Grant slumps across the back side of the third chessboard - down the path
a little ways, there are a dozen fast-paced one-minute games at five bucks
a shot, but up where the regulars play, it's a little slower paced
(five-minute games) and not quite as boisterous (not as many of them are
for money either.) He drapes his arm off the side of the chessboard and is
lazily snapping off crisp, spiralling yo-yo tosses with a steel-grey
yo-yo. His opponent has a shaved head and more piercings than you thought
one ear could take. They're zipping off moves against each other as fast
as their hands can move, apparently at the end of their game, according to
the battered clock next to the board. A street rapper with a large radio
harangues passers-by ("You can't get enough/Smoke the good stuff!")

Bobby strolls through the park looking for Grant. The guys at the station
told him he could be found playing chess. They told even told Bobby what
board, as if he'd remember. He sees a guy that looks like the picture in
Grant's file and heads towards him. 

Bobby stands there, watching and not saying a word until the game is over.

Bobby is a very normal looking guy in his mid to late twenties. He could
be that guy who lived down the hall from you in college or maybe the guy
who sold you your car. It finally clicks! You've seen this guy on tv. 
Bobby Drake was recently interviewed during intermission of a recent
hockey game on FOX. The guy's face just looks so ordinary it's hard to
place him.
 Bobby's got an average build for a hockey player, not a he-man with
bulging biceps the size of most people's legs. He's in shape and built,
just not like a tank. You could say he fills out his 6' tall frame.
Bobby's light brown hair has been cut recently and it's styled with bit of
gel. Bobby's goatee has been trimmed short and neat as well. You can
detect just a touch of Tommy cologne. Throw in the blue eyes of angel
(with horns holding up the halo) and the man has got boyish good looks to
round out the package. 
 
 Bobby wears a pair of black Guess jeans in sharp condition, not faded or
worn. The black high-top Nikes on his feet are in just as good shape. The
predominant piece of the outfit is the Boston Bruins white home jersey
that Bobby wears. The jersey is one of his old ones he used in a game, his
name and number on the back. 

Grant(#929PXfnce)

        This is a man in his late twenties in a rumpled, ill-fitting,
obviously off-the-rack grey suit. It would be easy to peg him as a
government employee, or an insurance agent, except that his shirt is a
sort of very dark navy blue, and his tie is a b ow tie, unknotted and
perfectly black, hanging down loosely out of his collar. His hair is black
and combed straight back from his forehead, shaved on the sides, and his
blue eyes are only visible if he takes off those little octagonal mirrored
sunglasses . 

       His skin is vaguely tan, like he spends a lot of time outdoors but
manages not to get much sun in the process (smoggy skies, I guess), and he
has the sort of wiry, athletic build that comes from exertion, not
exercise. His voice has a Brooklyn accent - his body language is
vigorous, brash and confident.  

Grant's opponent doesn't look up at Bobby, but just blurts out: "Drake,
Robert, 87 goals, 66 assists, 13 penalties." Lifetime stats. Grant doesn't
look up either, but instead presses a wicked attack on the kingside. 
Suddenly the little red flag on the opponent's clock drops and Grant,
quick as lightning, stops the clock. "That's time." His opponent curses.
"Next time, Sutton." he snarls, then gets up and leaves. He doesn't give
Bobby a second glance. 

Bobby stands there for a moment, stunned. Finally he says "How did he know
that? Is he a fan or Rain Man?" 

Grant looks at Bobby stone-faced. "Both. Fantastic memory. Loves to talk
when he's playing too. Why I come down here. Not a big hockey fan myself,
I prefer baseball. Drake, was it?" 

Bobby nods and extends his hand, "Grant Sutton?"

Grant nods and shakes his hand. "That's me. You play?" he says, gesturing
to the seat now vacant across from him. 

Bobby chuckles and shakes his head, "Not chess... poker I can handle
though... not that we have time." He takes a seat anyways, leaning forward
on the table. "So... what happened to you the other night?" 

Grant looks across at him. "What night?" He pauses. "Wait, you were the
guy that left me that message, about the Lee murder and the Guardians." 

Bobby laughs and sarcastically says "No... I'm some freak trying to pick
you up!" He shakes his head with a slight chuckle and says "Yeah, I'm from
the Guardians. A few of us went down to Chinatown and we never saw you
there." 

Grant smiles. "A few? Yeah, well, a few, five at one scene all at once,
sure, that could be a few. But six would definitely have been too many.
Did you find anything?" 

Bobby rolls his eyes. He shrugs and says "Yeah... we got some info..."

Grant pats his hands together in golf-claps. "Good for you." He snaps his
wrist and down the yo-yo goes, hovering at the bottom of the string.
"Don't keep me in suspense, what was it?" He says this without a trace of
sarcasm. 

Bobby smirks and says "We got a description of the killer." He waits,
watching Grant's face for some sort of reaction. 

Grant's face reveals nothing. He just nods. "Good, good." he says. With
the hand not holding the yo-yo he takes a piece of paper out of his pocket
and then a pen. He holds the paper in the hand with the yo-yo and the pen
in the other. "What did it look like?"

Bobby smirks again, not letting the guy off the hook that easy. "But we're
just a bunch of dumb feds... we can't possibly have any info that you
don't have?" 

Grant looks at the paper. He blinks. He turns the paper upside down and
looks at it again. "Yeah, you're right." He puts the paper down - on the
other side is an artist's rendering of the killer. "Thanks for reminding
me. How did you guys find out? I know you didn't do what we did, we would
have been bumping into each other all day yesterday." 

Bobby shakes his head "Are you kidding me?" He pauses for a laugh "Just
don't tell Alex, he spent $100 to find out." 

Grant chuckles. "He got a bargain. I had to use four patrolmen, two cars
and a whole day's worth of salary." 

You say "What did you guys do?"

Bobby sighs "Well... as I said, we went down to Chinatown. I ran into some
oddball at first and got nothing out of him. Alex approached these kids,
probably from on of the local gangs. They weren't talking and they decided
to pull their blades. Alex upped the ante and they talked."

Grant nods. "Oh, that was you. Okay, those were the Shivs. Did they see
'em before or after?" 

Bobby says "A bit of both actually." He pauses and takes a quick look
around. "They said they saw this huge asian bust down Lee's door and go
in. Then he came out and stomped off." 

Grant nods. "That's great - they actually saw entry. Lucky you ran into
them." He seems to make a mental note. "We're running the picture past the
FBI and Immigration but it's slow going, nothing yet. He's not one of the
usual tong hitters, and if it's one of Lee's known rivals, we don't know
which one it is yet." He quirks his finger and the yo-yo dutifully returns
to his hand. "Answer unclear, ask again. That kind of thing." 

Bobby nods "They said he wasn't a local. Those kids had never seen him
before." Bobby pauses and clears his throat. "It sounds like the guy is a
mutant. Do you think the mob has started to use mutant hitmen? That was
one of the theories we were tossing around..."

Grant blinks. "Started? Where have you been?" He ticks off on his fingers. 
"Vinny Cataglia, '90, Dave Kuan, '93, Fat Tony Salerno, '95. There's
plenty more, those are just the ones I've worked." He tosses the yo-yo
down again and picks up the string into a complicated latticework, the
yo-yo now hanging and spinning between his hands. "That's not the question
with mob work. The question is where's the perp and will he roll over on
someone higher up? New guys are hot to prove themselves and can get in
over their heads fast. Mutant, no mutant, not a big deal. ME says that a
strong man -could- have done the murder but he wasn't eager to make a
decision." 

Rebecca arrives from Midtown.
Rebecca has arrived.

Bobby looks utterly surprised, his eyes wide. "Are you serious? The mob
has had mutants working for them for that long? I'm new to this whole
thing. Up until recently, I was Joe Public... wow!" 

Rebecca wanders into the park, arms folded loosely across her tummy.

Grant nods. "Probably longer. Those are just the ones where we are pretty
sure." 

Rebecca
        Rebecca Sallens stands only about 5'2" and has a petite build that
is unmistakably female. Her thick black hair falls very nearly to her
small waist and frames her heart-shaped face with gentle waves. Her cobalt
blue eyes mark her as different; th e iris extending to obliterate any of
the white from vision and the pupils being small slits rather than round
like normal human eyes. When she smiles, her canines become visible, also
marking her as different as they are longer and far sharper than norma l.
Her full lips often wear a smirk of amusement or disdain and her movements
are always carried out with unconscious grace and no wasted movement. 
        Rebecca wears a short black skirt that comes to her upper thighs
with soft folds of material which moves with her. A dark blue silk blouse
is open somewhat to reveal an enticing amount of skin and her hair has
been tamed back into a french braid. Black Doc Martens cover her feet. 

Bobby lets out a long sigh. "I just can't get over that... I guess that
means the Guardians will be pretty busy..." He pauses for a second and
asks "Do you have the time? My girlfriend was supposed to be meeting
me..." 

Grant nods. "Sure." He tilts his hands, which twists up the latticework
around the yo-yo dangerously but nothing happens to it. He looks at his
wristwatch. 

You say "It's about 10:30."

Grant lets the yo-yo fall loosely down and it snaps back up into his hand
crisply. 

Rebecca walks toward Bobby's back, motioning to Grant to be quiet if he
should happen to spot her. 

Grant spots her but doesn't know who she is, so doesn't notice her.

Bobby nods "She she be here any minute..."

Rebecca walks up behind Bobby and covers his eyes from behind.

Bobby jumps a bit, startled. He grins and says "Speak of the devil..."

Grant looks between the pair. He manages to do this somehow, despite their
proximity to each other. It's a little unnerving. 

You say "The devil. The devil. Hi there."

Rebecca kisses the nape of Bobby's neck lighly, then lets go and comes
around to stand beside him. "Hi." 

Grant introduces himself, extending the hand that doesn't have the yo-yo
in it. "Grant Sutton." 

Bobby smiles and wraps an arm around becca's waist. He grins and makes
introductions. "Grant Sutton, I'd like you to meet my ball and chain,
Rebecca Sallens..."  

Grant nods. "Good to meet you."  

Rebecca elbows Bobby in the ribs lightly and accepts the hand in a warm,
firm grip. "Pleased to meet you, Grant." 

Grant waves to a seat to the side of the chess table for her. "Have a
seat. I guess she's cleared to hear this stuff?" he says to Bobby. "Or is
that all you've got?" 

Bobby nods "Yeah, she's cleared...  she's on the team and she was there."
He shrugs "I think that's about all we have. We're gonna run it through
our computers and see what we come up with." Bobby turns to Rebecca and
asks "Anything else you can think of?"

Rebecca sits and crosses ehr legs. "No, I can't think of anything."

Grant nods. He snaps the yo-yo downwards and it skitters along the dirty
pavement a few inches before he reels it back in. "We've got some more
general ideas, like who Lee screwed last and who he put death marks on
last, and some idea of the ordinary hitters working Chinatown these days,
but nothing right on just yet. Big picture stuff."

Bobby nods "I get you. Maybe something will show up on the computers? We
can always go back to Chinatown and ask around some more..." 

Grant nods. "Might not be wise to be too obvious. We're both white guys."
he says. "We've got a real good Chinatown squad of natives who know their
way around, and a cooperative judge in the ward, so we can get wiretaps
and bugs pretty easy."

Rebecca smirks a little, but doesn't say anything, preferring just to
listen for now. 

Bobby nods and cracks a smile "Yeah... I think they like us even less. One
of our guys beat some of them up pretty bad last week in some big
brawl..." 

Grant grins. "Sometimes it helps to have a badge." he says. "They know
we're with them for good. The Guardians...no offense, but it's here this
week, gone the next. Beat up a cop and the rest of the cops will give you
grief until the day you die." 

Rebecca raises an eyebrow slightly but says nothing. o O (Like I don't
have a bilion badges stashed.) 

Bobby shrugs "We'll see... I hope we don't have to be around forever..." 

Grant nods. "Exactly." he says. "I hope I -get- to be around forever.
That's what makes the difference." He flicks his wrist and the yo-yo spins
in a sweet little double-ellipse, then back into his hand. 

Rebecca yawns and looks at the two of you.

Bobby offers his hand "Well Grant... it was nice meeting you and I hope we
can continue to share information on this. Between our two offices, we
should be able to solve this thing and hopefully prevent any more deaths." 

Grant nods. "Absolutely. You have my number - can I have yours?"

Rebecca smiles and relaxes a little.

Grant shakes Bobby's hand, again, the hand without the yo-yo.

Bobby pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to Grant. "You can talk
to either of us... pretty much anyone on the team. We all know the case." 

Grant takes the card and smiles. "Great." He tucks it away inside his
coat. 

Grant nods to the pair. "Well, good night, you two. Don't let the sexual
harassment laws bite." 

Rebecca says "Nice to've met you, Grant."

You say "It was great to meet both of you. Good luck."

Bobby chuckles and slings an arm around Becca's shoulder "Later, Grant"

Rebecca leans her head against Bobby's shoulder lightly.

Grant watches them go. The minute they are gone from the table, the place
opposite Grant is filled with an eager newcomer, ready for a five-minute
game of chess, and soon, the air is again filled with the snapping of the
pieces and the clicking of the clock.