Summary:Brief kerfuffle, civilian arrest, questionable gratitude. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The sound of footsteps running up behind you tends to inspire apprehension in all but the most unaware of human beings. Maybe it's a primitive response, ingrained since the time we were hunted by larger, more dangerous predators. Maybe it's because good things rarely happen when someone runs up on you.
Either way, today's victim is one of the unaware ones. The rapid approach goes unnoticed until it's too late. The woman is dressed well; wearing a smart business suit and carrying a briefcase in addition to her purse. The young man following her is less impressive, late teens, skinny, pale, and wearing denim jacket and pants.
When the young man picks up speed, he seems fully committed. He tries to snatch both the purse and briefcase as he passes. The briefcase comes easily enough, but the businesswoman has the presence of mind to cling tightly to her handbag, which initiates a tug-of-war. It only takes a moment before she recovers from the initial shock and starts to scream.
Most of a block away, a tallish blond man looks up at the sound and raises an eyebrow.
The scream comes at a loud volume.
Marisol wasn't doing much of anything but sitting in her police issued car, thumbing along the internet, reading random news articles about this and that. It could be sheer coincidence that she was there; but New York was just that damn big and statistics show that crime happens every minute and quite often on nearly every street corner. Last week; a man was robbed a gunpoint. The youth who robbed the man accidentially put one fraction of pressure too much upon the trigger, and shot the man cold. Thankfully, the kid wasn't brought up on murder charges, a grazed wound does stun someone who's never been shot.
Along with the sound and the thought of death…
Back to the scream, which was loud to her, as they all are. The radio was quickly brought up as a button is pressed, along with the same time of Marisol exiting the car.
"10-49 to my position. Corner of Broadway and Filmore! Persons in distress, en route to scene!"
In training, direction sense is everything. Knowing where you are at any given moment, reading the street signs and buildings until it becomes second nature. The door was slammed and chirped as Marisol takes off on foot towards the sound of the screams, holstering her radio in the meanwhile and preparing her service weapon with a flip of the latch and a hand on the grip whilst it's still in the holster.
All this activity and fuss has attracted plenty of attention. Several people nearby are watching, including the blond man. A purse snatching during the early evening hours in a city this populous isn't exactly discreet, but there are others who are jaded enough that they don't even glance up.
The wrestling for the purse continues until someone attempts to approach. Then, still holding his purloined briefcase, the thief tries to bolt. He's surprisingly difficult to grab on to, and extremely fast for such a skinny kid. A few good samaritans make half-hearted attempts to stop him without any success.
He's heading away from the approaching officer, which puts him directly in Able's path. The blond scientist rubs a hand over his chin, then shrugs one shoulder. "Why not?" he quietly asks no one in particular. He squares himself off, taking up as much of the sidewalk as possible and making himself into a fairly effective roadblock. As the thief gets closer, Able just shakes his head and wags a reproachful finger.
Skidding on his heels, the now-panicking thief spins around to head back in the direction he came from, which is sending him right back toward both his mark and a law enforcement officer. This one clearly isn't a criminal mastermind.
A light jog was all it takes to get to the scene.
A shoulder push and shrug, Sol was moments away from pulling out her gun until she sees that.. it was just a kid. Quite possibly desperate, needing money and maybe afraid. But she couldn't think about that now, the clear objective was to take him down without any lethal tactics or ones that would cause great bodily harm. As the blond man squares up, Sol was ready to hit the ground running, but as the culprit turns, Sol stops in her tracks in front of the victim, her pistol raised and at the ready.
"Stop!" She calls out, her eyes narrowed, cheek near resting on her right shoulder. There was no other time to issue other commands, she wants this one obeyed first.
It's like Sol and Able are playing tennis, only instead of a ball they have a teenager. The kid doesn't hesitate, he whirls around again and runs back toward Able, who at least isn't holding a gun.At no point has the kid tried to run across the street or down either of the alleys he's passed multiple times.
The situation is entirely too comical, save for a (rightfully) upset woman who'd very much like her attache back. Able can't help but laugh. The thief feints to one side, then tries dodging in the other direction, but without any luck. Able is too quick; he grabs the little hooligan by the back of his collar and hauls him up until his toes are just scraping against the sidewalk.
"You're not very good at this," Able says, serious but still amused. There's enough people heading this direction that he seems content to retain his one-handed hold until either the victim or someone more invested shows up. That leaves time for an object lesson. "The sun's up, the street's crowded, and no one carries cash anymore. Go get a job washing dishes or flipping burgers. You clearly don't have the knack for petty thievery."
The temptation to shoot was there. And it was due to her own ego of not being listened to; it seemed that women, especially of her size and race, had a lot to prove when it came to criminals and she didn't get this far to lose her cool when it came to some kid. So as he runs in the other direction, Sol grunts in anger and holsters her weapon. Clipping it in place, she takes the cuffs from her belt to lay in wait. Her jaw tenses as she watches, and as soon as the good samaritan lifts up the kid and begins to hold him 'hostage', Sol decidedly steps in before this gets any worse.
"I"ll take him." She says, not a word of thanks, her hand reaching out for the bag that was stolen, snatching it from the kids grip to offer it up to the woman with a drop on the ground and a kick-slide in her direction. "Sorry ma'am!" She calls out, now finally attempting to grab ahold of the youth to tug him away from Able, "Alright.." She grumbles.. for if this kid starts to struggle, he'd be in big trouble. "Back away people.." She says, rolling the cuffs so that her fingers collapse them around his wrist. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law.."
"He's all yours, Sheriff," Now that someone has arrived to relieve him of his burden, Able seems more than willing to relinquish him. The moment his feet are back on the ground, the kid tenses and glances toward an opening in the crowd, which earns him a final shake from his civilian captor. "None of that," he chides. "She doesn't strike me as the patient type."
Once he's officially released the thief into police custody, Able spares a glance for the officer on the scene while she's reading his miranda. "Go easy on Don Corleone, here. I get the feeling this is his first and last time on the dodgy path."
For his part, the teen has turned silent and sullen. It's the closest he can come to being brave under the circumstances, and even that is less effective when coupled with wide, frightened eyes and a hanging head.
Apart from dealing with those who stood by and didn't bother to call 9-1-1, and those who were filming with their phone cameras and the like, Sol tried to keep it all cool once she finished with the kids rights. "Hey thanks. But I don't need your assistance anymore. I got it from here." Nevermind the fact that the guy, who nearly seems like a waif in comparison to most, lifted the kid off of the ground. That was checked and filed away for later.
As she holds onto the cuffs of the young man, she pulls out her radio. "Suspect in custody and mirandized. Code 4. Bringing him down to One PP for booking."
'Roger that.' The male voice on the other end says.
With a tight smile towards Able, Sol carefully guides the young man towards where her car was previously parked, doing a full on perp walk without deciding to ask for a name. She'll do the final search at the vehicle. "Won't do well to threaten you kid, but I do need to know now, do you have any sharp objects or anything that can bring us both harm?" Cause, if she does stick herself, she'd possibly kill him..
"Glad to be of assistance. Wouldn't do to have an arch-villain like him on the loose, would it?" Able's response is a wry one, thick with suppressed laughter. He holds his hands out at his sides and bows his head briefly. It's an old-fashioned, almost courtly gesture. "Be safe, Sheriff."
Meanwhile, the arch-villain in question seems to be thinking better of both his activities and his attitude. Resigned to his fate, he doesn't resist as he's guided toward the vehicle. "Nothin' dangerous, Miss Sheriff. I'm real sorry."
There's a brief pause from Able when the teenager picks up the nickname guilelessly, thinking she really is a Sheriff. One of those laughs the doctor has been smothering finally sneaks out and is poorly concealed behind a cough into his fist. "Good day, then."