11-08-2013, 12:27 AM
The various branches of the CCD had grown quite adept at turning a blind eye to things they didn't wish to consider or deal with. Corruption and general incompetence was often ignored, at least in part because it would mean far more work than any one department was willing to deal with. In other cases, it was ignored for personal safety. Jobs could be lost, if not more, for embarrassing one's betters, no matter how much they deserved the persecution.
Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough could play the game as well as anyone, he just didn't do it for the same reasons. He didn't ignore problems because he feared the ramifications, he did so because he knew when a problem was simply untouchable. The illegal immigrants was a fine example. There was no department in the CCD capable of handling that problem, and the handling of it would mean many innocent people dead.
But just because a problem was too large to be handled, did not always mean it need be ignored. Some could be sorted out simply by shining a light on it. The highest echelons of the CCD were a prime example of that. Should one of the social elite be found wanting in the eyes of the CCD, the embarrassment of it would be enough to see the person dealt with and replaced, although it wasn't likely that the replacement would be any better a person, just better at hiding their faults.
The Chief Inspector had spent too much time crawling through the slums of the city of late, and had decided it was time to remind those who sat so high above that he was still out and about, and quite willing to poke his nose anywhere it wasn't wanted.
Satisfied that most, if not all, of the 'fashionably late' guests would have arrived, Chief Inspector Drayson's car came to a rest at the foot of the red carpet. It was a common model Audi, something normal folks drove and surely far less then he could afford. A nice car, but nothing to draw the eye or anyone's interest, truth be told. Once again the two valets shared a look, although their attitude withered slightly when the car visibly shifted as it's driver climbed free.
Drayson was a large man, and he towered over the young men serving as valets, although he sported an amused grin as he held the keys and a $10 bill out for them. His choice of attire was probably worth less then what the two men had earned in tips that night alone. A few hundred at most. All dark browns and earth tones, with a skinny black tie. The look was entirely...provincial, by the standards set by the guests that had come before him.
Knowing full well his name was most certainly not on the guest list, Drayson walked towards the front door, stopping briefly to answer questions with the paparazzi, making sure that his presence was fully acknowledged. "Who am I wearing, lass? English Laundry of course, off the rack. Tailored by whomever their in-store seamstress may be."
He laughed in amusement at the question; who was he wearing? Everything he owned was off the rack, common brand names. The look he got for the brand name was equally amusing, as it quickly became evident the Russian reporter thought perhaps it was some sort of misunderstanding in translation; he was, after all, English, so did he mean he had gotten his suit from a laundromat?
A few more stops along the way to the doors and the security types who stood there watching him in apparent confusion, chatting amicably with paparazzi and reporters alike, but soon enough he found himself stopped by two large, well dressed men that were obviously private security. Another man, likely the head of the building's dedicated security, held up a Wallet-like device that served as the guest list, and looked to Drayson with obvious dislike. He was clearly not invited, after all.
The man's tone did little to disguise his disgust at Drayson's presence, or his amusement that would come with embarrassing the arrogant bastard and having him tossed to the curb. "Your name, sir?"
Drayson grinned to the man and glanced at the fellow's name tag. "Ah, Mr Tsyrkunov. The head of security, tasked to taking names at the door? A little beneath you, isn't it?"
Drayson's grin widened slightly at the uncertainty that flickered across the man's face. He clearly hadn't expected to be known by an uninvited guest. The man's uncertainty deepened as Drayson produced his wallet and flicked it open to reveal his badge and ID, "Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough, CDPS Moscow branch."
The hired security shared a glance, and Mr Tsyrkunov hesitated for a moment before finding his bearings and giving the guest list a cursory glance. "Well Chief Inspector, you are not on the guest list."
Drayson's laughter was jovial and warm, and entirely uncaring to the implications of Mr Tsyrkunov's statement. "Bloody hell man, would be a right odd day to see my name on this sort of guest list. Would bode ill for my work ethic, don't you think? Now we could haggle about, or you could stop being duff and pen me in, easy peasy lemon squeezy."
He gave the head of security a clap to the shoulder and moved to step past the man, only to find himself stopped by the two hired security goons.
Mr Tsyrkunov stood dumb struck as he tried to figure out what the hell Drayson had set; while the man's English was more than serviceable, he couldn't wrap his brain around all the slang. "If you are not on the guest list, you are not going in, sir. I suggest you return to your car before I have you thrown to the curb for trespassing."
Drayson's grin turned to a full on amused smile at that. This was exactly the sort of display he had hoped for. He eyed the two guards a moment, then turned his back to them to fix the head of security with a stare that did not match the smile he wore. Any amusement had clearly been abandoned, and now the combination was a sort of look that offered nothing but trouble. "Do you know what a Chief Inspector is capable of, Mr Tsyrkunov?"
He produced his Wallet and with a few deft flicks of the keys and displays, brought up Mr Tsyrkunov's records. "Interesting. Are you aware, sir, that you do not have a drivers license? Not unheard of. Moscow has one of the greatest public transit systems in the world, after all. But what's this? This IS you, isn't it? I believe that's you at the wheel in this picture? Ran a red light. Another here, hit and run is it? A parked car though, so nothing serious right? Ah, too bad it's a Custody police vehicle though. Rear window and dashboard camera's are standard issue kit."
Displayed in such a fashion that the nearest paparazzi could both see and hear what was being said, were clear images of Mr Tsyrkunov driving a rather expensive looking car. "And I wonder, on a listed salary of only $110,000 a year, how can you afford a Jag? You must be very well invested, surely? I wonder if the chaps over in the tax department are tracking those investments, hmm? And I wonder if your boss would like to have those number-crunchers taking a gander?"
Drayson could turn a blind eye to a lot, but he was perfectly willing to open those eyes if someone thought they could lord over him. He could have just pulled rank and walked in the door, but this was entirely more effective. Mr Tsyrkunov paled a bit, more afraid of what his bosses might think then of any ramifications of such an investigation. He keyed his guest list briefly, then nodded to the two guards, "Enjoy your visit, Chief Inspector McCullough."
He didn't actually add Drayson to the guest list, he just sent word ahead to his bosses that the man was coming in.
A few minutes later, Drayson stepped free of the elevator and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to a young lady tasked to collecting coats, "Thank you lass. Might want to keep it apart from the other guests. Doubt they would want some common fiber touching their silks and furs, right?"
A smile and a wink, and the girl grinned knowingly; if she had a dollar for every time a guest told her to be careful with their expensive jacket, she wouldn't need to be collecting coats at the door. Drayson's joking reversal of that over-used instruction was a breath of fresh air in comparison.
He drew more then a few looks from the guests and escorts. Many of the guests knew who he was with a glance, while the escorts knew he wasn't worth their time by how he was dressed. He met both looks with an amused smirk and loosened his tie before moving towards one of the many snack tables to see what he could find. It had been a long day at the office and he had skipped supper. Again. And of course, he rather enjoyed the way his casual and cavalier attitude made folks nervous.
Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough could play the game as well as anyone, he just didn't do it for the same reasons. He didn't ignore problems because he feared the ramifications, he did so because he knew when a problem was simply untouchable. The illegal immigrants was a fine example. There was no department in the CCD capable of handling that problem, and the handling of it would mean many innocent people dead.
But just because a problem was too large to be handled, did not always mean it need be ignored. Some could be sorted out simply by shining a light on it. The highest echelons of the CCD were a prime example of that. Should one of the social elite be found wanting in the eyes of the CCD, the embarrassment of it would be enough to see the person dealt with and replaced, although it wasn't likely that the replacement would be any better a person, just better at hiding their faults.
The Chief Inspector had spent too much time crawling through the slums of the city of late, and had decided it was time to remind those who sat so high above that he was still out and about, and quite willing to poke his nose anywhere it wasn't wanted.
Satisfied that most, if not all, of the 'fashionably late' guests would have arrived, Chief Inspector Drayson's car came to a rest at the foot of the red carpet. It was a common model Audi, something normal folks drove and surely far less then he could afford. A nice car, but nothing to draw the eye or anyone's interest, truth be told. Once again the two valets shared a look, although their attitude withered slightly when the car visibly shifted as it's driver climbed free.
Drayson was a large man, and he towered over the young men serving as valets, although he sported an amused grin as he held the keys and a $10 bill out for them. His choice of attire was probably worth less then what the two men had earned in tips that night alone. A few hundred at most. All dark browns and earth tones, with a skinny black tie. The look was entirely...provincial, by the standards set by the guests that had come before him.
Knowing full well his name was most certainly not on the guest list, Drayson walked towards the front door, stopping briefly to answer questions with the paparazzi, making sure that his presence was fully acknowledged. "Who am I wearing, lass? English Laundry of course, off the rack. Tailored by whomever their in-store seamstress may be."
He laughed in amusement at the question; who was he wearing? Everything he owned was off the rack, common brand names. The look he got for the brand name was equally amusing, as it quickly became evident the Russian reporter thought perhaps it was some sort of misunderstanding in translation; he was, after all, English, so did he mean he had gotten his suit from a laundromat?
A few more stops along the way to the doors and the security types who stood there watching him in apparent confusion, chatting amicably with paparazzi and reporters alike, but soon enough he found himself stopped by two large, well dressed men that were obviously private security. Another man, likely the head of the building's dedicated security, held up a Wallet-like device that served as the guest list, and looked to Drayson with obvious dislike. He was clearly not invited, after all.
The man's tone did little to disguise his disgust at Drayson's presence, or his amusement that would come with embarrassing the arrogant bastard and having him tossed to the curb. "Your name, sir?"
Drayson grinned to the man and glanced at the fellow's name tag. "Ah, Mr Tsyrkunov. The head of security, tasked to taking names at the door? A little beneath you, isn't it?"
Drayson's grin widened slightly at the uncertainty that flickered across the man's face. He clearly hadn't expected to be known by an uninvited guest. The man's uncertainty deepened as Drayson produced his wallet and flicked it open to reveal his badge and ID, "Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough, CDPS Moscow branch."
The hired security shared a glance, and Mr Tsyrkunov hesitated for a moment before finding his bearings and giving the guest list a cursory glance. "Well Chief Inspector, you are not on the guest list."
Drayson's laughter was jovial and warm, and entirely uncaring to the implications of Mr Tsyrkunov's statement. "Bloody hell man, would be a right odd day to see my name on this sort of guest list. Would bode ill for my work ethic, don't you think? Now we could haggle about, or you could stop being duff and pen me in, easy peasy lemon squeezy."
He gave the head of security a clap to the shoulder and moved to step past the man, only to find himself stopped by the two hired security goons.
Mr Tsyrkunov stood dumb struck as he tried to figure out what the hell Drayson had set; while the man's English was more than serviceable, he couldn't wrap his brain around all the slang. "If you are not on the guest list, you are not going in, sir. I suggest you return to your car before I have you thrown to the curb for trespassing."
Drayson's grin turned to a full on amused smile at that. This was exactly the sort of display he had hoped for. He eyed the two guards a moment, then turned his back to them to fix the head of security with a stare that did not match the smile he wore. Any amusement had clearly been abandoned, and now the combination was a sort of look that offered nothing but trouble. "Do you know what a Chief Inspector is capable of, Mr Tsyrkunov?"
He produced his Wallet and with a few deft flicks of the keys and displays, brought up Mr Tsyrkunov's records. "Interesting. Are you aware, sir, that you do not have a drivers license? Not unheard of. Moscow has one of the greatest public transit systems in the world, after all. But what's this? This IS you, isn't it? I believe that's you at the wheel in this picture? Ran a red light. Another here, hit and run is it? A parked car though, so nothing serious right? Ah, too bad it's a Custody police vehicle though. Rear window and dashboard camera's are standard issue kit."
Displayed in such a fashion that the nearest paparazzi could both see and hear what was being said, were clear images of Mr Tsyrkunov driving a rather expensive looking car. "And I wonder, on a listed salary of only $110,000 a year, how can you afford a Jag? You must be very well invested, surely? I wonder if the chaps over in the tax department are tracking those investments, hmm? And I wonder if your boss would like to have those number-crunchers taking a gander?"
Drayson could turn a blind eye to a lot, but he was perfectly willing to open those eyes if someone thought they could lord over him. He could have just pulled rank and walked in the door, but this was entirely more effective. Mr Tsyrkunov paled a bit, more afraid of what his bosses might think then of any ramifications of such an investigation. He keyed his guest list briefly, then nodded to the two guards, "Enjoy your visit, Chief Inspector McCullough."
He didn't actually add Drayson to the guest list, he just sent word ahead to his bosses that the man was coming in.
A few minutes later, Drayson stepped free of the elevator and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to a young lady tasked to collecting coats, "Thank you lass. Might want to keep it apart from the other guests. Doubt they would want some common fiber touching their silks and furs, right?"
A smile and a wink, and the girl grinned knowingly; if she had a dollar for every time a guest told her to be careful with their expensive jacket, she wouldn't need to be collecting coats at the door. Drayson's joking reversal of that over-used instruction was a breath of fresh air in comparison.
He drew more then a few looks from the guests and escorts. Many of the guests knew who he was with a glance, while the escorts knew he wasn't worth their time by how he was dressed. He met both looks with an amused smirk and loosened his tie before moving towards one of the many snack tables to see what he could find. It had been a long day at the office and he had skipped supper. Again. And of course, he rather enjoyed the way his casual and cavalier attitude made folks nervous.