capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

WHO:

shockheadedpete
WHERE: Some road someplace and then elsewhere
WHEN: Today...?
SUMMARY: James is a naughty boy, breaking the speed limit and other such illegalities. Sadly there's police nearby
WARNINGS: Snark, whining, spy abuse, police abuse
FORMAT: Whatever <3

Since James arrived in the city, hes been keeping himself entertained with his usual antics. Even without the MI6 around to keep him distracted with missions, there's been plenty to do and plenty of new women to meet. Not to mention the level of crime keeps him busy from day to day and he's found criminals make the best sort of people to steal from in return. Which would be why James has started to gather himself a small collection of cars, each from dead drug dealers and the like, and each one taking his fancy in some way, now stashed away in a garage or warehouse of his choice.

Today he's gone for the Chrysler, the car that's almost the American answer to Aston Martin. Not as good, naturally, but considering he totalled ~~Stark's~~ his Aston, he'll have to make do.

It's new to him, having only acquired it yesterday, so he's giving it a bit of a test drive. Explains why he thinks it's a good idea to whip through an intersection just as the lights turn red, then speed off down the straight, letting the engine roar as he puts his foot down. Not bad. Not bad at all.

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Correction: bad. Very bad. Illegal, even.

Lights flash. Sirens siren.

Pull over to the side of the road and prepare to be ticketed with a vengence.

So, that was a complete lack of paying attention on his behalf. How had he not noticed the cop car, dammit?

He's looking in his rear-view mirror at the approaching sirens, slowly easing his foot off the accelerator. Maybe he could have some fun. Run from the cops. Stash the car. But no, the roads are busy and he's not really down with running over pedestrians.

With a a sigh of epic annoyance, Bond's pulling over. Taking his time doing it too, because if they're going to waste his time, he'll waste theirs. Aaaand the window slowly winds down.

James is greeted with Pete's serious face.

"Goin' a little fast there, sir," he deadpans. "How 'bout you gimme your license an' registration."

James Bond probably has a really awesome driver's license photo, doesn't he?

Oh, well this is just great.

Nevertheless, Bond reads off his registration with ease (he thankfully plans for these sort of events) and reaches into his pocket for his drivers license. The photo makes him look slightly more like a serial killer than usual.

"Must we really do this, Cheney?"

Pete examines the picture like some kind of art connoisseur.

"If you're gonna drive like that, we must," he drawls. "I got you runnin' a red an' speedin' somethin' fierce. You got someplace important to be?"

Hint: there is no pressing engagement that will get you out of this ticket.

"Yes. So if you could just hurry up and write out a ticket, I'd be grateful. I'm sure you have better things to be doing than wasting both our time."

He has no where at all important to be. Not now. But anywhere is better than sitting in his car arguing with a smart ass cop.

Smart ass? Pete? Aw, that's sweet.

"Oh, I ain't wastin' my time..."

And Pete ambles slowly back to his cruiser to run Bond's license.

It's his own fault for driving like that, he knows. Usually he's more careful about when and where he'd do that sort of driving, but he can afford whatever tickets he has going his way.

With a glare at Pete's retreating figure, Bond's lounging back into his car seat, watching the cop in his wing mirror and getting more than slightly tempted to drive off right now.

It'd be entertaining, buuuut, so not worth the effort. So he waits. Impatiently.

Pete's much faster coming back: he marches. His mouth is set in a grim line.

"Mr. Bond: where'd you get this car at?"

Should have driven off when you had the chance.

Well this is less than promising.

"... Car dealers." Except not. And he's hardly even bothering with that lie.

Seriously, he's James Bond. He gets away with those sort of excuses all the time. That's just how it goes.

"Car dealers that sell cars outta the back a other cars?"

Because that's just silly.

"Buddy, this car's stolen. I gonna have to ask you to step outside."

A pause and then, "Stolen?"

The guy he took it off was dead. How could he have possibly reported it as stolen? Unless... God damn crooks. He's stolen a stolen car. Oh joy of joys.

But look, James is being vaguely compliant as he winds the window back up and takes his time in getting out the car, slamming the door, and casually leaning against the drivers side with his arms folded. "Don't suppose we can forget about all of this? You can keep the car, if that's what you want."

"You tryin' to bribe me with goods now?" Pete replies. "Boy it's a good thing you got the right to remain silent."

He shakes his head. As if a stolen car is the kind of thing you can let slide on a warning.

"You got anythin' else on ya that I'd be real disappointed to learn about?"

"Apart from the dead body in the trunk? No."

He's kidding, jeez.

Maybe not the smartest thing to joke about, but winding up police is a hobby of his.

Pete is not laughing.

"Hands behind your head."

The cuffs are coming out.

Get a sense of humour, Pete. Having dead bodies in a stolen car is totally funny and something that should be joked about.

"Oh, come on. There's no need for this, Cheney."

Bond is quite comfortably remaining on his leaning spot with arms folded, thank you very much.

The law is no laughing matter.

"Don't do the crime if you can't do the time."

Yeah, he went there.

"An' don't make me add resistin' arrest onto your wrap sheet."

"I'm not resisting. I'm simply questioning your need to arrest an innocent."

But look, with a roll of his eyes, James is slowly straightening up and raising his hands behind his head. Yeah, he's done this before.

"I'm armed. Pistol, waist holster. Flick knife, left leg. And there's some in the car too."

"You're the one drivin' around in a stolen vehicle. Don't sound so innocent to me."

Pete cuffs him and gathers his weapons, giving him a brief professional pat-down along the way. Minds out of the gutter!

Dispatch can send out a uniform to collect the car and deal with any other surprises in it.

"Okay, Mr. Bond: let's take a ride."

This isn't so funny anymore. In fact, he might go so far as to say this is bad news. Where's MI6 when you need them?

If the cuffs weren't bad enough, the fact he's getting patted down and put into the back of a police car just makes the whole experience just peachy. Yay.

"I've got a job to do. It may not always be entirely legal, but I thought you boys were rather more lenient than this."

"That's funny: I got one a those goin' on too," Pete says, through the partition between the front and back of his squad car. "Although, stealing cars ain't so much a job as it is a crime..."

"I didn't steal it."

Bond doesn't like being caged. It's like backing an animal into a corner. It's just a bad idea. Good job he's already had his weapons removed really, although he might already be trying out the handcuff locks with his handy dandy watch-that-has-many-uses. Brb, falling silent for concentration purposes.

"Well, when we get to the station, you can prove it, an' then you'll be free to go."

This is Pete being extremely reasonable.

"And what if I don't fancy coming into the station...?"

James isn't seeing the reasonable side. Reasonable would have been letting him go for all his offenses.

That's not reasonable at all.

"Well, if you try an' make some kinda break for it, you'll electrocuted 'til you puke, an' on the off chance you still get away, you'll get a nice stiff warrant out for you, so as you can't show your face anywhere in this city. Or you can go through booking an' get all this sorted out an' walk away a free man. Your choice."

Ffffffffffuck super powers. They really are the bane of his existence in this goddamn city.

"Hm." And yet still he's briefly considering the usual Bond escapism anyway.

"Suppose I better put the handcuffs back on then."

"That'd be downright neighborly of you."

Pete shoots him a smile in the rear view.

There's the familiar clink as the handcuffs are clicked back on and Bond's giving Pete a withering smile in return.

"Anything to aid your superb work. I'm always happy to help a man such as yourself."

"Uh huh."

Pete is more used to swearing coming from the back seat, but the sentiment is about the same.

It pretty much is the same, yes. Bond doesn't shout abuse at people, he just insults them frequently and with great maturity.

"I don't suppose you've ever considered doing something useful for society, have you?" Dumdedum, innocently staring out the window.

Edited 2010-03-31 05:15 (UTC)

"Me? Nah," Pete spits sarcastically. "Never crossed my mind."

"Ah. I didn't think so. Still, wasting the general public's time must be fairly entertaining, I'll admit. Getting paid to be a general annoyance sounds like something I could get into. Perhaps I should think about joining the police..."

It's almost tempting.

"Offered you a job when you first showed," Pete mutters, under his breath.

And then, at a regular volume:

"You can think about it. This ain't gonna help your case with H.R. so much."

"Oh, I don't think most of what I do would go down well with H.R.," he points out, because seriously, breaking the law is like breathing for him, it's kind of just a natural occurrence. James doesn't even intend to half the time.

It's a good thing he's on our side.

"It ain't the career for everyone," Pete points out.

Too many people don't give a damn about the law if it gets in their way in even the tiniest way. Not even good people.

"Hn, suppose not." And just maybe James is being a little bit more compliant now, if only because he is trying out the persuasion and charm.

"Look, I know you've got better things to be doing than stolen cars and speeding tickets. Why don't I just pay the fines and bail and whatever else you might need up front and we leave it at that?"

Sorry James: Pete is spoken for.

"Because that'd be crooked an' I ain't that kinda cop," he says, simply as they pull up in front of the station.

"I admire your morals."

Yeah, okay, so that bitter, childish sarcasm is back already. He wants his own way, dammit! Don't be surprised if there's pouting and feet stamping to follow.

"Mmm hmm."

Don't challenge Pete to a pout off: his chin wobbles like no one else's, and of the two of you he has the far baby-er face.

He opens James' door like a valet.

"After you."

Well, fine, if he can't have a pout off, maybe he can just go for a really mature stare down instead, because by the time he's out of the car, that's what he's aiming for.

Even if climbing out isn't the easiest thing with the few healing cracked ribs he's got plus the handcuffs, but he manages, and proceeds to stand, facing Pete and just glaring.

No he won't walk himself straight into the police station, that'd just be too easy.

Have it your way.

Pete places a hand gently, yet firmly behind James' elbow and escorts him toward the doors like they're about to attend the Junior Prom.

Not that Pete would know: he never did.

But still: a charming couple.

"Can I assume you know the drill?" He asks.

If Pete wants a date, he only needed to ask. This is a little extreme just to play prom.

"No. I don't usually get this far." Usually he gets cuffed, or not, waits until it all calms then starts stating his higher ranking, getting the ID out and the phone calls made.

Technically though, he knows the drill.

"How far does that electricity of yours reach?" Innocent!

"Pretty damn far."

And Pete isn't even exaggerating. About half an avenue block without trying very hard.

"Alright. Don't you worry, Mr. Bond: we'll take good care a you."

James is pretty sure he can't run that fast. Damn shame.

"I'm sure you will. I know all about the hospitality you police offer."

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