IC Date: 6/27/2002
Scene: The Courthouse, after Rina's arrest.  Charges have been dismissed.

Salem walks in, tucking the car keys into a front pocket, wearing black coat
and hat and dark, mirrored sunglasses. His face is closed and tight.

And just when you thought it was safe to go back onto the streets. A man
comes out from behind the clerk's desk; he's tall, and blonde, dressed
smartly, and definitely walking towards Rina, he smile casual and
determined.

The street nerves are definitely at full alert. Rina's expression tightens a
fraction, and she stops to wait. She adopts a casual slouch, hands thrust
into the pockets of her jacket. "Detective," she says affably. "So nice to
see you on this fine summer's day."

Detective Schulte's smile is about as not-friendly as a smile can get, but
his voice is its usual even, accomodating self as he drawls, "Miss Vincenzo.
So pleased to see your arraignment went well." His accent is clearly
Southern.

John's eyes narrow, and he overcomes the initial reluctance to advance
towards his fiance - and makes up for the lost time by turning his usual
graceful walk into something of a stride. The predatorial aspect is not,
however, lost at all. Tactless as it is, it seems the mild-mannered Ahroun
intends to interrupt.

Salem's mouth thins, compressing into a line of tension as he picks up his
step to catch up with John. One hand comes up to touch the other Walker on
the shoulder in caution.

Hear the teeth grind. John slows, anyway.

"Quite well," Rina answers easily. Her smile is cordial but the eyes have a
knife edge. "I'm just going downstairs to retrieve my, ah, personal
belongings. If you'll excuse me, detective." If it were a different age, the
two enemies might bow to one another and then have a duel at twenty paces;
now, though, there is only that polite-but-chilly smile, and the stony look
in the eyes. She turns slightly, to step past his shoulder toward the two
approaching men; both look rather like thugs. And neither looks to be in a
good mood.

The detective's demeanor seems to go from smooth and sure to edgey and
irritated almost as soon as John and Salem are within a few feet of them. He
can't help but look away from them, but he's also not particularly happy
about it. "Well Miss Vincenzo, at least take my card," he says to her,
holding a simple business card out. "If you think of anything...useful."

Rina looks over to Schulte, offering a taut smile as she takes the offered
card. "Certainly. Say hi to Carmichael for me. Buy him a doughnut or
somethin'." Whatever lies in her eyes remains unspoken, but there is a glint
there: challenge, perhaps. She flips the card between two fingers and slides
it into the pocket of her jeans, as she turns away to meet John. There is a
look of warning in her expression, something that might keep him at bay.

Salem stands at John's shoulder, hands folded into the pockets of his coat.
He turns his scarred face to regard the officer for a moment or two, then
shifts his veiled gaze toward Rina. His face reveals little other than that
tight, uncompromising control.

Frowning at Rina, and eyeing the detective again, John inclines his head in
acknowledgement and greeting to the girl. The simple role of a bodyguard.

Schulte is visibly torn between following Rina and managing an introduction
with her friend--or friends--or exiting as quickly as possible. He tempers
the later response by leaving with stiff but slow steps, like he's
deliberately not hastening away.

With her back to the detective, Rina gives them both a swift smile, meeting
John's eyes for a moment longer to let something more pass between them.
"Just hafta stop by the lockup desk to get my shit," she murmurs. "And then
we're outta here."

Relaxing slightly, John pauses to glance around the interior of the building
a few more moments. A hint of something wistful in his expression, before he
shakes his head and turns to follow Rina. "You're OK." It's half a question.

Salem says nothing, nothing at all.

After a few minutes of negotiating the Courthouse's warren, as well as
making a few excuses, Rhiannon emerges from behind the clerk's desk. She
walks by Rina, barely acknowledging her save for a very curt, "Parking lot"
as she passes. The deputy then exits the front of the Courthouse at her
usual quick pace, aiming for the public parking lot where her car is
stashed, far afield of its usual place along the street in front of the
Courthouse.

Rina meets Rhiannon's gaze for only a moment, enough to give a slight nod in
answer. Then she is headed down to the lockup, to retrieve a very legal
handgun, a motorcycle jacket, the double shoulder rig, and her wallet. The
transaction takes place mostly in silence, she scribbles a signature on the
proper form, and then she lets John and Salem lead the way out. Presumably
to the parking lot in question.

Noting the exchange between cop and crim, John eyes Rina sideways. "Got many
cop friends?" he grunts, on their way out.

Salem falls into step on Rina's other side. He still hasn't said a word, and
there's something terribly ominous about that silence.

Rina checks over the gun in the presence of the clerk, downstairs--a pointed
gesture, perhaps, assuring herself that no harm has come to her possessions
while in police custody. It happens to be a very nice .45.

"Only one," she answers quietly. "And he'll probably flip when he hears
about this. Do you know where the parking lot is? I've never been down here
before.

John looks to Salem a moment, then shakes his head slightly.

Rina's phone rings, and at about the same time a dark blue 4Runner that
looks like it really belongs parked out in front of a ranger station drives
past and stops at the next block in a loading zone. "Blue truck." Is all
Rhiannon dares to say before she hangs up. The Washington license plate is
shiney and new, and reads MATADOR.

Salem tilts his head slightly toward John, and the tension in his posture
eases back a notch, though by any reckoning, the Philodox is still wound
tight.

Rina's frown disappears, after she answers the call and almost immediately
hangs up. Shrugging into her jacket, she leads the way back upstairs and
outside, heading for the SUV without a moment's pause. "I think she wants a
chat..." She glances over to John. "How'd you guys get here? Drive or walk?"

"Drive," John murmurs. He suddenly seems to be growing impatient, in
contrast to Salem's slight relaxation. "Can we just hurry up and do this?"

"Ri wants to talk to me," Rina says over her shoulder, as she walks out. "If
you don't want to wait, go to the studio and I'll metcha there.

"Or else come with." She takes the stairs double, in deference to John's
impatience.

"It's up to John," says Salem mildly. Unlike his posture and body language,
his tone of voice is perfectly calm.

The Walker Elder looks decidedly unhappy for a few moments of indecision,
then grunts, "We'll come with. Hob-nob and all that shit."

Once they're out on the street, Rina heads for the blue SUV, looking for
Rhiannon in the driver's seat. She cuts around to the passenger door, and
hops in. "Well. That was fun."

John inserts himself in the back without a word.

Salem takes the other half of the back seat. Once in, he removes his hat and
gives Rhiannon a nod.

Rhiannon snorts a laugh. "Your place?" she asks Rina, continuing her
two-word trend and only taking casual note of the two backseat passengers.
She nods at John and Salem, then pulls out onto the street, her normal habit
of wild driving set aside momentarily. The truck is well-used, but also
well-kept: it's clean, and possessed of a not-inconsiderable stereo system.

"Nah, the guys drove over. Just go for a spin and drop us a few black from
where we started." Her voice is as steady as her gaze, focused on the road
ahead. "What'd you need?"

Rhiannon sighs, turning the truck with practiced ease. "What's considerably
more important is what I have to tell you, and it'll probably take a
while--long enough if I circle the Courthouse someone's going to notice.
Better if I go to your place. I've got a good reason to not be at the
office, it's fine. I can drop y'all at your cars and meet you there, if that
works."

The more heavily-scarred of the two big men looks sideways at his partner in
(presumably) crime. "I'll take a walk for the car," he rumbles, "If you
wanna get dropped off wherever you're stayin'."

Salem hesitates for a second, then says, "I can walk home. I've done it
often enough."

Rhiannon looks at each of them in turn through her rear-view mirror, then
over to Rina. "Your place then?" she confirms before making any assumptions.

John might as well be granite. No help, there.

"Yeah, drop me at the studio, I guess." Rina glances out the window, leaning
her head against it a moment. "God, that Schulte's an asshole."

Salem leans back against the seat and folds his arms across his chest.

"That Schulte, is part of what I have to talk about," Rhiannon shares. "I
did a little digging on him, and I couldn't find much. Which is never good."

...And this is the point where the Walker Elder's ears prick up and his eyes
lose that closed-off look - becoming active.

"Yeah, well. I can smell greasy bacon a mile away. He's dirty?" All Rina's
looking for there is confirmation; evidently her interaction with the man
gave her some suspicion.

Rhinnon sort of shrugs, as if the answer to that is less bothersome, at
least to her. "No more so than any other cop, and certainly not to the point
of killing people, that sort of thing. He's more of a getting-justice-done
sort, you know, planting evidence, that kind of crap. What has me worried
is, I can't find out much about *him*, specifically. Like, where does he
come from. Where did he go to college."

Salem lifts an eyebrow. "Unusual," he remarks.

John's eye flick to one side, towards Salem. "We might have a try at it.
Don't let appearances fool you," he murmurs lowly and smoothly. "We have a
knack for this sort of thing."

Rina's brow furrows, and she glances over to Rhiannon. "Huh. Name change,
maybe? Must be a skeleton there."

"Unusual," Rhiannon agrees. "And it bothers me. The last time I came across
someone like that, he was working for Spiral Kin." She shakes her head, not
bothering to delve into that story. "Oh, and I'm Rhiannon," she says to
Salem and John both, "and I'll be your chauffeur for the day."

"We met," Salem says, taking off the sunglasses finally and tucking them
into the breast pocket of his t-shirt. "At the Dark Wine and Roses?"

John remains quiet, looking between Salem and Rhiannon a moment. He looks at
Rina, curious, then lets his gaze drift out to the window. His brows furrow.

Rina lets out a breath through her teeth. "Crap," she says succinctly.
"That's fuckin' all we need. How long has he been workin' here?"

Noting John's silence, Rhiannon nods to Salem. "Not the best place to meet,
considering the circumstances, but." Unsure if she should wait on John, she
tells Rina, "About a year. He came from South Carolina, which I'd guess his
accent gives away, but I couldn't get anything on where he grew up
specifically, and what school he went to. He did supposedly make detective
in Charleston, though."

Eventually, John murmurs, "Is he a good man or a bad man, or one of those
like us who walks the line between?" He's still looking out the window, but
the question's aimed at Rhiannon.

"He's malicious," Rina mutters, "I know that. Got a mean streak."

Salem notes, "We have family not far from Charleston. Hundred Stars Sept."

"Rhiannon?" John asks, again, distractedly.

Rina glances over to her, eyes veiled. Her expression is distant, her mind
clearly somewhere else.

"I'll go on a limb, and say bad," Rhiannon says flatly. "He's hiding
something, and this isn't just regular cop bullshit. He pushed really hard
to get Rina held, and to me that means he's either on the take for whoever
did kill Costas, or, he's convinced she did it, and is willing to break
rules to prove it. Neither of those is good." She stops, and considers what
Salem's just said. "We should have them ask around, see what they can find.
If anything. Hell maybe that whole aspect of it's faked and he's actually
from Wisconsin."

"Hmn," says the Philodox. "At the very least, we should be able to verify
that he's /not/ from that area."

"If I was a cop..." John muses - almost to himself, "And I were sure... I'd
probably do what he was doing. Rules hinder so much." He shakes his head a
little and stops looking out the window. "Black and white. We'll investigate
him. If he's playing for the other side, we'll... do something about him. If
he's just dirty and misguided, we'll leave him alone."

"Might be just misguided," Rina says softly, looking out the window. "He
seemed pretty damn sure it was me."

Rhiannon nods. "I'll see if I can find anything else, and we can see what
folks in Carolina can turn up. And, speaking of Costas." The marshal is full
of good news today, it seems. "There's a little more available now which
Schulte no-doubt never bothered to tell you, because he's such an up-and-up
guy."

Salem opens his mouth after Rina's last remark, and then closes it.

Rina lifts one shoulder. "No reason he oughta tell me jack shit," she
murmurs. "I'm a suspect."

Rhiannon doesn't contest that particular aspect of it, but says, "Looks like
his girlfriend--I'm sorry, fiance--got about $5000 in unmarked bills maybe,
two, three days before he was killed."

John's eyes turn to Rina. "You didn't do it, right? ...I didn't think to
ask."

Rina purses her lips, still looking out the window, her expression focused
in thought. "No," she says quietly. "We made a deal, remember

Salem's eyes narrow, then turn on Rina.

Rina purses her lips, still looking out the window, her expression focused
in thought. "No," she says quietly. "We made a deal, remember?"

[Salem has Truth of Gaia.  Rina's being truthful.]

The Walker Elder inclines his head in acknowledgement. "S'what I figured."
He looks to Rhiannon. "Neither of us are into the killin' biz for the next
few months. Possibly one of yours or some idealist had a bee in his bonnet
about it."

Salem cuts a look sidelong over toward John, giving the other Walker a
minute nod after Rina's answer. Then his brows lift. Questioningly.

Rhiannon grimaces at John. "Actually, I'm more wondering if someone's not
setting Rina up. Separately from the detective, I can't tell."

Rina's voice drips with sarcasm. "Gee, I can't think of /anyone/ in this
town who'd like to see me locked up or dead..."

John drags his eyes towards Rhiannon, with a slightly pained expression on
his face. "List's as long as my arm. In stacked A4 pages. I'd do some
digging, but right now, we have... more pressing matters. The Caern, and all
that."

Salem grunts, then settles back against the seat. His gaze drifts toward the
window.

"Won't deny that. I'll keep my ear to the ground, though." Rhiannon finally
arrives at Rina's, and brings the truck to a stop. "And this, ladies and
gentleman, concludes our tour of the longest-possible route from this
complex, to the Courthouse."

John nudges Salem in the ribs as he moves to get up. "Remind me to talk to
you about that promise, sometime," he grunts, before opening the door and
slipping himself out gracefully.

Rina tips her head back. "Thanks," she says, rolling her head to offer the
woman a half-smile. "Call me if you find anything, and... take care, okay?
If he /is/ dirty... best be careful where you dig." She opens the door and
slides out, then.

"Noted," replies the Philodox. He lets himself out a moment later, pausing
only to give the two kinfolk a nod.

Rhiannon has heard that warning enough times, but given her past dealings
with a similar situation, she nods. "Not a problem. I've got some folks in
LA who can maybe help. With any luck he's just some punk from IA trying to
flush out dirty cops."

The Ahroun lowers one brow over a wry smile and walks up next to the
Driver's-side window. "Name's John Smith, by the way. From Seattle. Now
temporary Elder. S'good to have you aboard. Frankie's full 'a nothing but
praise."

"Temporary, hell," Salem mutters, not quite underbreath.

Rina gives Rhiannon a quick smile. "John, meet Rhiannon." Then she shuts the
door, smiling a little to herself.

Rhiannon offers John her hand, and nods. "Rhiannon, from LA, which you
probably know. And Fran would have to be full of praise." Her eyebrows flick
just once as she divulges, "I changed his diapers."

Salem replaces the fedora, tugging the brim very slightly forward, and then
slips the sunglasses back onto his face.

John smiles a little more broadly at the US. Marshall's comment, and he
looks to the other Tribesmates. "Didn't mention /that/ one, though," he
murmurs, and inclines his head to Rhiannon. "Have a safe trip."

Rina's expression is dark, thoughtful, as she studies the sidewalk. Then
again, maybe she's just tired. Her eyes have that shadowy, bruised look
about them, and she looks decidedly rumpled, as if she hasn't slept.

Rhiannon waves to Salem and Rina, then pulls out of the parking area--and
just as she hits the street, there it is, that terribly characteristic
driving of hers. The 4Runner sprints forward and she's suddenly flying
between unwitting civillians as if on a call.

"John. Rina." Salem looks at the pair. "If you need anything, you have my
number."

When the truck pulls away, leaving empty space between them, Rina looks
across to John. One corner of her mouth quirks upward in a wry, wistful
half-smile. "Thanks," she says simply. The dark eyes glance over to Salem.
"A lot."

John moves to get off the street, and closer to Rina - though it seems a
secondary concern. Standing close by her side, he seems to give her a quick
inspection, and then nods to Salem. "Thanks. Appreciate your being around,
Jack."

Rina nods an echo of the words.

Salem manages a thin, tight smile and inclines his head. "You're welcome. Be
safe, hm?" With that, the halfmoon turns to go.

Turning to John, Rina leans against him, both arms sliding around his waist.
She seems to collapse into the Ahroun's protection, weariness finally
betraying itself in the slump of her shoulders.

John's hand drifts to Rina's side, just touching her face a moment, then
lower, to her arm. As if testing to see that she's really there - the
physical contact denied during the trip was probably getting to him. However
his eyes remain on the one-eyed Walker, stalking away from them. The Elder's
look is preoccupied.

Salem's hands slip into his coat pockets as he strides away, eating up the
sidewalk at a brisk, long-legged pace. Eventually, he turns a corner and is
gone from view.

Rina remains quiet in the Walker's arms for long seconds. There might be
someone watching, but for the moment she doesn't really care; some needs are
more important than others.