2020.02.11 - Not All Leads Are Cases
Queen's Cove - Queen's Brew
Like most coffee shops, Queens Brew has a bar at the front and the kitchen, with a chalkboard menu listing their products and special. There's a display case with some pastries and fresh fruits in it, and of course on the counter behind the bar rest a number of machines for making various kinds of coffee and tea drinks. The seating area is an eclectic one, with a mixture of styles of chair, including beanbags. A few more isolated nooks lie off the main floor, which is fairly open. The tables also boast a variety to them, each hand-painted in a variety of styles. A selection of board games and books are all available for the amusement of patrons, all stored on a large shelf filled with options for any and all tastes.
The Queen's Brew is enjoying a brisk business, this cold and rainy day. There's an actual line at the counter, and the umbrella stand by the door teems with a bounty of bumbershoots dripping onto the floor. The tables are nearly all taken, with only a few empty single chairs at various tables, all of which seem to be filling up fast, save one.
It's not Otis' fault that he's intimidating. His size and his quiet, solitary nature make him seem largely unapproachable at the best of times. Today, he sits alone at a table that looks far too small for him, perched on a chair that is definitely too small for him. He sits rather carefully, his weight balanced on the small chair, and sipping coffee from a large mug that still somehow looks small in his hand. On the table is a catalog of some sort, with a cheerful handyman on the cover. It looks innocent enough, yet Otis is still an island in a sea of crowded tables.
This is the perfect kind of day for a leather jacket with a hood, which is what Nick is wearing as he steps inside and pulls the hood down, "Ugh. Should have packed an umbrella." He mutters to himself, as he shakes himself off a bit, being careful not to get anybody wet.
As he's prone to do, he quickly scans the room, spotting the few open seats and the one table with only one patron, albeit one that takes up about as much space as two. Nick rubs his hands together and then gets in line, waiting paitiently until he gets his drink, and then he makes his way over towards Otis' table, "Mind some company? Nowhere else to sit.."
Otis is watching as the dark-haired man enters the coffee shop, his black eyes narrowing when the man lowers his hood. His gaze is thoughtful and lingering, but when the man looks his way, he'll only find the big man reading his catalog. So intent on said catalog is he that he manages to lose track of the man, so when he approaches the table and speaks, Otis' hand jerks a bit before he looks up. Looking the younger man over a long moment, the big man uses his foot to push out the adjacent chair, gesturing to it with an open palm and a tight but friendly smile.
"Thanks." Nick sits down, gripping his drink with both hands and savoring it. He doesn't seem like he's the most talkative person either, so this may wind up being a very silent table, but at least it's friendly enough. He does pull out his phone after a couple of minutes, checking a few things on it. He does eye the catalog, however. Just from seeing that, and the outfit, he figures this guy is a contractor or laborer of some kind. Fits the physique, too.
Otis seems, at first, to let the table be the quietest table in the place. He bobs his head in acknowledgment of the thanks, and goes back to his catalog. Occasionally (okay, more than occasionally), his eyes slip up to take in the other man, and watch him tap on his phone. Pretty casual, but not out of place in this joint. When he sees the other man look at his catalog, he drops it, and holds out a meaty hand in greeting. "Otis." His voice is a soft, deep baritone, barely audible over the noise of the room.
Nick looks up from his phone and then slips it back into his pocket, taking the massive hand into his much smaller (but not too small) one, "Nick." He replies, giving as firm a shake as he can. Hopefully Otis won't crush his fingers too much with that massive paw, "You come around this shop much? Pretty sure I'd remember seeing you. Then again, my schedule has been all out of whack lately."
Otis nods at the introduction, his smile a bit more comfortable, but still a bit tight as he gingerly settles back. He raises a shoulder at the question, lifting a massive hand to see-saw it in the air with a wrinkle of his nose. He points at the window, indicating the weather outside, then points one meaty thumb at the floor while he makes a loud raspberry sound with his lips. Then he shrugs, and indicates his coffee. He settles back, and motions at Nick, his eyebrows hiking in question.
"Fair enough." Nick replies, before he picks his cup back up, taking another long drink from it, "Well, honestly it's good to meet you either way, Otis." He says. He understands the guy not being talkative. A lot of folks aren't. He isn't unless he feels like he needs to be.
Otis frowns a bit as his query seems to have missed its mark. So he leans forward to tap the table, his expression curious. He motions to Nick, and the window, and then again at the younger man. Then, a pointed lift of his eyebrows, and a lopsided grin as he cocks his head, resting his chin in his hand and clearly willing to listen.
Nick is apparently very bad at picking up on some cues, which isn't that big of a surprise for anyone who knows him. He's always been kinda clueless when it comes to social interactions. It's amazing he's a decent detective sometimes. Though if you'd ask him he lucks into stuff more often than not, "Ah, you wanna know about me?" He asks, taking another sip from his coffee, "I'm boring, really. Just your average guy who tries his best to deal with things as they come about. Used to be a cop but wound up having to leave due to..Well, reasons I don't want to get into." He sips his drink again, "Got my own private detective gig now. If you ever need somebody to do that kinda work, hey, give me a call."
Boring or not, Otis seems a bit impressed with his table companion, and the corners of his mouth tug downward in appreciation as he scratches at his beard. He shrugs at the possibility of knowing anyone who might need a private dick, and gives the gumshoe an apologetic look. There's a long moment of silence before the big man raises his chin, a thought occurring. Fishing in his shirt pocket, he comes up with a business card that he hands over. The card is vellum, with a bit of antiquing. In the center is a stylized bear paw print, with the words 'Forest People Designs' across it. Under that, it reads 'Woodwork & Furniture restoration and design, Otis Munro, Craftsman.' When Nick looks back at him, Otis offers a small smile, and taps the catalog helpfully.
"Ohh, awesome. You do woodwork...I had you figured for a laborer or something, so I guess I wasn't TOO far off." He says, as he pulls out his wallet and tucks the card away in it. He then slides one of his own across the table, just in case, "Really should start leaving these things around more. Not as much work as I'd like these days."
Otis takes the card and tucks it into his shirt pocket after studying it, his eyes tracking the lettering and committing the number inscribed to his memory. The comment about there not being much work gets a sympathetic sound, and the big man leans forward. His study of Nick is frank and borders on invasive as he looks over the young man. He scratches at his beard thoughtfully before he furrows his brow and rubs his fingers together at Nick with a questioning look, then a point at the man with another rub of his fingers. You need money?
"I'm not BROKE, if that's what you're asking." Nick replies, "I mean I'm not gonna be homeless or anything, but yeah, I could always use more cash." He muses, before taking another sip from his coffee, "I mean I suppose that there's other ways to make money besides creepily following people around 'cause they're cheating on their wives or whatever."
Otis nods, and fishes in his pocket for his wallet, where he extracts another, more elegant and sleek-looking card. Its simple lettering reads 'Sylvan Court, Port-Au-Fe'. Before he hands it over, Otis fishes a pen from his pocket and scrawls something on the back. When he hands it over, the name 'Rey Devoss' is what's been added in rough handwriting. "Security," Otis says in a grunt. He nods, and taps the breast pocket that holds Nick's card, leaning back.
Nick takes a second to look over the card, and the name printed on the back, "I can do that, for sure." He replies, before tucking the card away into his jacket pocket. He'll have to give them a call, "Should I let them know you told me to call?" He has no idea if Otis' name will carry weight or what.
Otis considers the question, and nods with a shrug in a if you want gesture. He tips a crooked smile at the other man and leans forward again, his chair creaking in protest at all this sudden activity from the big man. His expression is thoughtful, and he regards the younger man for a long moment before his arm snakes under the table to grab a handful of Nick's crotch and give it a healthy squeeze of assessment. His eyes never leave the detective's, though, gauging his response to this sudden maneuver.
Nick is a bit surprised at the sudden forwardness, but he doesn't seem to be put off by the action, "Normally I have to take folks out for drinks before I get that far." He replies to Otis, a faint grin crossing his face, as he moves his hips just a bit into Otis' hand.
Otis smirks at the reaction, and his final, parting squeeze is a bit more gentle and friendly. He leans back again, sliding one eye closed in a wink as he motions towards their coffee cups. Then he indicates the pocket that the club card went into, and holds his fingers up in a Boy Scout salute. Be prepared.
Oh it's one of THOSE kinds of clubs. Okay. Nick has no problem with that..There was one time he had to try to infiltrate one and well that's a whole story in and of itself.