6/13/2004
Location: Outside Natalie's apartment.

Natalie frowns at the scant handful of catalogs and white envelopes in her hand as she simultaneously closes a mailbox door - it's labeled with a flaking '2D' in gold letters, the sort you buy at Office Max. "Junk, junk... Who the hell names their kid Myiarcha?" She heads for the front doors without looking where she's going.

Dirk enters from the street. His shoulders are slumped and there are dark hollows around his eyes. He heads forward into the lobby, only vaguely staring in the direction of the one woman there. Instead, his gaze goes right to the mailboxes along one wall. He begins scanning with his eyes. /2D.../, /2D.../, There it is--WHAM! Right into Natalie. Apparently he had miscalculated her speed.

Nat's an inch or two over average height for a woman, perhaps five-seven or -eight. She's built rather reminscent of a brick, with a square face and jaw, and broad shoulders that have no need of padding. Nondescript brownish hair is only a few inches long, and the ten-dollar cut makes her face look even wider. Blue-green eyes are widely set under a pair of thickly stroked eyebrows; her nose and lips are proportionately large. She wouldn't catch any eyes if it weren't for the eerie way she has of staring, or the suggestion of prior and pending fist-fights in the small scars pocked across her face and hands. Her accent is flat Midwestern unobtrusive, her age roughly twenty.

Someone else must have done her shopping, for Nat's sporting a surprisingly trendy Hawaiian shirt. The dark blue background of the short-sleeved button-down is broken by paler blue stripes of large tropical flowers down the center of the shirt as well as the outer edges. The shirt hangs open, revealing a white tank top tucked into faded blue carpenter jeans. The bottom hem falls over the edge of a pair of new-looking white sneakers.

Natalie oofs as she's slammed into, and all her mail - well, all the previous occupant's mail - goes fluttering down to the floor. "Jeez Louise, watch where you're going, huh?" She sends a tired glare his way before kneeling to regather the scattered pieces of mail. One of the envelopes has a handwritted address: Myiarcha Swainson, Apartment 2d. Someone's law office wants to get in contact with her.

Dirk stumbles back, blinking. He quickly shakes it off and a new look of alertness pours into his previously vacant expression. "Oh, oh Miss--I'm terribly sorry." He smiles suddenly, apologetically, and immeadiatly kneels beside her to help pick up the scattered letters. He manages to snag a few before standing. Dirk glances down at them, his expression remaining locked in a friendly smile. He returns his attention to the woman and holds them out. "Here you are, Ms. Swainson."

"Not mine," Nat immediately demures. "Old occupant. Didn't leave a forwarding address, apparently." She eyes the offensive bit of mail as if considering reading it anyway, then pushes past the PI to toss the catalogs and junk mail into the blue 'Recycle!' bin. "I don't suppose you've got a pen?"

Natalie's tone suggests that he ought to.

Dirk immeadiatly reaches into a side pocket and removes a ragged-looking ballpoint. He holds it out to her. Still smiling in a pleasent way. "I know just how you feel. I moved into my new place a week ago. The previous occupant there was apparently much loved by Sears-Roebuck."

Natalie snorts and takes it, scribbling a quick 'occupant unknown, return to sender' on the envelope. "Maybe she's trying to get away from her name. I mean, what sort of cruel do you have to be to name a kid Myiarcha Swainson?" She offers the ballpoint back with a wry, "It'd damn well better be a family name, right?"

Dirk takes the pen and pockets it. He shrugs. "I've encountered worse names. Some that a spelling-bee champion would stumble over." He grins. "More than that one, even." He puts out his other hand suddenly. "Name's Dirk Dawson--it's a bit easier to spell."

Natalie shifts the envelope into her left and takes his hand. "Natalie Baker. You thinking of taking 3A? It's a pretty nice place, if I say so myself. Nicer now that the floor's refinished."

Dirk lets go and shakes his head in a small motion. "No, I'm all set. Besides, I'm starting to anticipate the catalogs. Sears is coming out with a new line of power drills." He takes a step back and puts his hands in his pockets. "I'm just here looking for someone."

"Craftsman's for amateurs, but whatever floats your boat." The woman shrugs and slips the envelope into one back pocket, then nods as she heads for the door. "Good luck finding 'em. Nice meeting you, Dirk."

Dirk's smile widens, this time with a bit of self-conciousness to it. "Actually, I won't need any additional luck. See I'm looking for one Natalie Baker."

Natalie stops, one hand on the door out, and turns with a suspicious glint in her eyes. "...Yeah? What about?" She glances around the lobby - empty - and up the steps - likewise - before refocusing her eyes on the man.

As soon as she glances back at him, Dirk effortlessly shiftes from "pleasant and friendly" to "polite and professional." If he reads anything in her sudden change in behavior, he keeps it to himself. The smile goes away, but the eyes remain open and honest. "Nothing to be alarmed about, and this will only take a moment of your time." He takes a step closer in order to lower his voice a tad. "It's about your truck." He pauses just an instant. "You do own a Toyota Tocoma don't you? A /green/ Toyato Tocoma?"

Natalie narrows her eyes at him, not backing down one iota. "What's it to you? Who wants to know?" She tenses as he gets closer, as though the man'd just entered her personal space and she can't decide between punching him in the nose or belly.

Dirk sees her bunch and suddenly gives his most disarming smile. He moves back a little, removing his hands from his pockets and holding them out in a non-threatening way. "My apologies, Ms. Baker. I'm forgeting important formalities. I know most people get upset when someone asks after their affairs. Usually I've already introduced myself by this point. It's just--" He hooks a thumb behind him, "--I normally don't bump into the person I'm looking for." The friendliness is back now, and it seems genuine enough. "I'm a Private Investigator. I'm trying to eliminate some possibilities for a client." He licks his lips and takes a quick look around, then speaks lower as if imparting a secret: "I've got a long list to go through."

Natalie continues to eye him suspiciously. "I'm sure you do." She considers for a moment, then asks out of the blue, "Where did you say you just moved from?"

Dirk doesn't miss a beat. "California. So...you do own a green Toyata Tacoma?"

Natalie clicks her tongue consideringly, then nods. "Yeah, I do. What part of California?" Someone wants to play 'an eye for an eye', it seems, only with questions.

"Northern. I got bored with the casework there so I came here." Dirk suddenly nods to himself. "Okay, well, this is good. One more entry I can cross off." He reaches back into his coat pocket and pulls out a pad and pen (the same pen he had loaned Natalie earlier). He opens the pad and fixes her with a brisk expression. "All I need now, Ms. Baker, is to know where your truck was on the evening of the ninth?" Dirk quickly turns sympathetic. "Now, if you'd rather not divulge that I entirely understand. A quick visual inspection will suffice." He waits, pen poised, and his eyes are suddenly scrutinizing her every movement.

"Hell, I don't know. I was at the bar that night." She tosses it off almost casually, but his practiced eye would be able to note the dichotomous tension that still remains. "...Yeah? I've got a friend of a friend in San Francisco. Calls herself Rabbit Girl. She says the weather there's nothing to write home about. Says that's true of all of northern Cal. She right?"

Dirk nods. "More or less. It certainly doesn't rain as much." He turns his attention to the pad and begins jotting notes. "Still, it's not all bad." He pauses, writing. "Man...I have a lot of paperwork to go through here..." the PI mutters to himself, then, louder: "Still, one can't be too careful--" He stares back at her. "--in a potential kidnapping case."

Natalie meets his gaze evenly, her masks back in place. Just a slightly irritated bystander, that's her. "Yeah? That's too bad. Some kid get taken off the street, I suppose?" She shrugs and sniffs, then turns for the door again. "Well, good luck and all that."

"Thanks." Dirk closes the pad and returns it. "Do me a favor?" He reaches into the other pocket, pulls a wallet and removes a card. He holds it out to her. "Call me if you remember anything else about your whereabouts on the 9th?"

Natalie takes the card and gives it a quick once-over before it goes into her other back pocket. "Yeah, sure." Her tone's disinterested; plainly his request won't be seeing even the back burner for a loooong time. "Watch yourself, Dirk. Not all the rats in this city walk on two feet. G'night." Another nod and she turns for the door.

He waits until she's half-way through the door before responding. "I'm not always a good judge of character, Ms. Baker, but I /have/ been doing this a long time." He pauses significantly. "And one thing I /can/ tell about you...is that you're not a professional criminal." He says the line vaguely, and it could be taken either way: that she's either been eliminated as a suspect or merely incompetent in her illegal activities. "Have a good night." He turns and heads for the lobby doors.

Natalie doesn't even bother to grace his comment with a snarl - at least not one over her shoulder. She's out through the front doors and onto the pavement, cutting north and heading toward the swankier part of town.