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Vice Detective
Played by virtues or vice
Posts: 4
Likes: 2
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Post by Detective Fox on Jun 1, 2016 3:02:56 GMT
Something like two or three months ago Sheriff Clark had received a call from the chief of the Baltimore County Police Department regarding vice detective Cadence Fox. He had been made aware of her spotless record, the tenacity with which she worked and the circumstances of her reassignment. Give her dead ends, the Sheriff had been told. Which is precisely what he had though he had done.
The cases he had given her thus far were either piddling affairs or else labyrinthine ones in which he hoped she would lose herself, anything to keep her off the scent of his own crooked dealings with Mederos. On occasion she was presented with an opportunity to accept a bribe of some sort though much to the Sheriff's continued chagrin, she denied each and every one. In a town like Marathon, so tightly in the clutches of a far-reaching cartel, good cops ultimately had two choices: buckle under the pressure and work with the cartel, or resist it and die despite the most noble of intentions.
Cadence had no desire to do either of those things.
Currently she was mired in the human trafficking mess that the Network had set up. The web was a tangled one and navigating it was treacherous.
The tracking device she had put on Adam Byrne's GMC was not the only one sending her information about where the Network's operations were transpiring. After an attempt to question Ernesto Morales had yielded nothing of value, she had spent a considerable amount of time staking out the marina.
Each time she witnessed from her unmarked car what appeared to be a shipment of some sort she'd lift a digital SLR camera, crank the telephoto lens to the max and snap a few quick shots of the boxes, or people, those unloading them and ultimately the trucks they were loaded into. This meant more than a few sleepless nights, running on fumes and too much coffee. She needed to know where those shipments were going.
When the opportunity presented itself, she had gone out under the cover of a cloudy, moonless night, climbed the fences securing the shipment trucks and ducked down between the vehicles before anyone could see her. ...Or so she thought.
She was crouched down under one of the trucks when she heard it, the low rumbling growl of a canine, the almost musical clangor of the metal chain it wore around its thick neck. She hadn't noticed the dog before, and she supposed that was just the way its owner had intended it to be.
Cadence's hand dropped to the small black duffle in which the GPS transmitters were being carried as she turned her head in the direction of the menacing growl. The big head of a Rottweiler was staring her down from the other end of the truck, eyes as black and seemingly compassionless as a shark's, and snarling, slavering jowls.
Her heart lurched, frozen for the few seconds which seem like an eternity in deciding fight or flight.
She snatched the bag off the asphalt and scrambled to her feet, took off in a sprint between the trucks back towards the fence. The dog was hot on her heels, barking hatefully after her. Once out of the maze of vehicles it was a straight shot, maybe forty feet. The glimmer of hope she entertained after hurling the duffle bag over the fence and leaping up onto the chain link was gone the instant the pressure closed around her ankle.
It didn't hurt at first, took a moment to realize what was happening. Despite her best efforts to yank herself up and over the fence, the dog won this game of tug of war with her leg and she stumbled back onto the payment. It was a blur of gnashing teeth after that. She certainly must've been making some sort of noise though all she could hear was the vicious growling of the beast that had her leg in a vice-like grip.
If the commotion hadn't drawn the attention of whomever was on watch in the truck yard what Cadence did next certainly would. Kicking and beating on the animal did nothing to ward it off for more than a few seconds before it clamped down again and she had rolled herself into a tight fetal position so that it bit her legs, her back, her shoulders--nothing that she couldn't walk away from. While covered in this position she drew her gun and fired.
The shot cracked across the parking lot, loud, carrying over the open expanse. It was coupled by the choked yelp of the dog as it reeled away from her and fell.
She tried then to get up, get back to the fence and over it, get away from here. That wasn't happening though. She's got company.
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29
Head of Security
Played by paradise and sin
Posts: 69
Likes: 1
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Post by Adam Byrne on Jun 1, 2016 7:36:44 GMT
{ special guest sn for tomas there. thanks aol. }
wayward whiskey: Okay. So. I'm NOT playing a cowboy, despite what the profile might say. Tomas Esteban was woken at entirely too early an hour in the morning. Get to the marina, now, was all was told to him. Tomas is not an idiot. Such a call comes in, you asnwer it. He was up and dressed and out the door in seven minutes, hopping in his truck to get down to the marina. Living in South Marathon made for a short walk to every where and an even shorter drive. The entire time between call and Tomas's arrival at the Marina was 12 minutes. The Puerto Rican's shirt was wrinkled, having just grabbed the first thing he saw while stumbling around his bedroom getting dressed, a pair of old dark washed jeans, his feet shoved into a pair of all black sneakers. Heavy, nighttime winds rustled that mop of thick black waves about his head, and Tomas squinted his heavy-lidded eyes at the brightness of the lights illuminating the marina, flood lights that were very rarely used, as it were. "That's not good," He commented dryly, reaching under the front seat of his Chevy to pull the old Louisville baseball bat and slammed the door shut and started for the gate, though he stopped when he spotted the black duffle bag sitting by the fence, crouching to examine it, brows drawing together. Surely, Adam will be pulling up any damn second now, right? RIGHT.
paradise and sin: No sooner had Tomas met the gate on foot, that another vehicle pulled up to park beside the nondescript Chevy. Headlights cut, and the bull of a man climbed from the interior of his Yukon. There was already a frown riding across his -- though that wasn't an unfamiliar sight with this particular Irishman. He'd received the exact same message that our sweet slice of Puerto Rican meat had, though he hadn't been asleep. From the look of him, he'd yet to make it to his bed, and with yet another fucking situation at hand, there was no telling when. "T'fuck is goin' on?" Not even a gruffly laid Emilio Estevez joke from the man as he came up where Tomas was crouched and looking over a bag. "T'fuck is that, then?" Heavily inked hand dragged it's way across his jaw some, then up into the mess of dark brown where it'd fallen in front of his face some. "Fuckin' better be good," Adam muttered then, dropping down next to the shorter man to see too. "The fuckin' tits I had my face buried in." He wouldn't comment on them further, that was more than enough, right? RIGHT. -d-
virtues or vice: The duffle bad that Tomas picked up contained about three pieces of evidence in the form of small GPS transmitters which would make it pretty damn impossible for Cadence to lie about why she was there and what she was doing. She had hoped it wouldn't be found, because the man that had dragged her out of the parking lot had not seen it. Her luck appears to have run out on all fronts. She had no recollection of leaving the parking lot, apparently having been cracked hard over the back of her head while trying to get to her feet. The sound of a voice, apparently the one belonging to whatever lowlife had alerted both Adam and Tomas, echoed inside her head as if she were at the far end of a tunnel. He sounded far away though he was pacing nearby, keeping an eye on her until his superiors arrived, as it were. Her brow creased as she started to come to, the lights inside the boat house she had been taken to were searingly bright at first but slowly the world seemed to come back into focus. The gentle lapping of water against the inside of the boathouse gave her a clue as to where she was before she could actually see it. She was laying in a heap on the plank floor, her hands zip-tied behind her back so tightly it discolored the flesh on her wrists. Her jacket and jeans were torn, her right leg bloodied and mangled from the dog's fierce bite. That's gonna sting. Unfortunately for Cadence that was probably the least of her worries.[d]
wayward whiskey: Tomas kind of snorted at Adam's complaints, rifling through the duffle bag. What was in there. "Bunch'a crap," He commented dryly, stretching up to his unimposing full height, when standing next to Adam and started for the gate, tossing the duffle bag on the hood of his truck before anything else. The dark haired Puerto Rican quirked a brow at his comrade at his specific complaint about the dirty pillows he had his face buried in versus Tomas's regular pillows. "I've barely slept in two weeks and you're bitching about leaving some bitch behind." The dealer swung the wooden baseball bat out, slacking it in his palm so it would fall to rest on his shoulder, his fist a few inches northward on the handle. "You know she'll still be there when you get back, resume your motorboating." No sooner than did Tomas let those words receive a punctuation mark was Tommy, who worked on the docks, rushing out of the boat house to meet them. 'Mr. Byrne, Mr. Esteban! THE BITCH SHOT DISEAL!!' Tomas blinked, confused for a moment and tilted his head. "Who?" 'MY DOG!' The somewhat simple dock worker answered. He was really kept around to sit and do security overnight and transport shipments if they happened to show up in the middle of the night -- rare as that was. Tomas lifted a hand to rub at his eyes briefly. "... Who shot the dog?" It was too early in the morning for this shit. 'I think she's a cop, I got 'er in the boat house."
paradise and sin: "What the fuck I look like? Some bloody elementary tike? Motorboatin', he says," a jerk of his thumb towards Tomas, as if Byrne was speaking to some other person about the man beside him and his amateur moves. "Next you'll be tellin' me she's stillt here to suck my dick," implying heavily too, that blow jobs were for the young. He's a man! A man! Rising to his feet, he sent a scrutinizing look over the brightly lit boatyard, and shoved a hand hard into the gate to swing it open to enter. How quickly they were joined by a frantic yardsman, calling their names and lamenting about shots fired and who they hit. ".. If this is about a bloody fuckin' dog .. " But nope. Not a dog. A cop. A glance was sent to Tomas, and back to the dock worker. "Then fucking take us to the boathouse." And he did, lead them right on in -- his hurried steps back that way littered with more of the story -- how the growling had been coupled with cries of pain, and how the shot had rang out, and he'd come across to find both woman and dog on the ground, and how he'd walloped her one and dragged her inside. Cadence might catch three voices now, coming closer and closer still. But poor Tommy was told he'd gone far enough at the door to the boathouse, and to go tend to his dead dog. The door creaked as it was opened, and the broad shouldered man lead the way in. Not hard to find the injured woman, damn near front and center among the equipment and tools and whatever the fuck else was kept in a fucking boathouse. Quiet, he stepped to the side some, so Tomas could fully enter, and kept a steely gaze on the bundle of bloody female. -d-
virtues or vice: As soon as she was starting to regain her faculties she was trying to get up. There was a brief window in which she was alone while Tommy (who was working for the Network while the Union was on strike?) had gone out to greet the other two. It wasn't nearly long enough for her to escape. All she had managed was to will herself up to her knees after an attempt to scoot her arms under her legs had failed--her hands were bound too tightly for her to finagle them until they were in front of her. "Fuck.." She was saying to herself as the voices drew near. Her head lifted some when she heard the door open and through wavy errant strands of brown and blonde she watched the two enter the boathouse. Hazel eyes lingered warily on them while she knelt there, still testing the resiliency of her plastic fetters. It was no use. Pulling at them had no perceivable effect except for a sharp sort of pain from where it bit into her wrists. In her head she was already beating herself up for having let this happen. She should have known there would have been something to secure the area. She, like Tomas, hadn't been getting much sleep either in the last few weeks because of this case and it had dulled a normally diamond-sharp mind enough to make this grave mistake.[d]
wayward whiskey: Tomas rolled his eyes. "Call me old fashioned, but if she's not busy when you're done having 'aduilt time'" Going so far as to swing his left hand up to make quotes in the air. "Bitch can come put her mouth on my junk." Clearly, among being not hugged enough as a child, Adam did not have his dick sucked properly or enough in his lifetime. Do they not know how to do it in Ireland? Whatever. I digress. Prisoners. Tomas moved with casual strides behind Adam, black eyes searching the lit up marina, his gaze following the chain that the dog must be attached to somewhere before they were passing through the door into the boat house. Tommy, who was only working this job until he could afford to get his six string out of hock, sneered at Detective Fox while the other two far cooler gentlemen took in the situation. Tomas's tight jaw flexed, studying the blood-stained detective he had been following around the gift shop the other day when the robbery broke out. "I remember you," He said in a tone that was flat and cool, swinging the bat down from his shoulder to let it swing at his side as he approached the injured woman. Tomas lowered to a crouch in front of her, setting the end cap of the bat to the cement floor, folding his hands upon the knob, black eyes tight upon the hazel gaze. "Don't know your name, but I know who you are." His head snapped to the left to look at Tommy, a brow lifting just a hint. "She have any ID on her?"
paradise and sin: Apparently Tommy liked Tomas better, and hadn't listened to Adam tell him to go off and care for his dead dog. Must be a Tom thing. Fuckers. The fact that Tomas was able to easily recognize the bitch detective etched a flash of minute surprise into the Irishman's features. A flicker of a glance to the curly-haired dealer, but it swung immediately back to the poor girl in her dire circumstance. Ambling his way to her, the big man dropped into a crouch in front of her praying position -- giving her a closer study. Pretty, in that understated way, once you got passed all the blood on her, and the air of go fuck yourself that she wore like it was her badge. Thick fingers found her chin and gave it a vice grip, jerking her head up with little regard to her head injury, just to ensure she'd look at him. "I'll just be guessin' your boss hasn't a clue you're out here skulkin' about, does he?" Because if Clark did? There was about to be an entirely different course of events happening at that pretty lil' mansion the man had bought himself two years ago up in Key Colony with Network earnings. As if he were after leaving his fingerprints permanently tattooed on her jaw line, his grip tightened, and tightened still. He too was curious about the ID, and turned his head just enough to look over at Tommy. Would he follow this fucking order at least? Jeez. Someone learn to read. -d-
virtues or vice: Her attention lifted only briefly to Tomas when he came over. She had nothing to say to him, nothing to say to either of them to be honest. She did have ID on her, whether Tommy had checked her or not. Her badge was stowed inside of her jacket, or had been before she'd gotten knocked out. Her eyes dropped to the floor for a short time before Adam joined the little gathering and snatched her chin up. The icy look she gave him was almost enough to dispel the muggy Florida heat. The question posed to her went unanswered. It's a fairly safe bet to guess that Clark was unaware of this covert operation she'd been working on otherwise she would have had a Hell of an easier time of it, and probably wouldn't have gotten herself chewed up like a ragdoll. Her attention started to stray, she tried to pull her head back out of his grasp until it tightened, so much so that she had to clench her teeth. Sorry boys, it doesn't appear as though she means to be cooperative, which means its probably going to be a long day for all of them.[d]
wayward whiskey: "She pinched my dealer," Tomas said, sweeping black eyes towards Adam just as he looked at him. "Little prick." His eyes flittered back to Cadence then, tilting his head. "Asking unsolicited questions. Been following you for a couple weeks, Detective. Watched you break up that robbery." His hand moved for Tommy to hand the badge over to him and then he left. >> Because I'm not always literate, just sometimes. Tommy shut the door behind him. "Shame you couldn't catch your man," Because Tomas had. He watched, unaffected by the manhandling Adam put on the woman, flipping over the badge to look at the identification that was normally attached. "Cadence Fox," He read the name slow and smooth, pronouncing each syllable with purpose. "Parece que tenemos un zorra en el gallinero." The Spanish words mumbled, almost amused by his own turn of phrase there, but no smile or light took over his face, snapping his wrist to whip the badge at the woman. Whether or not Clark knew about her was really none of his business, so he leaned back onto the balls of his feet some, tapping the cap of the bat on the floor by his feet thoughtfully before flickering black eyes back to the woman. "You're new here, right? Brand-y new to the Sunshine State, Zorra?"
paradise and sin: Head still turned when Tomas spoke up about how he knew who she was, and brows both lifted on his handsome face. "She's the puta who picked up Jake?" I just hope that the singular Spanish word sounds just as funny coming off the Irishman's tongue to you as it does to me. Cadence's attempts to pull her face out of his hold only had Adam's hand following whatever direction she went, and tightening until his thumb dug into the softness of the flesh just below the start of her jaw. It wasn't the woman's name that garnered a reaction out of him, but rather Tomas' pun. The look he gave him clearly said ``really?`` .. He wasn't aware that Tomas was a father, to have the jokes. Adam stood then, and since he wasn't letting go, Cadence was forced to climb to her feet too or maybe her head might pop off like a Barbies. "Sounds like a porn name," he commented idly, and cast his sights back on the captive blonde, while Tomas asked his question. He mused a little, and tilted her head to the left, and then to the right -- studying her features as if she were product at the market, rather than a fox in the fucking henhouse. "New, aye. Not yet used to t'way of things." Releasing his grip from her face, it found a new home within the short locks at the back of her head; dragging her forward so that he was behind, and dwarfing her, and she'd face Tomas now. "¿Cree que Clark querrá su espalda en una sola pieza?" He looked hopefully towards a negative answer. -d-
virtues or vice: If looks could kill, Tomas would be six feet under right now. They always think they're so fucking clever. She didn't dignify his question either, its answer was an obvious one. New all right. New enough to think she stood a chance in a place like this. New enough to have earned herself a faint blush of a sunburn because she hadn't become accustomed to the sun. New enough to get herself into a whole heap of trouble. That sharp look was redirected at Adam while he was turning her face, perusing her features with such objectivity. The expression faltered when his hold shifted to her hair and something of a hiss escaped her as he pulled her head up and forced her to face the other one again. As to Sheriff Clark, while Cadence was not aware of the depth of his dishonor, it was no secret that the two did not exactly see eye to eye. Most people in the precinct chocked this up to her merely being bitter about being here in the first place. That being said, she wasn't entirely sure if the man gave a shit as to what happened to her. She settled her stoic gaze on Tomas, upon whose appraisal her life or at the very least, well being, seemed to hinge.[d]
wayward whiskey: Bring it, little Fox. See if he can't take your hateful glares and send them right back, three fold. "One in the same," He answered Adam, a low hum in his Brooklyn flavored voice. The look he got for his pun was answered with a look in return, something that read, fuck you, dude, that was a good one. Tomas stood when Adam did, escorting Detective Fox, too, to her feet. He let his tongue wet his lips while he considered the woman with those shark-like eyes, not unlike the dead gaze of the rottweiler that had kept her on the premises. He stepped in the couple of steps it took to be all but nose to nose with the woman, a variable hot af but dangerous af sandwich she found herself in, hmm? Would Clark like her back in one piece. "Probably not," He answered in that unconcerned voice, though his gaze lifted to peer over the woman's head, who he only had a few inches on. "... but Dennis greased her palms with some of that money he was STEALING from me," The single word emphasized in something of a shout in Cadence's face, the real first flicker of anger contorting his features. The cap of the bat came up under the woman's chin and lifted her face up so she was forced to match his eyes, unless she closed them, but she was a defiant little vixen, wasn't she? "He paid you off with my money, didn't he, Zorrita?" His eyes cut back to Adam, and he spoke like lightning. "If she can be bought, then I own her," His words hissed through set teeth, it didn't sound like a position that anyone would want to be in. He tipped his chin in a tiny nod towards Adam, a little indication to loosen his grip and maybe take a precautionary step backwards, black eyes back upon the woman, leaning close to her ear to whisper loudly, "I'm going to hurt you now." Batter-fucking-up.
paradise and sin: Adam was close enough behind the petite stature of Detective Foxy that she'd feel the rumble of his chest when he loosed a dry laugh. Speech was held for the moment, favoring the show of anger that came from his Latin counterpart. The lift of her chin by way of the bat tightened the fist he made in her hair, should she feel the need to try and jerk her face away from the way Tomas made himself home right in it. He tsked a little. "You let that shit heel fatten your pocket? Mistake one." There's the unspoken tag of mistake two being the situation she'd found herself in now, and he laughed again with the none so idle threats that came from Esteban. The man was a creative genius when it came to the asses he owned. The grip in Cadence's hair loosened, and he gave her a soft shove forward with the palm of his hand centered between her shoulder blades -- just to get her in a step to the right direction, for Tomas' clear cut words. Adam shifted over and out of the way of the swing of the bat; took a lean on some such shelf, and fished his work cell from his front pants pocket. Display lighting his countenance, his thumb found it's way to the C's in his contacts, and the man busied himself with a text. -d-
virtues or vice: Standing took some considerable effort. It hurt to put weight on her right leg and she could feel blood seeping down into her sock. It hurt also if she slouched because of Adam's hold on her hair. An awkward limp put all her weight on her left foot; that would have to do. When Tomas raised his voice at her she did flinch, try and turn her head from him just slightly though the bat under her chin and the fist in her hair prevented that. The quiet promise of pain that he made caused a staggered intake of air. It would be a bold-faced lie to say that she wasn't scared right now, but like any would-be hero, she used every ounce of courage to hide it. Had she opened her mouth to talk at all it would have been fairly obvious. She doesn't want to give them the satisfaction. The relief that came from having her hair let go was short-lived, for the little shove Adam gave her forced an unprepared step and a half on an unsteady leg and with her hands secured behind her back she had no way to balance. Cadence caught herself though, before she tumbled, bent over some for a moment until she could try and stand straighter. [d]
wayward whiskey: Don't worry, Cadence!! The shove and stumble, she'd end up with his palm flat on her chest. It stayed there for a moment while the man bore those black eyes into hers before his fingers fisted into her shirt. His eyes cut to Adam, business calls to be made, he understood that. Black eyes back to Cadence, and with a quick inhale through his nose the man flung the Detective to the floor on her left side, and without so much as another word, swung the bat down at her. Now, since the Fox belonged to him, now -- or such was Tomas's assertion -- he didn't want to break his own property, just teach it a lesson. Detective Fox might still have to take a few days off, though, while recovering from the bruises Tomas administered via his Louisville across her legs, backside, and back and stomach, but for the most part, at best she might suffer a bruised rib or two. He was pretty proficient in hurting people and to which degree to take it. The last swing was hard, harder than all the rest, and came down with a resounding crack on the cement inches from the Detective's face before Tomas was lowering to a crouch beside her again, hissing close to her ear. "I own you until I feel the debt has been paid, Zorrita." He grabbed her face with his free hand, then and turned it towards him. "Tread carefully."
paradise and sin: Two in fact. One, to garner any and all information on the sneaky fox here, and the other to set up a tail on her. It wouldn't matter if she made the enforcer he set up to track her or not. With her ass belonging to Tomas, it was in a sense, the Network's now too. For the time being at least. With his messages sent off, he sent a dispassionate gaze to watch the way the bat came down on the woman. A hand came up to scratch at his chin some, and he barely stifled a yawn. What the fuck time was it? Those tits might have to wait. Set into motion, the man came to a stop beside the crouching Tomas, and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Leave her. She made her way in, she can make it out. I've got something to talk to you about." Now was as good a time than any to quickly relay his conversation with Sam at the casino on their way to where they'd parked their trucks. -d-
virtues or vice: At least he spared her any agonizing waiting. He just went for it. She hit the ground hard, unable to break her fall while her hands were bound adding a scrape on her chin to the injuries she'll have sustained tonight. The first hit had caused an unrestrained yell and so did each successive blow though she had grown considerably quiet by the end of it. A startled breath was sucked in when the bat came smashing down so near to her face. Her jaw clenched when he snatched her, eyes glassy despite her best efforts to keep from crying lifted to meet Tomas' shadowed gaze and held it for a moment until Adam strayed over, apparently bored already. Good. She turned her head abruptly out of Tomas' hand and pulled away. Each labored breath she drew in caused sharp pains now. She felt vaguely nauseous. Grimacing and groaning through clenched teeth she scooted a bit further before she was forced to pause and rest. If they leave her here like this it would take her a considerable amount of time to get herself out but she would manage, eventually. ...So long at ol' Tommy around here didn't decide to take some revenge for what she'd done to his dog.[d]
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