Lieutenant Detective Francis Hook
Location: Outside the club, down the street.
Tagging: Harper Thierry (
@p r i s m), Leonid Grenzevksy (
@Vytheril), Gabriel Matteo Vitaly (
@Malice Crowe), (Agent) Veronica Sandoval (
@Retrojapan), Luciano Gambino (
@Vinaein)
~~~/ *** \~~~
9:02pm.
They had been here all day. The tip was too good not to follow up on, with extreme prejudice. There would be no mistake or error in the cover story this time. The uniforms, the equipment, the van, the cluttered mess visible through the windows, heck even the mud stains and ingrained dirt strategically smeared across the sides, tires, and back, all carefully prepared by Lieutenant Detective, Francis Hook, Organized Crime unit.
Well maybe not as near perfect as he assumed. The workaholic that he was, how would he know the general activity and routines of any other profession, so buried within his own?
The nondescript van with the lettering
Ocean View Lights & Heating, Ltd. was parked up street of the nightclub,
The Palace, able to see in a direct line from several feet away clear to the front of the line outside the doors from the driving’s seat. It was wedged between vehicles, parked next to a bright building that looked like it needed some sort of consistent electrical work, and Francis had gotten there early to embed the surveillance vehicle among the casual outlook of the place.
Perhaps it was being parked there overnight, used for a multi-day project ongoing in this neighbourhood. No one should ask twice, right?
The front of the van was dark, tinted, and there were old coffee cups and folders of papers littered about, or shoved against the windshield. Pieces of old uniforms were mashed with the floor carpet. There were stains. Behind the two front seats there was a steel wall that separated the hold from the driver’s cabin, blocking view within. Atop was an extendable ladder, bolted spoolers of wires, utility boxes, and the like. It had all the look of heavy use in a nine-to-five routine by contracted employees who didn’t give two shits about the condition of their company-provided vehicle. Therefore to the passing crowds, it was nothing but an eye sore at best.
That was absolutely the intended effect.
Within the actual hold of the van, it was a tight but well laid out system of monitors, controls, and even a computer. The equipment and gear were atop were all for show, containing recording cameras looking in all four cardinal directions, controlled by the machinery within, where the two observers could observe all that went down on the street, and maintain a record of it, though their mandate only extended to the grounds of the shady nightclub,
the Palace, and anything else would be an infringement of someone’s rights or others. It was not as advanced as it was convenient however. Much of the tech was five or more years older. The cameras had grease and wet stains around the perimeter. The quality horrendously deteriorated when zooming in past a point. They were just at the threshold between nineteen-nineties television quality and absolute bullshit.
But it was enough.
For hours, the two detectives sat there, watching, observing, and feeling absolutely discomforted from the cramp conditions. It was a stake out. A desk fan provided some air conditioning to make it bearable. They had a trunk of cold water and other snacks. Francis Hook didn’t expect to be there more than eighteen hours, with only a third left to go. Even these criminal scumbags needed their beauty sleep sometimes, though the more crazy ones were probably able to be patient to wait until their deaths at least. There was nothing to do but watch, and wait, as the sun went down and good, proper folk left their offices after a hard day of work and the streets emptied…until darkness fell and the creatures of the night came out. It was Halloween, and people didn’t need masks to unveil their true selves on this day of all days.
9:59pm.
“Mm-hm.” Detective Fleming entertained himself, centering his remote-controlled camera on a hot young thing just reaching the front of the line. He didn’t have the camera snap, since she wasn’t any of their
known celebrities, their names on a board behind them, but he couldn’t help but admire the leather outfit and the enticing zipper that went up her front.
He’d love to see what lay under that. “When are we going to be done again?” He had to ask his superior officer.
“Not before four.” Francis replied flatly, his eyes unblinking, glued to the monitors, watching every face with the utmost keenness, as if the very next…might be the one he’s after.
“You think they’ll still be up at city hall?” Fleming inquired optimistically. They didn’t have to be working today. They were pretty high up detectives, they had the invitation to the mayor’s big shindig at city hall, with the commissioner and police chiefs and other detectives.
And those assholes in the fire department. Yet they had to be here,
watching, suffering in silence as other people got to drink and mingle and dance.
“Doubt it. And lift up your camera. We needed their faces, not their stomachs, man.” Francis snapped, reaching up to shift Toby’s camera from it’s center point on Harper’s chest back to her face. She wasn’t anyone they knew, yet, and they certainly didn’t need to be stalking some random citizen who probably hadn’t done anything wrong.
Yet.
10:32pm.
For an hour and half, since people started arriving, not much had happened. But Francis was patient. They would show up soon. And one did. Francis shot up straight in his chair, angling the camera at the clean shaven man. He didn’t even try to hide his face!
“That’s one of our guys. Who is that?” Fleming noted, looking over at Francis’ activity. He had to spin to look at their, guessed, hierarchy of the two organized crime families, but Francis didn’t need to check. He looked at their faces and their names for days on end.
“Grenzevksy, Leonid.” He stated.
“Russian immigrant. He’s some sort of soldier or enforcer for the Vitalys. He could be here by himself, he could be here with others. He’s the first, right?”
“First that I’ve seen.” Fleming nodded, but only because he was only half paying attention anyways. He’d rather look at the girls, all of whom seemed to be ten pieces and dimes.
“Keep an eye out.” Francis instructed, having snapped a picture of Leonid entering the club.
But where one ant showed up, there were bound to be more.
Yet no one noticed the Princess walking in. Fleming did, of course, but she was just another piece of ass for him to admire from afar.
10:56pm.
”Holy fuck, boys.” Fleming gasped.
Francis was already rigid, the camera centering on the man.
“Gabriel Matteo Vitaly.” He pointed out, almost a measure of pride in his tone, but not for the man he saw, but for the fact that his instincts were right.
This was a high profile mob party of some kind, for the Vitalys at least. Another immigrant. Ex-veteran too, and a damn good one. Francis saw his profile, the parts that weren’t redacted by the military, which was almost all of it.
“So we got two Vitaly soldiers here so far. Good.”
”That’s hardly a conspiracy, they could just be having a night on the town.” Fleming pointed out.
”Bull-fuckin’-shit.” Francis snapped.
”Two asshole killers walk into a bar? What is it, Charles Manson Appreciation Night? They up to something.” He hissed under his breath. They got Gabriel’s picture too, entering the bar. He didn’t even wear a mask either! And look at him, walking in like he owned the place. Didn’t have to pay no cover fee, no search, no nothing.
He probably did own a piece of the bar somehow. Francis just shook his head. No honesty or anything, yet they had so much more than the average, law-abiding American.
11:15pm.
”Those motherfuckin’ fuckin’ feds are here.” Francis swore with utter disdain.
”Where?” Fleming asked.
Francis had to lean back, crossing his arms as if in thought, but mostly to clench and unclench his fists at the sight. There she was, the fed’s little spy, so cozily shacked up with…Luciano Gambino of all people.
What the hell? A Gambino was going to go in a place where Vitalys members were? Wasn’t that asking for trouble?
”These feds man, I can’t believe them. They are the lowest of the low. Cockroaches, I’m telling you.” Francis went on, watching Veronica walk in with her
date, or whatever they were now. Didn’t she feel…disgusted, using her body like that? First the Vitalys, now the Gambinos. She wasn’t his agent in the field but still.
”They sit back and do nothing all day, then swoop in when your case is like 90% done to take it over with their jurisdiction bullshit. They say you can’t mess with this guy no more, or you’ll jeopardize an ongoing federal investigation ah, fuck them.” Francis shook his head.
”What the hell is she wearing?” Fleming had to ask.
”Who cares. Everyone’s got some get up.” Francis retorted.
”She going as female Bane from batman or something with that mask? Oh, ViCtOrY hAs DeFeAtEd YoU-“ Fleming started to mimic Bane’s accent from the movies.
”Shut up with that nonsense. God, she’s worse than the commissioner.”
”What’s wrong with the commissioner? Fleming asked, his brow furrowing for a second. Rookie. He didn’t understand the politics.
”He’s the real crook. He cuts our funding and gives us shit cameras like this. Then in court, with the shit quality, the defense gets these audible and video experts who show that this evidence is fake or spoiled somehow. Gets it all thrown out. Then the commissioner turns on our ass and blames us for the shit storm, despite him giving us this to work with. Then the cycle repeats, more cuts, more bullshit.” Francis educated the man flatly.
”Now pay attention. Get a shot of Luciano’s face. And get ready. Someone might get shot in there…”
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