dead_black_eyes (
dead_black_eyes) wrote in
savetheearth2015-01-01 05:19 pm
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Entry tags:
Blind Faith, Heartache, Mind Games, Mistakes [Closed, January 2]
Who: Lazarus Lawliet and Cesar Sanchez-Ortiz
What: Not quite friendship, not quite animosity; everything depends on where it goes from here.
When: January 2, Friday
Where: Tea-riffic Coffee
Warnings: Nothing yet!
Most of the coffee shops in the area recognize Lazarus as the owner of the controversial Espresso Yourself; fortunately, the one Cesar suggested isn't one of the ones that have a particularly strong opinion of Numbered; he gets a few glances when he comes in despite a non-ostentatious manner of dressing and holding himself, but what's known isn't given voice, and he's able to take a seat in a back booth without incident or comment after ordering a traditional cappuccino. As he waits for Cesar to arrive, his fingertips play idly with the edges of an envelope while his iPhone sits nearby. The number tattooed on his palm is visible at moments, and though he looks better than he did, the shade of his skin and the deep circles under his eyes say that he's been ill recently.
What: Not quite friendship, not quite animosity; everything depends on where it goes from here.
When: January 2, Friday
Where: Tea-riffic Coffee
Warnings: Nothing yet!
Most of the coffee shops in the area recognize Lazarus as the owner of the controversial Espresso Yourself; fortunately, the one Cesar suggested isn't one of the ones that have a particularly strong opinion of Numbered; he gets a few glances when he comes in despite a non-ostentatious manner of dressing and holding himself, but what's known isn't given voice, and he's able to take a seat in a back booth without incident or comment after ordering a traditional cappuccino. As he waits for Cesar to arrive, his fingertips play idly with the edges of an envelope while his iPhone sits nearby. The number tattooed on his palm is visible at moments, and though he looks better than he did, the shade of his skin and the deep circles under his eyes say that he's been ill recently.
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(The expression is more fitting for this anyway, isn't it?)
Do you still do work as a detective?
Alarms are blaring in his own mind, shouting the dangers of going anywhere near these treacherous waters. He ignores them: L is interested in the safety of the Numbered, if nothing else. Cesar is Numbered. He's not even enlisting his help for an investigation, is he? All's well.
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L doesn't follow the instructions on his scorecard, but his eyes communicate the fact that this has caught him off-guard.
"Some," he answers carefully, after a moment. "More coordination and intelligence-gathering, these days... not as much field work. Why?"
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He lowers the cup, hands once again free.
I wanted to know your opinion on something I noticed last week. I have a neighbor that I know is anti-Numbered, and I saw him making strange purchases.
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It's nothing like a child upset over a chess board. We're the adults now, there are consequences to hatred, and it doesn't end when we turn off the movie.
"Then... you'd better tell me what you saw. My opinion is that it shouldn't be ignored, when so many people have already been hurt so deeply."
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Advice that L can't give unless Cesar goes ahead and explains to him the problem. He holds the tablet in its place for a few seconds longer anyway, trying to emphasize it. To reassure L? To reassure himself? He'd been so wrapped up in his own troubles that this possibility of how it might affect L hadn't occurred to him.
Large quantities of rat poison. More than an entire family could ever use, more than if the entire building was infested. Duct tape. Edged objects that I couldn't identify through the bags.
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You were always meant to stay behind the scenes. Your Other probably was, too.
But during Cesar's absence, he's assumed more responsibility, and more people tie their livelihood to his works and projects. Those he employs, those who have come to rely on him. Saretha for his levelheadedness, Tony for his unique insight to the trauma that still affected him. He has visions of the young people who look to him for guidance writhing in agony as rat poison wastes them, bound in duct tape, and watching those edged objects coming closer to their faces... he had told Cesar once that the best way to torture someone who would die for a cause was to force them to feel helpless, hadn't he?
"You're asking me what I think you should do?" he inquires, no longer interested in his half-empty coffee cup. "Nothing that I couldn't do more effectively. You don't have to ask me to take this case; now that I'm aware of it, I have no choice but to act."
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Mierda. This is no surprise, honestly, but it's both more and less than he'd hoped. It's for the better; the last time he'd ignored a sign, he'd wound up bound and sedated on a surgical table. The time before that--well, this is no time to dwell on his mistakes, is it?
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"Nothing so daring or dramatic as past cases. My Other would probably not waste his time on something so mundane. I have to break into his car, obviously. Maybe his house as well. Wire taps, cameras, and a lot of camping out near his property. Typical private eye stuff, and if substantial proof comes up, it goes to the police, and they handle it from there."
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Is that what you do in all your cases? He holds the tablet in two hands, and L has a new expression to associate with meanings behind meanings: are you sure this isn't excessive for what this is? Wide eyes. Close eyebrows. Skepticism that's torn between trust and doubt.
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{Of course.}
It makes sense. Why place yourself at risk when you can arrange for technology to passively collect information for you? It's not ethical, but ethics isn't the greatest concern here. Safety is.
Cesar puts the tablet down, adding, {Do you need help?}
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I have the equipment I need, but I... suppose just having one more person along wouldn't really increase the chances of being caught by more than 3 or 4%, at most. I already know you're qui-- no offense meant!
[He sincerely didn't mean to do that and he looks mildly horrified at his lack of tact. Which he usually doesn't notice, but this one's so blatant that it jumps out at even him.]
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Does Cesar want to be involved? A better question is can he stand to not be?
Tension sweeps across his face, but all he does is wave an impatient hand at L's shock. Signs--no, he doesn't know 'forget'.
Don't worry. I don't cause unnecessary non-voice noise, either, so the statement stands. What do I need to do?
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He gives the question some thought.]
I don't know. I've never had an assistant before.
[Never required one, he doesn't say. He doesn't want Cesar to retract his offer, or feel like it isn't needed or appreciated. If nothing else, these stakeouts can get lonely, even for solitary creatures like him.]
You'll need dark clothes and bus fare... even if you have a car and are willing to drive, it's unwise to. It seems like a good idea to have a getaway vehicle at first, but that's not true; people notice parked cars and you're more likely to get caught. It's a good idea to have a cover, too; the equipment is small enough that it won't slow us down or make us look immediately bulky and it won't be discovered unless we're searched, but a reason to be out is usually important. Think of it as a different kind of getaway car. I like to bring religious material with me, pretend to be going door-to-door or leaving them in windshield wipers; that way, it's an excuse to be on someone's property but people are usually too annoyed or skittish about getting dragged into a long religious conversation to want to keep you around long enough to poke holes in the story. But with two of us... hm. I guess I could use some help coming up with a reason for two young men to be out together, especially at night, when I'll likely put the GPS under his car. I'll need some lookout for that.
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His final product comes out looking a little like a list:
-Dark clothes: check.
-Transportation: check.
-Cover story:
L, this is my neighbor. Maybe we can use that?
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It might work. You're aware he's anti-Numbered, but is he aware that you are? And even if he's not... do you know this neighbor well enough to introduce him to your...
[He raises and lowers his hand vaguely, as if measuring an uncertain quantity.]
...whatever you want to say I am?
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Cesar shakes his head.
'I haven't told anyone what I am, but I'm concerned that people may have been told by a third party. This man could be associated with more than we realize. I would not like him to connect me with the Numbered in his mind, especially if it's something I can still stop.'
'For the record, I don't know him well. We've seen each other in passing, but nothing more frequent.'
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"I remember, and it's wise of you to keep it that way," he says. "Can I ask you how you know about his anti-Numbered sentiments? It does not seem like something that would come up 'in passing,' even if he feels very strongly about the matter."
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'I've passed him on my way to and from work, and sometimes he'll have friends carry him home from drinking. Twice he's been in the middle of an diatribe about how the Numbered should all be exported, so that 'horned mutant devil freaks' don't take jobs away from 'america's real people'.
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"Oh...kay. No further questions on that," he comments, cringing very slightly. He knows that there are a lot of very bigoted attitudes in the city about the Numbered, but he's insulated enough in his day to day life, working for and with his community, that he sometimes needs reminders that it really is that bad, that casually.
"If you know when he drinks, that could be an ideal time to plant the GPS and take video and photographs," he says thoughtfully. "With no cover story needed... if he feels that much vitriol toward us, it's probably better if he doesn't meet me."
This was, after all, the guy who tattooed his own Numbers on his hand as a show of solidarity with his more "horned mutant devil freak" acquaintances.
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He types below those. 'Agreed. I'd rather avoid him, given the option.'
Pause. 'This is for non-work-day nights, by the way. Fridays and Saturdays.'
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He seems to find that hilarious, and even laughs at it. Appropriateness of subject matter. Yep.
"If he's consistently getting sloshed to the point of tipping over and slurring about those Numbered, let's plan for Friday night. We'll frame it so that we have at least an hour before his projected return, get the GPS in there, plant some mics and cameras, and break in to see if his plans for those suspicious items are readily apparent. Meet me here a half-hour before, and we'll travel there together via bus."
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At least they have a plan. Cesar nods, pointing down at the table, and then signs, {Friday.} There's still plenty of coffee left in his cup, so he takes a large swallow, and the conversation is near its end.
{Should I bring anything?}
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He follows Cesar's example; he's been drinking his coffee somewhat more liberally, and only the dregs remain floating at the bottom of his cup.
"Bus fare. Dark clothes. Phone on silent... common sense things," he says. "I'll take care of the important equipment, so... we should really be all set."
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L wouldn't believe him. If Cesar backs out now, L will just do this alone, and Cesar's not sure he could let him.
{I'll be ready.}
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