Summary:Peter tries to share some info with the cops in Staten Island, and unknowingly connects with one of the Bat-Family. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The flash of red and blue lights on the area is discombobulating, the cars lined up three deep, the yellow tape, the cordone, it's all same ol' same ol' on the island. Unless you're not from the Island. New York's a shockingly clean and well ordered city most of the time… except for out this way. For whatever reason, it breeds the crazies, and it breeds them thick. Richard Grayson stands next to a small clump of NYPD uni's, chatting with them while they all, with solumn faces, studiously do /not/ look behind them at the large puddle that glistens with a thick brownish tint in the ever changing flashing lights.
Spider-Man is also there, but is currently becoming Peter Parker. He had picked up a few things from the sensors in the suit, gotten pictures of the crime scene. It wasn't for the Bugle this time—this is not the first time he's seen this.
He yanked the mask off, slipping the gloves off and sliding on his sneakers. It's no longer an isolated case. But it's not something he feels good hiding from the cops or letting them find out in the Bugle.
He checks himself, then steps out of the alley behind the police line. He steps forward, letting the camera hang around his neck, and begins to raise his hand, trying to get the attention of an officer, ANY officer.
Dick Grayson is nudged by one of the unis and turns to look in the direction he's pointing, forcing a heavy sigh from Dick and a nudge back with his elbow. He turns to head on over to the tape line, a stern expression on his face, "What's up?" he asks in a perfunctory manner. Peter has his camera, Dick has a badge around his neck. He doesn't look like the usual suspect for NYPD. He's younger then most of his collegues, though not insanely so, and he's fit, good looking, sort of guy that coulda gotten a decent job /anywhere/. He doesn't have the thousand yard stare that some cops do, especially in homocide, maybe due to his youth, there's still a person in there. Somewhere.
Peter looks at the guy, and he has a sudden gut feeling he could talk to this guy. He held up his press pass. "Hi. Peter Parker, freelancer for the DAILY BUGLE?" He looked around and felt that this wasn't the kind of thing to say around the lookie-loos. "Listen…can we talk? I have some info about all…this."
Dick Grayson was totally about to take a sip from that water bottle in his hand. Yup. Not so much anymore. He pauses, a single brow climbing his forehead a bit before he shrugs, "Sure thing." he says, pulling the rope up and ducking under before turning so that the pair of them can walk a good distance away from the crime scene. You know, where it's darker adn creepier. And lonelier. He glances around, seems to think it's far enough, then motions with the water bottle while staring hard at the reporter. A silent 'continue…' in the motion.
Peter takes a deep breath. "There are three other cases. One in Chelsea. One in Chinatown. One in Midtown. Let me give you some details." He ticks off his fingers. "The upper and lower epidermis is left behind. There is no other biomatter. Hair and nails are intact. You may find teeth. Any condition, but completely whole. No signs of forced extraction. The skin is in excellent to good condition."
Dick Grayson /was/ sipping the water this time, but he lowers it from his lips and Peter now has the detectives undivided attention, "And this isn't the sort of thing you're plastering on the front page of your paper because….?" he asks curiously.
Peter sighs. "First…there is no type. The first was a 34-year-old black woman. The second was a 54-year-old Asian man." He paused. "The one in Chelsea was a 13-year-old Caucasian child…" he says, his voice tightening slightly. "There is no type. No common thread to the victims. Without more information, it's a non-story. And what purpose would it serve to publish half a story about a serial killer without any kind of caution other than 'be afraid of everyone?'"
Dick continues to listen without saying anything, eyeing the young man in front of him in silence as he rambles off 'facts' about the case. "Sell papers." he says flatly in the tone of a man who's dealt with way to many NYC papers and not enough decent ones to warrent the title. He does sip his water this time, "Knew about Chelsea." he admits freely, though whether or not he knew about the others is up to some debate. "So what's your angle then? If it's not to sell papers?" he doesn't look as jaded as the other cops, but it's SI and shit doesn't work down here like it does in The City proper. This place is… well, just worse really.
Peter chuckled. "Maybe I'd like to crack it, find a good lead, maybe blow the lid off it before I can submit it to the Bugle."
A quick answer. A pat answer. One that has been practiced most likely. "Right now, I have a few suspicions, but none of them fit all the facts. But this one…the blood in the area suggests something different happened here. Attacked, had…SOMETHING melt their insides or something, and then…discarded them right here."
Dick shakes his head at the supposition as if he knew something Peter did not, "Maybe." he says before staring at the kid hard, "Okay, so now comes the obvious questions. Who are you, why are you here chasing this-and don't say a story, and how do you know all of this if the NYPD, the single body incontrol of all three crime scenes, hasn't yet put together the connections? A shocking revelation considering the high-tech nature of todays interconnected police force." he sips the water again and gives Peter Cop-Eyes. Hrm. Something about the guy doesn't add up frankly. To young to be a pro, he should be blogging, not working at a dying industry like a paper. The camera is suspect too, who uses an actual camera like that anymore? Wrong lens for far away work, which means close up shots? Weird. Few to /no/ media types get close enough to a crime scene to snag a good shot without a telephoto lens. Especially unestablished kids. Idly, Dick wonders if he may not have found his killer right here, revisiting the site, insinuating himself into the investigation… hrm…
Peter was a little stung. "Because, Detective, you guys don't talk to each other. I bust my buns to chase down every lead I have…"
He DOES do a little webslinging, but he's not going to tell Officer Handsome that.
"…and you all tend to get a little insular when it comes to who solves the case first, anyway. And maybe I put it together becuase I happen to be a smart guy, Detective Grayson."
Dick shakes his head, "That's different departments, and mostly a media driven misnomer. In reality ComSat requires that all information be put into a centralized database that then crunches the information and spits it out so that all parties can work on it as a unit or as required. The days of territorial pissing contests are widely gone. About a decade ago, give or take. That's the old guard. The new guys," himself included, "we're not that stupid. Lower crime rates, crimes solved, helps raise all ships so to speak." he smirks, "I won't say that there isn't some competition within the ranks, but not at the expense of catching a murderer." Unless it's Staten Island. Those Precincts are um… suspect. But what are you gonna do? Tell the press that?
When Peter gets defensive, Dick just grins a little more and puts his hands up in mock horror, "Ooooh, so sorry there Mr. Stark, didn't realize you were masquerading as a newsboy in your spare time. I'll see to it we put a mark in your file about your latent intelligence." it /should/ sound like mocking or as if he were digging at Peter, but it doesn't. The tone is all wrong, it's more friendly and ball-busting then real intent to insult. "So let me see if I've got this right," he says, finishign the water bottle and stuffing it's crumpled carcass into his pocket, "you've come all this way to tell us that not only are there three more such victims, but that they have nothing in common far as you can tell save the method of their demise?"
Something about this guy was rustling his jimmies right proper. For a moment, he looked at him and saw Flash Thompson. The old Flash, the one who called him the King of Geeks. In a bad way. The part of his brain he referred to as "Stupid Mouth" loaded up the insult ammo and prepared to let fly.
Then he realized he was about to lip off to an officer of the law, and WAS HE OUT OF HIS COTTON-PICKIN' MIND?
He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes. "Yes…that is exactly what I am saying. Do what you want with the information."
He had to get out of here. It seemed like something inside him wanted to pick a fight. He had to control himself.
Dick Grayson watches all of this play out on Peter's face like a movie screen, tilting his head to the side and smirking a bit. It's really just… to easy. "I know who you are Parker." he says suddenly, unsolicited. And for the first time in the interaction, he's taking lead. Rather then just proding and listening and proding again, he's decided to take the subject first. "I'll check on what you gave me, and if it's legit, I'll look into it, see what I can find. But I find you're yanking my chain and I'm gonna make a project out of you. I'm not sure if you're running game or being a decent guy, but I'll find out. Let's hope it's the later, eh? I mean I have some free time but I'd hate to waste it parked in Queens waiting for you to jaywalk so I can cite you." his grin becomes just a smidgen wicked as he leans in, "And if you hurt my little sister Hel, I'll break your kneecaps with a stick."
If Peter only knew. Dick knew who he was the moment he walked up, because of course he did. He has a file on Peter a half inch thick, assuming it was printed out. He knows Peter's credit score, his grades, work history, familial situation, he has write ups on the old lady he lives with, his boss (Jamesons a jackass), even a basic run down on his friends. He's dating a Bat. Wittingly or not, there are strings attached to that family. He winks and stands up a bit straighter, "Eh. I'm just messing with ya kid. Hel says you're a stand up guy." he gets more serious, "But honestly, that all you got? All the 'big brother' shenannigans aside, fun as they are, this shit is next level." he tosses a thumb over his shoulder at the scene behind him, "Anything you have could be useful and we could use it, even if it's bad. Bad helps us weed out the terrible."
Peter STARED at him. Well, well, well, Helena has a big brother that works in Staten Island. And he's a COP. A DETECTIVE. Ladies and gentleman, may I present Alice Cooper, singing WELCOME TO MHY NIGHTMARE.
"She…uhm…didn't mention you…I don't think." He racked his brains, trying to remember. Nope. No Detective Grayson. Ah, what FUN.
It takes him a few seconds before he realizes Grayson is saying WORDS and he should be LISTENING. He looks at Grayson, winching his mouth closed before it could make his life worse. Restart the brain, send the message again.
"Oh…well, here are the case numbers." He takes out a small notepad of paper and scribbles three police file numbers, before tearing it off and handing it to…did he give his first name? "Uhm, here, Detective Grayson," he says quickly.
Dick Grayson takes the paper, eyes it once, then tucks it away in his pocket, "Dick." he says, "Yeah, I know, but a guy named 'Peter' might not wanna make any jokes on that account. Capice?" he quips, offering a genuine smile and extending a hand, "Nice to meet you officially. I was kidding about the whole making a project out of you thing. I don't have time for that sort of crud, got a life to lead and all that. Luckily for me, kneecaps break /super/ fast. Could do that on a coffee run." he's still grinning in that friendly manner, which means he's clearly kidding. Right? Or, ya know, a psychotic. But surely. Kidding…? "If you run across anything else, you'll call me." that parts not a question either, and he extends a business card in his free hand, Detective Richard Grayson, Third Grade, Homocide, Staten Island, NYPD. Complete with number and a wee stamped police badge on it.
Dick. His name is Dick.
One might actually HEAR Stupid Mouth cackling as it opened a large file cabinet marked JOKES AT DICK GRAYSON'S EXPENSE and started eagerly filling it.
Control, control…
"Yeah…if anything turns up, you'll be the first person I call."
He's gotta get out of here. The mirth is blooming in his mind like a mushroom cloud, and if he doesn't get out of here soon, he's going to open his mouth and let something slip…or have a brain aneurysm. Really, could go either way.
"I'd…better get going, Uhm, tell Helena I said hi, and that I'll see her soon."
Klaxons and flashing lights are blaring in his head. He was about to lose containment.
Dick Grayson just eyes the kid, "Seriously?" he asks, watching the slow meltdown occur, "Go on." he says shaking his head with a wry smile, "I'll tell Helena we ran into one another, give her my two cents on you." he doesn't mention how that'll play out, but Dick can hazard a guess on the matter. At least it'll be entertaining if nothing else. "See you around Peter." somehow, that didn't sound inviting.
Peter is pleasant, smiling, but he loses control when he gets a block away, but all the jokes get jammed up in his mouth, so none of them escape his lips.
He takes the subway. He doesn't trust himself. He can take the subway to the bridge…
He barely makes it into the blessedly empty subway car before he BRAYS laughter. He holds his sides as he collapses in a chair, laughing so hard he thinks he WILL get an aneurysm. He can't help it. So it's better that he does it here and gets it out of his system before opening his mouth in front of a cop/Wayne heir/Helena's brother.
He continues to laugh as the subway car rolls on into the night…