07-25-2013, 01:59 PM
Continued from: Doing the leg work
Chief Inspector Drayson had plenty to think about, and it was too late in the day to go tromping through the service tunnels. No, he'd have to put in a request for an experienced guide; someone from the city's work crews, probably. In the mean time, he pondered over what it might all mean.
A man had been dropped on the steps of the Guardian hospital, with a stab wound that almost hit his heart. He had been conscious, and brought in for surgery without any confirmed identity or insurance or the like. Understandable, considering his condition.
The man had rambling and violent, but easily subdued due to his condition. Wanting to eat the medical staff that were trying to operate on him. They put him under, and did the surgery, but there was evidence the man had been conscious for it. Not unheard of, but rare. And a horrifying experience, from what Drayson could tell of it. Sometimes the patient was paralyzed but still able to feel everything. Other times, they could hear it, which was almost as bad. Hearing the doctors cut into your chest, spread your ribs. And some people thought a trip to the dentist was bad for the whirring of that blasted drill.
Drayson's pondering was paused as he watched a middle-aged man bump into a pair of tourists; French, from the sound of them, a young couple. Apologies were exchanged, and they went their separate ways, the middle-aged Russian with a fat wad of CCD Dollars tucked into a pocket of his jacket.
Drayson sighed and stopped to casually observe the flow of the crowd as the pick-pocket walked towards him. The man seemed to be in good spirits; that bill fold had been a hefty looking one. The man's smile was gone in a flash when he suddenly found Drayson's hand on his shoulder.
"Local economy works on tourism, you know."
Drayson smiled a less then comforting smile, and tightened his grip on the pick pocket's shoulder when the man tried to pull free. A twist of his grip and he had a fist-full of the man's collar, and tugged him off balance just enough to keep the man from struggling free.
"Let go of me, or you'll fucking regret it, limey."
The man produced a knife from a pocket, brandishing it threateningly.
Drayson's smile became entirely amused, which caused the pick-pocket to frown, a brief moment of hesitation. Which was about all Drayson needed, really. His grip on the man's collar shifted, and his thumb dug under the man's collar bone, where his hand gripped onto tightly and twisted. The bone didn't break, but the man let out a strangled scream of pain, his hand holding the knife jerking towards his own collarbone as if to try and bat Drayson's hand away.
Luckily for the pickpocket, he remembered he was holding a knife in time to not stab himself, and instead tried to swipe the blade at Drayson. Again, it was that moment of hesitation that gave him the time he needed. His grip twisted a bit more, forcing the man to half-turn away from Drayson, and he grabbed the wrist of the man's knife hand, then he stomped a foot into the back of the man's knee, driving him to the ground. The knife was released and caught by Drayson, who shifted his weight onto the kneeling man's splayed leg, and kept his grip on his collar bone.
The crowd had parted a bit around the pair at the sudden outcry and display of violence, and suddenly out of the crowd came a uniformed Custodian officer with the recently robbed French couple, who seemed more angry then worried at this point.
"What's going on here?"
The officer had a hand on his taser, but hadn't bothered to draw it yet, but was giving both Drayson and the pick pocket a less then pleased glare.
"Perfect timing, constable."
Drayson produced his own badge, a faint grin as the Custodian's hand tightened on the holstered taser as if expecting trouble. Instead, upon seeing the badge and ID, the man quickly snapped his hand away from his belt.
The situation was quickly brought under control. The French couple were reunited with their money, with instructions on how to better carry cash. For starters, carrying much less at any time. The pick pocket was arrested, and taken away by the uniformed Custodian, and Drayson tucked away his badge and turned to resume mingling through the crowd, when he found himself confronted by something far worse then any pick pocket.
A lost little girl.
She stood there staring up at him with a stiff upper lip and hands on her tiny little hips. "Are you a police-man?"
Drayson frowned and glanced at the crowd for a moment. No signs of a parental figure in a mad panic. And the kid was too well dressed, and clean, to be some sort of street urchin. So he looked down at her and pulled out his ID and badge again, flicking it open for her to see. "Yes lass, I am. Custody Domestic Protection Service. Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough. And you are?"
She nodded curtly, although there did seem to be a strong hint of relief about her. She was doing good at the whole tough kid act, but was obviously in over her head. "You're tall. Can I stand on your shoulders?"
He frowned again, once more glancing at the surrounding crowd as if hoping her parents would come running any moment. No such luck.
"Please?"
He sighed quietly and tucked away his ID, then dropped to a knee infront of the kid. "Misplaced your parents did you? Yeah, I suppose you could see them from on my shoulders."
The kid smiled broadly and darted around his back rather then letting him just pick her up, and soon enough the little girl was planting what were probably going to turn out to be filthy footprints all over the pack of his jacket as she climbed up to his shoulders. "Oh no, I'm looking for the boys with the football! Mom said to meet at the egg-man's carpet if we get lost. But I'm not lost. I wanted to play with the football, but the boys left."
Drayson frowned again, then raised a hand to help balance the kid on his shoulders as he stood up. Instantly, her hands dug into his hair, not that there was much to grab to begin with, but there was a barely contained burst of gleeful laughter at the sudden raise in elevation. He was a big man, even by Russian standards, and she could easily see over the mass of people in every direction. "Well alright then. Do you have a name, lass? And your mother, does she have a name?"
"Zoe."
She balanced on her tippy-toes as if that extra inch would make all the difference in the world. Drayson frowned at a few folks who were frowning at him in return, then just rolled his eyes quietly and raised up onto his own toes, giving Zoe a few extra inches of view.
Zoe let out an exasperated sigh then awkwardly lowered herself down to be sitting on his shoulders instead. "They left."
"Well that's what boys do. Disappoint the ladies. You'd best steer clear of them for a few more years yet. At least 20. Maybe 30. But that's up to your mother. So, egg-rug-man right?"
"Egg-man's carpet. But I'm not lost. It's over there."
She leaned part way around his head and pointed in the direction of the sidewalk omelette shop.
Drayson took a breath as if he were going to say something; the kid was a right confident one, that's for sure. He bit back a sarcastic quip, and started walking in the direction she had indicated. "Well, I'm sure your mother will be over there."
And just over joyed that her strong-willed daughter had roped a CDPS chief inspector into giving her a piggy-back ride.
It wasn't hard for him to make his way through the crowd, and once they arrived at the rendezvous point, it was easy enough to find out that Zoe's mother hadn't made it that far yet. With nothing else to be done, Drayson dug out a couple bucks and soon he and Zoe were seated on a piece of carpet with fresh omelettes.
Chief Inspector Drayson had plenty to think about, and it was too late in the day to go tromping through the service tunnels. No, he'd have to put in a request for an experienced guide; someone from the city's work crews, probably. In the mean time, he pondered over what it might all mean.
A man had been dropped on the steps of the Guardian hospital, with a stab wound that almost hit his heart. He had been conscious, and brought in for surgery without any confirmed identity or insurance or the like. Understandable, considering his condition.
The man had rambling and violent, but easily subdued due to his condition. Wanting to eat the medical staff that were trying to operate on him. They put him under, and did the surgery, but there was evidence the man had been conscious for it. Not unheard of, but rare. And a horrifying experience, from what Drayson could tell of it. Sometimes the patient was paralyzed but still able to feel everything. Other times, they could hear it, which was almost as bad. Hearing the doctors cut into your chest, spread your ribs. And some people thought a trip to the dentist was bad for the whirring of that blasted drill.
Drayson's pondering was paused as he watched a middle-aged man bump into a pair of tourists; French, from the sound of them, a young couple. Apologies were exchanged, and they went their separate ways, the middle-aged Russian with a fat wad of CCD Dollars tucked into a pocket of his jacket.
Drayson sighed and stopped to casually observe the flow of the crowd as the pick-pocket walked towards him. The man seemed to be in good spirits; that bill fold had been a hefty looking one. The man's smile was gone in a flash when he suddenly found Drayson's hand on his shoulder.
"Local economy works on tourism, you know."
Drayson smiled a less then comforting smile, and tightened his grip on the pick pocket's shoulder when the man tried to pull free. A twist of his grip and he had a fist-full of the man's collar, and tugged him off balance just enough to keep the man from struggling free.
"Let go of me, or you'll fucking regret it, limey."
The man produced a knife from a pocket, brandishing it threateningly.
Drayson's smile became entirely amused, which caused the pick-pocket to frown, a brief moment of hesitation. Which was about all Drayson needed, really. His grip on the man's collar shifted, and his thumb dug under the man's collar bone, where his hand gripped onto tightly and twisted. The bone didn't break, but the man let out a strangled scream of pain, his hand holding the knife jerking towards his own collarbone as if to try and bat Drayson's hand away.
Luckily for the pickpocket, he remembered he was holding a knife in time to not stab himself, and instead tried to swipe the blade at Drayson. Again, it was that moment of hesitation that gave him the time he needed. His grip twisted a bit more, forcing the man to half-turn away from Drayson, and he grabbed the wrist of the man's knife hand, then he stomped a foot into the back of the man's knee, driving him to the ground. The knife was released and caught by Drayson, who shifted his weight onto the kneeling man's splayed leg, and kept his grip on his collar bone.
The crowd had parted a bit around the pair at the sudden outcry and display of violence, and suddenly out of the crowd came a uniformed Custodian officer with the recently robbed French couple, who seemed more angry then worried at this point.
"What's going on here?"
The officer had a hand on his taser, but hadn't bothered to draw it yet, but was giving both Drayson and the pick pocket a less then pleased glare.
"Perfect timing, constable."
Drayson produced his own badge, a faint grin as the Custodian's hand tightened on the holstered taser as if expecting trouble. Instead, upon seeing the badge and ID, the man quickly snapped his hand away from his belt.
The situation was quickly brought under control. The French couple were reunited with their money, with instructions on how to better carry cash. For starters, carrying much less at any time. The pick pocket was arrested, and taken away by the uniformed Custodian, and Drayson tucked away his badge and turned to resume mingling through the crowd, when he found himself confronted by something far worse then any pick pocket.
A lost little girl.
She stood there staring up at him with a stiff upper lip and hands on her tiny little hips. "Are you a police-man?"
Drayson frowned and glanced at the crowd for a moment. No signs of a parental figure in a mad panic. And the kid was too well dressed, and clean, to be some sort of street urchin. So he looked down at her and pulled out his ID and badge again, flicking it open for her to see. "Yes lass, I am. Custody Domestic Protection Service. Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough. And you are?"
She nodded curtly, although there did seem to be a strong hint of relief about her. She was doing good at the whole tough kid act, but was obviously in over her head. "You're tall. Can I stand on your shoulders?"
He frowned again, once more glancing at the surrounding crowd as if hoping her parents would come running any moment. No such luck.
"Please?"
He sighed quietly and tucked away his ID, then dropped to a knee infront of the kid. "Misplaced your parents did you? Yeah, I suppose you could see them from on my shoulders."
The kid smiled broadly and darted around his back rather then letting him just pick her up, and soon enough the little girl was planting what were probably going to turn out to be filthy footprints all over the pack of his jacket as she climbed up to his shoulders. "Oh no, I'm looking for the boys with the football! Mom said to meet at the egg-man's carpet if we get lost. But I'm not lost. I wanted to play with the football, but the boys left."
Drayson frowned again, then raised a hand to help balance the kid on his shoulders as he stood up. Instantly, her hands dug into his hair, not that there was much to grab to begin with, but there was a barely contained burst of gleeful laughter at the sudden raise in elevation. He was a big man, even by Russian standards, and she could easily see over the mass of people in every direction. "Well alright then. Do you have a name, lass? And your mother, does she have a name?"
"Zoe."
She balanced on her tippy-toes as if that extra inch would make all the difference in the world. Drayson frowned at a few folks who were frowning at him in return, then just rolled his eyes quietly and raised up onto his own toes, giving Zoe a few extra inches of view.
Zoe let out an exasperated sigh then awkwardly lowered herself down to be sitting on his shoulders instead. "They left."
"Well that's what boys do. Disappoint the ladies. You'd best steer clear of them for a few more years yet. At least 20. Maybe 30. But that's up to your mother. So, egg-rug-man right?"
"Egg-man's carpet. But I'm not lost. It's over there."
She leaned part way around his head and pointed in the direction of the sidewalk omelette shop.
Drayson took a breath as if he were going to say something; the kid was a right confident one, that's for sure. He bit back a sarcastic quip, and started walking in the direction she had indicated. "Well, I'm sure your mother will be over there."
And just over joyed that her strong-willed daughter had roped a CDPS chief inspector into giving her a piggy-back ride.
It wasn't hard for him to make his way through the crowd, and once they arrived at the rendezvous point, it was easy enough to find out that Zoe's mother hadn't made it that far yet. With nothing else to be done, Drayson dug out a couple bucks and soon he and Zoe were seated on a piece of carpet with fresh omelettes.