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Hagen paused momentarily. Montoya... he remembered the name. Supposedly one of the better cops, along with Gordon and Bullock, but also somehow able to afford a nice Friday night every week. Seemed fishy. Hagen didn't like that. Might be worth looking into, especially if Montoya's mysteriously flexible budget was also the cause of the flubbed raid.
He adjusted his voice slightly, making it nondescript.
"Something about a stupid traffic ticket, which I'm going to contest, by the way, I wasn't going anywhere freaking near the speed limit. Is there any way I can contact her? ... or even better, do you think you can help me out? One more ticket and I lose my license, and then who's gonna drive my damn limo and pay my bills and feed my damn kids? ... I would definitely make it worth your while, can I come down and maybe you can help fix this?..."
Dunno if I need a diplomacy or bluff check for this; if I do, go ahead and roll for me. Just wanna see how corruptible Montoya is.
Her tone, which used to be polite, sharply drops in warmth.
"Look, buddy. This is a direct line to her cubicle; only way she'd give it out is for witnesses, and the only witness she told me about..."
She breaks off abruptly.
"...I am not letting you get at her, whoever you are. She's helping us take you, and the whole mob down. Do you hear me?"
A click, and the other end of the line cuts off.
Alfred comes quickly; he's had practice at doing. Looking after Bruce was a long, trying duty. But he did it, out of love and respect for Bruce's parents. Holding the sobbing Bruce in his arms, Alfred slowly injects the man with the sedative he had palmed earlier. As experience had taught Alfred, it was the only way to calm Bruce down during an intense breakdown.
"I do not believe Master Bruce will be in any condition to entertain for the next several hours, Master Elliot. If you wish to stay, you are, of course, welcome to do so."
The secretary's expression doesn't change.
"Complaint forms can be found in on the table. We don't give out the names of anonymous tips. Next."
Hagen cradles the phone, then chuckles. Good for you, Detective Montoya. He felt a little better about her... just a little bit. Though this makes getting in contact with Walker a little bit more difficult.
Just a little bit.
Does Hagen know where Walker lives? If not, I guess he'll use Contacts with Gather Information (taking 10) to find out. Maybe its time to introduce himself formally, get things rolling.
He stares back at Thomas, and for a moment, Alfred's mask drops. He looks...old.
"No, Master Elliot. It doesn't. But we keep going. Because of the boy he was, and the parents he had. Because it's the only thing to do; the right thing to do."
And then the mask is back, and Alfred escorts Thomas to the living room(one of the living rooms, anyway. The place is a manor.). And on the couch, Thomas turns on the television, to distract himself.
Harvey Dent, Gotham's DA stands at a podium, behind a curtain. You seem to have interrupted him in mid-sentence.
"...was not, in fact, an authorized police raid. What has this city come to, that our fine officers must lie in the shadows to do their duty; the trial of Joe Chill was immediately preceded by the brutal beating of three good men. Our mayor has said that he is waging a war against the mob, but the sole result of that was was performed undercover, without the knowledge of the Commissioner. Our city isn't the bright shining beacon it should be. The people of Gotham lie scared in the night, terrified of what goes on outside locked doors and bolted hallways. And so let me say this:"
He stares straight at the screen, blue eyes blazing with passion, and finishes his speech.
"That for these reasons, for Gotham to change, for our people to be safe again, and because Mayor Cobblepot is unwilling to properly address any of these issues, I, Harvey Dent, will run against him in this upcoming election. God Bless you, and God bless this city."
He gives a small clap, then looks down at the secretary, "Funny; God can't bless anyone with a shut down church. I want to know who reported a church in the middle of the Narrows; no one with a badge goes down there to help. But they will shut down one bit of hope?"
Doliest's crimes against good taste
An Uwe Boll fan, and proud of it. LONG LIVE THE BOLL!
Also a Michael Bay fan.
Likes Jar Jar
Likes FATAL..... No, I'm sorry, but no. Everything else on this list? I like, but while I've done many horrible things in my life, I WILL NOT claim to like FATAL.
Hagen blinked. "Well, I'd definitely vote for you, Counselor, but I seriously doubt you'll be alive in time to see the election... and I'm sure if you are, they'll have so much fabricated dirt on you you'll wish you never decided to be so idealistic."
Hagen gurgled a little laugh, which turned suddenly into a wet cough. He wiped what remained of his mouth, and glanced at the handkerchief: clay again. It was getting worse.
He tossed the handkerchief into the trash. Enough time wasted on someone's pipe dream; there was real work to be done. He wanted to contact the masked Walker to find out about what that drug deal with Joe Chill was about, and he also needed to follow up on Wayne Enterprises; but one thing at a time.
Time to contact his resources again.
Going to use Contacts to take 10 (20 if i have time) on Gather Information to find out about Walker and where she lives. Also, same thing about that shipment for Wayne Enterprises. My GI bonus is +10, so 20 total (30 if I have time to take 20).
Katherine, sitting at home alone in front of her television, snorts. If Harvey thought that nobody knew becoming mayor would just make him the next corrupt baron of Gotham soon as the money came rolling in, then he was a bigger fool than she'd expected.
And that was one of the better things that could happen, too.
"Good luck, Harvey." Katherine gave the figure on the screen an ironic salute with her beer can. "It's Gotham. You're gonna need it."
Last edited by DeafnotDumb : 09-12-2010 at 06:47 AM.
Decisions, decisions. His contacts had finally gone through; he now knew where Detective Walker lived. On the other hand, it was a Friday night; the sun was down, the night was middle-aged, and it was, according to his sources, just before the time Montoya headed towards Xenon.
She stares at the shabbily-dressed man, then shrugs.
"Not my department. Fill out a complaint form; you should receive a written or personal response within four to eight weeks."
Hagen tapped (what remained of) his chin. Hmmm. He doubted Katherine Walker was going to move anytime soon, and the issue with Montoya was still fresh in his mind; he was tempted to don the guise of some dashing rake and head over to Xenon to figure out what he could from the detective.
However, his gut told him contacting this tough-as-nails Katherine Walker would prove fortuitous. He wanted to know what she knew was doing exactly on that pier; and what she was willing to do about Gotham.
Putting on his face, Hagen heads for the door.
Tempted to find out about Montoya, but kinda want to get our characters together so we can interact with each other more. Hagen's going to be himself (well, his old self) and head on over to Katherine Walker's. There's always next Friday.
Katherine was already up and considering getting dressed for some more midnight excursions, but part of her was wondering if the idea was the result of the beer or sane, sober thought, and asking if she really should go out quite so soon after attracting the attention of pretty much all Gotham's criminal elite. The knock on the door was a relief.
People around here didn't knock on other people's doors. It had been one of the reasons she'd chose to live here. Katherine carefully picked up her gun and checked that it was loaded before going to the door. She looked through the peephole and saw a face - vaugely reminded her of someone, but she couldn't place it. Now who could he be?
Then she opened the door as far as the chain would let it go, and stuck out her gun through the gap. "I'm pointing my service weapon at you. Don't move unless you'd like to have a new style of head." The cop glanced up and down the man. "Who the hell are you?"
"Hello," Hagen said, slowly raising his hands up with a friendly smile. "I mean you no harm. I just wanted to talk about the events at the pier... and about our mutual desires to clean up Gotham. My name is..." he pauses, then decides to go ahead anyway, "Matthew Hagen. May I come in, please?"
Hagen, Hagen, Hagen. The name sounded familar. Haugen... Katherine nearly let her gun drop as realization stuck, but lifted it in time. "Get in." The cop opened the door and quickly shut it behind her visitor, keeping both eye and weapon trained on him while he did so.
Her flat was bland and propably hadn't changed much since the day she moved in: There were no flowers, no jars, carpets, paintings or any of the other little things that make an apartment seem like a home rather than a place to come back after a day's work. There wasn't even much mess apart form the three beer cans dropped sloppily on the floor in front of the television, now showing some talkshow of people considering Harvey's prospects. The only human touch was four pictures on the kitchen table, of other cops and men and women she'd obviously worked with. The central picture was a large snap of what looked an entire investigation team, together in varying modes of neatness and tiredness. In it, Katherine was almost smiling, in a self-amused way.
She wasn't smiling now, but looking at her intruder with much suspision. "Matt Hargen? Weren't you that actor kid in those crappy movies? I guess you heard about the pier on the news." Katherine's hand reached for a beer can and thought better of it. "Now, what the hell do you think you can do to help? Act at people?"
His hands still raised, a mild smile still on his face, Hagen glances around the spartan apartment.
"Now, what the hell do you think you can do to help? Act at people?"
"Something like that," he said. Then his smile faded, all pretense faded, and Hagen let his intensity shine through his fake old face. "People like Cobblepot and Falcone took someone special from me, a little while ago. Maybe you remember it; it was in all the news," he added, a bit of bitterness entering his voice. "I want them, and everyone like them. What I want to know is, how badly do you want them?"
"I don't have time to watch any of that crap." Katherine's hand slid towards a half-full beer can and tossed it towards Hargen. "I had a job. Then I got kicked off the job and I was too busy being angry to have time for anything."
"Didn't realize until a few months back that I had a way to make those bastards pay. Didn't do much properly until just now. God, it feels good." Katherine's smile was almost feral. "Did it feel good for you too? You don't look the type. I just remember you as the prettyboy back... yeah, who knows how long?"
Hagen catches the can, looks at it, but doesn't drink it.
"Did it feel good for you too? You don't look the type...
"No... it doesn't feel like anything. Nothing at all. But it has to be done. And without knowing it, they made me into the right type for the job."
He sets the beer can down on a table... or, if there isn't one, the floor.
"Perhaps we should compare notes. What exactly was going on at the pier that night? And why were you there? I had heard word that Wayne Enterprises had a weird shipment of high tech crap going out and I went to check it out; it couldn't have been what Chill was dealing because after you dealt with Chill I saw a WE biohazard tanker leave."
Katherine, of course, doesn't recall seeing the actor Hagen at the pier at all that night.
Katherine snorted. "Gordon - you know him? Bloody stupid fool. Wants to clean this place up, can you imagine? What'd be left? Anyway - he told me of a deal going down at the Pier - Pier 37, it was. A drug deal, lots of it, and Chill would be there - the guy they busted in on a week back. I wanted a way to get back at those bastards, you see, so I got him to give me the time and place and did the thing myself."
Katherine's cane comes forward and the tip lands with a thud between Hagen's legs. "Now, the way some people might see this, is that I'm a little cripple with a cane trapped in a room with a suspisious man. The way I see it, you're trapped in here with me and this impromptu club here. So don't think I'm not sober enough to let you get out of here without getting it out of you how you know all this stuff - especially that bit about Wayne Entiprises. The way you speak you were there, and I damn well didn't see you? What are you? Some master of disguse?" She chuckles roughly at her joke. The drinks been enough to losen her mood a little, but her eyes are telling him that if he messes with her, she's got the cane ready to meet his head.
"Come on, prettyboy. This doesn't sound like your type of thing. And who's they?"
Last edited by DeafnotDumb : 10-04-2010 at 02:54 PM.
Hagen lets a small smile sneak on to his face, but just for a moment. He liked this Katherine Walker; she was gutsy, and she was driven.
"Oh, I have no doubt you could school me something good with that cane... but would you really want to get your stick dirty?-"
Hagen let his facade fall, and his old face melted away like wax on a hot day, losing color until his head was just a blob of wet, unshaped clay.
"-and you did see me there that night, at the pier-" His clay face rippled and with a wet slurp hardened and re-solidified, taking the appearance of Mitch the Dock Worker. He winked at her.
"-and they are the scum in high places, who place power and profit before all else, who think they have the right to play with people's lives. They are the ones who gave me the ability to do this-" His face strobed through a series of identities and faces in rapid succession - young, old, male, female, of every nationality and description, including Katherine Walker's own face. His mask returned to what had become his true face; that of unworked, blank clay.
"I dealt with the people who did this to me, but others always rise up from the filth to take their place. They always do. They are the ones who took my life away. And they are the ones I'm going to hold down for you, so you can use your cane to educate them about the error of their ways."
The cop reached for her gun and rose, but luckily for Hagen she put her weight on the wrong foot.
Kneeling down on the ground with her left hand clutching her rebellious leg, Katherine groped for her stick, breathing hard with the pain. She looked up. "You know, just for your goddamn future reference, there are going to be people who won't react as calmly as me. How'd they get you like that? That why you killed 'em?"
She found her cane, and used it to lever herself up and collapse back on the chair. Carefully, she took her gun and flicked the safety back on, and looked at Hagen. "Well, what I want to know is if you can testifythe trail. You saw the goddamn thing, didn't you? The fact that you're made of... some gloop and have no eyes to see with shouldn't make a difference to an impartial court." Yeah, right."
Katherine leaned back in the chair, breathing out. "W.E probably think the police are too busy with Chill to get after them. I'm thinking you want me to help prove them wrong. I do this, and we're going to be looking at ways to get back at Carmine and Cobblepot. To me, everything else - secondary. That means you too, see."
"I think one of 'em's this crazy religious guy without a home that we can tell. he spewed out preachy stuff that sounded like him. Calls himself the Saint of Streets and a guy who wacks crooks and corrupt cops like they're nothing, if you listen to the stories. Police try to keep track of him, but het - this is Gotham." Katherine gives a wide shrug. "I let him go. I don't really care if he happens to shoot some bastard who deserves it."
"But for the guy in the fetish gear, I haven't a clue. Gave me the creeps. Now tell me something - where'd you get this information about Wanye Entiprises?"