2868/Log 2868

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Log 2868
Date of Scene: 15 October 2017
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Fox, 1381




Fox has posed:
    It's a sleepy little town up in upstate NY, "Snow Creek" was left behind in the 70s it seems. Ancient brick and black iron everywhere, caught somewhere between the steel mill that used to run the town and whatever they're doing now to put food on the table. The result is a larger town, that feels more than a little empty. The Chamber of Commerce has kept the windows intact, but even on mainstreet theres only a sixty percent occupancy. Snow Creek then, is a town suffering a slow death. It's a place where people grew up, and moved the hell out.
    The "Snow Creek Arms" then, is a Hotel far larger than a town this size really needs. An ancient five story brick building that looms over the town beneath it, guide books describe it as "old fashioned" if they're being kind. It's not the place you'd expect a gunfight, but the smell of gunpowder still clings to the air.

    Adelmo swings his beat up Honda onto a spot on the main drag, before reaching back to get his attache case. Rubbing those grubby fingers over his bald head, before finally climbing out of the car. It's the first opportunity that "Taskforce Fox" has had to view a fresh crimescene. Beth's in hospital to get a bone spur operated on, the taskforce's nominal law enforcement authority. Adelmo's DIA credentials require somone to tag along, domestic law enforcement of some description. Eve of course, was the easy pick. Not that it was an easy drive down, Adelmo's uncomfortably quiet, smokes like a chimney and seems allergic to music and small talk. Still, he bumps the door shut on that honda and takes a moment to straighten his tie.

    "Ok so, uh. Yeah this is, four hours old now. Coroner hasn't even begun carting the bodies out, they're waiting on the state police because the locals? These five squad cars, that's the whole fucking thing right? They said they still didn't have a definite body count, came down as some drug deal gone bad right? Only the photos they sent the FBI, the shooting's a match for our girl. One in the heart, one in the spine and a third in the face right?"

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
"Sounds right, E"ve agrees quietly. She would make small-talk if Adelmo were inclined but other than turning her head toward an open car window when the cab fills up with smoke she doesn't act too perturbed by the silene. She is getting used to working with him and there are other things on the young woman's mind. She knew that Sophie wouldn't be upset at her for missing dinner under the circumstnaces but it didn't stop her from feeling a small pang of guilt at being abruptly absent. More concerning was the implication of the latest series of shootings
    "Drug dealers sitll fit the MO," Eve finally said.
    Once they've stopped Eve lcimbs out of the car quietly and collects her things, scanning her surroundings carefully. "I have some Forensic experience and I brought a CSI kit with me. If I may?" The brunette's voice is soft but firm as she snaps on her gloves and then begins to make her way toward the site of the shooting to start digging through the evidence arrayed there.
    "There's no excuse for them not having a, mmm, bod y count yhet..." Eve briefly makes a face. "But there's nothing for it. Just have to do the work ourselves, right?" She pauses to pick up a bullet casing. "Not our girl's. Of course. She's not that sloppy."

Fox has posed:
    "No, that's from the local 5-0. They took shots at her."He offers, with a grin before nudging the doors open to expose the lobby beyond. There's one slumped over the check in desk, loud orange hawaiian shirt, khakis and a pair of sandals. A discarded nickle plated browning hi-power at the floor by his feet, safety still on. The other six, are in suits. Cheap, black, bland. Big guys, shaved heads, built. Two crumpled on the floor between the entrance and the bright shirt, and another four in a semi-circle around the fellow.

    "There's another shootout up top, fellow rented the whole top floor. We don't have an ID on him yet, but they're running his prints now against the database."Adelmo offers cooly, taking a careful study of the place as he crouches next to the fallen guards, parting the men's jackets with a ballpoint pen. "Body armor, no ID. I'll check the rest of these guys if you wanna check out Mr.Margaritaville up there?"

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    "Wasting away again... In Margaritaville," Eve murmurs to herself as she begins to go through the man's pockets. She checks out the pistol briefly before carefully and methodically collecting every piece of evidence in view. She checks eerything from the wounds to his pockets. Tweezers are used where possible. "Looking for my lost shaker of salt..."
    Eve is easily the most efficient forensicist Adalmo is likely to have ever seen. He might actually mistake the way she moves for slacking off on the job under the circumstances. Peoople just don't process information at that speed. After awhile she straightens up and takes a deep breath.
    "She really doesn't like rug dealers," Eve announces then, perhaps unnecessarily.

Fox has posed:
    The man had no holster, but carried a spare magazine loaded with what look like silver bullets in his pant pocket. A wad of rolled hundreds, but no keys and no wallet. A man who needed no identification then it seems. Early fourties, he'd been wearing sunglasses which were shattered in the melee. He's got the signature alright, the same familar three rounds but theres something extra here. A fourth round, dropped post-mortem in the base of his skull which exited the front of his face.

    "Ah, yeah ok we're looking at a Colombian I'd guess."Adelmo motions towards one of the men in the front. "Kaibil tattoo on his right wrist, this one here has uh..I can't make it out without rolling the sleeve but it's something about Escobar and Popeye, so these boys aren't local. Weapons, body armor, no passports, no drivers licenses. Private jet brought them in probably? Presumably here to meet whoever rented out the whole top floor? Could she have been waiting for him, knew he was coming? Hard to imagine she'd do it off the cuff, our girl's big on having a plan usually."And a pause as he thumbs towards the elevator. "You done here, wanna see the real show?"

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    "Sounds like you found something worthwhiel then. Nothing but questions here. Organized crime, no IDs... You go no IDs if you don't want to be traced. In and out. They had something big planned. ... Did you happen to see what when you were upstairs?"
    With that non-question Eve starts on her wayto the elevator. She can't help huumming softly to herself as she rides it upward.

Fox has posed:
    "I heard, from Johnny Fisher of all fucking people."Adelmo follows along behind, punching the top floor before reclining against the back wall. "So we're getting into some agency shit here, but the whole Escobar thing?"he pauses, waiting for the doors to close. "So you don't know Fisher, dude was with the agency back in the day. Ran the office in Colombia during the hunt, he's the one who clued us in. How he heard, who fuckin knows. Anyway, dude uptop? ID'd as Mateo Rojas, former associate of Pablo way back when. They called him Mateo the Fox Killer, because he killed some asset the Agency had back then. Some sort of, non traditional asset that Shield didn't get back when. Supposed to be some sort of Fox monster, made him a big deal down there."

    "I'd bet you money, it's no coincidence our girl hit him."And the elevator opens. Directly across is the first dead body, assault rifle discarded in his lap. Three clean rounds, and down the hallway? Yeah theres more, ten more forms slumped against the wall. Six maybe seven empty casings amongst them, down at the far end of the hall the door's ajar, or more specifically it's been kicked almost entirely off the hinges. "That, down there. I'm waiting on the text, we got fingerprints off on the rest of these fucks. Same dress code looks like, you head on into the room? I'll check these stiffs for ID, though I don't think I'm going to find anything here."

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    "Nope, they're pretty clean. I wouldn't expect iD and we can run their prints and DNA but I don't think we'll have anything. These people were professionals. And not local, like you said. COlombia... Mmm." Shaking herh ead Eve moves to start collecting evidence as she had in the previous room. Labeled bags, gloves, tqweezers. Moments spent organizing things and then quickly setting them aside.
    It doesn' take very long at all. Working with Eve is a pretty painless experience as a rule. "She was deifnitely waiting for them. She's a good shot but the angles are too crisp for her to have been making this up as she went. I mean, unless she's one of those mutiant types or something... Mmm."

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    "My real question," Eve adds then. "Is what their connection is to the rest of the victims.we've found. IF there is one."

Fox has posed:
    "Well..not everyone was a pro."Adelmo hoists a body from the pile, or well the wallet at least. "Bill Schwartz, out of Manhattan.."He pauses, considering the body carefully. "I could twenty rounds in this guy, and I dunno theres not enough of his head to make a positive ID but presuming?"He eases back, fiddling with his phone for a moment. "Oh, rap sheet. Uhh, Larceny, burglary, assault, weapons violations..theres a hit here uh, known associate of get this. Three previous victims, that dude she dressed like a deer included."

    Theres some careful poking, before he pulls free a Smith 642. "More silver bullets.."

    Mr.Schwartz is, a wreck to put it gently. Theres a pretty gnarly break in his right arm, but the rest is hamburger. A mag dump at point blank. "Another twenty known associates in the wind though, if these guys are connected by more than running in the same network? Looks like our girl has a vendetta."And a pause, as Adelmo offers that wallet over.

Fox has posed:
    Everything, was finally coming together. There was one man in particular, one who seemed to be connected to everything Fox had done. Max Jarret Jr, 45, born in Queens NY. On paper he was a night club owner, but he'd been linked to everything from murder to burglarly over the last thirty or so years. He'd never been convicted, but he was tied in with everyone. A search of the Fox's last hit, turned up Bill Schwartz. Bill's house was by contrast, a wealth of evidence. There was a network here, one built on an old neighborhood gang. They'd spent years as bank robbers primarily, to finance their entrance into the drug world. Now they had a network of suppliers, fixers, cooks and of course a network of nightclubs operated by the group to move their product.
    Jarret was the last man standing, and after being denied a visa from England? Well he was apparently on the run from everyone involved. The last stone unturned then, "Le chat noir". A nightclub he owned, which like every other night was packed with kids drinking in a mixture of booze, music and meth. A fine bit of armor to hide behind, bunkered down in the manager's office. Nobody would raid a nightclub, right?

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    Raiding any place that crowded tends to be a nightmare of logistics and dangerous for evryone in volved. Mostly the officers, really- shooting into a crowd of panicked clubgoers wasn't goign to look good on anyone's record no matter what they were up to at the time. So it is that the decision comes down for a couple of officers to get into the club in plain clothes and make their way toward the offices. No badges until they'd made it past the crowd.
    It's the rresult of this situation that has Evelyn wearing a slinky azure gown that matches her eyes, her brunette tresses spiraled to hang over her left shoulder, the choker around her neck, and earrings Sophie gave her tucked in. Eve nwith her heels she's pretty small, and no one is going to notice the pistol that she has holstered at her five o'clock without actually patting her down.
    Blue eyes are wide as they scan the people present over. The first thing she'd notice is any evidence of people on the floor being armed. The rest she'd have to make up as she went.

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    Eve makes her way toward the offices on the far side of the room, moving carefully amid the people on the floor. She watches pensively while the guard standing near the doorway looks around the room and then takes a deep breath. She glances at one of the other officers accompanying her through the club and nods once otward the bouncer in question.
    "Hey, you," James calls. James is a tall man with black hair that comes to a widow's peak, and athletic beard, and a mid 40s bachelor's smile which would have made 1990s George Clooney jealous. "Yeah, you. We need to talk about something."
    The irritated looking, thick-necked mafioso bouncer swivels his eyes to James. A moment later they are arguing about - something. An underaged dancer? Drugs? It doesn't matter. Eve takes that moment to analyze the way the bouncer looks around. She watches the pattern of how he moves, then takess off for the door in a sprint at the moment she knows she won't be seen.
    The girl disappears into the back with the offices and takes a deep breath. She reaches for her badge and the warrant with her right hand while the left sits near her glock. Just in case. "This is probably a bad idea..."

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    Eve doesn't miss details. Even muted by the club's walls, even over the screams of the crowd and the music, she isn't going to miss the sharp report of a firearm being discharged near thedance floor. BLue eyes dart to the door and then quickly move back to Max. "Not good enough. Who's after you? Now."
    The badge is tucked onto her holster once more and she quickly produces the cuffs, moving to drag Max's arms behind him and lock the steel over his wrists. Her right hand holds the chain and the left now has her pistol. She shoves Max ahead of her.
    "There's a back way out, right?" The girl begins as they move out of the office. "While we go you can tell me who's shooting out there."
    Of course, on the floor there are Law Enforcement officers. Eve's backup. Someone is shooting in the club, which means they - and probably the bouncers - are all drawing their guns with one specific target in mind.
    Except one of the bouncers mistakes an agent for another shooter. He takes two rounds to the vest. Then someone screams, "FBI! Drop your weapons!"

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    "...Run." That's all Eve has time to say and the words are lost in the din caused by the explosive rupture of the door. Jarret recognizes the look in her eyes, however, and as she turns away from him and spreads her stance to fill the hallway as best she is able. The young special agent levels her gun on the Fox as she is making her pronouncement. "I can't," she replies quietly.
    Then Eve takes off after Jarret in turn. She bought him a moment; she isn't planning on just standing still to die. FOx will have to gun her down in cold bloodk, in the back like an animal if she wants to drop her.

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    Eve shoves Jarret toward the nearby van as the explosions begin. She whirls toward the blast just in time for a flashbang to roll into the alley in front of her. She yelps and then staggers slightly, clearly blind and probably deaf as well. She's still holding her gun but there's no real possibility she can make a shot like this.
    For some reason there's still a tiny brunette in a blue dress between the Fox and Jarret, who is moving to scramble over the van.

Evelyn Llowe (1381) has posed:
    Eve goes down like a sack of bricks. Even being grazed with a bulleti s often incapacitating and it seems Eve, scrappy though she is, is not really an exception. There's a tremendous amount of blood alreadyk, of course. Plenty of arteries exist to be hit in th regions of the body that Fox chose to shoot, and she probably hit at least one. Eve's gun hits the ground with a soft thunk but she quickly recovers it. It takes a lot of willpower to raise the gun and, in spite of everything, she soon drops it.