[M&M 3e] The Wrong Hands [ IC ]

[Drakeburn]

Peter Noel Stringer, Cassandra Black, "Frank Drake", "Neil Leonard", Tysha Walker

There you all are, locked up in a temporary prison cell in one of the police stations in New York City. It is nothing more but two sides of metal bars, two sides of concrete, one uncomfortable metal bench long enough for three people to sit on it, and a toilet and sink in the opposite corner of the cell.

It looks as though you're gonna have to share this cell with each other: complete strangers you hardly even know.

[Hammer Head]

There was a pale man sitting on the steel bench near as possible to the metal bars. His posture seemed at odds with his expression, as he leaned forward, elbows on knees, but his eyes seemed disinterested. One knee kept bouncing on the spot while he looked calm and relaxed. One thing was for sure from his appearance, though: He didn't belong here. Wearing a rumpled, dark gray dress shirt and some black suit pants, he looked to be dressed for some kind of business meeting, not a trip in a cop car.

He kept casually taking stock of who else was in the cell. Gangbangers? Thugs? Or just drunk drivers? He couldn't tell, and it likely wouldn't be worth the effort to find out. No need for leverage over a few minor criminals. He was just out of his element, was all. He didn't know if these characters would try and attack him if he said anything, so he kept himself relatively relaxed and decided to not open his mouth. He had other things to worry about anyways. What would he do? They were likely going through his hard drive now, so he had to go over the things on it in his mind, make sure he knew what he would have to counter.

In the meantime, one thing kept popping into his head. Namely, what were girls doing here? Shouldn't the cops have put women in a different cell? Maybe they were the most dangerous one here, but still, that didn't seem correct. Granted, he wasn't an expert when it comes to holding cell etiquette. The cops must know what they were doing.

Some things would be difficult to explain away, such a profit sheets or employee lists, but he could figure out a way. What would be difficult would be his message box, with all the cleverly worded blackmail messages sent out. That, and the blueprints for a few things he couldn't identify. He could use one of his contacts to get a fall guy for most of those things, though. Once they gave him his phone call.

But two girls? Really? He was nervous for them, especially with that big guy there. Maybe the dark-skinned girl could take care of him, but the other lady seemed a more subdued type. He should stop thinking about this and go over his options...

[Cazero]

A frail woman was leaning arm crossed against the wall. Her look was unusual for a jail cell, with her bright coloured dress long enough to touch the ground, more jewelry than reasonable, and her black hair cascading down to her waist. She was visibly furious, and barely paid attention to her cellmates, visibly focused on her own thoughts.

She was not expecting the cops so early, and they did not let her change herself. Her dress was ruined, her makeup wasted, and she was surrounded with thugs that might be stupid enough to rob her cheap jewelry, in an overcrowded cell with less privacy than a public park. But she saved enough money to replace all that, and the cell would be bearable if her inmates proved to not be morons. Her real problem was more important.

She really wanted to throw a "maybe if you actually cared about him" to the face of the family during the audience, but it was likely to send her straight to jail. No decent lawyer would support such a plan, and she had no idea how to get away with that.

[Rhyvurg]

Standing at the bars next to the door is a man that looks like he's been squashed. He's barely more than five feet tall, but looks like he eats barbells for breakfast. His arms, chest and shoulders strain the seams on the grey sweat shirt that hangs almost to his knees, and the cuffs of his pants look like he had to cut half the legs off a pair made for a much larger person. The hands slowly wringing the bars look like he's spent half his life punching sides of beef, or maybe brick walls. His head is shaved bald, and the back of his neck and scalp are covered in tattoos. His face has the look of someone who doesn't spend a lot of time contemplating much of anything, and his nose looks like it's been broken several times. He glances behind him at the other people in the cell, lingering slightly on the women. A suit, a brown chick, some broad who looked like a dressed up streetwalker, and some random ***hole. He scratches his thick black beard, looking very much like an ape in that moment.

[industrious]

"You don't understand! There's been a terrible mistake!"

The man holds to the bars, slender fingers grasping at the limits of the cage in an iron grip. He shouts plaintively at the retreating policemen, half-sobbing as he does so.

The guy is dressed in dirty, scuffed jeans with worn seams, a zip-up hoodie, and a dark green Breaking Bad tee. His hair is wild, messy and unkempt, and there's about three days worth of ragged stubble on his face. A pair of square glasses with filthy lenses completes the look.

[Phobia]

"Yeah you better run ya pigs! Don't want a piece of this!" Tysha shouted on the tail end of the other guy's pleading while slapping her chest combativly. It certainly wouldn't help his case any. She kicked the ground at nothing and walked over to sit on the bench in a huff. She was no stranger to these sort of places but still. "Could have had that car too.." Tysha muttered to herself while also giving anyone that glanced her way the stinkeye.

She was dressed in baggy jeans and a tank-top that showed off muscular frame. Her hair was braided and she also wore a purple bandana around her head- an obvious gang symbol but to what gang who knows. There were so many different ones.

[Drakeburn]

"Save it for the judge," One of the policemen replied as he passed by, enjoying a cup of hot coffee.
You are left to yourselves for a moment. For how long it'll last, you don't really know.

[Rhyvurg]

The short, muscular man grunts, "Pig's right, yer doin' nothin but gettin sore throats yelling like that, and they'll tell the judge you were a handful in here, prolly end up raising yer bail. Jus sit tight, let the law flex a bit and you'll be gone in no time." His voice sounds like a mix of Brooklyn and Cockney accents spoken around a mouthful of gravel.

[Phobia]

Tysha glares over at the dude. "Shut yo' mouth ***wipe. Ain't no man gonna tell me what to do." She says angrily before flipping him off for emphasis. "Peckerwood." Tysha mutters again, sucking her teeth.

[Hammer Head]

Peter kept his mouth shut as the dark skinned woman came and sat near him on the bench. He looked sidelong at her for a moment, but her return glare went ahead and convinced him to stand up and walk away. She struck him as two things: dangerous and stupid. Which essentially translated to "very very dangerous." He decided he'd stay out of her way so long as they were sharing a room. Same went for the tattooed man. His appearance and the way he clearly understood how the inside of a police department worked was enough for him to know: respect the muscled guy.

Unsure what to do with himself now that he was standing, he paced the cell a bit, debating his future some more. But then a thought popped into his head, and, with it, a hope for a plan. Walking up to the other side of the man in the hoodie, he looked over to him and smiled in as nonchalant a way he could, considering he was stressed out and in a jail cell, "Say, what do you mean there's been some kind of mistake? What did they take you in for?"

[Drakeburn]

Before the conversation can continue, a pair of policemen come up to your holding cell, and one of them unlocks the door.
"Peter Noel Stringer, Cassandra Black, Frank Drake, Neil Leonard, and Tysha Walker. Your bails have been paid, so you're free to go."

[Cazero]

Surprised, Cassandra raise her head. Since nobody in that cell seems to know anyone else, such a coincidence is simply impossible.
"Did someone just pay for all of us?" she asks, not really expecting an useful answer from the police officer.

[Phobia]

"**** it's about damn time. My homeboy Jamar probably got it somehow." Tysha got up and stretched out. "Don't know about y'all. Don't really care. Psh I'm blowing this place." She continues before making a beeline for the exit.

[Hammer Head]

Peter blinked and stood there, frozen. All of them? First off, how would anyone even know he was here? He hadn't so much as made his phone call yet. No one knew his apartment had even been raided. Someone must have been keeping tabs on him. Further, why was he being bailed out with all of these other people? The only thing they even had in common was this jail cell. Wasn't it?

He found himself suddenly looking closer at the people around him as he stepped through the door. A kid in a hoodie (he must have been blackout drunk and woken up in the cell), a foul-mouthed gang member, some large, muscular brute, a woman in a dress, and himself. Who were they all? What did they have in common? No matter how he looked, he found no connecting traits. It had to be something secret, some hidden detail about their lives. A person must have been keeping tabs on them all, and engineered their arrests so that they would all come together at the same time. But who? Why? Why not just approach them individually?

He didn't like this. It meant someone was controlling the events in his life, meaning Peter didn't have the power in this circumstance. That made him angry. Whoever it was who paid his bail had just made an enemy, and maybe he could use these people's help after all. Slipping over to beside the muscled man as they walked, he leaned forward a little bit, "Have you made your phone call yet? I haven't. I don't know about you, but this seems pretty suspicious. I think someone might be trying to buy us, and I don't like people trying to control me like that."

[Rhyvurg]

Frank keeps his hands in his pockets as he leaves the cell. This was certainly unusual, but if it got him out of here faster he didn't care. If they didn't take too long processing him he might just make it to the t!tty bar before last call. But then the suit wants to talk. "Huh? Listen bub, we're gettin' out, that's all that matters. Don't try to talk to me like we're friends, I don' make friends in the joint. Place is fulla criminals."

[Hammer Head]

"Friendship isn't on my mind, but we're in the same basket, dude. I don't know what you were in here for, but I got caught for blackmailing several corporations, espionage, and a few other things. The bail on me must have been tremendous, meaning that whoever got us out, is really rich or really powerful. Right now I feel like a bug beneath a magnifying glass, and I don't like that."

The tall man in his gray dress shirt took a sidelong glance at the short man beside him with narrowed eyes. A stern expression. Experience in the joint, but doesn't consider himself a criminal. Might be a little dumb. How could he get such a man on his side? He might take a stab in the dark and tip his thoughts to the man, but that might backfire. Well, a stab in the dark is all he's got right now, "Whoever this is, they're jerking us around. I mean, why would they just pay the bail for everyone in one particular cell? Nah, it's gotta be something else, but why would five people who our benefactor has been watching suddenly get arrested all at the same time? Whoever this is, must've had a hand in tossing us in there to begin with."

[Phobia]

Tysha overheard the two men behind her speaking and slowed down trying to keep listening. "Man maybe you are right fancypants. I'm in here for jacking a car and leading the cops on a high-speed chase." She started smiling widely either because she was remembering it fondly or just bragging. "Man I gotta burn me a copy of that! Y'all think the news got it?" Tysha questioned with glee.

"Anyway they was gonna put my *** down for that, ya know what I'm saying? Ain't no way my boy Jamar came up with that kinda cred."

[Rhyvurg]

Frank grunts. White collar crime, figures. And now he's getting a taste of what it's like to twist in the wind, to have someone else jerking his strings for a change. "I'm here 'cause some mouthy Wall-Street college boy spilled my beer, so's I broke his teef in. Listen, suit. Standin' here wringing yer hands won't change nuttin. Someone paid, we're out. If they want somethin' from you, they'll let you know, guaranteed. Could be a job. Could be they wanna kill you and it ain't easy to sneak a gun into jail, so they'll wait for you to head home before blastin' yer guts all over the street with a shotgun."

[Cazero]

Cassandra follows the forming group out of the cell and joins the conversation. "Thank you, I'm going to see assassins everywhere now. I know exactly why I'm here, and it involves someone's suicide. Not the kind of thing you have control on, so whoever bought our tickets out can't have been planning on us to be here at the same time. And since the only thing we have in common is some time spent in that cell, there is not much sense in freeing the five of us."
No control on the suicide. Hypocrisy at it's finest. My parents would be proud.

[Hammer Head]

Fancypants? Suit? He was wondering if these nicknames were meant to be insulting for a moment when the woman in the dress said something. Something about her being here because of someone's suicide. Turning halfway around, he fixed her with a strange stare, "Unless they think you murdered this person, you probably shouldn't be here. The only other thing would be Incitement of Suicide, and that's so uncommon that no one would charge you with it unless the person who commited the act told people that you persuaded them to do it. Though, in either case, whether you murdered the person and made it look like suicide, or took the time to convince the person to do it, there would have been lead-up, during which whoever was watching you could have set up our arrests."

Turning back towards the front and seeing the looks the other two were giving him, he smiled, "I used to be a lawyer. But anyways, I don't know about you, shorty, but I don't intend to let myself get shotgunned anytime soon, so I intend to develop a plan. If you wanna let them kill you, feel free. I just hope they don't spill your beer before they do it, or else you might put up a fight. Uhm, purple bandana, hi, my name is Peter Stringer. Your friend Jamar. Does he have a cell phone? I'll be getting mine back when we get up to the front desk. Could you call him and get some of your other friends to intercept us before anything weird happens?"

[Rhyvurg]

Frank stops walking, and stands still for a moment before turning around. "What'd'you just call me?"

[Hammer Head]

Jeez, there's just no winning with this guy. Treat him like a friend. Nothing. Agree with him. Nothing. Appeal to his sensibilities. Nothing. Share your thoughts with him. Nothing. Show him that you're rougher than you look. Nothing. Use a nickname. He kills you.

Well, considering this crowd, he couldn't back down and not seem weak, so he had to stare the man down. Looking down at the very short man, he said, "You called me a suit. I called you short. Nothing more to it. It's what we are. You can't pretend to be tall any more than I can pretend to be a chef. But, if you're so excited about getting a free ride out of here, I'd suggest you not start fighting in the middle of a police department, because that will land us right back in the cell."

He held that gaze for a few more seconds, showing no emotion, a trick he had gotten very good at through the years of his life, and spoke through the tension without looking away after a moment, "Sorry, purple bandana, still didn't get your name."

[Phobia]

"Damn son he burned you!" Tysha exclaimed while covering her mouth with one hand. It wasn't clear why because she was making no real attempt to hide her laughter. "Shorty," She snorted under her breath.

"Man I ain't telling you my name, ****." Tysha replies to Peter before sucking her teeth at him. "Just call me a monster, man, cause that's what I am. This purple bandana represents a brotherhood, a bond, a family that you can't even understand! You ignorant, man." She ranted and smacked her badana proudly.

"But psh, yeah I got Jamar's *** up and get him over here. He better not put a dent on my car tho." She was walking backwards as she spoke to the group and looked behind her to see where she was going. "I'll give y'all a ride 'cause I'm a genuine person. Trust." She threw up a random sign and then turned her hand into a fist similar to dropping a mic.

[Rhyvurg]

Frank holds up his finger to say something, when the broad opens her mouth and laughs at him. "Dat's it!" He throws himself at the guy in the suit.

[Drakeburn]

"Whoa there!" One of the policemen shouts, doing the best he can to separate the two to prevent a fight.
"Unless you wanna go back behind bars, I suggest breaking it up." The other says as they both take you to the front desk.

After everybody in the group gets handed back their rightful belongings, you all suddenly hear a loud honk from outside. Coming out of the police station, you see a black haired woman dressed in a black business suit and a white silk blouse holding open a door to a black limo.
By the way she is gesturing, she's expecting you to get in.

[Rhyvurg]

Frank stands still, staring at her. Keeping his eyes on her face is a force of will at this point. "Well suit, ya wanted to know who paid yer bail..." He climbs into the car, twisting to get his shoulders through the door. "Better have somethin' ta drink."

[Drakeburn]

"Frank"

Inside the black limo you find ten bottles in the seats. Half of them are champagne, and the rest are wine. In the limo you also see a scrawny looking man in a business suit. He has light brown hair, and wearing wire-rimmed glasses.
"Please make yourselves comfortable." He says to you.
"We have a lot talk about."

[Cazero]

The curiosity and the possibility of not having to walk home quickly convince Cassandra to follow Frank in the limo.

[Hammer Head]

Peter didn't know how to fight, but he was luckily fast enough to dodge the first punch. Unfortunately, the guy managed to get a hand on him in the next second, and a fist came up into his face. He lost a couple of seconds then, and saw stars, but he was a clever man, and decided to bring his elbow down on his assailant's head, using his height to his advantage as best he could. But then the cop grabbed them and shoved them apart.

Honestly, that midget was nothing but a problem, but Peter couldn't worry about that right now. Massaging his nose, he accepted his stuff from a clerk and turned to purple bandana as they moved towards the front door. Truth be told he didn't really understand half of what she said, but he believed she might borrow his phone to call Jamar. If she did, he was ready to offer it to her. In the meantime, he eyeballed the limo out front, giving the woman a cool stare as he walked along the sideway away from where she was parked. Once he was behind the vehicle and had his phone back in his hand, he used the glass face of it to take a look at the liscense plate of the limo without turning around.

Around the corner he went, sticking with anyone else who might have decided to not go with the limo, and, once he was out of sight, he made a call to one well-connected man whom he had been keeping tags on. Peter himself wasn't much of a hacker, but in his foray into information brokering, he found a few of his peers who were very good at it, and he was calling one now. A man he knew only as Dragon70707.

A curt voice came on the other side, but Peter didn't even give him time to finish saying "hello" before he started with something to get him listening, Dragon seven-oh-seven-oh-seven. You don't know who I am, but I am a fan of your work. Usually I'd approach you before something like this, but I don't have time for the plesantries today. I know you are good at acquiring information, so do me a favor and find the company or individual who owns or is renting a limo with liscense plate number GSM665, and any information surrounding them. The more sensitive the information, the better. Post the info on your zetaboards forums. Do this and you'll find the passwords to a few TAMA accounts pretty soon."

Not even waiting for a reply, Peter hung up and pocketed his cellphone, before crossing the street to the public library where it stood. Once inside, he made his way to the computers and went straight to the forums. Time to see how much Dragon70707 wanted those TAMA accounts.

Used Connected to make an Investigation check to gather information in one minute. Assuming this is a routine check, the result is 20, which results in restricted information. If it's not a routine check:

1d20+10=28 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4794583/)

Which gives Classified info. Almost want it to not be a routine check. :P

[Phobia]

"Well dang looks like you was right afterall my man." Tysha said before going, "Psh." And looking mad as Peter walked off. She looked back at the limo.

"If y'all think i'm getting in that car you done lost your damn minds." She turned to leave. "Forget y'all I'd rather walk."

"Wait a minute- ohh sh- y'all got alcohol in there? Why didn't y'all just say so! Party over here!" She declared before sliding in the limo and pouring herself a big drink. "****, man, I ain't never been in no limo before. This **** is tight, know what I'm saying?"

Then Tysha downed the whole glass.

[Rhyvurg]

Frank sits as far from the limo doors as he can, making sure he can see everyone else. He inspects one of the champagne bottles, looking doubtful. "No beer, figgers..."

[Cazero]

Barely hiding her amusement behind a smile as both her 'companions' drink expensive wine like cheap beer, Cassandra serves herself a glass of champagne. That unusual turn of events would definitely be distracting.
Before drinking, she raises her glass toward the mysterious man in business suit.
"May I ask what we are drinking at besides our release?"

[Drakeburn]

Peter

After five minutes have passed, a post pops up.
"Man, I really have something for you. That limo has recently been rented by Eric V. Clarence. He's a CEO of his own multi-million dollar tech company, and a philanthropist. There also have been rumors that he has been getting into all sorts of shady stuff. If that is true or not, I don't know. That is all that I know for now."

Everybody outside the limo

The woman coldly stares back at Peter as he walked away from the limo, then turns back to everybody else at the limo.

Cassandra

"It is really nothing more but a kind gesture from the man who paid for your release." The man in the suit replied.
"Let us just say that your benefactor is offering a free gift as part of our little 'quid pro quo'."

[Phobia]

"Quid pro quo, huh? **** I know what that means." Tysha said with a loud chortle and drained the rest of her wine glass before just grabbing the bottle and drinking directly from it. "Ain't that some kinda freaky threeway? So how many guys or at one time or is it gonna be just you and me, moneybags?" She asked with a loud burp before reaching over to touch the man in the suits knee. "Cause I charge by the hour, man. Trust me I'm worth it. You wanna see me and her go at it?" She asked with a slur before gesturing at the woman outside the limo.

[Rhyvurg]

"Cause I charge by the hour, man. Trust me I'm worth it. You wanna see me and her go at it?" She asked with a slur before gesturing at the woman outside the limo.

Frank quickly looks over. "Yes."

[Phobia]

Tysha eyed Frank for a moment before saying, "A'ight let me see the money."

[Rhyvurg]

He shrugs. "Don' have a cent on me righ' now."

[Drakeburn]

In the limo

"Anyways," The man interrupts.
"That won't be necessary. What is necessary is that you do your side of the bargain. But some proper 'preparations' are required before you do your part of the deal."
Once everybody else gets into the limo, the lady outside closes the door, and the limo drives away from the police station.

[Rhyvurg]

"What bargain? Ain't agreed to nuttin'."