pouring them both glasses, then picked up his to take a sip. “Likely you’ve been waiting longer for what you’re after,” Killian observed. “I don’t bullshit around with clients - they’re impatient and often with good reason, so to get them what they want in a timely manner ensures satisfaction on all ends. In short, it was no trouble, Ms. Danvers.” There were his regulars who called him with even less notice too - information needed in a very short time frame, usually for the aforementioned business practise they were undertaking. And he had some high-up CEOs as clients too, shall we say. People with money to burn and throw around; they had no qualms paying the price for what they needed. After he set his glass down, he reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a steno notebook and a pen. It was perhaps ‘old school’ but still his preferred method when first meeting with clients - this way it ensured that he wouldn’t have to boot up a laptop and utilise unsecure wireless connections, plus his own notes and shorthand were discernible to only him. “Go on and tell me a little more about your situation, then?” Where to start, that was Carol’s dilemma there. “I moved here from New York a few months ago, space from my partner’s death was the official story. He was… I thought he was a police officer, detective with the NYPD, he was killed nine months ago in what I was told was a routine operation.” Michael had worked with the drug enforcement departments, raids were common and Carol had understood that. At least that’s what they’d told her. She’d never questioned the occasional trip to Columbia, because she knew how the force worked, from her time reporting on the mobs and dirty cops, she didn’t want to put her lover in a difficult position. “Something didn’t sit right with me, so, being a reporter, I did a little digging.” A little digging was hours upon hours, days and weeks of sifting through Michael’s life and his connections, his jobs and tracing back all the work he’d supposedly done. All of it leading to one place. “I found numerous files linked back to the CIA, a counter task force against drug cartels.” It was fairly basic by CIA standards. “And then my home was ransacked and all my information was stolen, my laptop was erased, my devices were destroyed. Everything.” If it was something simple like Michael being an agent, she could understand them hauling her in and demanding she desist, but that didn’t read too much like standard procedure. “I’m looking to find out what the hell happened.” Because she was through buying that it wasn’t some kind of cover-up. Drug cartels? That did sound basic for CIA standards, but when it came to that organisation - nothing was usually as it appeared. Killian jotted down notes, and an eyebrow quirked as he listened, though otherwise he remained fairly impassive. “Tricky bastards,” he stated, referring to the CIA. “It’s possible your partner knew some things he shouldn’t - also possible that he could still be alive. How did it go with the funeral and such?” Informants or snitches, as they were politely called, were often squirreled away into hiding, providing information over a period of years, and their loved ones were told they were dead when in fact that wasn’t the case. But it was a necessary evil, because it wasn’t as if drug lords wanted the whistle blown on them - they’d be out to do some fuck-ups of their own. Running a hand through her hair, because just discussing it was obviously bringing back everything, Carol gave a short shake of her head, “It went fairly normally, his parents arranged it all,” she was mostly certain that his death hadn’t been faked, and she was mostly certain that if it had he would’ve found a way to tell her. Then again, she thought she knew who he worked for. Now she wasn’t entirely sure she knew anything. “I’m… I don’t think it was staged.” And if it was she’d probably break some people’s faces. “At the time, everything I could find circled back around on itself, as if the information was coming from the one source, and it wasn’t making any sense.” Michael’s cases should’ve had patterns to them, should’ve gone through normal investigative searches and evidence to come away with suspects. Not just random strings of names. “At the time I thought there had been a cock up, someone had screwed the pooch and the agency was covering it up.” It wouldn’t be the first time after all, “But then it almost looked like someone wanted it to look that way.” Carol had gotten a little bit of a conspiracy nut towards the end of her ability to investigate Michael’s death. Between Government cover-ups and inside men and the possibility of cartel money being used to fund Government agencies, she’d probably dipped more than her toes in the crazy end of the pool. But she really needed those answers. “I’ve burned all my bridges here. I can’t get access to any Government files at all.” Basically, this was her last chance. When it came to the government, there was usually a kernel of truth to those conspiracy theories. Nothing was too outlandish for politicians, for the oftentimes corrupt leads who worked within the agencies - snakes slithering through the grass, in high positions of power. And this whole situation reeked, at least from Killian’s perspective. But it was nothing that he couldn’t handle - his job was to collect information, that was all. And he had many methods for doing as much. “Multiple coverups - there’s usually at least one, so it’s a matter of digging in deep which I’ve done before, it’s not my first rodeo with the likes of the CIA if that provides some comfort. And you don’t have to worry about bridges,” Killian assured her, with a wink. “Or access. Because that’s where I come in - I’ll be taking care of all that for you. Now, let’s see...” He jotted down a few more notes and figures. “On my end, here’s what it looks like in terms of frequency of updates and budget,” he offered. “The payment comes before the case report - and you’ll let me know how you want it, in what format.” Some preferred hard copies, others liked electronic - so whatever tickled her pickle there, essentially. “I’ll also need some more basics - anything on your partner, such as who he worked with in case I need to do surveillance or investigate them.” That was something she could do; she had a tendency to remember the little details, especially when it came to this. She’d obsessed over it for long enough. “Payment isn’t a problem.” She’d get together whatever was needed, she was literally using up her last option and if it cost her what she’d saved, that was fine. She didn’t mind paying to finally have a piece of mind. “I can send you a list of partners, friends, I sort of have a rough timeline for his assignments if that helps?” She had small notations in her older diaries of just when he’d gone away and where to, or at least where she was told he’d gone to. “And a hard copy, please.” She’d get as much as she could in some kind of tangible form, something a little less easily deleted -not that paper didn’t burn just as easily as a laptop could be erased, but it gave her options. “Most of Michael’s associates are still in New York, or some work out of DC now. Is that an issue?” She could imagine the costs of sending a PI to the opposite coast of the country. “I don’t foresee it being an issue - part of the job is travel, and lots of it,” Killian said. “We go where the cases are, and go wherever the case takes us. I will get as much info as I can via electronic means, but sometimes you need to be there to do more in-depth surveillance and digging.” It could mean a loss of money for both parties if he found nothing though - so he always made sure to do a thorough job, make the day’s work really worth it. And he never stayed in five-star hotels or anything like that. It was often the case where he slept in his car, while out on an assignment - or at least, it’d been that way when he was working overseas. Hard copy for Ms. Danvers it was, and he also scribed that in his notes. “And I’ve got an encrypted email address where you can send that list,” he added. It was safer that way, with the connection encrypted, along with the messages and the archive. “Partners, friends, rough timeline - that’s all grand, and I can take it from there.” He was pleased that she was a journalist - that would provide an excellent starting point. Sometimes he worked for people who just had no bloody clue, and expected him to pull their results from his ass like he was a fucking magician (and he was good, don’t get him wrong - but not a unicorn). Carol’s memory didn’t quite extend all that far back, and she knew she’d need to look up a few things from Michael’s old stuff -what she still had of it after the move at least. But it was a promising attitude at least. Taking a fairly large gulp of the wine, barely appreciating the taste, Carol fought down the mild apprehension. She knew what she was diving into, and worrying now about what was to come was redundant. If she didn’t do this she’d forever kick herself. She supposed she should at least be glad he appeared above board and professional. Although she doubted someone would refer her to a less than professional investigator. “I take it this is fairly routine for you then?” At least he knew what he was getting into, nosying into the CIA and their affairs, so she hopefully wouldn’t be feeling horribly guilty for getting him mixed up in things. Killian glanced up, his grin all blazing hot devilry, like he’d sailed to the end of the world and was looking over that great drop. “Very much a routine,” he promised, retrieving his own wine glass to slosh and sip from it - he was no connoisseur, but the velvety texture and taste to it went down easily. “I’ve been at it for awhile. Can provide more references too, should you want them. But I assure you, I’ve never failed - I’ll get you what you’re after, Ms. Danvers. You’ll finally have peace of mind,” he vowed. And if more work was required in the aftermath, he’d be fine with that too. This sounded like a cold, hard case of would-be revenge - getting back at the ones who undoubtedly took her lover from her. He was good at that. But that was a bridge they’d cross later, if need be. A closed chapter. That was the whole point of this. She could put it to rest, stop triple checking her locks when she felt some weird tingle on the base of her neck, stop glancing twice at men with a passing resemblance to Michael. “I’ll take your word for it.” Which, okay, she wasn’t in the habit of doing, but she didn’t need to see his past employment and Yelp review sheet just to part with the cash. Professionalism and a ‘seriously Carol, call this guy, he’l help’ from Jessie had been enough. “Like I said, payment isn’t an issue. Whatever information you can get, however long you need.” Digging into the CIA was not a two day job, Carol knew this. And if she needed to employ a less than standard PI to do that for her, with methods she might not have access to, well then, it was money well spent. She could agonise over the potential outcomes for a few weeks or whatever before hopefully getting to the bottom of things. Each case was different, and required a different strategy for completion. This particular one seemed deep, and messy, so yes - it was possible it’d take a few weeks. But Carol likely anticipated that - besides, even if Killian procured everything within a day or two, that’d be rather suspicious. He wanted to provide only the best, good quality - you get what you pay for, as the saying goes. “I’ll be sure to update you on progress as I do the work,” he told her, closing his notebook, because radio silence was not a pleasant way to establish rapport or soothe the client’s already frazzled nerves (and if they were hiring a shady PI, they were probably at wits end). “Interim reports, emails, telephone calls. Then the final case report is going to be everything. But all of this, does it sound suitable? Anything else you’d like for me to know?” She was rather attractive, and if this were a normal situation he’d be laying on the charm even more so - but it wasn’t normal, it was business. So professionalism it had to be. Was there anything else? It was strange how many details fled the mind at that question. So far she thought she covered all the bases; drug cartels, CIA, possible cover-ups, complicated webs of information, the fact that she’d already attempted this and got led around in circles. It seemed to be everything. “If it’s possible, I’d like to avoid getting his parents involved.” If this turned out to be Carol’s paranoia, she didn’t need to drag grieving parents down the path with her, if it was something else, well, she’d deal with that one later -especially since Linda still sent Carol cards for her birthday and Christmas. “Everything seems great otherwise, thank you.” It was all laid out, nice and simple, step by step for her. “I have to say, the attention to detail is encouraging.” No parents, fair enough. Dragging people into this sort of thing never ended well - he had his contacts, people he knew he could go to in order to weave the web and come up with an end result, but purposely involving civilians? Not so much. “I tend to avoid getting outsiders involved just on principle alone,” Killian rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, all that coal-black scruff. “It can be...messy, as I’m sure you’re aware. So aye, that’s entirely doable.” He was glad that the initial meeting to set the basis for everything had gone well - because he always liked to do a little meet and greet first, just to get a feel for the situation, the client, and begin planning a map to the treasure at the end of the road. “I feel the same way,” he smiled, a flash of those gleaming teeth. “So a toast to all that, then - new business contacts and finally getting the answers that you want,” he touched his glass to hers with a gentle clink. Messy was an understatement, and Carol could appreciate that he likely had a lot of issues with just what kind of work he had to do part of the time. Especially this kind of work. It did help Carol relax a little. Meeting up before the go ahead at least gave her a feel for his work, how he’d operate. Even just a conversation could ease things. She gave a small smile in response to the toast, already fairly certain it would come with answers, he didn’t seem the sort to not follow it through. “New business contacts.” And hey, maybe a PI connection wouldn’t be a bad thing either. |