Now You See Me...

[Anna Fernandez]

Anna nodded politely at Office Hu, and collared Jim as he went by her again. "You were being chased by Tres Once? And involved in a shoot out?" She would have taken the cupcake away from him except he quickly moved his hand and the treat out of reach. She narrowed her eyes at the manic youth.

"This is muy serio, Jim."

[Jim Lewinski]

"Involved in a... W- C'mon Anna! It's-it's not like I did it on purpose; prowlin' the barrio, packin' heat, pop-pop-poppin' caps in asses. I went fo' some Mountain Dew and everythin' just- it's this neighbourhood. It's the people. Everyone's fu- no- godda- no!- everyone's outta their minds."

He finished weakly, shoulders slumped under the weight of his exasperation. It wasn't the first time Anna gave him that sort of look, and in all likelihood it wouldn't be the last, but this was one time in which Jim was certain he was completely innocent, almost. The store- the photograph- José- the gangbangers- in the alley- on the run- Polly's gun... Ah. There was the snag. Maybe he should've dropped the weapon right away, but then it would've been a danger to the public and he would've potentially provided the Elevens with another weapon, and lost Polly's property in the process. When they were on the run this had all been considered, of course, and it worked out alright, in the end it had been probably the right choice. Polly's photograph. He'd have to ask her about that sometime. Again. He circled the kitchen island and wheeled on the house matriarch, his face twisting itself into a desperate plea.

"A shoot out, Anna. Think about it for a second. It's Jim you're talkin' to here! Ask the guys!"

Here, he poked the untouched cupcake in the direction of his new friends, and gave them an enthusiastic nod which told them, in no uncertain terms, that they were indeed The Guys.

[José Luis Flores]

José blinked, and looked uncertainly at Polly and Officer Hu, idly wondering what sort of scene they projected as the Guys: a skater kid, a black chick from Boston, and a cop. Weird shit.

The Elevens had been chasing him first off, but thankfully that had been glossed over, and truthfully, he wasn’t quite sure why they’d been chasing him this time either. Sure he’d been in their territory last week stealing skateboard stuff, but that didn’t warrant an AK, or even running down half the freaking city for all he knew. Something else was up, and José was worried he’d painted a target on himself.

“Nah, he wasn’t looking for nothing like that, uh, Ma’am,” he said. “‘Sorta fell on alla us unexpectedly, ya know?”

[Anna Fernandez]

Anna took a deep breath. Jim had been living at Redencion House for a while now, and she knew he was not the type to go looking for trouble. Trouble had, apparently, found him. She looked at the three visitors, and realized they were all standing around in the hallway still. "Lets all sit down and straighten this out, why don't we?"

She gave Jim a little push back into the kitchen. "Why don't you get Officer Hu some coffee, Jim. Here, everyone, just around the table. I'm sorry, we have just had a lot of recent trouble with the local gangs..." She pulled a chair out for herself and settled at the table in the breakfast nook while Jim busied himself finding a mug for Office Hu.

Anna smoothed her shirt over her belly, and looked at the Asian woman. "Perhaps you can tell me what happened..?"

[Polly Smithson]

In defiance of the suburban freakshow coffee klatch, Polly remained standing beneath the arching entry to the kitchen with a growing sense of disbelief siphoning over her skin like the gentle tremors of a soon-to-shift tectonic plate. Rather than the pursuit of making some kind of obstinate point, the woman's hesitance was born from a fascination with the calendar tacked onto the corkboard half of a mini-whiteboard, handily mounted on the wall. Each tiny square was a present, wrapped in colourful text and shorthand abbreviations, little codes that instantly reminded Polly of ward logs in looney bins. There was no space left unscathed - in fact, where cramming had become an impossibility, Post-It notes filled with additional notes had been neatly stuck on. It looked like the ambitious schedule of a time-defying overlord.

At the upper corner in diagonal salute a paperclip held a business card, an advertisement for a poison control hotline. Christ, make that an evil overlord.

Finally Anna's voice pierced through the shroud of suburban phobia and Polly cast her gaze over to the collection at the table. She frowned.

"Why you wanna ask her about it? Baryshnikov already told you what happened. Those cocksuckers were canvasing," Polly confirmed, her shoulders jerking up in a violent, dismissive shrug. "Bunny here ain't guilty of anything other'n being..." she waved a hand in front of her, as though the all of Jim's character could be summoned by a vague gathering of air, "himself. Which, granted, could drive Mother fucking Theresa nuts, but that's no crime."

Her eyes made a casual dive away to sail across the little room, absorbing every nook and cranny of the kitchen with a calculated hunger. The room was missing something, the feeling of the smell of deep spice and summer nights and a warm snap of laughter that followed her brother as closely as a shadow. Polly felt a ragged line of desperation claw at her windpipe as certainty settled in: Micah had never been here. There was nothing of him in the folds of the house, no clue or through-line to follow. If he'd stopped by, even for an instant, there would have been some sort of mark - hovering against the ceiling, rising up from the floor, leeching out of the quaintly warped countertops. He always left something of himself behind.

And there was no doubt about it, this was exactly the sort of place that Micah would have made a layover at if he'd been running on his own steam. Polly didn't know how the hell to qualify this independent non-profit, but it sure as fuck wasn't the sort of place that Lands End harpies made fat donations to so that they could boast casually at the country club as they nibbled on overpriced salads. Wasn't state, wasn't prep, wasn't nothin'.

In spite of the despair roiling in her belly, Polly remained impassive. The sick fear didn't even brush against the surface, even the faintest of ripples held down deep where the light couldn't filter through. There was a tragedy in the fact that Polly wasn't a gambler at heart because her poker face was a thing of beauty. She glanced idly out the window above the sink, a picture of grimly intent appraisal. There was a dizzy feeling lurking at the edge of her awareness, a furious inclination to just fly apart, burst at the seams and send darts of frustration stabbing into anything and everything that stood as a wall between her and answers.

A cigarette, goddamn. She wanted another one so badly it hurt in a marrow-deep way, all itch across the skin and jerk in the nerves. Instead, she settled for digging the nail of her right ring finger into the flesh of her palm, drawing a keen focus from the biting pain.

[Veronica]

Veronica gratefully accepted the cup of coffee from Jim, added a half packet of sugar to cut the bitterness. She took a sip, the warm brew filtered downward into her stomach.

She took a deep breath, and enjoyed the warm sensation and caffeine drip.

"I'm a little surprised that this sort of thing hasn't happened sooner." She said, hopefully putting things in context for Anna.

[Jim Lewinski]

It was of real comfort to Jim, as he pottered about the kitchen delivering coffee and iced tea, that he and the guys formed a united front on the small matter of their life-or-death misadventure. He was particularly pleased with Polly's stabbing interjection, which cut through the stagnant gloom of the conversation like a breath of frosty air, ruffling feathers, upsetting apple carts; she was stoic and statuesque, and yet managed to stir everything around her into constant motion. He loved that. And, at the dubious honour of being capable of driving Mother Teresa crazy, his chest swelled with pride.

Iced tea was new territory for Jim, but with no Mountain Dew in the fridge and coffee being a big no-no, he'd decided to dip his toes into the flowery teacup of metrosexuality, taking his cue from the latino skateboarder. His throat was still hoarse from all the unflattering screams, the memory of which he found strangely amusing - now so far removed from danger, wrapped up in the comfort of home, with new friends, drinking iced tea. Perched against the counter, he took a single gulp from his glass and it was instantly regurgitated into the sink in the elegant fashion of a water-spitting cherub. It was like ashtray water.

"You know, I've been thinkin'."

And it was true, he had been thinking, about a lot of things. Always a lot of things. While his new friends spoke, an army of ideas took shape in his head, desperate to be unleashed. First, there was The Lightning Bolt and Mister Unstoppable, alternate nicknames for himself he was to propose to Polly in the very immediate future. He had also considered the story of how he and his new friends met, its anecdotal potential, and invaluable phrases such as "caught up in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions" and "shitting bricks as it showered bullets." Then there was Anna, and the cloud of gloom bubbling overhead, it simply wouldn't do to pursue the sore topic of gang warfare under her roof any longer. And once the good officer had contributed her own pragmatic, and remarkably dispiriting, view, the general mood in the kitchen was in real danger of taking a nose dive.

"Polly is new to town," he said, it was an accurate assumption, "An' I was thinkin', what with her bein' one of us an' all, maybe she could stay a while?"

He glanced at Polly, looking hopeful, "You'd like that, right?"

[Anna Fernandez]

Anna's attention flicked from Polly, the sullen woman standing in the corner, to Officer Hu who was enjoying her coffee, and then to Jim who was doing his best to muddle the issues at hand by changing the subject. Granted, it was difficult for him to slow his mind down and not constantly change the subject, but Anna put up a hand toward him. "One of us? Hold that thought please, Jim."

She turned back to the police officer. "You are surprised this hasn't happened sooner? That Jim gets accosted by a gang and the police have to bring him home?" She rubbed her temples with slim fingers. "We had a shoot out on our street just a few weeks ago. My home was attacked by Tres Once members almost two months ago, and they haven't forgotten about us, the mutantes in the neighborhood.

"And that isn't even bringing into account La Raza or the Barrio Boneyard who seem to be trying to tear each other to pieces. So, si, perhaps this sort of thing should happen all the time, but it hasn't." Frustrated, Anna was starting to feel like she was going into free fall. "But still - what happened? And no, Jim, I cannot talk about anyone else staying here right now. Stop spitting your drink all over the sink."

[José Luis Flores]

Damn. She's flippin' out, ain't she?

José stayed quiet and unobtrusive as... Anna (that's her name!) rounded on the cop-lady with a vengeance. La Raza worked around here? It seemed he wouldn't be pulling any stunts around here then (neither at the house, nor around the neighborhood, or the general area). He actually felt bad for the woman, but he sure as hell wasn't sticking his neck out to be chopped off when Whitey and Polly remembered that the Elevens had been chasing him first.

Best just to stay quiet and let the whole thing blow over.

He sipped his tea, and reveled. After running as much as he did today, he didn't care much what he was drinking as long as it was wet.

[Veronica]

Veronica paused. She didn't like to talk very much, so her mind slowly put words into sentences and put it through her Professional Police Persona Filter.

"The Tres Onces were in pursuit of these three individuals. Jim simply walked out into the street at the wrong time. They were flushed into alleys and back streets, set up for a drive-by. We had officers in the area who noticed the pursuit and I managed to head them off before the hit squad got there. I disabled the driver and passengers of the hit squad. One of our officers was injured in the exchange."

Kill was not a word to use until everything had been vetted through command, so disable would have to do for now.

"But the report hasn't been filed yet." She took another sip of the still-hot brew.