Involved
Scott lies back to his office chair and turns to the table at the right side of the room, it may not be spacious enough they could offer him but it keeps out of the pool and as well with the obnoxious newbies who roam around like they already earned their reputation. Back in the day no one aspired to be a police officer, it’s a life or death job that only those who are capable to endure witnessing crime, obeying numerous laws and what else it offers—tolerating them he puts it—are able to surpass the ranks they indicated on their hierarchy. Most of the policemen are stagnant to their ranks, specially the abundance of officers because 1) bribing may at least sustain your minimum wage salary 2) it’s a reputation in any way that’s honorable, fueling the ego per se and 3) it’s the easiest thing asides from the numerous amounts of processes of promotion. Scott was always noble and loyal obeying terms and regulations, the only way he permits being commanded by that is why he was promoted. It was his asset anyway, sort of a talent that developed during childhood in the orphanage, but sometimes when there were circumstances in need of one’s decisions it takes him a verge withstanding before deciding the right thing to do, perceived as a being decisive by his allies, otherwise as baffled. True, Scott was rubbish in decision making, but that made sense about autonomy, when all regulations are out of the context, it was the answer.
A sly (he calls him) knocked on his door and smirked with a coffee and a case file on his both hands. Someone’s in a good mood he smiled. “Mind the talk?”
Scott was glad of his presence and threw the coffee to the plant near the counter where the coffee maker resides. It was fake, anyway. Just like Warren, AWOL. “The good coffee, yes?”
Pietro intended to use his abilities to annoy or impress Scott, putting the coffee down on his table and grabs the pretentious coffee on the counter, pouring himself one as an exchange (he prefers a cheap coffee from the supermarket bought in bundles and reminds him of what he likes about being in the Maximoff center, well he was treated properly there because of his surname) and he sat with his arms stretched, on the small sewn couch they got from a thrift shop when Kitty mentioned on how empty was his room that when she phases through it’s wall, she falls. “Soft couch, Kitty should have been an interior designer.”
“She needed money.”
“Passion also comes with money.”
“Not all of it.” Scott sips on his coffee, glad to have his friend on his side. Deputy Sheriff Maximoff did earn some reputation when they all figured he was associated mostly with the man on the doughnut store who became a police officer after saving lives in that said hostage taking. Everyone witnessed it, even on the local television, everything from the optic blast bringing collateral damage to the said establishment he paid for. In addition, the hospital where he was given aid and examinations about his abilities and whoever gave him the ruby quartz he was wearing was in question.
He could specifically recalled that day of finally being able to meet his long lost brother from another mother. Pietro on the halls hollering his names and running in normal speed, trying to prevent anyone from fumbling with all the bed on his way, or at least he attempts. Panting and exasperated by the amount of process he had to go through only to him and slapped him on the head for affection he had longed to express. It’s always the story he won’t be able to mention, and if he will ever he hopes it won’t be late.
“I got a case.” Throwing the folder near on his coffee on the verge of the table, he flipped it opened and skimmed. “That’s the new case I was talking about on the phone.”
His brows creased and glanced back at him. “Who gave you this?”
“Wagner.”
“Wagner…” He chuckled, reminding himself of his colleague who used to be his pals alongside of Howlett who has the same rank as his as of late. Wagner remained into being a Detective Sergeant due to various issues, discrimination even among the police force about how mutants are becoming superiors, which isn’t supposed to be a big deal but since they cannot diminish values learned from experiences or inferiority along colleagues, Frost decided to suspend it indefinitely. Since then, Kurt Wagner settled for the position but handed with cases in which were supposed to be administered with his supposed rank. “He decided to….”
“Yeah, since he thinks I’m the most irresistible one on the list.”
“That’s cute.” He smirked.
“So, what do you think? Are you in?” He sipped again, and raised his brows.
“If Kurt’s in it, sure.”
“You’re done with the case recently? Yeah?”
“Fuck holidays. Call Wagner we’re going.”
Detective Inspector Summers’s job description enumerates the following obligations: administering investigations, directly submits the reports to the chief of police Lehnsherr or even when the Superintendent is present in which he could count in his hands. That woman is always a busybody Howlett and he points out every time she shows up in the meeting, alongside two secretaries namely Kitty who always brings him a special assignment to accomplish asides from seeing everything from the television or social media and the other woman he forgot the name for and oh, he was second in command of detective sergeants. Right as this moment, he wasn’t supposed to be with anyone but what else is fun to do when your human superiors don’t assign anything in your division? Get into someone’s business.
They were driving from the station to the isolated forest of the ends of Westchester after another coffee break. Now with Wagner while he browses the certain files he acquired from the evidence room. Scott said, on the steering wheel glancing on the rear window. “I thought you were done filtering his data on the interface?”
“Cerebro effed up, couldn’t find any luck-Gracious Heavens!”
Pietro jolted, and also glanced back from his shot gun sit looking over Kurt surrounded by piles of folders and boxes filled with evidences asides from Scott’s—and his clutter. “What?”
“I spilled coffee…from this case file.”
“Goddamnit!” Pietro whines in which he gets a loud groan from the man with a tail and flashed his fangs.
Scott likes these things, it gives him a relief even with the amount of anxiety of what to unravel once more with it comes to another crime. And the spilled coffee of course.
They pulled over into school parking lot where the crime scene was, their superiors commanded the case was just another incident of personal issue in which will be disregarded due to the family’s decision, knowing who might have killed the said teacher who was murdered in the case during break. Cases making the scene of the television are supervised by their, you’ve guessed it, human superiors and their minions and they are passed on when they think it’s just another flop of humanity, usual things they say when something out of comprehension is in context. Howlett, or Logan as he prefers as his name instead of James sense the peculiarity of things when everyone pulls out, on the contrary he didn’t settle as a police officer after being a long time military man hiding his way to the 21st century for this. The only man who had lived for so much long everyone’s afraid of him, and he’s the one who holds up the reputation of the mutants in the force asides from Frost, Lehnsherr and…of course… Summers. Kurt teleports in every ceiling/wall/floor as soon as they walk a half meter away while the students wondered why was the police force—mutant police force in their school after a week of the said case, closing the premises. Scott knocks on the principal’s office when her secretary disregarded their polite approach, and when he opens the door a red-haired woman was standing on the window overlooking to the parking lot.
“I was expecting you’d all come, where’s Erik?”
Jean Grey, the head mistress of North Salem School in Westchester faced their way queuing their permission to settle on the couches. She telekinetically closed the door and flipped the signage Break keeping the secretary out of the office for her inspection or business asides from answering calls while she’s away. This time would be longer and Jean sends to a mental message that she could even get out of work, and she senses a flourishing relief on her link, from the report the secretary has not submitted since last week.
“With Francis.”
“Charles, not Francis.” Jean points her index finger and made Logan who was leaning on the doorway smirked. Scott was helping the apologetic Kurt to spread the sheets out of the folder that had stains from the coffee spill. “Seems like you had a bad luck out of that file.”
“It’s not important anyway.” Kurt tried to smile, yet he was a transparent being and it reflects that he is guilty about such mistake being made in front of his superior. On the other hand, Scott was easing up his anger and projected it was done to Jean who almost pressed him with questions mentally.
Pietro noticed the link, reviving his when they were all in good terms. “Mind sharing the conversation with us? It’s not just you and him here.”
Scott glanced at him, how arrogant and oblivious, he thought. He shouldn’t act so casually with the matters in hand but a certain memory in which he didn’t want to think about at the presence of the woman he used to be with resonated. He surrenders and grasp on the deceived man and who mimicked his sign of the Cross to compensate on the sudden shift of mood inside the room, being displaced with the embarrassment
Jean answered “I know what you wanted to know.”
“Did you tell the troop?” Logan bounces at the side chair beside Scott and laid back, while Pietro’s attention was on the window where there are now students roaming. “No, but they seemed to be…suspicious about my secrecy.”
“You had cases back then, supposed they think you’re not doing your job.” Pietro dismissively answered, Jean fixes her position in her office chair and lays her chin from her tangled fingers, and someone really holds a grunt for his brother as she chuckles. “I’m doing my job, Pietro. It doesn’t mean I’m being oblivious already.”
“So you said you were away, my friend?” Kurt piling the unstained sheets and putting them aside of the coffee table separating him and Scott, and he gets a glare from the opposite party. “I was. Again.”
“So by the time this happened you were in…?” Scott’s voice was furious. And she knows how his intention whenever urgent sounds authoritative when honesty is in demand, and that was the change she’ll never get over with. But what the hell, why is she assessing him—was it because she was actually on a business trip with a new man she was with? “I was in a seminar in Florida.”
False. Scott’s thoughts shunned her and they looked at each other before dismissing the topic.
“Florida.” Logan huffed, grinding his toothpick between his teeth.
“I was, and it was for the school’s sake. We need to update our curriculum by the next year and of course, the mutant segregation and coexistence once again became a topic when I came up.”
“Yeah, Kelly’s always has his way when we’re around.”
They sighed in unison, another signal that they are all actually concerned about what actually occurred on the murder. Kurt had a giggle that lightened up the mood for a bit, and they got down to business. The crime scene was at the east wing of the school, and after the shooting they closed half of the wing even if they were already permitted to clear the area, saving the information for the Summers division of the Westchester County Police Department to investigate, and hoping for another finished case thrown to the faces of their oppressors, and to say another We did it again, motherfuckers.
“It can’t be. You were really away?” Overlooking the cleaned floor that was filled with blood on Kurt’s photographic evidence folder from fishing taking at least a 30 minute break for Pietro to grab a soda from a vending machine they donated for the school. Scott frowns, picturing the resemblance of the picture and the pavement and pushes back his quart glasses to look at Logan who was reading the case file.
“You think this was something?”
“I think...” a pause on a certain sentence squint his eyes, and closed the folder to pursue his lips and point out at the pictures Kurt was holding. “…did they say a bullet?”
“No bullet.” Pietro squatted and lights his flashlight to see the marks in which wasn’t brushed. “Tell your ex-girlfriend’s janitor to use Clorox on this, it smells like Kurt.” Earning a frown from Jean, Scott didn’t ignore the fact he had been dragging her out of her temper.
“Kurt is in no way stench, Pietro. No bullet you say?”
Logan replied. “Upon autopsy there was a hole on her occipital bone, shot from the back but the bullet disintegrated…I assume. Unusual gun powder, not really gun but more of a chemical tube on a bullet melting on her woozy brain.”
“How snazzy.” Kurt drew his lips back and teleported beside Pietro, the stench scooting him and he paced out beside Scott almost losing his balance.
“It diluted? It killed the woman.”
“Unless we’re here again for another case involving us, we are not touching anything.”
“It’s good you know, to know a lot of our cases relates to us.” Kurt replied, and another thrown glare from Pietro.
“Maybe a little too related.” Logan answered, referring to Jean. The woman knows something they don’t, she always does. With the idle gestures she was making and nail biting while her arms are crossed, he insisted “Spill it out cherrypie.”
“They are accusing me in this case if ever I hid it, without the bullet, they think it’s a bow or whatever technology they don’t have in their database. Basically they don’t want to touch anymore pads or…you know, organizations with covert operations. Just my theory.”
Scott replied, having a grasp on her stance. It didn’t cease her from not making any contact and releasing stress on her fragile nails. “Woman’s a mutant? I assume.”
“She didn’t state her race, for her she thinks it doesn’t matter.” Playing with her hair, he notices Pietro doing the assessment as well that he elbowed his ribs and jerking his head towards her.
“It isn’t on the file, but what the theory we have may possibly be the case. She’s a mutant…but how come the bullet is gone?”
Kurt answered the inquiry. “It says her body died by a poison in which was induced to her.”
“Chemical inside—now a poison, in a bullet and a mutant who was killed on site.”
A moment of silence, staring on the said place where the woman dropped with her books and lesson plans for the future days gone after the occurrence of this incident. Their thoughts revolving around one single question: where did the bullet go? Sure, no one knows their anatomy since most of them were only introduced to the basics of the body and a hole on the back head bone—occipital bone in jargon’s term—would definitely kill a person if that’s a bullet. Kurt was already worried since it has been already a week since the incident happened and they already buried the body of the woman, it would be a tough job to press onto the mortgage of the hospital where they brought her in such terms since termination of proceedings were approved by the court and unless with the consent of the family members of the victim, they are doomed as ever. Unless, luck comes right down from the heavens.
Scott’s phone rings, it was Mccoy.