| Logs |
2002 January 16
| Cosmic Guardians |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Guardians Logs |
Background RP - Reynard - Part 2
More Than He Can Chew: Reynard’s StoryPart 2: The Morning After...
Reynard stirs, slowly becoming aware again. As he opens his eyes, he notes a few things. First, he's partly undressed, secondly he's in a bed, and thirdly, he hears the sounds of birds chirping somewhere. As he slowly rises, looking blearily around, it looks like he's in a non-descript hotel room. Sunlight pours in through a window facing the bed, and it looks like there is a tree outside, plus several cars on an asphalt parkinglot. There is also a clock on the nightstand that reads 9:00 AM.
The bounty hunter rubs his eyes. "Damnit... Not a good night..." If he was thinking that the entire episode was some dream, as he moves, the slight sting of the buckshot that scored across his back assures him it was, infact, real. Finding the rest of his cloths, the hybrid balks at the clock. "I should've slept in... I deserve it." Shaking his head, trying to clear it, he moves to the television, clicking it on, then to a channel oft with the morning news. "If anything, the press'll be on this..."
The first news station appears to be scening Martha Stewart's daughter making kung-pau chicken. The second one likewise bears no fruit, but the third, Channel 7, segues quickly into a story about an explosion that happened in a warehouse close to Central Square. There did not appear to be any major damage, as the explosion did not start any kind of sustained blaze. Police are still not certain what the cause of the explosion was. No bodies were reported on the scene, however the traces of several people's DNA were found, along with one that may have suffered a mortal wound. From there, the traffic person starts talking about the backup on Route 93 into Boston.
"Bloody hell..." Kranston? Alive? Or, whatever 'alive' is to the thing Kranston is... This does not bode well for the hunter. Stretching, realizing he has to be on his way, and figure out just what happened last night, he starts to dress. Reynard's clothes appear to have been folded neatly at one corner of the room, alnog with all the equipment he had on him, save the gun he lost at the warehouse. Just as he finishes dressing, there is suddenly a sound outside his window. A familiar sound at that. The sound of a crow cawing.
Reynard sighs. "More fun..." He turns around, walking to the window, and places his palms on the ledge. Leaning out, peering about for the crow, "'Ello?"
The room appears to be only on the second floor: the building itself has only two floors. And there is not one crow, but dozens of them, all perched on a tree. They look at him curiously, and then fly off as one, cawing loudly as they take wing.
Reynard shakes his head. "I'm going insane." He thusly leaves the room, with his equipment in tow. The hunter clambors down the stairs, looking for and finally finding the front desk, which is staffed by a youngish looking man with blond hair and freckles. "Yessir, can I help you?"
Reynard smiles charmingly. "Yah," He gives the room number he was in, "I was wondering who checked me in?"
The man blinks bemusedly, and then checks the computer at the counter. "The room was purchased under the name of "Mister Fox", sir. Paid cash for the night only. Were you planning on staying longer?"
Reynard shakes his head. "No, that's quite all right. Thank you though...say, was a phone number left?"
The man blinks, and looks at the file again. "uhm....no phone number, sir. Sorry."
Reynard nods his head. "No worries, then. Could you tell me how close the ManRay is, from here?"
The mans's eyes squinch in thought. "ManRay....that's in Central Square, right? That's actually a ways away...on the other hand, the Red Line Alewife subway stop is just around the corner, sir....and the Red Line will take you straight to Central Square."
Reynard nods. "Thanks, friend. The room's cleared, by the way." He hands over the key. "Thanks for the help."
The freckled man grins. "Stay at the Susse Chalet anytime, sir."
Mirroring the grin, Reynard makes his way to the subway station, and heads back to the club. Instead of going for his bike, the hybrid first looks for Kranston's car. Then, absently, he remembers the man's sparkplugs in his jacket, grinning lightly. Still, worth looking to see if Kurt came back For the car. As it turns out, the car is still there, and has already accumulated one parking ticket, as the space he is parked in is metered by day.
Reynard hms. He inspects the car, looking for any signs of the 'thing' that was Kranston coming back. Judging by the ticket, the assassin likely didn't; he's the type to rip it off and look at it. At least, this is the hunter's opinon. The ticket, however, proves to have been written only ten minutes ago, which implies that Reynard might have come back earlier that night, and decided to leave it when it wouldn't start. The hood is cold, by all appearance....
Reynard shrugs then, and goes to find his bike. There's more to this. Time to go back to the scene of the crime. The bike is still parked where he left it, and has *not*, thankfully, accumulated a parking ticket yet. Straddling the vehicle, the bounty hunter starts it, planning to check out the warehouse. But before doing so, he takes a detour to a refueling station to get himself a chocolate bar and soft drink; he needs that caffine in the morning to get those mental gears churning.
There is a bit of activity at the warehouse when Reynard arrives. The television crews appear to be long gone, along with any gawkers, but there are still several police cruisers around, and the area appears to be taped off, some uniformed patrolmen guarding the gate into the compound. Reynard frowns. "Bloody..." There's no way he'll get inside undetected. Likely anything worth inspecting has been tromped through anyways. Instead, the bounty hunter goes to inspect that transformer that had belched lightning at him. Part of him hopes there might have been an electrical surge. Then again, inside he feels he knows there's an...odder cause.
The transformer appears to have blown, it's sides blackened, though no one from the power company has come to look at it yet. On sight alone, it seems very peculiar. Had there been a power surge, it should have easily grounded due to the guy wire running from the transformer down to a concrete block surrounded by grass near the sidewalk.
Reynard shakes his head. "Weird..." Turning back, he heads towards one of the squad cars outside of the warehouse, offering a friendly wave towards the policeman inside. The patrolman gets out of the car, pulling a hand casually on his hip. "Can I help you, sir?" he says cautiously.
Reynard's disarming smile bubbles up. Offering the friendliest tone, ephasizing his accent, since he's found it can often get him places Americans can't, "Yes, actually." Holding his hands up in a sign of surrender, "I'm curious about something." Reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and shows his Bounty Licence.
The patrolman eyes the licence, and seems to relax, but only slightly. "About, sir?" he says politely.
Reynard leans against the car, pondering. "Well, y'see, I was tailing a really nasty fellow. Anyways, I have reason to believe he was hiding out here." A glance towards the warehouse. "I was thinking maybe he caused this mess...or, was somehow mixed up in it." Looking back to the cop, "Could you help me out?"
The patrolman looks slightly skeptical, but he takes out his digital communicator from his hip and speaks into it. "David, this is Rog. Could you ask the Lieutenant if he has a moment? There's a bounty hunter out here that thinks he might know one of the perps involved in this thing." There is a reply that Reynard can't quite make out, and then the patrolman replies, "Ten-four." and hooks the comm back to his belt. "Detective Crowe will be right with you, sir." he informs Reynard.
Reynard nods his head. "Thank you, officer. Much appreciated." He wanders a few yards from the squadcar, hands settled into his coat, palming his wallet, watching for the detective. Only a minute or so later, a bald black man comes out of the warehouse door Reynard and Kranston used last night...or rather, the entryway, as the door itself is still lying on the pavement inside the compound. He's dressed in a white button-down, crimson tie, and beige slacks, along with a beige trenchcoat. As he gets closer, a badge is visibly hanging from his belt. He offers a hand to Reynard as he gets within range. "Detective Harold Crowe," he says gruffly. "And you are?...?"
Reaching out, the hunter shakes Crowe's hand in return. "McCarter, Detective." His tone respectful, polite, professional. Lifting his other hand to show the licence, "I actually was coming here to check out the place. Supposedly, the man I was trailing was hiding here." He peers at the destruction. "Seems that if he was, he got a little rowdy." Peering back, "Mind helping me out?"
The detective eyeballs Reynard briefly. "We're still not sure what went down in there, to be honest. There was an explosion reported a little after midnight last night. But when we arrived on the scene, there were no fires, no bodies....just several dozen slugs in some boxes containing old factory machinery, some remaining shrapnel from what looked like a fragmentary grenade, oh, and that door blasted off it's hinges for some reason. Can't imagine why: the explosion was nowhere near the door." He pauses, and then adds, "This person you're looking for...what's his name? He got a police file? And what are you looking for him for?"
Reynard rubs his chin. "Oh, I looked at his record. Supposed gang thug. Vandalism, petty theft, having an unlicenced weapon... However, he killed two people. The witnesses, the family, want him, because the ferret's slipped Detroit's fingers." A shake of his head. "Not my general business, but a child was caught in the crossfire. Kid killers get little mercy in my book." A glance over his shoulder, before his brows crinkle. "Was there a storm last night?"
Crowe arches an eyebrow at the abrupt change in conversation. "Hmm? No, it was clear last night, why do you ask?"
Reynard turns on his heel. "I doubt it's any relevance but, well, look over there." He points towards the transformer. "Looks like my mother cooked it. All black and crispy."
The black detective glances where Reynard indicates. "It was like that when we got here." he says dismissively. "Maybe a stray shot took it out. Power company is on its way." He puts his hands in his pockets. "You, ah....got maybe a name and a photo of this fella you're looking for? If he's got a file, there could be some prints or DNA we can trace him to....kinda important to find this guy if he's moving from petty theft and manslaughter to illegal arms."
Reynard looks back. "Sure." A slight inward grin. Well, Kranston, if you're alive, nothing wrong with having the police on you either. Reaching into his pocket, he removes a photo of the assassin, offering it to the cop. "Kranston, Kurt."
Crowe gives the picture a brief glance, and then takes out a plastic ziploc bag and puts the picture in it. "Thanks. You got a card or something, with a number I can reach you at?"
Reynard gives a sigh. "Actually, no. I don't carry around any cards when I'm on a job. But, I can give you a phone number to check with, if you like?"
The detective nods, and takes out his comm, taking down the number as Reynard rattles it off, and then gives the bounty hunter one of his cards. "I'll be in touch if we find anything." He gives Reynard a steely glance. "You do the same, okay?"
Reynard nods his head. "Certainly, detective. Thank you." Inwardly swearing, the bounty hunter walks off, palming the card. I need to talk to Jennings...everything's leading nowhere, plus I might have just handed that cop a photo with my fingerprints on it...hope they didn't find my gun. Hopping onto his cycle, he guns the motor and is off.
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