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<blockquote data-quote="Audrik" data-source="post: 7505286" data-attributes="member: 73653"><p><strong>Reverberations - Session 2b</strong></p><p></p><p>Clark wasn’t in the mood to be pushed around by a smalltime dealer. He repeated Dempsey’s words: “We’ll be back for you if it checks out.”</p><p></p><p>The agents stopped at the front desk to let Detective Johnson know they could have Roofie back and to ignore him if he mentioned anything about a deal. Clark gave Johnson his card in case he needed anything. He told the detective Roofie had named Spider J as his source, but he left out the part about where he could be found. Detective Johnson was pleased enough with the new lead.</p><p></p><p>Clark used de Jaager’s laptop and his own DEA login to access the NCIC, the National Crime Information Center. Spider J had never been arrested, but he had been investigated, so there were plenty of photographs.</p><p></p><p>On their way to the Talbott, the agents discussed their leads and their strategy. They had the name of a source, and they knew where to find him – sort of. Dolf would get a room at the Talbott and then sit in the lobby watching for Spider J or anything suspicious. Meanwhile, Clark and Dempsey would check out a popular but shady nightclub called Studio Overground for anyone who might know about Reverb.</p><p></p><p>First, though, Clark needed to get ready. It had been months since he’d been to a nightclub. He was what he called a recovering bro, and the nightclub scene brought all fratty bro culture screaming back. As Dempsey drove, Clark hopped into the backseat of the Cherokee and put on his cargo shorts, sandals, and oxford shirt being careful to leave the top three buttons unbuttoned. By the time they arrived, his hair was adequately spiky and stiff enough to hold his sunglasses. Dempsey rolled his eyes and asked if Clark was supposed to be Abercrombie or Fitch.</p><p></p><p>Inside, Studio Overground was dark, and the dancefloor was packed with people dancing to old hip hop and pop rock. Dempsey recognized some of it, but Clark could sing the words to everything from Coolio, Run-D.M.C., and Beastie Boys to Third Eye Blind, Maroon 5, and Nickelback.</p><p></p><p>Dempsey sat at the bar while Clark mingled. After an hour or so, they had two leads. A waitress and a kid in his early 20s had talked to each other for a couple minutes, and they had mentioned Reverb. Dempsey flagged down the waitress and pointed to a random appetizer on the menu.</p><p></p><p>“I’ll take one of these, and I was hoping you could get me something special that’s not on the menu.”</p><p></p><p>The waitress winked and said she wasn’t that kind of girl, but she’d be happy to get his fried spinach. She seemed surprised. Nobody ever ordered that, but then, Dempsey was quite obviously not from Chicago.</p><p></p><p>Dempsey whispered loudly enough for her to hear over Salt-N-Peppa. What he meant was, you know, something like Ecstasy? Oh, well, in that case … She wasn’t that kind of girl either. When she came back with his fried spinach, he asked about Reverb. Now, she did know about that.</p><p></p><p>She said it didn’t just get you high; it made time stretch, and it felt like you repeated the same instant over and over. It also made physical activity like dancing much more intense. She didn’t have any to spare, but if Dempsey wanted some, the guy she got it from would probably be in soon. His name was Roofie.</p><p></p><p>Dempsey thanked her and went for a piece of whatever appetizer it was he had ordered, but it was already gone. Clark had eaten it all, and to make it worse, he got glitter in the ranch dressing. It was probably time to meet back up with de Jaager anyway.</p><p></p><p>On their way out, Clark’s phone rang. Detective Johnson had something the DEA boys might want to see. Clark asked if Roofie was okay. The answer was a nervous laugh followed by a curt ‘no.’ The two agents hopped in the Cherokee and sped to the precinct.</p><p></p><p>Detective Johnson was visibly shaken but holding together well. He thanked them for making it so quickly, and if he noticed the glitter on Clark’s hastily donned suit, he ignored it. First thing was first: the cell. The bars of the cell had been bent outward like something the size and mass of a small truck had hit them. The mattress had been flipped and shredded, and the concrete of the walls and floor had deep gouges. It was like an animal the size of that hypothetical small truck had scratched deeply into the cement.</p><p></p><p>But there was no Roofie, and there was no blood. The detective confirmed Roofie had not escaped, and he waved them to his office. He shut the door, closed the blinds, and hit play on the digital playback of the closed circuit television security footage. Roofie had been lying on the mattress with a smile on his face when he appeared to hear something from the corner by the toilet. He sat up and looked, and then his eyes went wide. He screamed, but whatever he was seeing wasn’t showing on the video feed.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, Roofie’s body was lifted into the air like a doll. If there was indeed something in there with him, whatever it was, it tossed him around like he was a pillow before shredding the meat from his bones. Blood, flesh, and bone went in all directions and none all at once. Nothing made contact with a surface, however; it all vanished into thin air, piece by piece, drop by drop, and splinter by splinter. In about twenty seconds, the cell was demolished, and there was no longer any trace of Rufus LaRoyal Brown.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Audrik, post: 7505286, member: 73653"] [b]Reverberations - Session 2b[/b] Clark wasn’t in the mood to be pushed around by a smalltime dealer. He repeated Dempsey’s words: “We’ll be back for you if it checks out.” The agents stopped at the front desk to let Detective Johnson know they could have Roofie back and to ignore him if he mentioned anything about a deal. Clark gave Johnson his card in case he needed anything. He told the detective Roofie had named Spider J as his source, but he left out the part about where he could be found. Detective Johnson was pleased enough with the new lead. Clark used de Jaager’s laptop and his own DEA login to access the NCIC, the National Crime Information Center. Spider J had never been arrested, but he had been investigated, so there were plenty of photographs. On their way to the Talbott, the agents discussed their leads and their strategy. They had the name of a source, and they knew where to find him – sort of. Dolf would get a room at the Talbott and then sit in the lobby watching for Spider J or anything suspicious. Meanwhile, Clark and Dempsey would check out a popular but shady nightclub called Studio Overground for anyone who might know about Reverb. First, though, Clark needed to get ready. It had been months since he’d been to a nightclub. He was what he called a recovering bro, and the nightclub scene brought all fratty bro culture screaming back. As Dempsey drove, Clark hopped into the backseat of the Cherokee and put on his cargo shorts, sandals, and oxford shirt being careful to leave the top three buttons unbuttoned. By the time they arrived, his hair was adequately spiky and stiff enough to hold his sunglasses. Dempsey rolled his eyes and asked if Clark was supposed to be Abercrombie or Fitch. Inside, Studio Overground was dark, and the dancefloor was packed with people dancing to old hip hop and pop rock. Dempsey recognized some of it, but Clark could sing the words to everything from Coolio, Run-D.M.C., and Beastie Boys to Third Eye Blind, Maroon 5, and Nickelback. Dempsey sat at the bar while Clark mingled. After an hour or so, they had two leads. A waitress and a kid in his early 20s had talked to each other for a couple minutes, and they had mentioned Reverb. Dempsey flagged down the waitress and pointed to a random appetizer on the menu. “I’ll take one of these, and I was hoping you could get me something special that’s not on the menu.” The waitress winked and said she wasn’t that kind of girl, but she’d be happy to get his fried spinach. She seemed surprised. Nobody ever ordered that, but then, Dempsey was quite obviously not from Chicago. Dempsey whispered loudly enough for her to hear over Salt-N-Peppa. What he meant was, you know, something like Ecstasy? Oh, well, in that case … She wasn’t that kind of girl either. When she came back with his fried spinach, he asked about Reverb. Now, she did know about that. She said it didn’t just get you high; it made time stretch, and it felt like you repeated the same instant over and over. It also made physical activity like dancing much more intense. She didn’t have any to spare, but if Dempsey wanted some, the guy she got it from would probably be in soon. His name was Roofie. Dempsey thanked her and went for a piece of whatever appetizer it was he had ordered, but it was already gone. Clark had eaten it all, and to make it worse, he got glitter in the ranch dressing. It was probably time to meet back up with de Jaager anyway. On their way out, Clark’s phone rang. Detective Johnson had something the DEA boys might want to see. Clark asked if Roofie was okay. The answer was a nervous laugh followed by a curt ‘no.’ The two agents hopped in the Cherokee and sped to the precinct. Detective Johnson was visibly shaken but holding together well. He thanked them for making it so quickly, and if he noticed the glitter on Clark’s hastily donned suit, he ignored it. First thing was first: the cell. The bars of the cell had been bent outward like something the size and mass of a small truck had hit them. The mattress had been flipped and shredded, and the concrete of the walls and floor had deep gouges. It was like an animal the size of that hypothetical small truck had scratched deeply into the cement. But there was no Roofie, and there was no blood. The detective confirmed Roofie had not escaped, and he waved them to his office. He shut the door, closed the blinds, and hit play on the digital playback of the closed circuit television security footage. Roofie had been lying on the mattress with a smile on his face when he appeared to hear something from the corner by the toilet. He sat up and looked, and then his eyes went wide. He screamed, but whatever he was seeing wasn’t showing on the video feed. Suddenly, Roofie’s body was lifted into the air like a doll. If there was indeed something in there with him, whatever it was, it tossed him around like he was a pillow before shredding the meat from his bones. Blood, flesh, and bone went in all directions and none all at once. Nothing made contact with a surface, however; it all vanished into thin air, piece by piece, drop by drop, and splinter by splinter. In about twenty seconds, the cell was demolished, and there was no longer any trace of Rufus LaRoyal Brown. [/QUOTE]
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