2007-11-29: Eat At Joe's


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Summary: Information is shared and travel plans are made.

Date It Happened: 11/29/2007

Eat At Joe's

Lucky Joe's Diner - NYC

If you need a place open at whateverthefuck o'clock that serves greasy fried breakfast food whenever you want and provides a never-ending supply of coffee… Nathan can't fault Jack on his choice. He smiles politely when the waitress comes by to fill up their coffees, which really isn't that bad, and casts a glance around the place. He has to wonder if he and Jack are the only patrons here that aren't stoned out of their minds, because god knows this would be the place to be if you were and it was this late.

Ignoring the sugar set out on the table, Nathan sips his pitch black coffee with satisfaction. Under these lights, which are naturally unkind, you could maybe blame them for the pale tone of his skin and the darkness around his eyes, and he hopes Jack is the only one that knows better.

"Thanks for getting me out of the house," he says, setting the coffee mug down. "I'm going nuts in there."

"No problem," Jack replies easily. "I know I'd have gone stir crazy a long time ago if I were you." The small smile that's been playing about his lips ever since he arrived is finally beginning to fade. His wool peacoat, lightweight gloves, and scarf have been piled up untidily in the seat next to him, leaving him in thick denims and a turtlenecked sweater. Despite the seriousness of their business and the lateness of the hour, Jack has been positively glowing since he entered the diner. Nathan's deteriorating condition is enough to pierce his recently-laid haze, though. To avoid staring, he directs his attention to his own steaming coffee mug. After a quick glance left and right to reassure himself that nobody's watching, he digs a flask out of his hip pocket and pours a dose of Irish cream into the cup. When he's finished he offers the flash to Nathan inconspicuously. "So, how's your research been going?"

The flask is taken without question, the alcohol tipped up into his coffee before the item's passed back with a nod of thanks, hands wrapping about the mug, wedding ring clinking lightly against the surface. Like Jack, Nathan's dressed warmly if casually, jacket also shed so as not to overheat. The last thing he needs is to pass out Elena-style here, of all places - Lucky Joe's is a lot of things, but spic and span is not one of them. Other than that, a navy blue sweater with the peak of a white undershirt beneath, jeans, boots. Not very Senator like, which was rather the point.

"Ah," Nathan says, pulling out the file he'd brought with him from under his discarded jacket, waving it once before letting it fall on the table. "Interesting, to say the least. Nothing I was expecting to find," as if he was doing the finding and not the telling other people to find, but that's neither here nor there, "but I'm sure you already knew you made interesting friends. Found one conclusive paper trail, Walsh was gonna be enjoying a two-hundred thousand dollar Christmas bonus from, I dunno, some medical company." He flips the file open, checks it, and pushes it over to Jack. "Organitech."
Jack cocks an eyebrow, thoroughly intrigued. "Medical company?" He accepts the file from Nathan and flips it open, shuffling through the raw financial data in favor of the information on the company. "This is… What the hell is this? I don't know these people." He swivels the folder around and rests two fingertips lightly on a photo of Organitech's board of directors. "I haven't seen a single one of these fat white fuckers in my life. There has to be more to the story. I guess I'm takin' a flight to… Hong Kong? Crap."

"I guess you are," Nathan says. "I cou— " And he stops, a pause, before he just sips more of his coffee, as if in an effort to douse his own irritation. "You could probably ask Peter to take you if you're not keen on shelling out the cash for that trip." At least that would have the dual purpose of getting Peter out of the way of an apparently unkillable Sylar, because god knows that wouldn't end well. "Although he crashes. Fair warning. There was also a guy by the same name working for the IRA, apparently with his son. But really, there's less info on this guy than he should be. He may as well have been a ghost before he died."

"Crashes?" Jack winces and shakes his head. "I'll fly commercial, thanks. Don't take this the wrong way, but you're the only man I'm comfortable clinging to for that long." He spins the file back around and flips to a set of newspaper clippings that are each pasted to a tagboard backing. "Walsh… Knew that name sounded familiar for a reason. Looks a bloody awful lot like him, doesn't it?" With his lower lip clamped thoughtfully between his teeth, he rests his fingertips on top of one of the articles, running it lightly over a blurry picture of Danny and his father. "Thanks for this. Thanks a lot. Now I've got somewhere to start."

"Mph," Nathan only grunts a reply at first, indulging in more spiked coffee. "You're being generous. I think I mostly just handed you more questions but if you're sure, you're welcome. Just do me a favour and try not to get yourself killed or something like that. I tried getting more information on this Organitech place but they only pulled up surface information you could probably Google and by then… well I can only dig so deep before I start pissing people off, Senator or not."

Jack shakes his head and holds one hand out in a brisk denial. "That whole interweb thing isn't really my specialty. I'm grateful for the assist, but you're right. Stick your head up too high and someone's liable to take it off." He strokes his chin and hmmmms thoughtfully. After a moment spared to enjoy a bit of his own coffee, he sighs appreciatively and starts patting his pockets. The ID card his pulls out belongs to one Terrence Krieger, Man of Mayhem and bike ganger extraordinaire. The card is flipped onto the table with an unhappy grunt. "If you'd like something a little more local to look into, you can have that. Took it off one of the bikers that tried to jump Cass today. Yesterday? Whenever. They were looking for me, too."

Nathan looks up sharply at this news, and he murmurs something inaudible, possibly a swear word as he reaches out and takes the ID card, the politician glancing it over. "He dead too?" he asks, simply, taking out his wallet so as to slip the card inside.
"Nah. They weren't all that professional. Could've just been someone I pissed off since I moved here, but you never know." Jack puffs out a sigh and drains his coffee mug. When he's finished he steeples his fingers into a thoughtful triangle and rests them against his lips. He's frustrated and it's starting to show.

The wallet is put away, Nathan folding his arms on the table as the two willingly lapse into brief silence broken only by the constant sounds of cutlery from the 24 hour kitchen, and Nathan vaguely wishes he had an appetite left. Apparently, being sick for what will soon be two months is a hell of a weight loss program. But the lapse in conversation catches up to him, gaze flicking back to his friend. "What're you hoping to find at the end of this, Jack?"

The Irishman licks his lips and glances back down into his nearly empty coffee cup. He's grown thinner too, though that's largely due to his self-imposed detox program. The youthful, exuberant bartender who helped rescue Peter Petrelli and introduced Cass to Hiro Nakamura is gone, replaced by an older, more worn model of the same man. Finally, he glances back up. His grey eyes drill into Nathan's unabashedly and he gives his answer. "Peace of mind."

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