capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

WHO:

nyc_detective
WHERE: Police HQ, Maza's office
WHEN: Back dated to Monday morning, 22nd March
SUMMARY: After Bond's little Nazi escapade, he's noticed a distinct lack of his communicator. Maybe Elisa can help
WARNINGS: Probably very little
FORMAT: Whatever

A nights sleep has done Bond the world of good, though such a short time can't quite heal all wounds. Still, after Sunday's frivolities, James has found himself lacking in several of his previous possessions, his favourite car being one, while his communicator being not quite so missed but nevertheless just as important, if not more so. In this city, he's a little lost without a comm, really.

It's logical that the wreckage from Sunday morning would have been cleared by now, considering it's positioning in the middle of an intersection and Bond's almost certain his communicator was still sat somewhere in his car during the crash. Seems to make sense that he'd go ask the police, then.

James does his best to sneak into the station without too much attention, he knows he's not the most well liked among the force, and he's soon tracking down the office he's after, giving a very brief knock before inviting himself in immediately.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That's police brutality, that is. Good job she refrained and all. "Car crashes, stray bullets, the usual accidents that tend to happen around here. All very tragic, I'm sure. I'm certain there's someone around here who'll mourn the loss of a few Nazis." No doubt the police picked up the dead motorbike rider and the driver of the flipped car with a bullet through his head. Bond doesn't regret the deaths he's caused... he wouldn't be a trained killer if he did.

It's all she can do to keep her composure as she mentally reviews the case with his comments. Well, she wasn't going to press charges. Even though she should. "So you returned fire," she said instead.

"I wouldn't do anything of the sort," he says with feigned innocence. "I was out for a Sunday drive. I wasn't exactly expecting a shoot out from psychopathic Nazi henchmen."

"When did they start shooting at you?" she asked, ignoring his feigned innocence. He damn well did shoot back.

"Not long after they realised I wouldn't be stopping. And soon after I refused their invitation. Rude of me, I know, but I had plans that afternoon." Except he didn't, but still...

"What invitation?" she asks sharply. "Tell me exactly what they said."

"It's not so much what they said. Their leader, on the other hand, was fairly insistent. I'm sure you can guess who'd be leading a bunch of Neo-Nazis after the information I gave you recently..."

Of course it's the Major. Elisa's not stupid. "So what did he want with you?"

A bored, one shouldered shrug, "To be little more than an annoyance, I should imagine. Wasn't so keen on me watching him. It's to be expected, I suppose."

"You shouldn't be on your comm and driving anyway," she reprimanded. "So you refused and they chased. What happened next?"

As if he's worried about driving while using his comm. That was the least of his problems that day. "I drove into a lorry. Silly of me. Don't know how I could of missed it, really, big thing like that."

She stared at him blankly. "Jesus, Bond. Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine. I think. I'll let you know if I die from internal bleeding by the end of the day." He's joking, honestly, which is why he's doing some serious deadpan. James started to notice long ago that he seems to be surviving things he shouldn't. "Sadly, the car isn't. And she and I were so very much in love."

She raises an eyebrow at that. "Well, only if it's not a terrible inconvenience," she replies, equally deadpan. "And really, it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. So why didn't you stay on the scene?"

James is allowing her the smallest of smirks at the return sarcasm.

"... Can't remember," he replies with a gradual furrow of his eyebrows. "Though if I'm honest, it's hard to remember much after driving head-long into a forty tonne truck."

She feels a bit sorry for him, really. Not like she'll ever let him know. "Understandable. Do me a favor and fill out a statement, sign it, and we'll get you back your comm."

"For you, Ms. Maza, there's very little I wouldn't do." And naturally James is laying on the charm and the smiles now, just so they can forget about the whole incident and let him get his damn communicator back.

"Hey, watch out. If you tell me that, Mr. Bond, I just might take you up on it," she snarks back. "Besides, you know perfectly well that's not true. Statement." And she slides the paper over to him expectantly.

"Maybe I want you too," he points out, leaning forward (carefully. His ribs hurt like hell) and reaching for a pen. "You realise this is a complete waste of my time and I'm only doing this for the return of my own property?"

She catches his careful movements. He might be good at hiding these things, but she's paid to notice them. "Uh-huh. If and/or when I do decide to test your resolve in that regard, I'm betting you'll probably regret it. And your objections are duly noted."

He is having to write with his bandaged hand too, but that's what he gets for vaulting with his predominant hand out of a broken window. "I doubt I'll regret it. I think you'll just be pleasantly surprised at just how impressively resourceful I really am."