Post by Stephanie Harrington on Jul 5, 2018 21:02:13 GMT
“It all came back to something I’d figured out once about the detective business. There were two ways to go along: underground or on top. I never found out which was best. Underground you had the element of surprise on your side, but it was harder to move around. On top you went everywhere, taking cracks at everybody, and everybody taking cracks at you. You had to be tough to play it that way. Well, I was tough...."
"No, Laura, its' not private eye, its' private investigator; get it right...."Following the events in Quiet is Violent, Stephanie Harrington walked away from law enforcement and took up a private ticket, using the skills accumulated over the past near-two decades to help the weak, the downtrodden, the mutants among us, an angel of strength and mercy walking through the concrete canyons of the Big Apple or wherever her talents send her.....
The Dwyer Building, corner of 156th Street and 8th Avenue (Stephanie's residence is on the top floor of the building)
Post by Stephanie Harrington on Jul 11, 2018 3:10:19 GMT
"You sure you don't want a cup to go, ma'am?" the short-order cook said as he poured Stephanie a last cup of coffee, hot and steamy as it flowed into her cup. Sitting inside the diner at St. Nicholas and 117th Street, she felt like a ghost sitting in and amongst the crowd of evening rush hours patrons but it didn't bother her. If there was one thing, she felt, to having a private investigator's ticket (a PI ticket, in official parlance) it was that you were your own boss: you charged your own amount for your investigative services, you worked the cases you wanted and did things your own way.
On the flip side, she mused as she laid out some change for the cook as a tip and grabbed her coat, in the lean periods money could get very tight. When Stephanie Harrington had ditched her DEA badge, she'd had a few periods where money was tight but that was the risk you took; the lack of a steady paycheck kept you on your toes. As she threw on her black jean jacket over her lanky upper body, Stephanie looked down at the empty plate that'd held eggs, bacon, toast and hashbrowns and felt energized, ready to go out into the night and fight the demons of the world, of which there were plenty.
As she walked out of the diner and began walking down 117th, Stephanie thought about the past few months and everything that'd happened, lighting up a cigarillo and taking a drag off it as she walked down the street. She often wondered how Joseph was doing; she'd come down to the conclusion that if he wasn't her missing brother Devon he'd been damn close to it. Maybe that's why I fought so hard to protect him, she mused, wincing slightly as a tendril of pain shot down her arm from her right shoulder where she'd taken two bullets protecting him right as they'd gotten to the Xavier School with him. She'd wanted to call, see how he was adjusting to life there but everytime she thought about it, she'd shied away, not wanting to bother him or disturb him as he got used to being there.
However, by the time she'd decided to get around to calling and checking up on him, enough time had elapsed and enough stuff had happened elsewhere that she'd decided that the best way to protect him was to stay away from him, in essence isolating herself from him in order to keep him safe. It made her feel sad at times, but that was the price to pay, she felt, to keep him safe and protected.
Pausing at the corner of 117th and 8th Avenue, Stephanie's Android chirped, the sound meaning someone was calling about a job. Swiping the phone on, she answered, "Hello," and waited a moment for whoever was on the other end to speak. "Listen, whoever this is, if you don't answer, I'm hanging up," she said, a slight irritation to her voice as the line clicked off, whoever had called her hanging up. Son of a bitch, she muttered, making a note to do a reverse phone callup when she got back to the office; she wanted to know who'd called her and hung up on her just now...
