08-17-2016, 10:41 AM
Sheridan was irritated, of course, at being overridden and it showed on the scowl as he returned and then switched off the audio monitoring of the room. Even more so when Beto himself reached over and flipped the window polarity so that it became opaque, giving them the legal privacy they were entitled to.
Irritation laced his voice. "What, you some kind of ACLU nut? We have a situation out here, in case you didn't notice. And you're worried about dotting your i's and crossing your t's?!?!"
Beto turned from the glass and looked at him, studying, the body language and words of the man: chest puffed out; brief glances to the guards with him as if making sure they were there to back him up; the contempt that showed when he'd spoken to Little Bird; the tightening of the eye on the girl just before the glass darkened.; the lilt of west Texas still on his tongue. He knew his type. Probably played football in high school. Line backer from the look of him. Likely small town hero. And when school was over it was suddenly being hit in the face with the real world. Oil rich Texas in decline after over a century of wealth. The big fish in a little pond was now plankton in an ocean. Suddenly thrust into a world where who you were or what position you played meant nothing. You got the job based on your merits, on your skills. Things not honed by the genetic and geographical lottery he'd won at birth.
A man like this might go into law enforcement or other positions where they can regain a bit of the power they had lost. A significant percentage, anyway, though not all, he knew. Not even the majority. Just the ones he seemed to encounter more frequently than most. Climb up the ladder using a mix of good-old-boy interactions with those higher up, an eagerness to alpha-male any situation, and smart enough- he wouldn't take that away from him- definitely smart enough to parlay all of that into a position as an FBI Special Agent. But the same man at the core.
Or not. It didn't really matter to Beto whether he was right. But it was useful to put tags on people, to see where they fit. If they had to be relabeled later, that was fine. Until then, they stayed in that place in his mind, judged and categorized, though he was always watching to see if things suddenly didn't fit.
All of that flashed through Beto's mind in the moment it took for him to sit down in one of the chairs, briefcase now at his side, and cross his legs. He allowed a slight smile to show on his face. This time it would be a different tack. "I was not aware the term 'Liberty' was a pejorative. But to ease your mind, Agent Sheridan, I am well aware of the situation. Not only with reference to Ms. Makawee. The President is fully cognizant of the danger these individuals might present to us. And of the difficulty before us in making sure that whomever they are, everyone abides by the law and does not weaken our country."
He smiled and let his language become less precise, now, more natural, as if relaxing around the man, inviting him into his confidence. "My job is to win cases. And to protect the American people. That is my goal. If Ms. Makawee is guilty of murder or manslaughter, then I want to prosecute her successfully. And that means making sure that her defense will have no valid reasons for throwing away any evidence we have gotten. I know you've been as angry as I have when cases were thrown out on technicalities due to the overzealous investigation of police."
He purposefully made it clear he wasn't including Sheridan in the implication.
The man looked at him as if trying to figure out where he fit. That amused Beto. The man seemed to deflate a bit, his stance returning to normal. "True enough, I guess." Frustration began to show. "I just don't know what to make of this. What this will mean. First that prick Brandon, after years of trying to wipe his ass with Old Glory, tells us he's got powers like outta some movie or something. And then it shows up here? Do they work for him? This like outta the Cold War? My daddy used to tell me stories about back then. Those sleeper agents or whatever that have been hiding here for years?"
Beto left the smile. The man thought so small. And his logic was wrong. Just because Brandon had the use of magic and because he also governed the CCD and because the CCD and the United States were in a state of cold war did not mean all magic users in the United States were agents of Brandon. It was post hoc, ergo propter hoc; a deformation of modus ponens; affirming the consequent fallacy.
There was much more going on here. And that was what Beto was here for. He leaned forward a bit. "I understand your frustration. Trust me, that I will do my best to see that the law and security of the United States is upheld."
He looked at the guards and then back at Sheridan. "Let me do my job, Special Agent, when I speak to Ms. Makawee and her lawyer. I am willing to take the risk of speaking to them alone."
It was not a necessary thing, of course, to act as if the man was doing him a favor, especially given his position. But he often found that the act elicited more cooperation from everyone involved and allowed him to move about unobtrusively, free to gain all the facts, as all sides trusted him to be on their side.
He had the girl's testimony to the MPs. And what he'd seen of her showed someone more frightened of what she'd done than what would be done to her. He would reserve judgement as to the direction he should take.
There was that flicker of thrill though. And the itch.
He waited until Ms. Makawee was finished with her lawyer.
Edited by Beto, Aug 17 2016, 10:42 AM.
Irritation laced his voice. "What, you some kind of ACLU nut? We have a situation out here, in case you didn't notice. And you're worried about dotting your i's and crossing your t's?!?!"
Beto turned from the glass and looked at him, studying, the body language and words of the man: chest puffed out; brief glances to the guards with him as if making sure they were there to back him up; the contempt that showed when he'd spoken to Little Bird; the tightening of the eye on the girl just before the glass darkened.; the lilt of west Texas still on his tongue. He knew his type. Probably played football in high school. Line backer from the look of him. Likely small town hero. And when school was over it was suddenly being hit in the face with the real world. Oil rich Texas in decline after over a century of wealth. The big fish in a little pond was now plankton in an ocean. Suddenly thrust into a world where who you were or what position you played meant nothing. You got the job based on your merits, on your skills. Things not honed by the genetic and geographical lottery he'd won at birth.
A man like this might go into law enforcement or other positions where they can regain a bit of the power they had lost. A significant percentage, anyway, though not all, he knew. Not even the majority. Just the ones he seemed to encounter more frequently than most. Climb up the ladder using a mix of good-old-boy interactions with those higher up, an eagerness to alpha-male any situation, and smart enough- he wouldn't take that away from him- definitely smart enough to parlay all of that into a position as an FBI Special Agent. But the same man at the core.
Or not. It didn't really matter to Beto whether he was right. But it was useful to put tags on people, to see where they fit. If they had to be relabeled later, that was fine. Until then, they stayed in that place in his mind, judged and categorized, though he was always watching to see if things suddenly didn't fit.
All of that flashed through Beto's mind in the moment it took for him to sit down in one of the chairs, briefcase now at his side, and cross his legs. He allowed a slight smile to show on his face. This time it would be a different tack. "I was not aware the term 'Liberty' was a pejorative. But to ease your mind, Agent Sheridan, I am well aware of the situation. Not only with reference to Ms. Makawee. The President is fully cognizant of the danger these individuals might present to us. And of the difficulty before us in making sure that whomever they are, everyone abides by the law and does not weaken our country."
He smiled and let his language become less precise, now, more natural, as if relaxing around the man, inviting him into his confidence. "My job is to win cases. And to protect the American people. That is my goal. If Ms. Makawee is guilty of murder or manslaughter, then I want to prosecute her successfully. And that means making sure that her defense will have no valid reasons for throwing away any evidence we have gotten. I know you've been as angry as I have when cases were thrown out on technicalities due to the overzealous investigation of police."
He purposefully made it clear he wasn't including Sheridan in the implication.
The man looked at him as if trying to figure out where he fit. That amused Beto. The man seemed to deflate a bit, his stance returning to normal. "True enough, I guess." Frustration began to show. "I just don't know what to make of this. What this will mean. First that prick Brandon, after years of trying to wipe his ass with Old Glory, tells us he's got powers like outta some movie or something. And then it shows up here? Do they work for him? This like outta the Cold War? My daddy used to tell me stories about back then. Those sleeper agents or whatever that have been hiding here for years?"
Beto left the smile. The man thought so small. And his logic was wrong. Just because Brandon had the use of magic and because he also governed the CCD and because the CCD and the United States were in a state of cold war did not mean all magic users in the United States were agents of Brandon. It was post hoc, ergo propter hoc; a deformation of modus ponens; affirming the consequent fallacy.
There was much more going on here. And that was what Beto was here for. He leaned forward a bit. "I understand your frustration. Trust me, that I will do my best to see that the law and security of the United States is upheld."
He looked at the guards and then back at Sheridan. "Let me do my job, Special Agent, when I speak to Ms. Makawee and her lawyer. I am willing to take the risk of speaking to them alone."
It was not a necessary thing, of course, to act as if the man was doing him a favor, especially given his position. But he often found that the act elicited more cooperation from everyone involved and allowed him to move about unobtrusively, free to gain all the facts, as all sides trusted him to be on their side.
He had the girl's testimony to the MPs. And what he'd seen of her showed someone more frightened of what she'd done than what would be done to her. He would reserve judgement as to the direction he should take.
There was that flicker of thrill though. And the itch.
He waited until Ms. Makawee was finished with her lawyer.
Edited by Beto, Aug 17 2016, 10:42 AM.