2007-03-06: A Fabergé Egg


Namir_icon.gif Richard_icon.gif

Date It Happened: March 06, 2007

Summary: Namir visits the station to catch up on a week's worth of police gossip and picks up a tail after he leaves. Richard in the guise of a mysterious stranger gives Namir a Fabergé egg and some information about the goings-on of a lady who lives on the top floor of Parkview Estates. Namir promises to investigate.

A Fabergé Egg

Central Park

Though he's not back to work yet, Namir did make a stop at the station today to visit a few comrades and pick up on the latest news in his unit. He spent a good hour or two just shooting the breeze, but it had to end sometime. The Middle-Eastern man is now sitting on a bench in Central Park, observing the comings and goings of the people who like to stroll in the dusk air. There aren't many and as the hour starts to wind down, it's getting close to time to get home. Namir wears his overcoat over a dark red button-down shirt and slacks. The collar of his coat is turned up against the dropping temperature and a copy of Don Quixote sits in his lap, unopened as the light for reading has long since passed.

"Cervantes, eh? Are you contemplating tilting at windmills, then, officer…?"
The voice is… odd, hollow and distant yet very clear, seeming almost to echo through the shadowy parkgrounds this evening, although mostly clear from behind him. Without missing a beat, it adds, "Don't turn around, please. I just wish to speak with you about something, I assure you."

Naturally, Namir's first instinct /is/ to turn around, and he's about to do just that when the strange voice tells him not to do so. The lawman freezes, eyes locked on the path in front of his bench. "All right," he intones calmly, cautiously, slowly allowing himself to relax just a bit. He brought his pistol today, but he's in no position to draw it. So long as things remain conversational, he won't need to anyway. "My name is Namir Dayan. What do you want to talk about?"

"I know who you are, or we wouldn't be having this conversation," replies the hollow voice from behind the bench - and somewhat low? - its tone twisted slightly with amusement before lapsing into seriousness, "Are you a man with a price, Officer Dayan? Can you be bought? It's not merely a topic of… academic curiousity, I assure you."

A price? It's a strange and unexpected question. Namir keeps his eyes forward, resting both hands on the book in his lap. He does his best to place the voice, but nothing is coming to mind. "I don't accept bribes. Too messy, too much hassle, and it goes against my standards. If you're looking for something like that, you've got the wrong man."

To that, there comes a faint, echoing chuckle. "Good," the voice murmurs, "A man of principle. Exactly what I was looking for… tell me, Officer Dayan, do you know who lives on the top floor of the Parkview Estates?"

Namir shakes his head slightly after a moment's consideration. "I'm afraid I don't." Parkview Estates is generally a building that he doesn't get to see, as he has no business there.

"Then perhaps I might give you a few other puzzle pieces, officer… a drug called soma, the Camparelli-Zukhov syndicate, and the Primatech Paper Company?" The voice pauses a moment, and then notes suddenly, "Catch."
A few moments later, a fabrege egg - ornate, crusted in precious metals, unique and irreplaceable - is tossed lightly over his head, aimed for his lap.

At the word "catch", Namir glances up in time to spot the egg hurtling over his head. He catches it neatly, if not a little startled, and examines it closely. It's very fine, very beautiful, and he's quite surprised to see it. "What is this?" he inquires as he carefully opens the ornament.

"It's a fabrege egg," notes the voice, "There's only sixty-one of them in existance, or something like that… I had to look it up on google. It's quite unique, and - I'm sure you'll find - quite stolen. It was part of a large collection of stolen goods that one might find on that floor… of course, all of the heavily armed asian thugs might object to anyone wishing to peruse the collection."

It's right about now that Namir wishes he was wearing gloves. The bandages on his hands don't quite cover the tips of his fingers, and thusly he's now left fingerprints on the stolen artifact. However, this is only a minor concern in light of all the other information. "I'm going to need more," he states matter-of-factly. "What's your name? Where can I find you?"

"I can't give you that, officer…" A low, echoing chuckle, "…I'm not exactly a law-abiding man myself, but there are some things even I don't stand for. This woman is very, very dangerous. If she sees you before you see her, you will not end up on top of the situation— she doesn't -need- a weapon to incapacitate you. She doesn't even need to be in arm's reach. But it won't be long before you have a brand new asian crime syndicate spreading its tainted drugs on the street if you can't do something about it…"

Another evolved being? It almost sounds like it. The mention of the drug syndicate causes Namir to purse his lips, his gaze still on the egg in his hands. He ponders it for several seconds of silence before he nods slowly. "Very well. What is this woman's name?"

"I'm actually not entirely sure, but given that she owns the -entire- top floor, it shouldn't be very hard for a man of your resources to find out," admits the anonymous voice, "She was also researching this… paper company for criminal connections, as a favor for some prosecuting attourney or another."

"Primatech Paper." It's not a question of clarification so much as a self-confirmation. Namir continues to examine the egg before he tucks it inside his coat, out of sight. "I'll look into it, but why me? Why not go to a detective at the local precinct?" The Middle-Eastern man is with the ESU, which makes him excellent for breaking in and neutralizing a violent situation, but he's no detective. Then again, with a week off work, what else is he going to do?
GAME: Save complete.

"As I said, officer," the voice murmurs, growing more quiet, "I needed a man of principle… not all of your colleagues are bereft of price tags. I'll be in touch."

After the voice is gone, Namir waits for a good half-minute before he picks his book up from his lap and glances over his shoulder. He doesn't expect to find anyone there, of course, but he's been wanting to turn around since the start of the conversation. With a sigh, the Muslim rises to his feet, cradling the egg inside his coat as he sets off for home. He's got a little research to do.

Of course, there's no one there. That doesn't stop the voice from murmuring from the shadows cast by the bench, "Be seeing you, officer…"
And then, silence. Well, there goes -that- vacation.

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