It is currently 18:14 Pacific Time on Wed Jun 26 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 85 degrees
Fahrenheit (29 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
southwest at 12 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.88 and steady,
and the relative humidity is 27 percent. The dewpoint is 48 degrees
Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (90% full).

Dark Wine and Roses - Cafe(#2116RJM)

This room is bright and airy. The walls are still a cheerful white, and the
floors, moldings, and beams are identical to the ones in the bookshop. An
oak-and-marble counter is set close to one wall, and a bar can be seen
behind it. A swinging door next to the bar leads into the kitchen, which can
be glimpsed when the door is opened. In addition to the lights hanging from
the ceiling, several fans are also visible. Large windows open onto the
patio outside. Tables and booths of various sizes are scattered around the
room.

A glass door on the west wall leads out onto the patio, while the archway to
the east leads into the bookshop proper. The door to the kitchen is behind
the counter to the north.

Salem is seated at a small table near the south window, a thin paperback
book held open in one hand while the other rests near a cup of coffee.
There's nobody seated with him, or even near him; the bad vibes given off by
a high-Rage Garou keep nosy people away. Even though he's doing nothing
threatening nor even suspicious, a few other patrons keep giving him a
nervous glance.

The door to the shop opens to edmit in another customer, the chestnut haired
Fianna that some seem to know by name. She gets looks from people in town
who might have known her at one time, otherwise, she goes unnoticed and
tries not to poke her nose into establishments more than once in a week. The
last time at the cafe was awhile ago, so hopefully the stuck-up cashier had
forgotten the mishap between Raven and themselves, with Aubrey coming into
to rescue the almost unpleasent turn-out. The girl steps to the counter and
orders an ice latte, digging out spare change from her pocket.

Salem glances up to note the Fianna's arrival. He turns the book over and,
watching her, takes a sip from his coffee.

Aubrey turns around from the counter, leaning her elbows against the
countertop as she observes the cafe as if she owns it. No one seems to give
her any odd looks, except some casual glances. One of those coming from the
man that she reconizes in the corner. She blinks her eyes for a moment and
turns around to recieve her order from the cashier. Slowly the Fianna cub
meanders her way around the tables before coming to a stop before Salem's.
"Hello." she says, "Mind if I sit down?" The young woman makes a gesture
towards the seat across from the Walker.

Salem leans back with an air of casualness that's more deliberate than
sincere and gestures at the chair. "Be my guest." The book, now that the
Fianna's close enough to see it, bears the name of William Gibson; the title
is _Burning Chrome_.

Aubrey wouldn't know the book, even though she does spare a glance at the
title. "Reading?" she asks, even though it seems obvious enough. She slips
into the chair, sipping at the latte.

"Re-reading, actually," says the Walker. "It was recommended by a cousin of
mine."

"Oh," Aubrey answers. "The last time I was able to read anything," she
almost starts chuckling, "I was at the farmhouse." She looks down at the
tabletop, "That seems so very long ago. Most of the cubs now probably don't
even know what being bored means." Her voice is keep soft, not meant to be
overheard.

Salem takes another sip of his coffee, grimacing only slightly at its
just-above-lukewarm taste. "The sign of the times," he replies evenly.

Aubrey nods her head. "Yes, of course." She props her chin in her palm for a
moment as she looks around the cafe. After a moment she looks back to Salem,
giving him a studing gaze. Before she is about to ask him something, she
pauses before changing her thought. "Any news to share that you know of?"

Salem meets her gaze evenly. After a moment, he answers her with a shake of
his head. "Nothing that hasn't been spread around by Kaz and such already.
You've heard about Western Eye?"

Aubrey squints her eyes lightly in thought. "I might have." she says with a
pause, "So much news lately. Please, do tell."

Salem plucks a packet of sugar from the little condiments basket at the
table and empties it into his unhot coffee. "They're under attack as well."
His mouth thins. "That's one of the largest Septs on the west coast."

Aubrey now recalls having heard the news and sighs softly. "Ahh, yes. I
remember hearing of that." She clenches her jaw for just a breif moment.
"Hard to believe..." Her hand gives a light wisk before she take another sip
of her chilled latte.

Salem makes a cynical-sounding 'mhn' noise, as though he finds believing to
be all too easy. "How goes your Rite?"

Aubrey gives a light smile, "Good, although, I won't find out the results
until the time of meeting comes again. We have finished most of what has
been asked of us. Speaking of which, with the boar situation, I hope someone
has relayed what Cameron and I had accomplished to Kaz."

Salem arches a brow. "Why Kaz?"

Aubrey smiles once again, "She was our chosen Galliard to collect our deeds
and accomplishments throughout our Rite of Passage." Casually she shrugs up
her shoulders, "For reasons she was chosen, I do not know, but Tobin and
Cameron speak highly of her. So, I went with their best judgement."

Salem seems to consider, taking another sip from his cup. "Kaz is good at
what she does," the Glass Walker says at last.

Aubrey nods, "That is what I have heard." Her gaze travels towards the south
window, looking out of it from where she is seated.

Salem takes another sip. "I'll speak to Kaz when I see her next," he says,
after a moment of silence.

Aubrey shifts in her seat, "Thank you." is her answer. Then she sips the
latte again before looking across to the shelves of books at the opposite
end of the cafe.

Salem's lips twitch into a thin smile that doesn't touch the rest of his
face. "Don't mention it. I should have considered it sooner."

Aubrey nods, "Everyone is busy not to think of little things like that.
Well, for the three of us it is a big thing but probably not for someone
like you."

"No, I remember," says the Glass Walker, evenly. "It's been a long time, but
I /do/ remember."

Aubrey taps her fingernails against the table breifly before taking another
sip of the ice latte. She gives the plastic cup a light shake as she looks
back to the Glass Walker. "Alright." she smiles lightly.

Salem returns the smile with another thin one of his own, and then lapses
into silence as a waitress approaches, timidly. "Um, refill?" she asks the
one-eyed man, warily, and Salem nods curtly.

Aubrey looks to Salem and seems to sway in her seat. "Uh, may I ask you a
question?" she asks, looking a little blushed.

Salem waits until the waitress has scurred away. He regards the Fianna cub
steadily for a moment, then makes a 'go ahead' gesture.

Aubrey bites her lip just for a moment. "Are you really called Dark One?"
she asks softly. Curiousity kills the cat.

Salem sets down his coffee cup. "I /was/ called that," he replies, with
definite emphasis on the past tense verb. "By a Mexican Gnawer who, behind
my back, dubbed me 'el Diablo' as well."

Aubrey nods. "So he is speaking the truth for once," she says under her
breath. Then she looks to Salem, "Oh. That is rather, uh... intresting."

"'He' who?" asks Salem, studying her.

Aubrey blushes horribly, realizing that she had said that outloud. "Uh," she
pauses, "Cameron?"

Salem says, "Ah," and nods. "The other Fianna member of your group."

Aubrey raises her eyebrow but does reply, except for a light murmured
'uhh-huh'.

The waitress returns, pouring fresh coffee for the Glass Walker and glancing
at the Fianna girl. "Um, can I get you, um, anything else?"

Aubrey shakes her head, "I am fine. Thanks." She laces her fingers together
as she looks to the Glass Walker. Waiting for the waitress to step away, she
then asks, "You were at the safehouse, correct? Have you found a new
apartment?"

Salem cups his hands around the warm mug. "I have," he says, but doesn't
elaborate.

Aubrey nods and spares a glance towards the clock. "I'd ought to be headin'
home." she says. "Thank you for your company."

"Walk safe," says the Walker in farewell.

Aubrey slides out of her chair, offers a small wave, then vanishes out the
door she had entered from.

[A short time later...]

Rina steps into the cafe with a tote bag of books hung over one shoulder and
her head bowed over a paperback. She heads for the counter, blissfully
unaware of her surroundings.

Salem is seated at a small table by the window, for the moment ignoring a
copy of William Gibson's _Burning Chrome_ in favor of watching the other
patrons at the cafe. Unsurprisingly, there's no one sitting anywhere near
him. He spots the kinswoman as she comes in and calls over to her. "Rina."

Rina catches a quick breath, nearly dropping her book as she snaps into
alertness--with an overall effect that's a bit amusing, even. She blinks
over at the man and then gives him a startled, disoriented little smile.
"Oh. Salem. Rerouting. Hi." Suiting action to word, she heads for his table,
the book folded over a finger.

Salem actually smiles a bit, more of a lightening of his expression than
anything. "Good evening." There's a cup of coffee in front of him, still
steaming gently.

Rina's smile widens, a diffident thing at first--being caught off-guard
makes her self-conscious, apparently. There's a genuine affection in that
smile, though, as she slides into the seat across from him and lets the bag
down to the floor, the book dropped in carelessly. "Hey..." The smile
broadens to her more customary shit-eating grin. "Ya scared the bejeezis
outta me."

"I scare the bejeezis out of most people," Salem replies in deadpan fashion.
He studies her for a moment. "Are you all right?"

Rina nods quickly, eyes bright. "Yeah, fine, why?"

Salem considers a moment, then says, "You seem a little... jumpy."

Rina lifts a shoulder and beams at him. "I'm good," she says, a bit quick.
"It's all good." Then, suddenly serious and direct, she looks back to him.
"How y'holdin' up?"

Rhiannon walks in from the book store proper, speaking into a small
cellphone in a low, almost murmuring voice. Once inside the cafe she hangs
up almost immediately, and scans the patrons in a manner consistant with
someone on the lookout. Spying Rina, Rhiannon immediately makes her way
between the tables towards the young woman, her expression one of grim
determination.

Salem is about to answer Rina, but Rhiannon's approach silences any reply.
Instantly, the thin facade of easy calm is gone; his gaze rivets on the new
arrival, posture stiff.

Rhiannon is fairly tall for a woman, standing only a little under six feet
while carrying herself with a stature that implies she thinks it's more like
six and a half. Her build is lithe, but even beneath her clothing there's
evidence of strength, and she moves with casual economy. She's neither ugly
nor particularly beautiful; if one is of a mind to appeciate a strong chin
and sharp features, she might be considered handsome, but even that's a
compliment. Her hair is a rich olive brown and usually kept in a clip at the
base of her neck, where it falls to a little below her shoulders, the slight
hint of a wave curling it gently. Her eyes are almost black, and taken in
with her hair and facial features she seems to have some Latino heritage,
although her skin is typical of a mixed European background--pale, but not
ghastly. She's dressed casually, wearing a pair of comfortable plain dark
blue denim jeans, a burguny, short-sleeved t-shirt that fits her closely,
and a pair of dark brown hiking shoes. A lightweight, green and black plaid
flannel completes the outfit, and a bulge in the overshirt's fit at the
small of her back suggests the presense of what might be a gun. Her badge is
visible, clipped to the waistline of the jeans: the circumscribed 5-pointed
star, the age-old badge of a deputy Marshal.

Rina's easy enough to spot, especially when she runs a hand back through the
shock of dark hair and musses it absently; the gesture draws attention to
the black leather.

Catching the sudden tension, Rina straightens slightly and looks across at
Salem, without turning around. "What," she prompts in a low voice.

"Visitor," says Salem coldly, still eyeballing Rhiannon's approach.

Rina turns her head to look over her shoulder, a subtle wariness in both the
movement and the way she keeps both hands out of sight. One of them slips
into her jacket, probably out of habit, checking for the everpresent weapon.

Rhiannon doesn't walk quickly, and she doesn't tarry either. With a movement
that seems unconscious she shields her badge from any further examination by
shifting her overshirt, and stops at the table as if she's a friend, and not
a stranger. The deputy favors Salem with a slightly edgey frowns, but she
quickly turns to Rina and informs her, a little quietly, "We need to talk."
Her voice brooks little argument.

Salem flicks a look from Rhiannon to Rina, checking her face for signs of
recognition.

Rina nods minutely, rising to her feet as she turns to face the woman--and
then glancing back over her shoulder to Salem. "Uh. Mm. This is Rhiannon,
a... a colleague of ours..." Just enough to put him a little more at ease,
and then she looks back to the woman. "Wha'sup?" she asks quietly.

Salem sits back, slowly, keeping his hands cupped lightly around his coffee
cup. He nods acknowledgement to Rina, but continues to watch Rhiannon
cautiously.

Rhiannon considers Salem again, noting Rina's use of the word colleague, and
seems to look him over a little more closely. "Do you want him listening
in?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

Rina lifts one shoulder. "He's privy to most of my secrets," she says with a
trace of black humor in her smile. The dark eyes glance over the room,
swiftly, and then she steps closer to Rhiannon, a flicker of curiosity in
her expression. "W'sup?"

Rhiannon hesitates for only a moment longer, then nods and grimaces. "Well I
hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm the vanguard for a half-dozen
cops. George Costas woke up dead this morning. Double tap to the head with a
.38." She pauses, waiting to see if Rina recognizes the name.

Salem lifts the mug and sips. The motion's smooth and controlled, but
doesn't quite hide the lunar tension coiling under his skin.

Rina's expression tightens a moment, and the flush recedes into pallor, a
sickened look on her face. "Fuck," she says eloquently, and the black eyes
slide away a moment. Thinking. She looks back to Rhiannon and asks, simply,
"Warrant?"

Salem's gaze slides toward Rina. He's gone absolutely still.

"First guess," Rhiannon congratulates dryly. "He's got a
fiance...girlfriend, whatever you want to call her. She said she saw you two
arguing a couple days ago, *and* saw you talking to him a couple hours
before she found him." She stops again, and there's a nervous energy about
her that's partially from the approaching danger and partially from Salem's
presense.

Rina, by contrast, seems absolutely calm. With that particularly ingrained
wiseguy sort of calm, that takes police attention as just another
inconvenience in life. Her mouth tightens a little at the woman's words, and
she nods. There's a glance toward the shop proper as the bell announces the
opening of the door--resigned, if anything. "Right," she mutters. "Sometimes
it sucks to be me." Glancing over to Salem, she gives him a small, wry
little smile. "Can you carry my books home for me? And maybe tell John?"

Salem opens his mouth slightly, then closes it, refraining from asking
whatever he was going to ask. Instead, he jerks his head in a very slight,
curt nod. "Of course."

Rhiannon's expression is tinged with reget and frustration and she lays out
some of the rules. "They can't see me talking to you, and more importantly,
don't let slip you heard any of this from me." She sighs and keeps her back
to the door. "I'm sorry I couldn't get the jump on this. Cops haven't been
talking to people like they usually might. Fucking FBI has them all riled
up." Mostly frustration, when she mentions the FBI.

Rina's smile softens a touch--an expression meant to be tender, reassuring.
"'S'aright. Thanks." She looks over to Salem. "It's okay, aright? It's
nothin'. Only if I need to call, it might be the lawyer. Shouldn't hafta go
that far, but... just let him know, and tell him not to worry." A breath,
and she glances over to Rhiannon. "I'm carrying. Legal. You want me t'hand
it over or you just wanna scram?"

Salem's expression remains dour, and there's a look in his eye which
indicates that he'll be having a Word with Rina, later. For now, though, the
Garou remains silent.

Rhiannon's eyes narrow as she considers that. "Better give it here. And be
quick about it. No one's gonna be frisking me for guns. You, on the other
hand..." Her voice trails off, and she leaves the rest to grim imaginations.

The doors open to reveal Jeremy, ushering himself in at a quick pace. His
black trench coat nearly swallows up his thin frame, heavy steel toe'd boots
clomping upon the ground loudly.

Rina's brow furrows. "Yeah, well. I'll give you the nine," she murmurs. "I
better."

She turns a little from doors and windows, reaching into her jacket and
surreptitiously handing over the gun to Rhiannon. "Get goin'," she murmurs.
"My pig sense is tingling."

Rhiannon catches Jeremy's entrance and frowns slightly. She spares him only
a slight glance and mutters, "It's a fucking convention." She quickly takes
Rina's gun and slips behind Salem. Looking out the window, she could be just
another cafe patron awaiting her order.

Salem pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. He retrieves Rina's
bookbag from the floor smoothly and slings it over one shoulder. "Patio," he
says, fishing out a few bills to pay for his coffee. "Less noticeable."

Rina's brow furrows, and she looks over her shoulder. She flashes another of
those everything-is-quite-okay smiles. "Hey, J. Y'see any cops outside?"

One of the patrons, a tall woman with wavy blonde hair, looks up warily from
her reading and coffee.

Jeremy glances about for a few moments from behind his glasses, then spies
the three Walker's in their own lil realm. He heads over quickly, choke
chain about his neck dangling and jingling. As Rina engages him in
conversation, he slowly dips his head. "One squad car, looking like they may
come in." He says softly, rubbing his neck gently.

Rina's smile turns a touch tight. "I think I'm gonna hang at the counter,
guys." She looks over to Salem with a moment's seriousness. "It's fine," she
says firmly. "It's gonna be fine. I oughta be home by morning. Tell him
that."

Salem's mouth thins. "I'll tell him," he says to Rina, and steps onto the
patio, taking Rina's bag and his own battered book of Gibson prose with him.

With a casual air about her Rhiannon quits the scene, but she does pause
long enough to give Rina a significant look. She blends in to the cafe
patrons and eventually makes her way onto the patio, separate from Salem and
Jeremy. No need to make it look like an exodus.

Jeremy glances over at Salem, then over to Rina. "Um.. so... should I follow
him or stick with you?" He asks with a light smirk. Eyes of blue peer over
towards the entrance again, subtelly.

Rina meets the woman's eyes for a moment, a flicker of wryness in her own.
Then she looks over to Jeremy, and offers a quiet smile. "I'll be fine," she
says easily. "How's Diz?"

The departures aren't a moment too soon. There's the traditional raising of
voices, then a hush as people part left and right, allowing three uniformed
officers and two plain clothes detectives into the cafe from the bookstore.
The look out over the room in the same way Rhiannon did earlier, but it
takes them a little longer to spot Rina. The shortest (and probably oldest)
of the three detectives leads the way, and they don't stop until they're
right in front of her and Jeremy. "Miss Vincenso?" He only butchers the name
slightly.

"Diz' is fine, she's at home and had plans on meeting me here later tonight
once she finishes up with some homework. We really just need to get away
from the new guy, Jacob. He's annoying as hell.." Pausing, Jeremy lifts up a
brow as the cop cuts right into the conversation, glancing over to him in
all his gothy apparel and apperance, a far cry from that computer nerd
visage he worn so many months ago.

On the patio, Rhiannon has her back to the windows looking inside, and she
seems wearily resigned. "Just what we need," she says absently.

On the patio, Salem sits with the unscarred side of his face toward the
window; it's a better position for him to watch, anyway. Grim, he just
shakes his head a little.

Rina purses her lips in a taut little moue, and lowers her eyes for a moment
as she lets out a breath. "Yeah, you know it," she answers, glancing over to
the greying officer evenly. "I'd say you must be here for the donuts,
Carmichael, but I know they suck. W'sup?"

The lead detective glances at Jeremy, but soon ignores him in favor of Rina.
He's wearing a plain dark blue suit, and from an inner pocket he produces
the immortal piece of folded paper. Carmichael absorbs her smart-ass remark
with only a slight twitch to his mouth. "I have a warrant for your arrest."
He sounds a little excited by the prospect, like he might actually have
something real this once.

On the patio, Rhiannon shifts her weight slightly, then says, "Rhiannon," by
way of introduction.

On the patio, Salem turns his head slightly toward her, though not quite
enough to actually be able to see her, not unless his left eye is less blind
than it looks. "Salem. Jack Salem."

On the patio, Rhiannon nods, comitting the name to memory. "She'll probably
be out before morning, if the family lawyers are as good as I hear."

On the patio, Salem murmurs, "They are. Fortunately."

On the patio, Rhiannon grunts. "They won't need to work too hard. It's a
classic she-said situation.

"Hello Carmichael." Jeremy says softly as he glances over to the man,
lightly clearing his throat. "If I may interject.. exactly what is she being
arrested for, sir?" His chin lifts up a tad, reaching into his pocket and
taking out a palm pilot, with a funny looking antennea hangin off it. He
taps it on, the screen lightly glowing. IPAQ, don't leave home without it.
'You got mail'.

Rina's eyebrows lift in an elegant, genuine expression of surprise. She
recovers her equanimity, however, tipping her head to one side. "I have a
concealed carry permit," she says wryly, "but I think your paper trumps
mine." She gives Jeremy a glance. "Hey, that's a good question."

Even the uniformed officers look at Jeremy now, and Carmichael sneers at
him. "Why Jeremy. So good to see you." He addresses his answer to Rina,
however. "First degree murder." He steps back and the two officers come
forward, cuffs at the ready and guns safeties off.

Rina doesn't need her acting skill to pale a fraction; she takes a careful
breath, and keeps her hands well in sight. The dark eyes stay fixed on the
detective's. "That's not good. Not good at all." She wets her lips, and
manages to look a bit awkward, suddenly. "I haven't done this in a few
years, so I'm kinda rusty. But I think one of you oughta maybe remove the
.45 from under my left arm, yeah?" Obligingly, she lifts her arms away from
her body.

[Net-bump.  Missing: some of Jeremy taunting the cops.]

"I would, but its not past my bedtime yet." Jeremy says with a slight smirk,
cocking an eye forward. "I will see you most likely by tomorrow morning,
Rina." Grinning the entire time, he can't help himself but pass a soft
chuckle from his lips. Watching Carmichael squirm and fidget is almost a
sight for sore eyes. "It was nice seeing you again Carmichael. I look
forward to your next email."

Rina winces visibly, giving Jeremy the look one might give a raving madman.
"Christ, J, I had no idea you and the detective here were such pals. Am I
gonna hafta separate you two? Don't /make/ me pull this arrest over..."

The two officers prepare to cuff Rina with her hands in front, but
Carmichael suddenly intercedes. "Behind," he says sharply, casting a
superior glare at Jeremy. "Never know what she might be up to." The
officers, while apparently uncomfortable with that move, are more reluctant
gainsaying a goldshield detective, and with a grimace one of them moves
behind Rina, murmuring, "Please put your hands on your head." There's an
apology in his voice.

The young gothic continues to chuckle softly under his breath, running a
fingerless gloved hand back through his hair. He looks like something is
just /dying/ to leap out of his mouth, and he gives the detective a gleefull
look. Wetting his lips some, he peers over to Rina and rolls his shoulders a
tad. "Bah, I suppose you can say we are pals. We kind of swing favors for
each other back and forth. You know, I scratch his back, he scratches mine,
he gets the glory and I have the satisfaction that another piece of scum is
off the street."

Letting out a breath, Rina presses her lips together and rolls her shoulders
to loosen the sleeves of the jacket; then she sets both hands on her head.
The movement reveals her double shoulder rig quite plainly, both holsters
empty. "And I get to ride in the hard car playin' contortionist," she
mutters. "What'd I ever do to /you/?" A glance over her shoulder, to one of
the uniforms, and she says, "CCW's in the left back pocket, if one of you
gents wants to grope for it."

On the patio, Salem continues to keep a subtle eye on the proceedings, his
unscarred side toward the glass, fingers steepled in front of his face.

Carmichael turns a lovely shade of purple, but the tall blonde detective
steps in again, physically coming forward to separate Jeremy and the fuming
lead detective with an elegance that implies he's used to dealing with his
superior's short fuse. His accent is definitely Southern, probably from the
east. "If that's the case, we'll be happy to entertain any new...information
you have for us, at the station. Meanwhile, Ms. Vincenzo gets a ride to the
Courthouse, and will be arraigned tonight. Feel free to call her lawyer for
her." His smile is open, but there's a hint of a warning to it.

On the patio, Rhiannon has turned slightly to gain a partial view of the
room. She grimaces and turns away again. "Looks like Carmichael and Winters
are exchanging pleasentries."

Glancing upwards at the new guy who has stepped forward, Jeremy simply
grins, impishly. He looks relaxed the entire time, almost as if mentally
baiting the detective is simply routine. Peering past him, he lifts up a
hand and wiggles his fingers to Carmichael, winking once. Then, he turns
about and heads off from them, whistling a light tune to himself.

On the patio, Salem's gaze follows Jeremy for a bit, lips thinned in
disapproval.

The Southerner watches Jeremy's exit closely, but turns to Rina and gives
her an indulgent and reassuring look, as if to make up for Carmichael's
prickly attitude. The two cops finish cuffing her, and he gestures for them
to lead Rina out of the building.

Apparently unable to resist, Carmichael snaps, "Your chariot awaits."

Not yet joining the other two outside, Jeremy flops down at an empty table
alone, snagging a menu. He doesn't want to lead on that he knows anyone else
here, no need for even more questioning the next time he and Carmichael get
together under a dark lit street and trade stories back and forth.

Rina gamely suppresses a wince, and looks over to the uniform cop on her
left. "Well," she says, "that could have been more fun." She almost manages
to sound lighthearted, and that wry half-smile returns.

The uniformed officer quickly looks away, blushing slightly. The blonde
detective's sunny countenance doesn't slip, but he does narrow his eyes in a
silent warning.

Salem gives Rhiannon another look, committing her face to memory, and then
gets up. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, he exits the cafe without
obvious haste, and giving the cops and their suspect no more a look than
might be expected. His face is stone, betraying no recognition, showing
nothing at all.