He'd arrived at the cafe about a half hour before the set time he was to meet the two men that had contacted him about the flyer he'd posted. Bax had taken their messages and saved them, like clippings from a newspaper. He'd sent copies to his second burner phone, just in case, and saved another set on his regular phone, which he was scrolling through now as he waited for his company at a booth with a untouched cup of black coffee, no sugar, cooling on the table in front of him.
One was Lincoln. Or Linc or King, as he preferred. Lincoln, from what he'd experienced, seemed chatty. You learned a lot when dealing with people on the street. When people met you on the street to buy illegal substances from you, they were at their barest, stripped down and honest. It wasn't always pretty and that was fine. There were often people who talked a lot and people who talked a lot always had something to hide, like they were filling the air where your curiosities and suspicion should go, pushing them out of the way and taking over. Taking control. There was a recovering addict, which had been a common sight, or the housewife, just looking to escape her dull, daily life. They talked a lot, like they were nervous, like if they didn't, they'd be exposed. But the more they talked, the more they exposed themselves.
The second man, whose name he hadn't been given (probably for the better for the other party), had the CrowNet Handle "I Like Big Books". He was a private investigator. There wasn't a whole lot he could read about the man from the way he spoke in his messages, other than the fact that he see to be noble. Or loyal. Like an old bloodhound. In that respect, Bax figured he'd have to be a little more careful. Big Books seemed to be as open as Lincoln seemed closed. That too, could be dangerous. Open people had a way of making others forget themselves.
Or maybe Bax was wrong. Maybe Lincoln King was just chatty. And maybe Big Books was just a P.I. looking for a job.
He'd have to wait and see.
Last edited by Kendal on 22 Nov 2016, 08:47, edited 1 time in total.
"I have a WHAT? With who?" Lincoln groaned loudly, gripping the phone a little too firmly as he held it to his ear and listened irritably to the annoyingly calm voice of his secretary. She was largely a godsend, an utter peach who was always prepared and good at keeping Lincoln's schedule on track when unexpected surprises cropped up. Mostly she seemed to just think him eccentric, a busy man with passion and drive who didn't always have time to focus on the little things and let his whims take him when a good idea cropped up. Little did she know that he himself was a very focused, driven man who just so happened to have a photographic memory and was wicked sharp when it came to picking up those little details most missed; the problem was that Kingsley, the man who shared his body was far from being on the same wavelength. The tension headache building was a good indicator that this lack of memory was related to something more than one to many drinks. "I set a meeting, even though I had asked you to block outgoing communications until 8am this morning... I called you from a different phone? Did you write down the number? Yeah, good, that is something I guess. Look, i'll check my emails and i'll head over but... No, no stop apologising, I must have forgotten. Yes, it was a big night... Ok, yes, I will see you tomorrow. Good night." The connection was cut with an irritated tap at the screen, Lincoln discarding the phone on his desk as if it might burn a hole in his hand if he held on any longer. His handy little vintage mint tin was rummaged for, located easily enough in an inner pocket of his jacket, Linc flicking it open and then just stopping; it was as if he had been on autopilot and woken up to himself with a start. The snap of the lid closing once more was loud enough that Linc shuddered in response, feeling the noise stab at his sorry senses that were already fragile from the headache lingering as a reminder of this morning's hideous hangover and shoved it unceremoniously back out of view. The temptation to bring about the pleasant haze that would eventually turn into sharp, single-minded focus was immense but he needed his wits about him if he was going to get through the night.
Half an hour later, after a quick read from the last communication he remembered had him caught up and cursing under his breath. Yep, there was no denying that this was indeed Kingsley's handy work, he couldn't blame it on just the scotch, well at least some of it. In a way he wasn't overly mad, Kings had done a somewhat impressive job of playing "Lincoln", the biggest clue being the request to be called King and of course the number was a burner phone that had indeed been discarded. Damn. He should have figured his day would go on a downward spiral considering how well it had started, too well after a bender night. He'd woken earlier than he would have liked, still two hours before he was due to go into the office, wrapped in the warmth of another body, a leg hitched over his hip and soft breath against his chest. Lincoln's eyes felt heavy remembering it, far more tempted to crawl back home to his bed than go meet about a missing teen. Then again, it was a mystery and he did enjoy those; considering where it was and what he had thought of last night in his drunken daze he figured it might not be that hard to solve. Drugs, vampires or just wanting to run the hell away and not be found for a while. He got that, he'd been there and he'd done it, sure he'd skipped out to go study and better himself, to explore Europe and enjoy a Swedish lifestyle. It was what got him through the short walk to the cafe, letting the cool air clear his head and memories of being anywhere else making him wonder why he ended up coming back. He had the resources to help, he knew some dealers and people on the party scene, he had friends all over that might have seen the kid and his own app could be used to track his if he had it downloaded.
If he was being honest he'd seen a picture of the guy looking, thought he was cute and was in a magnanimous mood, albeit drunken, mood. On top of that he figured it might look good to have his company helping out the local community and making a show of involvement. It certainly lined up with his "Find Someone" campaign they were working on, though of course the finished project would have a snappier name once he was done listening to his employees mountains of less than stellar ideas and put his foot down about the final choice. The Interwebz cafe wasn't exactly one of his preferred haunts, and he knew probably looked slightly out of place in his suit. Linc had ditched the tie on the over, rolling it up and shoving it into a pocket, loosening the top few buttons as he used his hip to shove over the door. He'd made good time, it was only 6.57pm so he figured the guy was probably here by now and a quick scan had him trying to match the description and fuzzy picture with a man who had taken a whole booth up by himself. It was a close enough match that Lincoln figured he was unlikely to make an *** of himself by approaching, and really he didn't care overly about what the sort plebian creatures that chose this as their fave hang out thought. A few long strides had the tall man standing beside the table, leaning forward slightly in an effort to catch the attention of his target. "Bax?"
B r e a k t h e c h a i n s , s e v e r t h e l i n k s . . .
A n d w e l c o m e y o u r n e w M o n a r c h y
The end of a pen hung suspended from between his lips with the slow decline of a cigarette that hadn’t quite ashed. He was half-tempted to bite down; to snap the brittle casing and release both frustration and a tide of bitter ink across his tongue. A modern day L-pill for the chickenshit and the nine-to-fivers. The poor bastards with the ‘respectable’ jobs and stiff smiles that never quite reached their eyes. The sort of smile that suggested that they were one carefully halved portion of valium away from funneling the stale office coffee down the throat of a coworker, styrofoam and all. The car’s interior was littered with manilla envelopes; scattered across the passenger seat and the dashboard. The sallow color of the folders were a stark contrast to the rest of the car itself. The exterior gave off a faded gleam; a lackluster shade that hovered somewhere between charcoal and gunmetal. It had an incomplete look; as if someone had begun to sand a previous paint job and had realized only partway through that they’d forgotten the primer.
It was a far cry from the vintage Thunderbird that had belonged to his mother. She’d salvaged it from a junkyard his Freshman year of high school. It had taken the better part of her paycheck. She’d mistaken the way he’d drawn his lower lip between his teeth for anticipation. Appreciation. Sterling had swept a critical eye along its candyshell red exterior, pitted with evidence of its neglect. The metal had worn thin, speckled with the corrosive orange of rust that scabbed along the wheel wells like mange on the street mongrels that paced the narrow alleys of their neighborhood, their eyes like campfires in the gathering dusk. The paint had flaked away along the outer rims of concave dents, and the chrome along the rear bumper had clouded, milky with a series of scratches that crowded its surface. She had been fiercely proud of it; running her fingers shyly along the ridge of its headlights the way the girls that loitered outside of the convenience store smoothed back wisps of stray hair from the forehead’s of boys far too old for them.
It had been an early birthday present, she’d said. He spent the better part of the year seeing to its repairs; sanding the worst of the damage from its exterior, as if he could shave the worry lines that formed around his mother’s eyes with enough persistence. The car had been his first. He remembered how the engine turned over with the clotted, wheezing inhale of a chronic smoker. He shook himself from those thoughts, returning to the maze of paperwork draped across his lap. It was a grid; stations, with the locations of ATMs carefully marked. Most banks had a constant loop surveillance footage; film that could be transferred into stills, enlarged. Buildings that had collapsed in on themselves, favored by squatters and junkies.
The pen fell from his mouth a minute later, narrowly avoiding the open lid of his evening coffee by degrees. “Asshole,” he informed it, shooting what he hoped was a withering scowl of disapproval, before turning the keys in the ignition. Where once the Thunderbird had issued a strangled note, the Cobra’s engine was a muted affair; masked by the harsher sound of the heat as it rushed from the vents. Twenty minutes later found him outside of the Interwebz Cafe. He allowed the engine to idle for a moment, using the time to sweep the paperwork back into their appropriate folders. It was only after he had the items he needed and was mostly assured that there was no immediate danger of his pen menacing his coffee further that he cut the engine and stepped outside. He pushed through the door a moment later, wordlessly scanning the cafe for any sign of the man he’d agreed to meet. Easier said than done, considering neither had exchanged details that might have been helpful; what sort of tacky Christmas sweater the man favored, for instance. His gaze settled on Lincoln a split second later, and he started forward, operating on a hunch. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re ‘Baxtard.’ Because the alternative is that I’ve just ruined your Tinder hookup.”
It had been just enough time for him to settle. Every new place was like a new shoe; it took some time to break in. The seat under his *** was still uncomfortable, the place still had a strange smell, people were still staring at him like, ‘poor guy, probably got stood up’ but for now, he was comfortable. His eyes flicked up as he heard the door open and he watched idly as a man in a casual suit walked in. He didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the occupants of the café but it almost seemed like he’d made the effort to. Baxter could only guess that it was Lincoln. In fact, he was willing to bet money on it. Lincoln King. King Lincoln. Linc, as he said he liked being called. The chatty one that owned a business. (Or was it several?) His guess was that Big Books might have dressed more comfortably, or warmly, like his personality seemed to come off. He grinned a little to himself. Another thing to note, another thing to remember.
Baxter set his phone down, gaze lowering as he took that final inhalation, and held it. He almost stood so he could shake the man’s hand but in doing so, he nearly had his head knock into Lincoln’s and he sat right back down, abruptly, crashing like the Tower of Babel. He lifted his gaze to stare at Lincoln and he blinked just once before his lips automatically pulled into a smile.
"You must be the King." he said and he held his hand out for the other man to shake, chuckling. No sooner had he extended his hand, did he notice from the corners of his eyes, a dark vehicle pull up into the lot outside. He stood and glanced past Lincoln’s shoulder at the window, his brows rising as he watched the driver of the car, step out and head for the door. Baxter looked back at Lincoln and smiled again, opening his mouth to speak before...
"I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re ‘Baxtard.’ Because the alternative is that I’ve just ruined your Tinder hookup."
Ah, so it was him.
Humorous. Lax.
Baxter smiled and it hurt his face.
He’d been right on some aspects. Big Books looked about as friendly as his messages translated. He hadn’t expected the Cobra though. It was another curious little detail he tucked away, like a trophy, to take with him after and dissect in the privacy of his little corner at the warehouse. It wasn't something he was about to not pick apart.
He chuckled and held his hand out for the third man as he’d done for Lincoln.
"Baxter." he corrected, gently. "Nice car." he added, gauging for any extra details.
Last edited by Kendal on 19 Nov 2016, 07:13, edited 1 time in total.
Lincoln King was the kind of man who believed in the importance of first impressions. He’d spent a lot of time in the past studying body language and memorising visual cues. It didn’t hurt that he was able to store every scrap of information in his mind, filing it away into photo albums he could flick through at opportune moments to summon the right response or skirt imminent drama . Of course it came with downsides, there were many things trapped in his mind that he could never forget and for that he couldn’t find himself being entirely grateful for the way his mind worked. Bax gave an instant impression of someone who should in every way reasonable fit in, there was nothing about him that screamed out of place and yet there hovered this cloud of unease that seemed to create weight in the air that surrounded him. When Lincoln looked at him he saw beyond the casual exterior, imagining that inside of him a parasite squirmed in dissatisfaction with it’s host. It was like something crawled, irritated and impatient just beneath the surface waiting to be unleashed. Kingsley might be threatened, something told Lincoln this guy could give him a run for his money. All of that and he still presented his hand, his smile lazily tilting his lips upwards as he greeted Bax. Of course, all that was for naught as the man tried to rise a little too close to him, it becoming immediately apparent that the pair were on a dangerous collision course. Linc took a half step back and Bax dropped like a sack of bricks into his seat, just avoiding the potentially disastrous interaction. The near miss was evidence enough that the man was taller than him; by an inch perhaps but enough of a difference that the knock would have had his brain bouncing violently in his skull. A concussion was rarely a good way to start a relationship but he laughed off the near miss, shaking the man’s hand.
Reassuring warmth and energy emanated from him, one could never be certain in this town but his touch spoke of humanity. Not that Lincoln disliked or was afraid of the undead, well, of the vampires at the very least but it was good to know what you were up against if things went south. "Yeah, Lincoln King, it's good to officially put a name to the face." The man's gaze had moved beyond him by the time he was done speaking, perhaps seeking out the third member of their rag tag search party. Lincoln of course followed suit and settled his sights on a handsome man with stubble that spoke of too many late nights spent focused on some inane task or other. The car was an interesting choice, he eyed it speculatively as he thought of his own vintage, deep cherry red convertible still parked a few blocks away. What did a car say about a person? Did it say **** at all? Did he care to speculate rather than give his attention to the person he'd come here to see? Nah, he didn't give a damn.
He turned back to Bax, lips parted to comment, the man wearing a near identical expression which might have been comical other under circumstances. Neither of them managed a word before another voice sounded at his back. Baxtard. The name and surrounding comments made him laugh, a low sound that caught in his throat as if it were playing coy before escaping. Turning to get a better look it appeared the man was speaking to HIM. Lincoln made a vague gesture towards Baxter and a curt shake of his head as his original companion corrected the new arrival in a manner that was almost too polite in contrast to his posture. It made Linc question It’s sincerity. "And i'm Lincoln King, alas not the Tinder date. Besides, Tinder is sub par. Have you heard of Bitr? Far more appropriate in this special snowflake of a city." He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a thin wallet and from it two business cards, pressing one towards both Sterling and Baxter. "Never underestimate the power of social media. Should we sit, Mr...?" Linc trailed off to allow the time for reply, already lowering his tall frame into the booth, arranging his legs in a manner that was comfortable enough and still allowed room for the others; it was going to be close quarters no matter what he did. This had to be the P.I., he cut an interesting figure that had Lincoln's green gaze dipping up and down to take in all the details. The stubble in theory should have matched his outfit, it was casual and yet neat, well fitted in a way that said the man cared somewhat about how he appeared. Another little puzzle, each of them holding back, each of them sizing up the other. Some twisted part of Lincoln’s mind thought it might be a fun gaming trying to work out whether the pieces fit and how.
B r e a k t h e c h a i n s , s e v e r t h e l i n k s . . .
A n d w e l c o m e y o u r n e w M o n a r c h y
‹Sterling Monsivais› "Sorry. The r's. They **** me over every time," he countered. The mild correction, in most cases, would have been enough to give someone pause, their smile flagging, the weight of the faux as subtle and slight in its weight as a noose feathering against the hollow of their throat. Sterling just shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets, the corner of his mouth quirking in a lopsided, sheepish grin. It resulted in a scramble a heartbeat later; his right hand freeing itself to accept the hand Baxter offered. "Thanks. I know." His gaze flicked briefly to Lincoln. "I haven't." His inflection wavered between an apology and a question. His hand freed itself from Baxter's grip a moment later. He accepted the proffered business card with a quiet sort of enthusiasm. "Monsivais," he replied, distractedly. "That depends on how much attention you want to attract." He didn't protest the suggestion, however.
‹Kendal› In the brief moment the two interacted, Baxter tore his gaze away to look over out the window to the car again. Looks like he’d have to privately investigate this private investigator himself. He made a note of it before looking back at the pair and offering them another smile, though, lost in his thoughts, he’d completely missed what they were talking about. He’d caught that the P.I.’s name was Monsivais, which to him, sounded French or maybe even Spanish but it was something he’d look up later to confirm. Lincoln, he thought, mentioned Bitr but he wasn’t entirely sure what the illustrious figure had mentioned about the app. He reminded himself to pay closer attention and focused fully on his company.
‹Lincoln King› As he watched both of them out of the corner of his eye Lincoln managed to look suitably distracted, as if waiting for the pair to get their **** together and join him at the table. "Mr.Monsivais." He repeated, committing it to memory and filing it at the top of the other small details he'd picked up about the man thus far. "Got a first name? Let me guess, it's just as long." His smile was a little too sharp and all too fleeting, his lips dropping back into their naturally pouted position shortly after as he dropped the card he'd pulled Baxter onto the table where the man might return.
‹Sterling Monsivais› He took a moment to retrieve his wallet from the depths of his back pocket. It was a compact affair; minimalist in its design. It hovered between a shade of charcoal that had paled with age, and softer highlights along its creases, closer to a dull navy. He inserted the card into the billfold, tapping it into place with exaggerated care. Whether the gesture was a courtesy, or a way to mask the fact that he felt slightly out of his depth, it was impossible to tell. The car wasn't the only thing that contrasted with his image. The edges of the wallet hadn't softened with age, dulling the leather. They appeared deceptively sharp, holding an air of crispness that was at odds with the rest of his ensemble; a pale gray cowlneck sweater and a worn pair of jeans. "Sterling," he replied, as he made his way over to the table, settling into the seat opposite. "I'll spell it out for you, real slow. Promise."
‹Kendal›Baxter smiled again. He picked up the business card to look it over and thought to himself. This must have been what businessmen in their suits did, or else how else would their businesses grow? He slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket as he listened to the slight banter. Oh boy. He cleared his throat pointedly before taking a seat. "Would either of you like something to drink?"
‹Lincoln King› His shark smile lit his features, softer now and showing hints of genuine amusement as he studied the other man's face. "Spelling? Ah, wouldn't want you make promises you couldn't keep, Sterling." He flicked those green eyes Bax's way, "That depends, how putrid is the coffee here? Nah, i'm ok, thanks for the offer. What about you, Silver?"
‹Sterling Monsivais› His expression was vaguely pained in response to the posed question. "I wouldn't wish it on you." The words tumbled out of him. "Nah. I have coffee --" He started, catching himself. "In my car." For a moment, his expression was crestfallen. "Besides. I wouldn't want to waste any more of the gentleman's time." His gaze settled on Baxter . "Let's start with the basics."
‹Kendal› There was that smile again when Sterling mentioned not wanting to waste his time. Something akin to relief washed over his face for a flicker of a second before his persona was back to the ever-present grin. He took his phone and flipped it over so that the screen rested on the tabletop. "Right then." He said as he sat back with his spine flat against the booth’s seat. "The basics are on the flyer." He said as he took out a copy he’d xeroxed out from inside his jacket and set it down. "But if we’re going beyond basics, he’s escaped from a hospital in Toronto after a bad trip… my guess is LSD as he’d been keening to try it before I left. I doubt he has much cash on him so he’s probably still on the streets," he shifted a little in his seat before straightening his spine. "Unless he found a shelter, though I doubt he’d go in even if he did."
‹Lincoln King› Lincoln's brows went up as the extra details were added, studying the piece of paper with a cool distance. "I asked around some of the local dealers, no one seems to remember seeing the kid coming back for more so that's something I guess. Wouldn't hurt to check out the slums anyway, if he was looking for a cheap place to crash. I have to ask; what's your connection with the missing man?" His brows furrowed as he watched for reaction, figuring it might tell him more than spoken answer alone.
‹Sterling Monsivais› He didn't spare the flyer more than a cursory glance. He was already familiar with the content, sparse as it was. He'd spent the better half of the evening poring over a far less pristine copy, noting the specifics and cross-referencing the information with an ancient database. It had taken the better part of twenty minutes for the page to load. It had done so ponderously; skimming criminal records and realty pages. Fifteen minutes of combing through its findings yielded inconclusive results. Nothing useful; the information was unreliable, at best. Gaps in years that followed no discernible pattern. He'd given up some hours later, after his eyes had begun to water, the stinging, tell tale pressure of exhaustion as sharp and insistent as the barbed edge of a fish hook against their sockets. "If he's low on cash, the local soup kitchen may be a place to start. They keep to a fairly strict schedule. You've more or less ruled out shelters or safe spaces." He shrugged. "Still worth a look. You mentioned a hospital. Any chance they may have called to alert others in the area?" He paused, brow creasing slightly. He shot Lincoln a look. "Subtle."
‹Kendal›"Hm." Bax regarded Lincoln’s words thoughtfully, his dark brows pulling together. "Yeah." He stared at the flyer, or rather, he stared right through it. He looked over at the Private Investigator as he spoke. "Of course, but it’d be a waste of time. However, you /are/ the P.I." he smiled. "You likely know more about missing persons cases than I." he then nodded. "They might have though I doubt it; he doesn’t have any family that would’ve pressed them to look." he lifted his phone briefly to check the date. "By now, with the dropping temperatures, it’s likely he’s starting to get ill, if he’s still alive. My hopes are that someone has been kind enough to admit him to one of the two hospitals here in Harper Rock…" He trailed off as the other man’s question broke through the haze that was clouding his thoughts and he glanced up, looking between him and Sterling. "No worries, Mr. Monsivais, it’s a perfectly reasonable question. After all, I could be in the mob.. or a hitman. If he’s running away, there must be a reason. Maybe I’m lying about the bad trip, hm? It could even be a less fanciful situation, like my being an abusive ex." he then smiled faintly. "But no need to worry… he’s a friend." he drew an "x" over his chest. "Cross my heart."
‹Lincoln King› Linc sucked his pouty lower lip between his teeth, nibbling it rather than doing what he had intended to use his mouth for; to speak "bite me" silently in Sterling's general direction in response to the subtle remark. He was currently amused by it, but he knew his acceptance of teasing ran a fine line before it plummeted sharply into aggressive response and right now there was no time for it. "My staff and I sometimes head down to shelters to help out, helps to spread a good name for business' by getting involved in the community." Linc pulled out his phone, starting a list of places to look. "Shelters, slums, hospitals. I'm happy to share this with your permission to widen our contact base." The man tapped just below the image, tracing idly beneath the face of a young man. "So there is no one here, or no specific place your friend might turn? I mean, a guy potentially missing pants or shoes, that might be noticed. He'd have to steal or buy something to wear, surely."
‹Sterling Monsivais› His gaze averted, settling onto the surface of the table. His shoulders hitched sharply as the edge of his thumbnail dug into the cheap formica, idly tracing a pattern. There was a faint give to the laminate; a mild sort of buckling that left a slight indentation in the shape of a crescent. "Narrowing down where he would have gone /to/ buy anything is easier said than done." He released a short exhale. "Have you filed an official police report?" The question was light. Too measured. Baxter's response would go a long way towards filling in the blanks.
‹Kendal› Bax watched the two curiously, his pale gaze sliding between them. It was like watching a sitcom special on TV. It was hard for him to believe this was a formal meeting on a rather serious matter. Or he hoped the other two thought it was serious. Maybe they didn’t. Why would they? They didn’t know Fred. Bax rolled a shoulder to loosen tensing muscles. He then laughed quietly. "The police that put him in the hospital to begin with? No, I have not." he folded his arms over his chest. "He was caught with drugs before he was taken in; I doubt the cops will be all too cooperative in handling a drug-addled teenager." he glanced at Lincoln. "I’m the only one he has." His tone was different this time around. Not quite grim but teetering. There was /something/ about it. Indiscernible but firm. Rigid. Certainly a change from the amicable pitch his voice had been carrying the entire time. He glanced up at the men’s faces and smiled again until the outer corners of his eyes creased. "Feel free to share it with your network."
‹Lincoln King› The smile was borderline unconvincing but Lincoln couldn't quite place the why attached to it. It didn't look overly forced, but it didn't seem to fully reach the depths of Bax's eyes and considering the circumstances it seemed utterly out of place to be smiling like that. He himself wasn't being overly somber about the situation but then again he didn't think being overly intense would help the situation any. Maybe he was just trying to do the same? The man whispering in the back of his mind didn't help his nerves any, he'd been edgy all day thanks to a big night. "On it." He muttered, staring at his phone once more as he sent out the pre-prepared social media posts, anticipating the approval. "Done. Ok, well, look I'm not P.I. all I can offer is my resources which are considerable. I have connections, and I'm happy to lend them to a cause because I would hate to think of my friend out there... And I was looking for something to do. I'm nosy." He didn't mention the fact that he actually tended to care about people because that seemed too close to truth.
B r e a k t h e c h a i n s , s e v e r t h e l i n k s . . .
A n d w e l c o m e y o u r n e w M o n a r c h y
‹Sterling Monsivais› There was something about Baxter's narrative that didn't quite fit. As if someone had blindly swept a series of nearly identical puzzles into a single box, and attempted to reconstruct them months later. The edges overlapped. It was almost convincing. "Police do arrest addicts," he began carefully. "Particularly in Harper Rock. There's a zero tolerance policy for suspected illicit activity." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Legally speaking, they still have to abide by the code of ethics. Addicts are supposed to have a right to human treatment." He paused. "Of course, that means **** all in some provinces." His gaze sharpened a second later, catching the shift, subtle though it was, in Baxter's tone. An unreadable expression flickered across his features, briefly softening them. "Look," he said at last. "We'll find your friend. I'll swing by a few clinics, maybe check in with the hospital tomorrow morning. I'll set a schedule; it's probably better to keep checking in with them. Mr. King can do a sweep of the slums. "I'll make a few phone calls later tonight. Check in with the stations, see if he might have taken a connecting subway. The soup kitchens are probably a last resort. For now."
‹Kendal› Baxter glanced at Lincoln and he studied the man’s face in silence. It was an odd and awkward time to paused but he needed it. Generally, what he needed, he went and got. And what was another couple seconds of awkward after all the awkward seconds that had already passed? His gaze lingered before his dark lashes lowered and he took a sip of the now-cold, and definitely-stale, coffee. Was the man floundering? The second he used to drink his coffee, was the second he also used to pick apart what Lincoln had said. "Done. Okay, well, look I'm not P.I. all I can offer is my resources which are considerable." That alone said a lot. It was a resolve. Okay. Well. Look. Three words that in this case could be synonymous to or at least interchangeable with one another. Any one of them would’ve done but Lincoln had chosen three. Like his subconscious mind was preparing or buying time for what he was about to say. "I have connections, and I'm happy to lend them to a cause because I would hate to think of my friend out there…" Ah. Reassurance? Baxter tipped his head a little to the side. There were a lot of words strung together, spoken almost too fast, like he was running out of time."And I was looking for something to do. I'm nosey." Ah, there it was.
Like the heavy sediments that remained after a bucket of beach water was poured out. "I was looking for something to do." His eyes opened and he smiled. "I’m nosey." A, perhaps accidental, confession. Was this how the priest that sat in his booth, divided from meagre men with a velvet curtain and perforated window felt? This sort of visceral power? "Thank you, Lincoln." he said with a genuine smile this time. Favourable behaviour deserved recognition after all. Bax listened to Sterling. He watched him, unblinking, as he spoke. "Look." There it was again. "We’ll find your friend." They’d picked up on his signal simultaneously. Whatever it was, whatever he did. They’d both clued in and it was intriguing. The air around them had changed. Sterling’s dialogue was somewhat different from Lincoln, but it erred on the same vein. "Thank you both." he said with his smile.
‹Lincoln King› He tried to remain steady, to keep a placid and perhaps distracted expression on his face as the interaction took an interesting turn. In the dark corners of his mind a man paced, agitated and eager to be freed as the slightest tension touched the space between them. It had been present in part before, more of an awkwardness, a discomfort over a serious topic between absolute strangers but now... Now it was something else entirely. The shift was barely noticeable, it was something so subtle that he couldn't name it if he had a million years to ponder and yet there it was, as tangible as the table beneath his fingertips. "Oh, you're very welcome." He said it was an airy indifference, even as he felt like his lungs might burst if he didn't take the sharp inhale they were crying for. Lincoln was beginning to wonder how long he had, how long before the uncertainty grew and let free the man who thought he always had the solution. "I believe Silver and I should discuss, make a more thorough plan."
He nodded in the other man's direction in a manner that made it clear he wasn't asking, he fully intended to pull the man aside and discuss. Why was Baxter's smile making Kingsley want to tear through and swing a fist? Was he just that much of a dick? Probably, Lincoln conceded, but he kept a sideways glance trailed on the man waiting for any further hints at what the hell it was that was putting him so on edge in such a simple gesture.
‹Sterling Monsivais› "Save the thanks for when we have something more concrete." The words were soft - polite. The edge to them could have easily been mistaken for amusement, if his focus hadn't shifted to Lincoln shortly after. He arched a brow at the man's words, but didn't object. It was logical enough, given that he'd essentially volunteered the other man's time.
‹Kendal› Bax chuckled. "Of course." he resolved and he dipped his head like he was granting the King permission to, what did he call him again? Ah, Silver. The King and Silver to do so. He was pleased. They’d unknowingly walked into a trap. Of course, it wasn’t originally a trap. It was all well-meaning when he’d seen the messages, and hoped for leads to Fred. He’d been hoping. It was well-meaning when he’d gotten dressed that evening and hauled *** to the shitty (and it really was shitty) little cafe. It was well-meaning when he’d met Lincoln King and then Sterling Monsivais. It was all genuine up until the two broke some kind of an unspoken code. Something that right away made his blood boil and his gaze darken. They had, the poor bastards, unknowingly flipped a switch; they didn’t know that would happen. As soon as they had, as soon as Baxter recognized it, the trap was set. And he’d waited. Like a patient mother waiting for her children’s apologies, he waited. And they’d given him what he wanted. It was brief but it was there. And he smiled for them. Crocodiles smiled too, even as they ripped apart their prey with their jaws. Maybe that was the catalyst. It was the smile of a man who’s gotten something he’d wanted. "I’ll leave you two to it." he said as he finished his coffee and took the cup, and his phone, with him. "Cheers." he winked and then headed out. He smiled to himself as he stepped out of the cafe. And it was different this time. Look what you made me do, your Highness.
