Steve's been here almost an hour and half already.
Officially he's a one-to-two night stand-in, who came with golden, perfect, references, pre-booked by a look/talent request to a fly-over guest meeting for mergers in Hawaii before flying out in another night or two. The kind with deep pockets, who didn't like to be told no. Or had many questions asked about his Business. Or his 'business.'
Officially he's gotten a green pass from the high enough up rat in a pack of workers who was actually sacred shitless enough to come crawl out of the woodwork once two people died. Even these kinds of people, the ones who knew they'd get thrown before the court for it, didn't always want to die, stabbed and gutted in the alley out back, while just trying to get home.
Not that Steve wasn't sure this wasn't the kind of place that made you wonder if they had or hadn't already.
The place is full of faces both that he knows from the surveillance the last few days, and even more than he doesn't know. Not everyone knows it's a front. Some people come for what it says it is on the tin. A safe place for a less than always safe crowd. Some, whose eyes rove just a little too much, or who try to make nice with the staff, the bar tender, obviously know something more, but can't always get into it.
While some just breeze through the front door and the back door in as little time as it takes to cross the room. Hardly a word spoke between themselves and anyone else in here. Even the backdoor bouncer, who looks almost nothing like one in his perfectly generic, but fitted, black tux. But Steve knows that look without trying.
The span of his shoulders. The bored slouch he could throw into action at a moments notice. Made to be a brick wall.
Steve's got a glass of red wine, a second, that he's not bull rushing through by any means, when he finally spots Danny at the edge of the crowd. Noticable posture and the light catching his hair. There's an urge to catch his eye, but Steve bites it down. Looking back to the crowd specifically. Even if he'd officially have the man's profile and be on the lookout to do his job. But that's not the game in these places. It's not about being the arrow and showing up on the spot, over eager and naive and obvious as two dollars.
Which isn't what Five-0 needed either. There was some time still.
To case the front crowd for the guy with the few features anyone had reported as the possible suspect.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-09-30 03:03 am (UTC)Steve's been here almost an hour and half already.
Officially he's a one-to-two night stand-in, who came with golden, perfect, references, pre-booked by a look/talent request to a fly-over guest meeting for mergers in Hawaii before flying out in another night or two. The kind with deep pockets, who didn't like to be told no. Or had many questions asked about his Business. Or his 'business.'
Officially he's gotten a green pass from the high enough up rat in a pack of workers who was actually sacred shitless enough to come crawl out of the woodwork once two people died. Even these kinds of people, the ones who knew they'd get thrown before the court for it, didn't always want to die, stabbed and gutted in the alley out back, while just trying to get home.
Not that Steve wasn't sure this wasn't the kind of place that made you wonder if they had or hadn't already.
The place is full of faces both that he knows from the surveillance the last few days, and even more than he doesn't know. Not everyone knows it's a front. Some people come for what it says it is on the tin. A safe place for a less than always safe crowd. Some, whose eyes rove just a little too much, or who try to make nice with the staff, the bar tender, obviously know something more, but can't always get into it.
While some just breeze through the front door and the back door in as little time as it takes to cross the room. Hardly a word spoke between themselves and anyone else in here. Even the backdoor bouncer, who looks almost nothing like one in his perfectly generic, but fitted, black tux. But Steve knows that look without trying.
The span of his shoulders. The bored slouch he could throw into action at a moments notice. Made to be a brick wall.
Steve's got a glass of red wine, a second, that he's not bull rushing through by any means, when he finally spots Danny at the edge of the crowd. Noticable posture and the light catching his hair. There's an urge to catch his eye, but Steve bites it down. Looking back to the crowd specifically. Even if he'd officially have the man's profile and be on the lookout to do his job. But that's not the game in these places. It's not about being the arrow and showing up on the spot, over eager and naive and obvious as two dollars.
Which isn't what Five-0 needed either. There was some time still.
To case the front crowd for the guy with the few features anyone had reported as the possible suspect.