Post by skybright on Nov 26, 2006 23:10:56 GMT -5
It was eleven p.m. and David Bell was only just coming on shift -- ready for the usual round of criminals, lowlifes, and the other general troupe of misfits who populated New York police stations after nightfall. Bell settled in behind his desk with a cup of coffee, half a box of donuts, the evening paper and his usual air of studied disinterest.
The telephone on one corner of the desk rang shrilly, and Bell reached out and grabbed the reciever without looking away from the latest headlines about the upcoming election. "Fifty-Fourth precinct, Sergeant Bell."
"Aw, just the guy I was looking for." A painfully familiar voice said brightly on the other end of the line.
Bell groaned and contemplated hanging up without saying anything. "What do you want, Dawson?"
"Hardly anything, Bell. Just one little favor . . ."
***
It took a considerable amount of wheedling, cajoling and even outright pleading, but by the time Daws hung up the phone she'd secured the "loan" of a pair of marked police cars (on a night as-yet to be specified) with the single caveat that David Bell never, never have to know precisely what she wanted or did with them.
Daws hung up the phone with a satisfied grin.
There's one favor down. Tomorrow morning we'll see about the next one.
***
A call to James Marcus Cole's campaign headquarters resulted in a very frazzled volunteer explaining that no, Mister Cole was taking no messages, visitors, or any other communications from anyone except family, employees and the press until after the election. Daws shrugged that off and -- rather than waste time trying to catch the politician later in the day -- deicided to intercept him before he left his apartment for the day.
A quick trip uptown (and some well-placed "donations" to the cleaning staff) later, she removed her fedora and rapped smartly on Cole's apartment door. The sound of muffled conversation from within stopped abruptly, and after a moment the politician opened the door with a slight frown.
"Miss Dawson." He nodded, "You must be in quite the hurry."
"I am." She motioned with her fedora to the partially-closed door on which Cole was leaning. "We need some information, and we need it soon. Can I come in?"
Cole hesitated for a moment, then nodded and ushered her into the apartment.
A slender, pretty woman with long white hair and blue skin looked up from the living room sofa, smoothing her rather plain clothing with a quick, nervous gesture. Cole made a calming motion with one hand as Daws stepped into the room. "Miss Dawson, my sister Marla Cole. Marla, Regina Dawson -- the private detective I've told you about."
Marla Cole smiled thinly and nodded as she rose. "Very nice to meet you, I'm sure." She ducked her head and gave her brother a significant glance. "I'll leave you two to your business."
She darted into the next room without further comment.Daws watched her go, then turned to Cole with a raised eyebrow.
The telepath sighed and sank onto the couch. "The media's been sending their vultures to hover over our place Upstate," he explained, shaking his head. "They're not going to be satisfied until they've dragged her out for a public ratings spectacle -- no matter what that would do to her." He shrugged. "It seems like a paradox, but just at present she's safer from them here than she is at the estate."
Some undertone of suspcion must have carried from Daw's mind, because Cole chuckled suddenly. "You needn't worry, Miss Dawson. I have no secrets from my sister -- and even if I had, her telepathy is much weaker than mine. She couldn't read either of us from outside the room." He leaned back with a dismissive gesture. "Now then -- I guess you must want me to go after Tiernan's thoughts again."
Daws nodded and quickly outlined the sketchy details of Tiernan's impending jewel heist. "We could use any thing you'd be able to dig up," she finished, "But mostly what we need -- what we can't do without, really -- is the date he's got planned for the heist."
Cole looked somewhat fretful, but he nodded. "I'll do what I can, of course. With the election coming so soon, we're already making a policy of last-minute meetings with supporters to smooth over any possible complications." He grimaced faintly. "Needless to say, I'd hoped to avoid any unnecessary meeting with Tiernan -- but it at least provides us a convenient excuse."
"Good to hear." Daws smiled faintly. "Can't blame you for wanting to avoid the bat -- I do, and I can't even read his mind."
"Count yourself lucky." Cole replied with a shudder. He glanced toward the next room and rose. "I'm sorry to make you feel as if I'm herding you out, but . . ."
"Say no more." Daws stood and donned her fedora with a smile. "You're a busy guy, so I'll stay out of your way. Let me know what's going on."
"Of course." Cole shook her hand and showed her to the door. "As soon as I can."
Daws nodded and ducked out of the politician's apartment with a satisfied grin. Things were set nicely in motion -- now it just remained to see if Cole could weasel the night for the heist out of Tiernan.
If not, she thought, Then we're gonna have a long, boring week of watching out for bad guys ahead of us . . .
The telephone on one corner of the desk rang shrilly, and Bell reached out and grabbed the reciever without looking away from the latest headlines about the upcoming election. "Fifty-Fourth precinct, Sergeant Bell."
"Aw, just the guy I was looking for." A painfully familiar voice said brightly on the other end of the line.
Bell groaned and contemplated hanging up without saying anything. "What do you want, Dawson?"
"Hardly anything, Bell. Just one little favor . . ."
***
It took a considerable amount of wheedling, cajoling and even outright pleading, but by the time Daws hung up the phone she'd secured the "loan" of a pair of marked police cars (on a night as-yet to be specified) with the single caveat that David Bell never, never have to know precisely what she wanted or did with them.
Daws hung up the phone with a satisfied grin.
There's one favor down. Tomorrow morning we'll see about the next one.
***
A call to James Marcus Cole's campaign headquarters resulted in a very frazzled volunteer explaining that no, Mister Cole was taking no messages, visitors, or any other communications from anyone except family, employees and the press until after the election. Daws shrugged that off and -- rather than waste time trying to catch the politician later in the day -- deicided to intercept him before he left his apartment for the day.
A quick trip uptown (and some well-placed "donations" to the cleaning staff) later, she removed her fedora and rapped smartly on Cole's apartment door. The sound of muffled conversation from within stopped abruptly, and after a moment the politician opened the door with a slight frown.
"Miss Dawson." He nodded, "You must be in quite the hurry."
"I am." She motioned with her fedora to the partially-closed door on which Cole was leaning. "We need some information, and we need it soon. Can I come in?"
Cole hesitated for a moment, then nodded and ushered her into the apartment.
A slender, pretty woman with long white hair and blue skin looked up from the living room sofa, smoothing her rather plain clothing with a quick, nervous gesture. Cole made a calming motion with one hand as Daws stepped into the room. "Miss Dawson, my sister Marla Cole. Marla, Regina Dawson -- the private detective I've told you about."
Marla Cole smiled thinly and nodded as she rose. "Very nice to meet you, I'm sure." She ducked her head and gave her brother a significant glance. "I'll leave you two to your business."
She darted into the next room without further comment.Daws watched her go, then turned to Cole with a raised eyebrow.
The telepath sighed and sank onto the couch. "The media's been sending their vultures to hover over our place Upstate," he explained, shaking his head. "They're not going to be satisfied until they've dragged her out for a public ratings spectacle -- no matter what that would do to her." He shrugged. "It seems like a paradox, but just at present she's safer from them here than she is at the estate."
Some undertone of suspcion must have carried from Daw's mind, because Cole chuckled suddenly. "You needn't worry, Miss Dawson. I have no secrets from my sister -- and even if I had, her telepathy is much weaker than mine. She couldn't read either of us from outside the room." He leaned back with a dismissive gesture. "Now then -- I guess you must want me to go after Tiernan's thoughts again."
Daws nodded and quickly outlined the sketchy details of Tiernan's impending jewel heist. "We could use any thing you'd be able to dig up," she finished, "But mostly what we need -- what we can't do without, really -- is the date he's got planned for the heist."
Cole looked somewhat fretful, but he nodded. "I'll do what I can, of course. With the election coming so soon, we're already making a policy of last-minute meetings with supporters to smooth over any possible complications." He grimaced faintly. "Needless to say, I'd hoped to avoid any unnecessary meeting with Tiernan -- but it at least provides us a convenient excuse."
"Good to hear." Daws smiled faintly. "Can't blame you for wanting to avoid the bat -- I do, and I can't even read his mind."
"Count yourself lucky." Cole replied with a shudder. He glanced toward the next room and rose. "I'm sorry to make you feel as if I'm herding you out, but . . ."
"Say no more." Daws stood and donned her fedora with a smile. "You're a busy guy, so I'll stay out of your way. Let me know what's going on."
"Of course." Cole shook her hand and showed her to the door. "As soon as I can."
Daws nodded and ducked out of the politician's apartment with a satisfied grin. Things were set nicely in motion -- now it just remained to see if Cole could weasel the night for the heist out of Tiernan.
If not, she thought, Then we're gonna have a long, boring week of watching out for bad guys ahead of us . . .