Addressing a loose end
[ooc: The following is behind a cut due to graphic violence and death of a naughty NPC. The events are tied back to Abby's trial. Kale is ... being Kale.
For ease of keeping things clear, everything in RED is on the video that goes out across the network. The rest happens off video and is just here the flesh out the events. These events happen late Tuesday night because Friday can't have all the fun right? ;D
These events have been cleared with Gabbie, Thank you again Gabbie! ]
For what little it might be worth Jack, the events leading up to tonight had already been put in motion before your conversation with Kale. Kale had recognized almost immediately that direct retribution on Harvey Dent would be impossible, the kidnapping was too high profile, it had involved too many people who would have equal if not greater claim to justice than himself.
However the egregious trespass against his person could not go unanswered. Not in Kale's world, a world where pretty laws and neat justice were so far beyond reach as to be mythical. A world where you put a man down hard, made an example of him to make damn sure that the next young turk would thing twice before tangling with you and while Dent might have been too ... public a figure for this, Kale had a target.
A man, who had assisted Dent that night in kidnapping Ingram. Kale had no idea if the man had been involved in any of the other takings and he didn't really care. This was a personal matter, one that he normally would have taken care of in fairly quick order back home but here in the City, it had taken a bit more time.
First he'd needed confirmation that he had the right mark. That had taken careful digging, cultivation of all new contacts, discreet questions in twitchy ears and slow, methodical planning. Once he had a name, he had to locate the mark and gather the information needed.
See Kale had no interest in just killing the man. He'd been out of the wet work business ... well okay he wasn't really out of it but his own hands had not pulled a trigger or snapped a neck in years. He had never had a taste for the killings, not like some of the men he'd worked with and Kale was quite happy not to have to kill people these days.
At least not directly.
So he'd taken his time, dug around, dug around some more and carefully collected, categorized, itemized and then begun to leverage his information. It actually took two days to get the man where he wanted him; forty-eight hours in which Kale systematically destroyed this man's world, piece by piece drawing the net inward until finally, tonight, his mark joined him of his own free will in the small, run down apartment somewhere in a dark, apathetic place in the City.
The two men had been there for ... awhile ... talking, just talking though by the time the video clicked on, focused through the dim light of a dingy lamp the large man was sitting on a broken couch, sobbing into his hand.
A voice can be heard somewhere from behind the device, speaking in a low, calming tone but it's impossible to figure out the words exactly, as if the device can't quite catch them. Instead the audio to the video is of wracked sobs coming from the man on the couch, the occasional moan of denial. Occasionally, wild eyes look up at the someone off camera, entreaty in the expression a look that quickly dies as despair takes over once more.
The man's face goes back into one palm and slowly he makes a gesture with his other hand. The weak light glints off something metal in the man's hand and the voice that just isn't quite clear becomes almost sing song.
There is another broken moan from the man framed perfectly in the sights of the device and with a low howl, he brings the hand with the gun up and to his mouth. There is a click, a muffled explosion and the wall behind the couch, the couch itself and even the device are suddenly covered with the gory mix of bright red blood, gray brain matter and sharp white bone.
A minute goes by and the device is picked up and fastidiously wiped clean, slowly revealing Kale's emotionless face. He's wearing his tortoishell glasses, though they have slipped down his nose giving him the air of a slightly absent minded professor. When he flips the device around, it's easy to see that he's dressed in dark, stylish clothes and wearing gloves. Walking over to the body, he studies it dispassionately and then tosses a plain manila folder down onto the corpse.
"Mr. Bauer or whoever is on shift at the police station tonight, you might consider sending a wagon down to," insert address here! "There's a body, to be picked up before the rats get to it."
His voice is, as it ever is, matter of fact with a side of macabre, dry monotone. He doesn't exactly look remorseful at having been unable to prevent the unfortunate suicide of the man on the couch and in fact, the video feed switches off as the device is dropped back into his pocket
For ease of keeping things clear, everything in RED is on the video that goes out across the network. The rest happens off video and is just here the flesh out the events. These events happen late Tuesday night because Friday can't have all the fun right? ;D
These events have been cleared with Gabbie, Thank you again Gabbie! ]
For what little it might be worth Jack, the events leading up to tonight had already been put in motion before your conversation with Kale. Kale had recognized almost immediately that direct retribution on Harvey Dent would be impossible, the kidnapping was too high profile, it had involved too many people who would have equal if not greater claim to justice than himself.
However the egregious trespass against his person could not go unanswered. Not in Kale's world, a world where pretty laws and neat justice were so far beyond reach as to be mythical. A world where you put a man down hard, made an example of him to make damn sure that the next young turk would thing twice before tangling with you and while Dent might have been too ... public a figure for this, Kale had a target.
A man, who had assisted Dent that night in kidnapping Ingram. Kale had no idea if the man had been involved in any of the other takings and he didn't really care. This was a personal matter, one that he normally would have taken care of in fairly quick order back home but here in the City, it had taken a bit more time.
First he'd needed confirmation that he had the right mark. That had taken careful digging, cultivation of all new contacts, discreet questions in twitchy ears and slow, methodical planning. Once he had a name, he had to locate the mark and gather the information needed.
See Kale had no interest in just killing the man. He'd been out of the wet work business ... well okay he wasn't really out of it but his own hands had not pulled a trigger or snapped a neck in years. He had never had a taste for the killings, not like some of the men he'd worked with and Kale was quite happy not to have to kill people these days.
At least not directly.
So he'd taken his time, dug around, dug around some more and carefully collected, categorized, itemized and then begun to leverage his information. It actually took two days to get the man where he wanted him; forty-eight hours in which Kale systematically destroyed this man's world, piece by piece drawing the net inward until finally, tonight, his mark joined him of his own free will in the small, run down apartment somewhere in a dark, apathetic place in the City.
The two men had been there for ... awhile ... talking, just talking though by the time the video clicked on, focused through the dim light of a dingy lamp the large man was sitting on a broken couch, sobbing into his hand.
A voice can be heard somewhere from behind the device, speaking in a low, calming tone but it's impossible to figure out the words exactly, as if the device can't quite catch them. Instead the audio to the video is of wracked sobs coming from the man on the couch, the occasional moan of denial. Occasionally, wild eyes look up at the someone off camera, entreaty in the expression a look that quickly dies as despair takes over once more.
The man's face goes back into one palm and slowly he makes a gesture with his other hand. The weak light glints off something metal in the man's hand and the voice that just isn't quite clear becomes almost sing song.
There is another broken moan from the man framed perfectly in the sights of the device and with a low howl, he brings the hand with the gun up and to his mouth. There is a click, a muffled explosion and the wall behind the couch, the couch itself and even the device are suddenly covered with the gory mix of bright red blood, gray brain matter and sharp white bone.
A minute goes by and the device is picked up and fastidiously wiped clean, slowly revealing Kale's emotionless face. He's wearing his tortoishell glasses, though they have slipped down his nose giving him the air of a slightly absent minded professor. When he flips the device around, it's easy to see that he's dressed in dark, stylish clothes and wearing gloves. Walking over to the body, he studies it dispassionately and then tosses a plain manila folder down onto the corpse.
"Mr. Bauer or whoever is on shift at the police station tonight, you might consider sending a wagon down to," insert address here! "There's a body, to be picked up before the rats get to it."
His voice is, as it ever is, matter of fact with a side of macabre, dry monotone. He doesn't exactly look remorseful at having been unable to prevent the unfortunate suicide of the man on the couch and in fact, the video feed switches off as the device is dropped back into his pocket