Owner	Pose
Frank Quaid	Frank gets out of the passenger side of the unmarked black Tahoe and waves to Elaina before she pulls out to find parking. He walks into the Mt. Sinai Hospital lobby. Just outside the main doors there are still scorch marks and blast damage. Inside, trades are working on repairing damage to walls from gunfire and energy lances. Sections of the lobby are blocked off while undergoing repairs. He stops at the Plaza Cafeteria in the first floor of the Guggenheim Pavilion building. Then he makes his way to the step-down unit where June is being held. Outside her room, he stops and talks with the uniformed officers guarding her door and waves to one of the doctors and a couple of nurses he knows. Then he knocks and lets himself into June's room. "Hello?" he says when he comes in. Frank is dressed as usual, in an unremarkable black suit today, with white shirt and black tie. He still has a nose bandage, but the black eyes are starting to heal.
June	June is watching a Daytime Soap, having surrendered to the fact that there's nothing else for her to do. Sitting there in the hospital gown, one hand chained to the bed to keep her from getting away. She wears a nose ring, small gauges, and enough ear piercings to sink a ship. She looks incredibly bored when Frank walks in, and though talking to cops isn't high on her list. At this point in 'Days of Our Lives' she will happily take the distraction. Her left hand lifts to click off the remote. "What?" she asks bluntly.
Frank Quaid	"Am I bothering you?" Frank asks rhetorically. When he steps fully into the room, one of the uniformed officers outside closes it behind him. Frank walks over to the bed, balancing two coffee cups and two little baked goods bags from the Plaza Cafeteria in his off hand. "I'm Captain Frank Quaid, NYPD," he introduces himself. "Coffee?" he asks. "It's black, but not bad here. And a chocolate croissant if you want it." Frank sets the coffee and pastry for June down on the elevated side table by her bed regardless of what she says. He pulls a chair up near the bed and sets his phone down on the edge of the bed. "It's recording, just so you know," he says with a nod to the phone. "Rules. You're kind of a big deal. How're you feeling?" Frank asks, looking June over more carefully.
June	"Yeah, I know the drill," she says. "So I feel like shit, not made much better since I know how this shakes out, Frank." She takes the liberty of using his first name, and even puts an accent on the use of it. She takes the coffee though. She drinks some, and winces a little. Clearly not accustomed to black coffee. "So I mean, the nice guy routine may work for some? But I know this only ends one way." Her record isn't short. She knows the way things look. She had the murder weapon in her pocket. She was the only one there, and she's a known criminal.
Frank Quaid	"Never hurts to be polite," Frank says with a shrug. "I don't get paid enough to be an ass." He drinks some of his own coffee, leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. "I'm not exactly sure how this ends. You don't make a lot of sense," he muses. "Somebody pulls a very professional, military attack on the hospital. Somehow, a fight breaks out with who knows who. And we end up with you in a bear trap, with a lung full of mustard gas and a poison needle used to kill a patient." "Now, I'm just a dumb cop, but even I know nobody mustard gasses themselves," Frank observes. "And nobody saves somebody from getting assassinated with a needle by tossing mustard gas into the room with the person. So. You make no sense." Frank sips from his coffee again and tilts his head curiously.
June	"Well, I didn't save anyone, did I?" comes the sour response. "She's dead. I got the murder weapon on me. Got my prints all over it." She reaches over to grab the crossaint. Hey, why not? She takes a bite. "But no, I don't usually make sense anyway," she says around the bite. "So no, I didn't gas the bitch. Don't even know her," she says. "So I ain't gonna get all choked up about it either. But that's what I do, I went in to save somebody, didn't work out, I get fucked in the ass for my trouble."
Frank Quaid	"You're not kidding. Your record... This isn't a good place for you to be. But same time... I don't really get how you go from run of the mill felonies to terrorism, " Frank says. He puts his coffee down so he can take a bite of his croissant. He covers his mouth politely as he talks until he swallows. "You don't strike me as the terrorist type. I mean, if I thought you were actually a terrorist, I wouldn't be talking with you. In fact, some of the others think I'm wasting my time. But I think even with your record, you're not that messed up. I mean, it's not like you're molesting kids, shooting up schools, or helping the Joker blow up a ferry full of people. Right?"
June	"I mean, maybe I am a terrorist," June answers. "But hell, not as bad a terrorist as the NYPD, so I mean, it's all comparative, right? You fuckers are sign sealed and delivered I figure at this point, huh?" She plays the dry and disconnected pretty well, someone who is resigned, and doesn't seem to be placing much faith in the system at all.
Frank Quaid	Frank smiles a little and takes another bite of his croissant. "Uh huh," Frank says. "Then you're terrible at it. Terrorists don't try to 'save somebody with'," he quotes her. "And you don't stab somebody with a poison dart if you're trying to 'save somebody with', either. You're what, 20? You might think you're pretty badass for someone just out of juvie, but you're not much out here. And you're in way over your head. Which I think you're starting to get." Frank drinks from his coffee again. "I'm thinking it's not me you need to worry about. We're not gonna hurt you. But I think someone else will after this mess. You sure you want to be spending time in pre-trial?"
June	"Spent my whole life in over my head," June answers. "Now's no different." She takes another unladylike chunk out of her own crossaint. "The royal we is kinda ambiguous, don't ya think? So many crooks goin' free lately, wonder what that's about, huh? I mean, may just look like another day to you, but I'm not one of the ones that are gonna be released. I already know that. So what're you gettin' at, Frank? What do you want?"
Frank Quaid	Frank purses his lips and runs his tongue over the front of his top teeth. He puts his coffee down and folds his hands together in his lap. "I want you to work for me," Frank says flatly and fixes his eyes on hers. "State agent. You spill everything, all of it. We make it look like we fucked up your case, you get off. Then you're our double agent. You get paid, we look after you, and when we're done, you testify. Then you get federal witness protection if you want it. Cooperate, everyone wins. Fuck around with me, you go back to jail. Only people who'll know would be you, me, my partner and a federal prosecutor from out of the area."
June	"Fuck." June looks both amused and disgusted, looking up at the ceiling. "You have no clue, do you?" She outright laughs. It isn't a nice laugh. A tongue ring pops out of her mouth, and she traps it between her teeth. "Okay, turn that shit off," she says, taking a more serious tone. Her eyes glance down at the phone.
Frank Quaid	Frank reaches forward, turns off the recording and pockets his phone. He picks up his coffee again. "Go ahead," he says, neutrally. He drinks from his cup while listening.
June	"You are batshit crazy, motherfucker," she says in a lower voice. "You have any idea?" She reaches over her shoulder, and unties her gown at the top, then pulls it unceremoniously down to reveal her left shoulder. There is a footprint tattoo on it. "You know what this is?" she asks.
Frank Quaid	Frank's eyes go up a bit at what comes out of her mouth. He leans forward a bit to get a better look at her tattoo. "Gang tattoo," Frank says, eyes narrowing in recognition. He leans back nonchalantly with carefully flat expression on his face. "I've seen that one before. So?"
June	"No," she says. "That's the New York Foot emblem. Damn thing is a reminder to me of just how bad a fuck up I am." She looks a the door again, and pulls the gown back over her shoulder. "They got their dicks in every level of this city. You're fuckin' NYPD not being the least of them. Only reason I show you? Cuz if you knew about this already, they would've already shipped me to the morgue." She waves at the 'outside' indiscriminately. "That shit I was in the other day? Nothin' to do with that. I'm done workin' for them. But I hit their radar? Better believe I'm not walkin' out of this hospital in or out of cuffs." She looks far more earnest than she did a few minutes ago, and her voice is staying low, as if she expects someone to hear them. "I don't know who hit that poor bitch. Some people that got me out of the Foot wanted my help on it. Not givin' them up. But the guys on the outside, they were connected somehow, makin' a scene as their inside guy did the deed."
Frank Quaid	"Okay. Sounds like we're both in a world of shit then," he comments, following her lead and keeping his voice down. He leans uncrosses his legs so he can lean forward a bit toward her. "I'm betting they don't like people leaving, and you'll be pretty exposed in jail... If we're that riddled, you're screwed. Your name is all over my unit right now, and in reports all up and down the chain of command. This is a big case. People are talking." Frank sips his coffee and tilts his head. "So if you don't know who went after that woman, how about why? You and your friends took a hell of a risk going up against those guys, especially in a hospital. Why take the risk?"
June	June shrugs. "I dunno, person in charge said she knew something that would put some big bad in a bind. We usually don't go after low hanging fruit." She shakes her head. "I've never been the one people trust with the most sensitive of matters. People say I have shit manners. But I AM the shit at getting into places that I shouldn't." She pauses. "Just pretend I didn't say that last part."
Frank Quaid	"Shit manners? Don't know what they're talking about," Frank jokes. He finishes off his croissant and brushes a few stray pastry flakes off his pants. "Well, you're in a bind, June. Don't envy you. But hey, bright side. You go to pre-trial you might get to see Fiona. That's something."
June	"Fiona?" June looks a little confused. "Dammit, she got herself caught, too, huh?" she asks. "Dunno if I'll make it through pre-trial," she said. "Who do I gotta fuck to get out of that? I go in that cell, I'm just a sitting duck. All it takes is one of those dicks bein' on the Foot payroll, and you'll have a corpse sittin' in your jail."
Frank Quaid	Franks nods slowly. "Yep," he says, his expression shifting slightly. More predatory. "Fucking won't help you. Either you work for me, or you take your chances inside waiting for trial."
June	June nods, understanding the nature of the ultimatum. "Okay," she nods. "But it's gotta be off the books, I don't want to get some visitor that comes and puts two to my head in the middle of the night." Her motivation is clearly focused on self-preservation. "Can I get out of this?" she asks, holding her right hand as high as she can with it cuffed to the bed.
Frank Quaid	"We do it properly. Only thing that ever goes on paper about you is a code number. Only people who know your name are me, my partner and a fed prosecutor I know in DC. Agents are a big deal. You get whacked and I go to jail, understand? You work for me, I take care of you. You screw around, you get left in The Tombs on terror-associated murder charges." "You don't tell anyone. Not your mom, your boyfriend, not the cops if you get arrested for something else, not your lawyer, not even your goldfish. I find out you've been talking and deal's off. Understood?" "And those stay on, for now. I take them off and the guys outside will know something's up. Instead, you're gonna start yelling at me and I'm gonna leave. You'll be released as soon as the doctors clear you. Might as well have an armed guard while you're stuck in here."
June	June knows when she's in a corner, and she knows when she has to play along. She sets her jaw to one side, the sound of her playing with the tongue ring evident as it clicks inside her mouth along her teeth.     "Sure," she says shortly. It's clear this isn't the situation she'd really like, but it's the situation she has, and she has the set face of someone who is willing to adapt.     "So, can I get my phone call?" she asks. "I need someone to come pick me up." She can't drive well with a broken leg, and her records indicate she's never actually had a driver's license to begin with. A true New Yorker.
Frank Quaid	"Yep. Raise a stink about it after I go. They'll ask me, I'll say go ahead." Frank fishes in his pocket and pulls out a dumb phone. "Never used before. Only use it to call me and my partner. The numbers are in contacts. They ring to dumb phones we never used before." He hands June the phone to tuck away somewhere.
June	"Great," she mutters blandly. "So, can I get my clothes back?" she asks. "Not generally accepted practice to get out of here in a hospital gown, y'know?" She takes the phone, and chooses to just put it underneath her for now, having no pockets to hide it in. "And you're a crafty motherfucker, you know that?" she asks. "You'd make a good crook."
Frank Quaid	"You're not the first person to say that," Frank says with a grin. He gets up. "The guys will get you your stuff when they find out you're released. Call me in a couple days."