2011 06 25: Hiding Out

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Mission Name: Hiding Out
Date of Mission: Jun 25 2011
Locale: Crewe's Apartment — Store-Top Lofts - Greenwich Village

Jezebel is redirected to Crewe's apartment by HQ when she needs a place to hide out.


Crewe Jezebel

In the hallway there's something of a commotion. Moderately heavy footsteps plod up the stairs to the apartments and soon Jezebel thunks against one of the walls outside. She's sweating rather profusely, her hair matted to her forehead and neck. The dark tank top and cargo pants that she wear are dirty with something besides sweat, however. With a shaking hand, Jez reaches into her pocket to take her cell phone out and flip it open, staring at a text message intently. She stops in front of Crewe's apartment and then knocks hesitantly, pounding.

It takes a few moments before there's any action inside the apartment. After the two deadbolts, the two latches, and of course the normal knob, the door cracks open secured by the chain…and of course a foot behind it too. Though you only really see an eyeball peeking out, it's squinty and sleepy-looking, surrounded by mussed-up hair to the extreme, and no doubt hiding a gun back behind the door. A few blinks, and the apartment's occupant stares out. "What the effing fuck?" she says quietly. "What are you doing here?"

There's a duffle bag strapped to Jez's bag. Luckily it's not leaking blood or anything, but it does look… heavy. And suspicious. She edges closer to the door when Crewe answers it. "Thank God you're home! Can I come in, please?" She asks, holding the phone out to Crewe. "They told me to come here. Things just got really rough…" Jez says, though she doesn't look hurt. In the light filtering in from Crewe's apartment, the blonde woman would be able to see the slight sheen of blood that covers Jez's tank top. No wonder why she ran all the way here. "Can I come in please and at least get washed off? This doesn't exactly look kosher, you know… people are going to get a little suspicious."

"Yeah, yeah. In. Quick." The chain is unlatched finally, and the door swings open to reveal the interior of the apartment, no brighter than hall. When Jezebel slips inside, Crewe peeks out and gives a peek up and down the length of the hall, and then finally steps back in, relocking the door. Only when that's all secured again does she spin around…and let the hammer fall back on the Colt she was gripping behind her back. "What the hell did you do?" she wastes no time in asking, crossing her hands over her chest, still holding the gun in one hand. She seems oblivious to the fact that she's not wearing more than a wifebeater t-shirt and a pair of underwear at the moment.

Jezebel flips her phone shut with the admittance to the apartment, taking in a few deep breaths before she drops her duffle bag by the door. She removes her shoes and then takes in another few deep breaths, leaning over. "Some people might really get off on a good adrenaline rush, but frankly I think that I can do without that sort of excitement…" She pauses before responding to Crewe. "It was a simple execution. Or it was supposed to be. Quick in and out, right? But no, of course not. The guy has these two bodyguards. I wasn't informed beforehand… maybe they were a really recent addition. …I drew attention." That's the long and short of it, anyway.

"Water and shit in the fridge, extra towels are in the closet there in the bathroom. It's the second door on the right down that hall there," Crewe says, motioning with the gun. No other explanation needed, it would seem. She just makes a point of going to each window there in the main room, taking a peek, checking the latches, and then pulling the heavy shades that much closer and tighter. "They see your face?" she asks, totally nonchalant, as she comes back to the couch and starts to root around under it for something.

"I don't think so." Jezebel says to the blonde, unzipping the duffle bag to remove a fresh white t-shirt and a pair of black shorts. She eyes the t-shirt for any tell-tale red staining before standing up and heading off in the direction of the aforementioned bathroom. She's in there for a few minutes, but when she comes out she's not nearly as sweaty as she was. Or as bloody. "Thanks. I appreciate it. Would you mind if I chilled here for about thirty minutes? I bet we're going to hear sirens any minute now."

When Jezebel emerges from the bathroom, she's greeted by the sight of one of Crewe's various rifle cases sitting open on the kitchen table. The smell of gun oil is certainly stronger now that the case is open, and the partially-assembled weapon is lying there. The scope, however, is still detached, set aside, having been used to peek up and down the street from the windows of the place. "Stay as long as you like. This is more fun than my usual alarm clock, that's for sure."

Jezebel puts her dirty clothes into the duffle bag amidst what are most likely some very incriminating murder weapons. She moves over to sit down on Crewe's sofa, watching the blonde. Sure enough, the in the distance the sirens start up. "I don't know who said anything about slow reaction time in bigger cities," the brunette mumbles to herself before looking back to the partially assembled rifle. "Were you really asleep, or did I just interrupt you giving some TLC to your baby?" Jez almost says 'baby' in that sentence without any mocking in her voice.

"This is my living room rifle. You should see the one I keep in the bed." There's probably a better-than-50/50 chance Crewe's being 100 serious about that, too. "But no. I was sleeping. It's Saturday and shit. This is just what I do with the rest of the day. Most of it at least." It would seem that in the meantime, Jessica's not gone to any trouble to be a more presentable host for her guest, either. The television set's turned on, but low, though she's still not wearing any pants.

It would seem that this is the first that Jezebel has noticed Crewe not wearing any pants. She blinks once, then blinks again and bites her lower lip, swallowing hard. She makes a decision not to say anything about the lack of pants. After all, it was Jessica's humble abode that Jez burst into rather frantically. To insist a woman put pants on in her own home when you're a guest? Well, it just seems much ruder than not wearing them to begin with. "You spend all day servicing your rifles? ..Or not wearing pants? Or is it a combination activity?" Jez asks her with some mild curiosity and teasing.

"It's a combination thing. You try living in a place with shite air conditioning in the summer, and see how quick you pull of your pants when you get in bed. I keep phoning the super, but he doesn't do shit to fix it. It barely works at all. I mean, if it bothers you, I could probably dig some pants up and slap them on," she says from the table, where she has her elbow resting on the table's surface, cradling her face in the curve of her arm, and holding her forehead with her palm. Her other hand points at the couch where there's more than a few shirts and jeans and sweats strewn about. None of them are Division issue.

"Frankly I'm just almost positive that anyone who wears pants to bed is a heathen. That kind of thing is unacceptable. That being said, I'm so glad I'm not a recruit anymore for a variety of reasons, but the fact that I can usually choose when I want to get naked now is right up there with them." Jezeble makes a dismissive hand motion at the other woman and smiles. "Oh, no. This is what girl friends do, right? You… watch them clean their rifles, without any pants on. This is as close as we're going to get to a normal female friendship, so we might as well. And the lack of pants doesn't bother me in the least. We live in New York and we kill people for a living. I've seen much, much worse."

"Speaking of…you wanna give those babies a nice bleach soak?" Crewe nods in the direction of the bag o'weapons. "Got a nice big sink, and just check under it. A few gallons of the magic juice down there. Seems strange though. They're calling me up for information-gathering, and you get all the fun assignments. I even had to bust out a cover for this one. Too much damn work taking them alive, I swear," Crewe grumbles, enthusiastically rubbing down the parts of her rifle with an oil-soaked cloth.

Jezebel follows Crewe's glance toward her duffle bag before she considers it. "I don't think I'll bleach 'em, but I will take the opportunity to wipe 'em. The bleach corrodes too much, I find. But they're pretty gross… where are the trash bags?" Jez asks the blonde as she stands up from the sofa before raising her brows. "Really? Info gathering?" There's a pause. "Yeah, that seems a little far removed from your area of expertise…"

"It's kind of a snatch-and-grab though. Play stalker for a bit, then toss them in the trunk and speed off to HQ. And trash bags are…well, they're right there under the sink with the bleach," Crewe answers, turning in her chair and pointing into the little kitchen of the apartment. "Keep plenty of those too. Big heavy-duty contractor-style ones. That's how I roll."

"Good deal." Jezebel says as she moves over to the cabinet underneath the sink, but not before retrieving her duffle bag. She removes a long knife that looks vaguely like a machete, except slimmer. The sheath that it's in hides the various dangly meat bits on it and other assorted gore before Jez reaches into the cabinet for a trash bag. She also locates the paper towels before she unsheaths her weapon slowly so as not to send people-bits all over the kitchen, beginning to wipe the blade down carefully. It would be nasty business to nick one's self with that monster. "Playing stalker for a bit? That sounds… creepy. Well, I'd trade places with you if I could. I'm not into up close and personal killing. It's why I vastly prefer explosions and fires. The fires are admittedly less fun to think about it, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do."

"I like it best when they never even see it coming. It makes for a much 'cleaner' kill, you know? Then I can take my time and go on in there and do what has to be done, as far as cleaning up, staging everything, and all that." The sight of what Jezebel removes from the duffle and starts to clean off in there at the sink doesn't seem to alarm Crewe at all. In fact, the only words she offers regarding that are, "Disposal switch is there on the right, just make sure to flush it with bleach when you finish."

Jezebel puts the chunks into the disposal with a shake of her head. "What a mess. I keep telling them I need something sharper… but I guess that wasn't the issue this time. I got sloppy because I got scared." She finally finishes cleaning off the blade. It looks mostly back to normal, but she doesn't bother putting it back in the dirty. She just wraps it in a trash bag and sticks it into the duffle bag. "I forget that you have to stage the crimes. It must be a trip. A fucked up trip."

"Better than any drug trip I've ever been on, that's for sure. Sometimes it's staging it. Sometimes it's making them disappear altogether. That's why I get paid the big bucks, I guess. There's a certain…well, let's not sugar coat it. You have to love what you do. And I love what I do. Isn't that right, beautiful?" Crewe starts out talking to Jezebel, but ends up talking to her gun, petting the thing affectionately, even.

The brunette watches Crewe for a moment or two before she smiles at the other woman. "I think it's safe now. The change of clothes helps. Thanks for letting me sit for a while." She closes up her duffle bag and reaches into Crewe's fridge for some water. "I'll see you again soon, probably. Occupational hazard. Uhhh, you have fun today with your guns."

"Always do!" Crewe replies cheerily. To her, it's just another normal Saturday, chilling around the place until evening doing 'chores,' then heading out to deal with the normal business. "See, aren't you glad I'm a good soldier and keep everyone up-to-date on my current address?" she offers with a wink as you make for the door, standing up herself to follow behind and lock up after.

"Indeed. It sure beats hiding in a dumpster somewhere for the next two hours," Jezebel remarks as she heads out the door, waving over her shoulder at Crewe.


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