What? You don't believe me? [bit && L337GAM3R]

It was a cool day in November. No cooler than usual, though, the weather always had a certain bite to it when it got into the heart of autumn. Wilhelmina "Velma" Pondelli didn't mind much, it gave her an excuse to show off that fabulous fit coat. The thing was brand spanking new - a gift from her father for her birthday. He'd said:

"Here you go, hun. It's your birthday. Go paint the town red, why don't ya?"

So that was exactly what she did. Velma had called the chauffeur and hopped into the Winston Six, ready to spoil herself with the pocketbook (a constant necessity - even when one didn't expect to spend their family's money) and a bottle of her father's bootlegged liquor. She called out for the driver to take her to her party.

When she stepped out the darling was dressed to kill. A flapper in nature, she wore a ritzy dress with lots of fringe (leaving that extravagant coat in the vehicle), revealing more leg than her mother would have liked, ending in feet that were strapped into shiny sandals. Black-brown hair was cut short, the longest strands ending at the bottom of her ears, styled and very curvy. The make-up was so dark - darker than most would have dared. Her eyes were a kohl black, thick and messy, while her lips were a deep blend of red and purple. Her nails she kept long and polished.

The part lasted many hours, where she thrived in the spot-light and mingled with other family member, close friends, and any one she couldn't put a name to. But all good thing have to come to an end, and she eventually stumbled out, a pleasant smile on that recently acquired 18-year-old face, as she crawled back into the limo.

A light haze of smoke was blown from the black Buick's window. A brunette male was sitting behind the wheel of the black undercover car. In the passenger seat was a slightly larger male, dark red hair almost auburn, covered his head slicked back by his hand as he watched the large home, and limo before them. Looking over at the smaller, younger driver the red haired male spoke. “Excuse me Sergeant, would you put that out please. You're giving me a headache.”

The younger man stammered as he thought about arguing before he squashed the cigarette in the ashtray of the car. “Sorry Detective, have you seen any movement yet?” The younger sergeant said looking over at his superior.

“Yes, get ready to drive.” The Detective said as he pulled his seat belt off and watched as a young female came strolling out towards the limo, her attractive features and look of money and power screamed that was their mark. Wilhelmina "Velma" Pondelli the direct descendant of her father, they shared looks as well as one other thing, money that came from their illegal family business.

The detective smiled, for now content with watching the young girl get into the Limo. “Sergeant, follow them, I want to make sure they don't have any guards following her. It wouldn't be beyond the head of their family to want to protect his daughter.” His name was Jared McManus, one of the many Irish immigrants who had become a cop within America. Red hair, green eyes, light freckles on his cheeks and shoulders, built like a line backer. Jared was five foot eleven, two hundred and seven pounds of lean muscle. Dressed in a black suit, all black except his red tie.

Her vehicle put-put-putted along and Velma, so sweetly, began to get nauseous. She'd had too much - and while the girl liked to pretend she was such tough stuff, she was always such a light drinker. Reaching out side, a dainty gloved hand, she rapped on the driver's winder, indicating that he needed to slow it down and pull over. Such a rickety vehicle this was! She almost preferred to walk. But then that would waste an already frivolous purchase, wouldn't it?

They weren't followed. Not that night. Although if her father knew, he would have been positively livid. She was supposed to be followed, but the two gents that were responsible for doing such a deed had left the party even an hour before the queen of the hour did, each with a silly broad on their arm. So there weren't any alarms that went off when the vehicle behind them seemed to follow their every turn. Velma was making assumptions.

He pulled over, and the girl held a hand to her head, reclining as best she could in the small compartment.

"Thanks," she called out, so smooth and melodic, "but vertigo was hitting me hard, Clarence. All of that rocking wasn't doing anything to help." He just sat there, feigning interest, barely able to hear her.

When the Limo stopped so did the Buick just behind the Limo, Detective McManus smiled and looked at the younger Sergeant. “Get up on the driver.” The officer smiled and got out of the Buick drawing his M1911 hand gun moving swiftly up the length of the limo. Detective McManus drew the same weapon but moved up the opposite side of the Limo smiling as he gently knocked the dark tinted window. “Miss Pondelli we need to talk.” He called with a smile.

Sergeant Aaron Himley had his weapon trained to the drivers face as Detective McManus waited for the young mistress in the car to answer him. Looking at the Sergeant Jared smiled and wrapped harder on the window. “Miss Pondelli it is a little chilly out here and I would really like to get out of the cold, will you please open the door and come with me.” He called out again.

Tapping his hand on the handgrip of his pistol Jared sighed and looked around making sure no one was around here. Looking back at the window he sighed.

Velma had closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on everything, taking in even breaths. She'd heard Clarence make a noise up front, some terrified sort of squeak, and opened her eyes enough to glare at him. The same moment the man with the gun registered there was that awful knock on her window. And while she didn't squeak, the girl did manage a jump.

How... irritating.
Who the Hell did these men think they were?

Probably police. No one else would bother her like this.

She didn't respond to him for a moment, her mouth tight as she held her tongue. Moving, she leaved forward, large doe eyes looking up at Jared through the window, seeming to wonder, "Whatever do you think I could have done?" And, so deliberately, she pressed that already upturned nose against the window, emphasizing it as a pig's - something she often heard police compared to. She then rolled the window completely down, still looking up. Her fingers held on to the door in front of her, folding over the side. Resting her head lightly on those hands, she asked, "What for?"

Jared smiled as he watched her look at him through the window. “Well we have some questions, so I can put my nice little bracelets on you or you can grab your coat, I will leave my driver and yours here and we will have a nice little chat.” Pulling his badge from his pocket he smiled. “You can call me Detective, the FBI doesn't work with police so your pig jokes aren't going to work well.” Holstering his weapon he looked up at the sergeant. “Sergeant have the driver remove the keys and toss them to me, I am getting impatient.” Jared said as he looked back at the window.

The sergeant held his left hand out to the driver, who pulled the keys from the ignition and set them in the sergeants hands who tossed them to Detective McManus. “Now then, open the door or I happily come in there and drag your spoiled ass out of the car.” He said as he looked at her his tone revealing a little bit more of his accent as he got a little more agitated.

The driver didn't have to be told twice. Well, really, it wasn't at all - taking what Jared said to the other man as direction enough. Pulling the keys out he was more than ready to comply. Velma breathed huffily, "You're such a push over," saddened that his back was turned so he couldn't see again the glare she shot him.

The girl kept her mouth shut when he gave his spiel, writing it off as useless blathering. She grabbed for her coat and pulled it on. Such an irritated thing she was, managing to show such displeasure in even the smallest of actions. "Step back," and it came curtly. The girl opened the door when he was out of the way of 'accidentally' hitting temptation. Swinging her legs to the side she stood up and situated her coat.

"I don't know what you think you're going to achieve with this round of questioning," and she sounded so sure, "but this isn't my first rodeo." Those arms were folded defiantly in front of her.

With a chuckle Jared smiled listening to her talk about this not being her first arrest. “Lass, this isn't a formal arrest and well as for this being your, I don't care what time it is for you at the rodeo this will be a bit new for you.” Jared smiled and looked up and Sergeant Himley. “Will you see to it the driver is detained for a while, I think I see some bootleg in the back of his car.” Jared said as he looked at the young girl. “Oh, Sergeant please ride back with the uniform.” Jared said with a smile.

Taking her by the wrist placing his other hand on her lower back with a smirk. “I promise, this is just going to be a short talk.” Tossing the keys back to the sergeant Jared smiled and the Sergeant tossed him the keys to the Buick. “Miss Pondelli do you smoke?” Jared asked softly as he walked her towards the other side of the car.

It was amusing to watch the driver. He was calm and placid, trying to do everything that was asked of him, staying still while they talked. When the liquor in the back was mentioned, though, you could just see him come alive. And, while it couldn't be deciphered exactly what he was saying (such a mess of jumbled up words as he continuously tripped over them) he was obviously pleading some defense. The classic, "It isn't mine! I don't know how it got there!" That drew a smug smile to her lusciously painted lips.

"I didn't mean it literally," she mumbled to herself, realizing the man wasn't originally from around her area, "It's an expression." Not expecting him to hear her, it simply made her satisfied to say it. Velma looked at him through half lidded eyes, inspecting the man.
She decided she wasn't impressed.
And that she certainly did not like the way he was handling her.

She shifted, trying to retain some amount of control over the situation, walking tall and straight. "On occasion," in truth, the girl hated it - her lungs unable to tolerate such activity. "But don't tell my daddy," some more mockery. Did he think she was a kid?

Jared looked at her and smiled. “I was asking if you smoked, to see if you wanted one.” Jared said as he shook his head. “Sergeant I will see you at the station in the morning.” Jared looked around and walked the young lady to the black Buick's passenger side door. Opening it he smiled. “If you don't mind get in please.” He said as he watched her. His eyes looking over the fine clothes she wore, the form fitting jacket was a nice touch on her body.

Looking at his own suit he sighed as the make and quality paled in comparison to the almost artisan like make of clothes she wore. Sighing he chuckled and looked up at the night sky. “I do hope we can get this done quickly.” He said with a smile.

In all reality this questioning was not going to be done quickly, or politely. It was not a formal arrest and no one in his division knew about this arrangement in fact there were three people that knew what was truly going to happen. Jared, a direct liaison from the pentagon and the director of the FBI. With a smile he took a long deep breath and exhaled watching the breath fog up the window a little bit.

She was caught off by the offer and tried to play it off in any way that wasn't the truth. "No... thanks." Her nose wrinkled, almost snarling at the thought of having draw another cigarette to her lips. "I don't want one," speaking smoothly as she slid into the seat. Running a hand through her hair, she made sure everything wasn't too messy.

"I don't know why you're smiling," she spat. "I can't see one thing in this entire ordeal that's even remotely positive. You're going to question me, I'm going to have my defenses thrown up the entire time, you're going to conclude that I'm a brat who's over-stepping her bounds, and I'm going to leave upset and grouchy that my entire night was wasted." She looked out the window, pouting, "Do you know that today is my birthday?" As if it mattered.

Velma didn't realize this wasn't a run-of-the-mill questioning. There were things the FBI was allowed to do that everyone would turn a cheek to, and she didn't know that. The girl still thought she had rights in every situation and that they couldn't be nullified. Ever. So she felt confident in any smart-mouthing she deemed necessary to spew.

Jared smiled and gently shut her door before walking to his. Opening the door he sat down and started the car, warm air coming from the heater as he pulled away from the curb and waved to his partner. “Now I didn't know that, see we learn something new every day. In fact I will have to maybe break one or two lines of protocol and maybe get you a drink or something.” He said with a smile. “In fact we aren't holding this interview at headquarters we're going to a safe house that the FBI uses for our chat.” He said with a smile as he veered off towards the nearest road, leading into a secluded suburban area.

“Now, what would you like for me to call you?” Jared asked as they drove, deciding to get some of the formalities out of the way, try to get a little trust going. If this went smoothly he would simply be done early in the night and go home. If it went difficult it could take...a while. So Jared had already taken his stuff, enough for a week to the safe house and it had been stocked with food, drinks an alcohol for him.

Was he one of the crooked types? Did he mean a 'drink' like what everyone when they said 'drink'? Or did he mean 'drink' like a glass of juice or some coffee? And if it were the latter, that almost terrified her more. "We're not going to headquarters?" Velma pressed her forehead to the cool window, a nervous fever starting to build up. The girl wasn't entirely sure what to make of him - but for the sole reason that he had some authority, she didn't like him.

A chill coursed through her when he said they'd be going to a safe house. It didn't settle right.

"You can stick with Miss Pondelli," came the answer to his question, and she gave him a cheeky smile. "And why isn't this going to be at headquarters? Does my dad know where I am? How long is this supposed to take?" So many questions, it could have been interpreted that she was trying to pester the man.

“The questioning will take some time, how long depends on your cooperation. We aren't going to headquarters because this operation supersedes the state level of the FBI. As for your father knowing where you are Miss Pondelli the answer to that is no one knows where you are going.” Jared said with a smile as the black car drove off into the night. “An if you have any ideas of jumping out and running there is a Winchester three oh eight rifle in the trunk that I am pretty accurate with. I would hate to read about you being murdered tomorrow.” He said with a cold voice that had changed from his light hearted Irish accent.

Eying the road before him he took a left hand turned into what seemed to be an empty road. A few houses were sporadicly placed. Finding the one he was looking for he turned into the drive way and into the open garage. Getting out of the car he walked and pulled the garage door shut. Walking to her side of the car he opened the door. “Miss Pondelli if you will step out of the car.”

She was silent.
Frozen.

There wasn't anything in any of the answers he provided that satisfied the girl. Especially the last one.
"Clarence knows where I am," she blurted out, ready to turn frantic if he pushed her to it. And then she thought about it. No... he didn't know where she was. He would surely figure that she'd been taken to headquarters. He knew where she was last seen.
He didn't know where she was.

Her vivid red nails bit into the seat of the car.

And then he had to go and say that.
"You can't do that!" came her not-so-positive wail. Such a chilling tone he spoke in - it possessed her body, even through such a thick coat.

Like she did with her own car, she kicked her legs to the side before standing up, always conscious when she wore a dress (such work! The diva wished she could wear trousers all the time). As if testing the waters (although she really could have been rendered phased after such harsh statements) Velma held her hand up daintily to be helped up.

Jared took her hand gently and helped her to her feet. “Your driver is probably going to be locked up in a jail out of state within the hour, we can't have anyone knowing even who took you from the car.” Jared said as he led her out of the garage, kicking the door to the Buick closed as he walked her to the door to the house.

Opening it he smiled and looked at her. “After you miss Pondelli.” He said in his once again chipper tone.

The house was plain, two bedrooms furnished lightly like a small suburban house, a kitchen that was well stocked, a few windows here and there all with pad locks on them, the doors were pad locked as well, except for the one to the garage, the living room had a couch and a recliner, there was no dining room. “I do hope you don't mind the lack of amenities, we don't use these much.” He said as he waited for her to look round.

Surprised that he helped her up and even more surprised at what a gentle touch it was. Without saying anything Velma followed through the door. "You can't be serious," and it was genuine worry for the driver. He was a spineless man - too fragile to be behind bars.

He was disturbing, she decided, and didn't like the way he kept shifting tones. Would he make up his mind? Was he Good Cop? Was he Bad Cop? A feeling in the pit of her stomach told her he was something much worse - something she'd never dealt with before. And so she was left grasping at how to approach his questioning.

The first thing her eyes looked for where the any exits. If he left her, even for a moment, she'd make a dash for it. And then the locks were noticed.
Check and
Mate.

The girl fell onto the couch and looked up at him. "It's certainly cozier than any other interrogation room I've been in." And while she smarted, her tone wasn't as bold as before. He'd made a gun threat - of course she was going to play it a little more mildly. "Sooo..." and she popped her lips as she looked around, "how is this going to work?" And she tried to keep telling herself that she wasn't trapped - if she was, then she would positively freak out.

"I mean - what you think my dad does, surely it doesn't warrant such extreme measures," she eyed the man up and down, "This is unnecessary."

Jared watched her move to the couch. Pulling a final padlock from his pocket he slid it onto the door to the garage, the entire house was now sealed up, the only key no where to be seen, and only Jared knew where it was. “This is going to work simply I do hope, I will ask questions, you should answer them. Depending on the answers, as well as the truth behind them I will let you go when we are done, and once your answers have checked out of course.” He said with a smile.

He walked to the kitchen and opened the small refrigerator. “Care for a drink miss Pondelli?” He asked as he looked at the liquids in the fridge and then opened the freezer. Jack pot. He thought to himself as he pulled a frosted pint of an aged whiskey from the freezer. “It seems the director wants this done well, this is imported from Dublin, some of the best in the world.”

Jared turned and held the bottle up to her. With a smile he found a glass in a cabinet and poured himself a shallow glass. “What I think your father does doesn't matter, what the FBI thinks he does, and has evidence that he does, does matter. The FBI connects your father with a Mafia, or I guess more of a Mob that is into extortion, murder and least of all moon shining.” Jared said setting his glass on the table before her. “If you want that one it's yours I can pour another.”

He was one of the ones her father always warned her about.

There were good cops - these were the guys that busted someone because they were doing something illegal. They upheld the law because it was the law and that's what they were there for.
There were corrupted cops - these were the guys that the mafia got their hooks into. They let things slide and used their influence to help out certain members of society. So long as they got a cut.
Then there were crooked cops. They didn't pick a side. They picked themselves. They would betray anything or anyone, side either way, so long as they got the greatest profit. They would let things slide in one hand and brutally beat down someone for the same thing with the other. These were the worst. One minute they were your friend and the next you were ratted on a whim.

"You know that's illegal," she hummed as she picked up the glass. He was with the law and she knew he was familiar with the 18th Amendment. Who wasn't? Still, he offered. And if it was some sort of test of ethics, then the man could shove it. She was going to enjoy the drink without any strings attached. So she drew it to her ruby red lips and took a drink, cheeks flushing as she swallowed the strong substance.

"Fine," but she wasn't about to admit to any accusations he had against her father.

Jared smiled as she drank, he figured that she had already been drinking that night so he might could loosen her lips with a little more alcohol. The 18th amendment, one of the dark times in the nation, the amendment that could have almost been the cause of the rise of organized crime. Jared didn't really care for it, he did his job and did it well.

On her mental list he was what could be described as none of the above but would be most closely tied to the good cop, except he didn't always go directly by the book.

Back to the freezer he went to pull the chilled bottle out before taking another glass and pouring himself one. Placing the bottle on the counter he smiled and raised his glass to her. “Happy Birthday miss Pondelli.” He said before taking a drink and then moving to the recliner.

“So tell me, what kind of businesses does your father run?”

She was determined not to slip up while, at the same time, being determined not to seem like some frail little girl barely able to drink anything. So she drew another slow drink and she reclined on the couch, that pretty head of hers resting on the arm. Velma wasn't too bent on impressing him and didn't have any qualms assuming such a leisurely pose while he interrogated. "Thanks, uh," pausing for a minute and trying to remember his name - she didn't think he'd given her one, so she simply stuck with, "Mister." Another drink. "So, what am I calling you?" Oh, sure, there were plenty of names that came to mind, none of which were very ladylike and probably wouldn't go over well.

Velma had convinced herself that he wasn't going to harm her - nothing fatal.
She didn't think.
Still, she caught herself having to reinforce this notion, that drink doing wonders to help.

"I suppose I couldn't get you to sing it for me, eh? Not the least you could do?" It sounded sarcastic. "You know, I was going to see a film with a friend. One of those Charlie Chaplin films. I was going to laugh and it was going to be great. Now I'm stuck here and it's more like a Mary Philbin horror film." A hand was held dramatically to that clean forehead of hers.

"He doesn't give me any details," she was running through the usual bologna story that was given any time any one asked. "But Dad's done a myriad of things. In the past it's been anything from automobiles to type writers to scrap metal. As of right now he's working in used furniture. I'm sure there's a business card in my pocketbook." Of course there would be and she heaved a sigh, knowing he wasn't going to decide, 'Ah! Great! Perfect. You can go now.' She knew if he tried to verify it with someone on the other end (where ever that was) there'd be plenty of people that would agree to her statement, but nothing concrete. It was going to be a long process, and she comforted herself with the glass.

Eying her from the kitchen Jared smiled as she looked around to him and asked him what to address him as. “Jared, formalities will be of little consequence in this place, no recorders, no wiretaps, just you and I alone having a little chat.” Setting the cool glass to his lips once more he emptied its contents and set it down gently on the counter top.

“I am sorry that you won't be seeing your movie this evening Miss Pondelli, it was not my intention to ruin your birthday.” Jared smiled and walked over to the recliner once more before sitting down. Sizing her up he smiled. She was a defiant strong young woman, however, Jared knew he could break her; maybe not today, or tomorrow, but he had all the time that it would take, no one would ask questions.

Reaching to the weapon on his thigh he pulled it out of his holster, removing the clip and the round in the chamber he laid the empty weapon on the table. One by one he removed all of the rounds in the clip and placed them as well near the weapon making it useless.

Jared smirked and looked over to the locked window. “Furniture business is it?” Jared smiled, a hollowed out couch or chest could be used to move moon shine, and it wasn't unheard of for moon shiners to be inventive.

Velma finished her glass and set it on the table next to the disassembled gun. He was really, really confusing her. He was telling her that the place was not being listened to or surveyed, giving her a feeling that did not bode well - then he was taking apart his weapon as is to say, 'don't worry'.

"Of course not. No one ever does," she said blandly and waved her hand, excusing it. "Alright, then, Jared." She wished he'd given her something else, something more formal, because she wasn't about to budge in her decision that she needed to be address as Miss Pondelli. She grinned to herself, thinking that, if she'd thought quicker, she would have asked him to call her 'Queen of the Universe'. That would make things less horrible. Ah, but she didn't, so the girl silently swallowed her regret and carried on.

"M'hmm. Last year for my seventeenth birthday he had a vanity imported from some connections in Venice." Velma rested her hands one on top of the other at her stomach as she looked up at the ceiling, watching the shadows dance, her head getting hazy. "He took out a great big ad in the papers last Sunday."

"My goodness it's warm in here," sitting up, her cheeks were brushed with a delightful shade of pink - both from a state of alcohol induced elevation and being too hot. Slipping her coat off, she draped it over the back of the couch and immediately felt cooler.

Smiling he nodded to her talking about the vanity that had been imported from Venice. With a chuckle he stood up and walked over to the kitchen to refill his glass. “Would you like another miss Pondelli?” Watching her remove her coat he smiled, she was a rather attractive woman and she dressed in the style that she surely had money. When he let her sleep later he would call in on the furniture tip as well as the large ad, as to where to raid first. She may not have understood what she was doing, but it was invaluable information for Jared.

Sliding his own suit jacket off he tossed it on the arm of the recliner. Unbuttoning the sleeves of the black dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up to just over his elbows, a tattoo just appeared below the rolled up sleeve it was what looked like a green stem. The rest of the tattoo hidden under his sleeve was a shamrock, one of the symbols of Ireland.

Jared had the tattoo done before he immigrated to the states, where it was legal in Dublin. With a smile he downed the glass he had just poured, and poured himself another. With a smile he walked back with the bottle and sat it on the table. “Just in case you feel like more.” He smiled and set his half full glass on the table and let himself slide back into the recliner.

She leaned over as he offered her more to drink, reaching down and undoing the straps of her shoes and slipping them off. "Nooo thank you," came her too-pleasant hum, "but I need a straight head if I'm going to properly answer all of your questions and, as of right now, I'll admit I'm a little more effected than I'd like to be." Velma couldn't bear to drink any more, even under regular circumstances - a light thing, she was. Besides, she hated in any situation to get to the point where she lost utter control.

"A ha," she said, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Velma folded her arms resting her head on them as she moved to lay on her stomach, shoe-free feet hooked around each other angled up and swaying slightly. The girl surveyed him under heavy-lidded eyes, verging on dreamy. "You're marked! So, what is it? A stamp for a particular clan - your family back home? Perhaps some secret symbol you flash to get you access or recognition with different parts of the government? A cool snake that slithers when you flex?"