2010-05-07: FBI's Most Wanted



Date: May 7th, 2010


Sometimes things that you do, they follow you forever.

"FBI's Most Wanted"

Brown's Lumber

As Laurie had left the coffee shop two casually dressed FBI agents had squared him off and summoned him to go with them. He'd been taken into a bland looking interrogation room in a warehouse under the name of Brown's Lumber. In it there's a table, a couple of chairs, and a single pad of paper. The lighting is fluorescent, eye-burning, really and the walls and floor are stark white. Overall the room bleeds white. Even the chairs are white as is the table. It's meant to kill sensory information.

And those unfortunate FBI agents did not get off lightly for their task; they were cajoled, harassed, and generally prodded to the ends of their ropes a little more after that until it was just Laurie in that effectively white room, humming to himself and bearing a squad's worth of mixed drinks. Straw in the one that looks less like coffee and more like something strawberry-flavored, he sucks smoothie from the corner of his mouth idly while approaching that table and that— ooh, paper. Shuffling holders here and there, he scoops up the paper, slides into the chair, whips a pen from his pocket and begins to scribble left-handed with his body bent over the pad enough to block the words from every angle.

The door to the room opens as a familiar NYPD'er steps into the room. There's an echo as Sam Wright steps to the opposite chair and steps towards Laurie. He plays with his blue collared shirt and issues Laurie a smirk. "It's an honour to actually meet you for real, Miles, not that we didn't meet b'fore, gist had to play dumb is all," he extends a hand. "Sorry for al of the cloak 'n dagger business, can't blow my cover." Beat. "I'm Special Agent Samuel Yacobis Wright of the FBI."

Scribbling has stopped by the time the door opens, leaving Laurie free to fold his hands over the pad of paper and watch every moment of Sam's entrance into the room and to the chair. His facade is a bright, unfailing — though close-mouthed — smile that carries through the preface to introduction. In no nonsense style, the consultant and former agent leans forward to place not his own hand but the notepad into Sam's waiting palm.

It reads: Sam Wright is about to walk through that door. And a large smiley face.

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" Sam smirks as he seats himself in the chair. He adjusts his blue collared shirt again while leaning back in his chair. "I take it you already figured out there's a leak in the NYPD — and that you know why I'm kickin' around the police station." Even though he doesn't want to be; he really doesn't want to work with Maggie again, not after how things ended. Folding his arms over his chest he shoots him a broad grin.

Wordlessly, Laurie spreads his hands open and wide on either side to allow Sam to come to his own conclusions as to the answers to his questions. Rather than indulge in that, he slips down further in the chair to semi-lounge, but not enough to make it any more difficult to tip the strawberry-banana smoothie holder at him for prime sipping. After a couple of seconds, he raises a commanding finger and then sits forward to investigate each of the other containers he came in with. It's a show; he knows which he's going for, which one is labeled with a large S A M M Y in friendly Starbucks marker along the side. It's not just a drink. It's a 13 shot Venti soy hazelnut vanilla cinnamon white mocha with extra white mocha and caramel.

"…" the cup is stared at somewhat skeptically, and the FBI agent does indeed pick it up. "Thanks?" Ironically, as much as Sam is about going against the grain in the office, here it's a different story. Here it's about getting down to business; mostly because he needs to get back to his fake job. "Look, I've been tracing the activity of both of this gangs for some time from my position at the FBI. And the NYPD has a leak, so I was assigned to find it." Yup, that's what he's been doing ducking out of meetings and into empty hallways for phone calls.

He glances at the drink again while drumming his fingers on the table. "And I hope that you are the crazy SOB they told me you were because I need someone on the inside to infiltrate them." With an odd kind of smirk playing on his lips he clucks his tongue, "I spoke to the DA. We need records before they'll even go for the big guns in this case — "

"You're welcome." Laurie's smoothie, meanwhile, is speedily getting lower and lower as he drags at the straw. During Sam's little story, he glances at the amount of drink left, debatably, then at the door, then at Sam. At the end of the assignment, the consultant takes a break from the flavoring to mention, "I'm extraordinarily happy for you."

Eyebrows flattening to a stern statement across his forehead, there's about no other reaction from him until he sees fit to repeat: "You spoke to the DA." That hangs in the moment between them while Laurie brings the other not occupied with a fruity drink to bear under his chin, the curve of two fingers along that of his mouth. "What do you think? What do you think, Special Agent Samuel Yacobis Wright of the FBI — am I that guy?"

Sam narrows his eyes. "I'm positive you're it. Now, I can't force you to do anything, although — " he shrugs a little. The FBI could have it out with the NYPD and have the case totally reassigned contingent on jurisdiction. " — you're the expert when it comes to infiltrating these guys. I know your file. I know your mode of operation. Will you take the assignment? There's very few people who could infiltrate the group as fast as you can thanks to your connections." His gaze flits to the coffee which he places on the table with a heavy sigh. "Yes or no? That's all I want — a straight answer."

Another shifting movement leans Laurie to the side as he lifts that hand to rub the edge of his nose, trace the contours of a mouth yet to really address the situation. "You'll get your answer," he promises solemnly but not seriously, planting elbows fully on the table and then slapping hands down. The smoothie rattles slightly as its shot down so fast onto the white surface. "Right, I'm the expert," he mentions, unimpressed but with a cheery note he rarely abandons, "I just keep hearing that lately. So I suppose you'd be handling it. The stories, the reports. The, uh, the… what's the word, the—"

"The cover. Yes. That is my job," Sam says blandly as he plants his own hands on the white surface of the table. "Look. Plain and simple if we're going to be effective at taking these folks down we need people inside." With mandates to do whatever it takes, but then, that goes without saying, right?

"Right. The bullshit." Ah, there it is. Laurie's hands come together happily over the 'found' word. A stray reach of fingers to the side summons the smoothie to him; a few more sips make most of the bottom visible. Following the shot, though, his eyes stray sideways, staring into the clean white of the room with a mouth that wants to twitch into something less than the smile he favors. Though he even almost laughs, it's from no wake of humor.

It takes him longer than he'd like to turn his head and be able to stare lazily — but a bit too tightly around the edges — at Sam. "Records. That's what you want…" Tap tap tap, against the smoothie. The last sip makes a cacophony of desperate air noises where there's no more liquid left. Done.

Instantly, Laurie braces palms against the edge of the table and rises to his feet. "Duty duty must be done," he mentions airily, sweeping his arm to catch up the rest of the waiting coffees. "The rule applies to everyone." Strolling his way past the lone, boring furniture, he says back to Sam, "Yes. Now drink your coffee."

Ironically, Sam doesn't like coffee at all, yet he finds himself bringing the cup to his lips and ingesting it only to spit it out moments later, all over the chair that Laurie had been sitting in. "Hell, I don't like normal coffee, what his this sissy shit?" His eyebrows furrow before he shakes his head. What does he think of Laurie? What does anyone think of Laurie? Shaking his head a little, he picks up the cup of coffee before glancing at the other cups. "I don't think you're makin' it back." The observation is left to sit in the room as Sam disappears from it — ready to make preparations for the operation at hand.

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