[ This guy wasn't an idiot. Ray lay still and watched his brain work, and he was fast too, straight on the ball with it even though he gave himself all the time he could afterwards to balance the suggestion, make it seem like he really had to think about not getting his brains blown off out. In the meantime Ray holds eye contact, cooly reflecting back the challenge in the other man's, trying to read what he could from him while they were still close together. There's nothing new; nothing the game of blackjack and the attack across the table hadn't told him already. Except that he was pragmatic rather than afraid: couldn't save Fraser if he was dead.
As the cop backs off, following his instructions to the letter despite the fact that it makes him wobbly on his feet, Armando lays still, propping himself up on his elbows once the other man's hands are clear out of the way, and waiting until he was on his feet before finding his own. He brushed down his suit carefully, straightened his collar and tie, made sure his mustache hadn't slipped, and then it was time to get serious.
But first, a response to that bluff: ] Oh, I believe you. The whole of Vegas PD. [ Others might have fallen for it, but Armando wasn't that soft. He hadn't known to think that he might get himself in trouble in here, but more importantly, if Vegas PD or the FBI had caught even a sniff of him getting too close to Langoustini or the Iguanas, they'd have put a stop to it. This guy would have been escorted to the airport, and that would have been the end of it.
He tugged back his sleeves, moving his hands to the detective's chest, pushing back his lapels, running his hands across his front and down his sides. Empty holster as expected. Down to one knee now, running his hands down the other man's thighs, removing his gun from his ankle holster, his ID from his hip pocket, handcuffs and keys, room key--no passport or license, but presumably those would be back in his room.
He handed the card key to the nearest thug, pointed upward and then gestured toward the door - check him out - pocketed the gun, and flipped open the ID as he straightened up, his eyes flicking from the identity to Stanley, then back again, catching himself staring. ]
Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD. [ He tilted his head. ] Italian really washed out of you, huh? Well, Detective, the first thing you have to figure out is who gives the orders around here. I'll give you a clue, it's me.
[ Vecchio. God, they'd actually replaced him, put a guy undercover into his job, with his name. A Polack of all things. He'd known there'd be a guy taking his place, but they hadn't said anything about him taking his identity. And god only knew it made him feel even more out of touch with who he was. He shook it off, rolling his shoulders. ]
Put your hands down. Nobody's going to shoot you. It'd be too messy, and besides, you're going to cooperate. I like that. It's smart; and really, you have to play it smart. I could do anything to you in here, in front of all these people - shoot you, stab you, fuck you - and nobody would see a thing. In fact, even if you reported it to Vegas PD they'd tell you you didn't see anything either. You see, the things they want to put me away for we're talking hundreds of years, no parole. You're not worth their time. You're not worth the money it'd cost the state in lawyers.
Cooperation is the only thing you've got going for you. So we're going to walk out of here together. My car's up front, and we'll take a nice little drive. Maybe you'll even find what you're looking for. [ He stepped away without another word, putting Ray's ID into his pocket as he went. Vecchio. Vecchio. What was this guy's real name, that was what he wanted to know. It wasn't even like he could ask. ] What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Let's go.
no subject
offout. In the meantime Ray holds eye contact, cooly reflecting back the challenge in the other man's, trying to read what he could from him while they were still close together. There's nothing new; nothing the game of blackjack and the attack across the table hadn't told him already. Except that he was pragmatic rather than afraid: couldn't save Fraser if he was dead.As the cop backs off, following his instructions to the letter despite the fact that it makes him wobbly on his feet, Armando lays still, propping himself up on his elbows once the other man's hands are clear out of the way, and waiting until he was on his feet before finding his own. He brushed down his suit carefully, straightened his collar and tie, made sure his mustache hadn't slipped, and then it was time to get serious.
But first, a response to that bluff: ] Oh, I believe you. The whole of Vegas PD. [ Others might have fallen for it, but Armando wasn't that soft. He hadn't known to think that he might get himself in trouble in here, but more importantly, if Vegas PD or the FBI had caught even a sniff of him getting too close to Langoustini or the Iguanas, they'd have put a stop to it. This guy would have been escorted to the airport, and that would have been the end of it.
He tugged back his sleeves, moving his hands to the detective's chest, pushing back his lapels, running his hands across his front and down his sides. Empty holster as expected. Down to one knee now, running his hands down the other man's thighs, removing his gun from his ankle holster, his ID from his hip pocket, handcuffs and keys, room key--no passport or license, but presumably those would be back in his room.
He handed the card key to the nearest thug, pointed upward and then gestured toward the door - check him out - pocketed the gun, and flipped open the ID as he straightened up, his eyes flicking from the identity to Stanley, then back again, catching himself staring. ]
Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD. [ He tilted his head. ] Italian really washed out of you, huh? Well, Detective, the first thing you have to figure out is who gives the orders around here. I'll give you a clue, it's me.
[ Vecchio. God, they'd actually replaced him, put a guy undercover into his job, with his name. A Polack of all things. He'd known there'd be a guy taking his place, but they hadn't said anything about him taking his identity. And god only knew it made him feel even more out of touch with who he was. He shook it off, rolling his shoulders. ]
Put your hands down. Nobody's going to shoot you. It'd be too messy, and besides, you're going to cooperate. I like that. It's smart; and really, you have to play it smart. I could do anything to you in here, in front of all these people - shoot you, stab you, fuck you - and nobody would see a thing. In fact, even if you reported it to Vegas PD they'd tell you you didn't see anything either. You see, the things they want to put me away for we're talking hundreds of years, no parole. You're not worth their time. You're not worth the money it'd cost the state in lawyers.
Cooperation is the only thing you've got going for you. So we're going to walk out of here together. My car's up front, and we'll take a nice little drive. Maybe you'll even find what you're looking for. [ He stepped away without another word, putting Ray's ID into his pocket as he went. Vecchio. Vecchio. What was this guy's real name, that was what he wanted to know. It wasn't even like he could ask. ] What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Let's go.