\ Haven:Mist and Shadow Logs/SR Dakota Encounter With The Law
Logs

SR Dakota Encounter With The Law

Mattie has accepted the encounter. Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.

Depending on the what all is going on; Mattie was just shuffling out of the bank in his boxers and long socks and sandals and a lady's peacoat that barely allows his shoulders in. The sutured knife wound on his leg is a little angry and his jaw still sports a healthy buise. His eyes are red and squinted and he seems like he woke up maybe ten minutes ago.

Snow is drifting down from the white sky, making those sandals a rather poor choice as they melt between Mattie's toes. It's four fifteen in the afternoon and the working crowd is heading home from one of their last days of work before the holiday, by the amount of traffic on Main Street, and the busy street is compounded with last-minute shoppers who buzz around the man. Just around the corner of the bank is a beefily sized police officer who is scrawling something into a pad of paper, his lower lip jutting out. When he spots Mattie he lifts his stubbled chin and squints.

Mattie huffs and puts a bit as his socks start soaking through and he keeps shuffling towards his car, having deposited any excess funds to keep the cash on hand low. "The heck's all this traffic for anyway..." Mattie yawns in stages that slowly grow and rubs his hair, staring around before saying. "Ah shit... ohh shit. I need to get presents for everyone!" This realization is hitting home as he notices the police officer and freezes like a deer in the headlights. Tucking the cigar box tighter under his arm and very, very slowly stepping towards his shitty sedan like something that doesn't want to be seen but is very bad at that.

There's a squelch of sound from a nearby police car as it drives up in front of the sedan and parks on the wrong side of the road with its nose nearly touching his vehicle, and a lady cop hops up with a nod to the beefy male cop who quickes his step to follow after Mattie. She's blond, a little mouse-like in the face, and she looks over Mattie with a pair of clear blue eyes. "Matthew Moore? Just a moment, we need to talk to you," she says, before flipping open a card that identifies her as state police. "Detective Lieutenant Heather Prentice," she introduces herself as that beefy man catches up with a puff of white breath.

Mattie sticks a stamp on his cigar box and tapes it up with a strap of duct tape already on it for that purpose before really casually; like one might ask another to fly casual, deposits it in the back window that's broken and always a few inches ajar. He smiles a boyishly happy grin, eyes squinted up and says to the female officer, "I see you're great at detecting super hot guys. 'Cause that's... me." Mattie swallows and hides a wince with an inhale through his teeth as he tries to peek at Heather's card a little better.

The male cop slows down, adjusts his heavy bullet vest which seems a mite too small, and he squints his brown eyes while flipping through his pad of paper. Then he glances up to the woman now known as Heather, and she nods to him. He clears his voice and says, a little boorishly, "Uh--State Police Trainee Mike Plummer." The woman gives him a brisk nod of approval before she squints back at Mattie, and she pauses with a confused tilt of her head before she too clears her throat and says, while offering up the ID coil-corded to her vest to him for his inspection, "Matthew Moore, we have a warrant for your arrest, for..." she trails out there, glancing to her notepad with a puzzle as she rattles off the charges, "... Embezzlement, racqueteering, and illegal firearms trafficking." She squints a little at that, then looks back at Mattie. "Huh."

"Hey chubs, maybe you should train a little harder lest that Plummer crack see the light of day.... am I right?" Mattie flashes a smile at the male officer and then turns back to Heather with a somehow more dashing smile. "That's really impressive! Firearms trafficking? Like in the movies? Am I in a mafia now? What are you doing for christmas? Are you single? Doesn't matter." Mattie rattles off questions to Heather as he bites his bottom lip then tries to very obviously lean over towards her and peek at her notepad. "What's racqueteering?"

With Mattie nearing Heather, the male cop seems to think it fit to pull out what looks like a black and yellow plastic gun, and he fires it at the peacoat wearing individual. The conducted electrical weapon, otherwise known as a taser, delivers a disabling (and certainly uncomfortable) electric current to his poor form by means of two dart-like electrodes which make contact with his back. Surprised, Heather takes a leap back from the man as he drops, and there's just a moment of staring between him and the rookie cop before she gives a firm nod. "Excellent use of defensive force, Plummer. You did good," she says. "Get him up, we'll take him to the station for questioning." She pries the back door of the vehicle open for him while he disables his tase and moves to haul Mattie up without excessive force--he seems a little shocked by his own trigger finger.

Mattie goes down like a rock, making sounds akin to a girlish scream and gargling suffering. When he can he murmurs, "Don't tase me, bro." Then shivers and goes limp, whimpering and curling up into a little, docile ball. All around the trio shoppers are staring and holding her hands over their mouths. One young man has his phone out, and he begins to shout, "Police brutality! Wasn't even fighting arrest, I saw it! I have it all on tape, you assholes!" The ladycop narrows her eyes in his direction and he keeps on yelling as she speaks into her radio. Plummer holds his hand over Mattie's head as he sticks him in the back of the police vehicle and clips the door shut before sliding his beefy self into the passenger seat with a lift of his hand out of the window to the staring shoppers. He then mutters something under his breath and the lady cop starts the vehicle with a loud woop of the siren before heading down the street toward the station.

"Keep the dream real!" Mattie yells out at the young man, "APARTHEID! APARTHEID!" Then Mattie winces in anticipation of retaliation from Plummer or Heather as Mattie goes in without any resistance other t han the hollering. "Hey, you guys seem tense." Mattie tells the two cops before squirming and sitting up and leaning forward, "You guys want some Crescent Moon? Is so good." Then he seems to get really excited as the lights and sirens come on, "Go really fast!"

"Hey, can you guys crank up the heat? I'm in sandals and boxers, yo. Can I get some of those orange pajamas?" Mattie asks the couple up front.

Heather, or Detective Lieutenant Prentice, glances to her trainee before hitting the gas to oblige Mattie as he speaks through the grate and the bulletproof glass that divides the front of the vehicle from the back and is slightly slid ajar. They go zooming forward on a stretch of snow-covered road until they drive over a patch of well-salted concrete, and there is a very sudden, abrupt hammering of the brakes which may very well send their arrestee into that divider. Then she turns the steering wheel hand-over-hand and pulls up into the underground parking of the station. They find a parking spot, and soon enough Plummer is reaching in to pull Mattie from the back of the vehicle. He probably put some cuffs on, come to think of it. If he hadn't, he does now.

Mattie loses whatever angst he had is gone as soon as Heather hits the gas, a speal of laughter comes out of Mattie before a *thud* and a grunt as Mattie's already bruised jaw goes smashing against the bulletproof glass, "Don't whiplash me, bro..." Mattie moans and then he lays back, blinking his left eye more than his right a few times while he gently works his jaw. Plummer's reaching in comes as a surprise to the somewhat dazed Mattie but he offers no resistance to the effort, just going mostly limp and wiggling his wrists in the cuffs. "Geeze, guys. You gotta relax. Are you two... uh... you know? You know...." Mattie gives Plummer a few nudges of the elbow and a few winks and then whispers loudly, "Say no more, say no more."

Plummer clears his voice before staring Mattie down with a rather gentle look in his brown eyes, even though his strong arms have the peacoated man in a vice. "You know, I think it's wrong when men address Prentice or any woman like her only value to anyone is that she's a romantic partner," he says, empathically, in his low voice. "You might think it's cute to demean her, but she's a competent woman and she's done some good things for this state, and I'm proud to have her as my mentor." Prentice glances back at him and their arrestee with a sharp sniff and a firm nod, and she tells her rookie, seemingly taken off-guard, "Well--thanks, Plummer." She leads the way into the main part of the station, and they walk Mattie through bright fluorescent lights and a line of people standing before an intake desk, people with injuries, gripes and complaints. They stop to check in with the reception before being directed to a temporary holding room. Plummer proceeds to pat him down as Prentice leaves the room. "Any weapons on your person, knives, sharps," he says, going through Mattie's pockets.

"What's a sharps? I have some bourbon and car keys and a lighter? And a flashlight..." Mattie just starts reciting off everything he can remember being in his pockets with his hands cuffed behind him. "I'm demeaning her, man.... look at her, she's awesome. Just like you said. Don't like 'the only value' someone has as a romantic partner is a bad thing? If it's real romance then you're in on the whole person; not just their job or their title or sex or their kisses or the poetry they right on the bathroom mirror when they wake up before you do for another hard day of work... You can't say 'romantic partner’ like it's the 'only value' anyone can have; it's all the value we always have, Plummer. Look at her. Look her in the eyes. Are those eyes the only value she has? No, man, but they light on fire don't they? They stir in you a need to know her... that's what we are, buddy. We're vessels made of mud meant to house the treasure someone we love puts in us."

"I don't need to think of her value as a sexual partner, either," Plummer tells Mattie as he rummages and goes through whatever he can find--telephone, coins in pockets, lip palm, joints, perhaps--and begins placing them inside of a thick plastic bag he produces. "She's a coworker. I have a feeling if you had one of those HR'd be on your ass for harassment pretty fucking quick. She's also overseeing your case, so I'd probably cut the shit. You have a lawyer?" His brown eyes fix on Mattie plainly, and he folds his arms over his front.

"HR sure as heck would, because we'd be making out." Mattie tells Plummer with an obviously faux bravado as he's frisked. There's probably joints Mattie didn't even know about in there and a spare jolly-jolly rancher. "Come on, man. Think about life? We spend so much of our waking lives at work... finding someone that warms us in the depths of our soul, that makes our deepest and darkest places cry out to know theirs, at work just makes sense. I mean, seriously. How many people do you know as well as Hotty Heather?" Mattie coughs a bit of a laugh, "A lawyer? I don't know a lawyer."

Mattie says, in a drowsy Haven-grown accent, "No wait.... wait wait..."

"Yeah! Jordan Swann is my lawyer... and uh... tell Joseph too." Mattie claims to the officers.

"Moore, doesn't matter how you dress it up with 'depths of souls', being a creep to women is still being a creep to women," Plummer says, and he gives Mattie a nod. "You'll get one call. I suggest you give it to Mr. Swann," he says before turning his beefy self toward the door with their arrestee's belongings, cell phone included. "You'll get these back. Some day." The door shuts, leaving him alone in the interrogation with a table and two chairs which are bolted to the ground, and nothing much else.

"Wow.... you tell me not to be a creep to women and then you ASSUME that Jordan's a guy just because she's a lawyer... bag dat jingoism with the joints, playa." Mattie smirks at Plummer and goes where he's directed with a lanky stumble. Mattie takes his all too customary seat and huffs a sigh, looking around a bit and poking at his sewed up stab wound.

Mattie says, loud enough, trying to be heard, "Hey, do you guys have any donuts?"

Being familiar with this room also probably means Mattie is familiar with the customary wait of police-station bureaucracy. Time passes without much to entertain, and while there's a clock wired to the wall with a metal wrought case around it, the little hand turns in its circle arduously slow. At least forty five minutes pass before there's a jostle at the door, with Prentice returning, along with a different cop, and a third party, an aging man dressed in an ill-fitting gray suit who looks as if time has worn the very soul out of him. An extra seat is brought in for him, and he nods his thanks as he is seated. He clears his throat, and Prentice slides a couple pages toward Mattie.

"As previously stated, Mr. Moore, a warrant for an arrest was given for your suspected crimes against the state, which include racketeering, embezzlement of a charity organization, and the illegal trafficking of arms. Would you like to make a statement?" Prentice asks, and the weathered man says with a clear to his throat, "You don't have to, but it'd probably help. Defense attorney, Jack Samson. Here to advise you, son."

Mattie has fallen asleep by the time Heather comes back in and he jerks up, quickly trying to rub away some drool from the tabletop discreetly. "Donuts." Mattie says abruptly still half in a dream state. Then he studies the worn man and say salmost in awe, "You're like straight out of a movie." Then Mattie studies the papers as they come and starts reading them. "Which state?" Mattie asks Prentice. "Aw man, was Jordan Swann not available? She's so hot, bro. You don't even know. What kind of statement?" "I'm about to ask you a series of questions regarding our case. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to us, and to have one present during questioning now or in the future. Should you choose to wait for Jordan Swann to be your representative, we will keep you in holding until they are available to join us. In the meanwhile, we have Mr. Samson who is willing to give you legal counsel," the mousy blond Prentice says, fixing Mattie with her clear blue eyes, though the words rattle out of her so rote it may sound like she's slightly bored. "How would you like to proceed?"

Mattie frowns a bit and says, "Alright, Mister Samson is fine..." Then he says to Heather, "I'd like to proceed to talk about your crystal blue eyes, the sapphires that embolden the greatest hero and lowest criminal to somehow be better. But let's rock the questions, it ain't no thang." Mattie relaxes back and then says, "Um, do you have dry socks and food?" Prentice's thumb is quick with the recorder, and she very meaningfully glances between Mattie and it while he dishes her a compliment which appears to roll off of her like water on oil. "In prison, yes," she says briskly, before getting to the point. "In April twenty fourteen we have a record of you registering a non-profit organization called Words for Kids. The statement from the board of directors says that it was for helping underprivileged children in Haven with learning disabilities how to read, from kindergarten to grade five," she says, reading off of her own notes before pushing forward a document that looks to be a formal letter, and has both Mattie's name--and even his own signature at the bottom, which outlines the mission statement of this 'Words for Kids' NPO. Prentice levels her gaze at him. "Did this non-profit ever exist as stated?"

Mattie starts laughing as soon as Heather starts talking about 'words for kids'. He fights it admirably but it breaks out and he hides it in his arm. Then he leans back and breathes in deeply and says, "Yeah, that wasn't me. Um... I started a farm a few weeks ago?" Mattie shakes his head at the paper and says, "That looks like my signature but it wasn't me, yo. I mean seriously... look at me... do you really think I could go around and convince rich people to give money to start a non profit? I didn't wake up last tuesday. The entire day. I didn't wake up till wednesday and I thought it was Tuesday all day."

Prentice's still, clear gaze settles on Mattie for a time before she nods and withdraws the page from him. "I understand. Mr. Moore, it's not your first time here at the department. I've checked your file," she says, her poker face giving away very little. "You've have a history of possession of illicit substances under Schedule I of the Controlled Substance Act," she adds, shifting in her chair to lean forward. "Was 'Words for Kids' a front for funneling 'donations' to fund other illegal activities, such as trafficking?"

"Uh... look. Like seriously, lookit." Mattie says as he wiggles a bit in his chair for Heather even as his stomach rumbles a bit. "Do I even seem like someone who has so much money that he has to hide it somehow? Like. Do you have a little ruxpin the teddy bear lunch box from first grade because that would be too big for my bank account."

"But, uh, no to all the things." Mattie says after a second, glancing around at everyone as his fingers splay on the table. "Mrs. Prentice, if I may, my client's already claimed he's had nothing to do with this charity," Samson pitches in with a scratch to his more-than-five-o-clock stubble. "Though, Matthew, coughing up details now might save you headaches down the road. Maybe some leniency," he suggests to Mattie with his gruff voice. The blond cop looks to him and gives him a silent nod, leaning back with a press of thin lips together. "Not all money goes to appearances--and those with problems of addiction with illicit substances usually end up with their funding going to said addictions," says the ladycop, very somber. There's a pause, and she asks Mattie, "Have you ever been in possession of an illegal firearm, or sold one?"

"I don't think you can get addicted to weed... nah, I've never owned a gun or had one or sold anything like that. I have one steak knife in my kitchen but I haven't used it since I moved in." Mattie says and shrugs at Samson saying, "Details about what?"

"Regarding this charity they have your name on," Samson replies to Mattie as he leans back in his crappy plastic chair, his jaw supported in his hand. Prentice replies to the arrestee with a tilt of her head to the side as she asks, "Was that an admission of trafficking marijuana, Mr. Moore?" To which Samson pipes in, "If you want to grill my client on separate charges, I suggest you get a warrant to find physical proof." Prentice presses her lips together and nods before leaning in toward the table with a couple of moments to stare at Mattie. "We have a first person witness who claims he purchased an illegal firearm from you in May of twenty fourteen, and that his payment came as a donation to your registered charity," she says, before pushing forward a receipt appearing to be signed to Mattie once more, bearing the letterhead of this 'Words for Kids' charity on it. It's signed for $2300 to an individual named R. E. Wright.

"Nope, I don't... uh..." Mattie nods to Samson and points at the guy. "What he said." Then he laughs but mutes it with the seriousness as he looks at the document and shakes his head. "I'm not lyin', I really don't sell guns. Do you guys have the right Mattie Moore? I mean, for seriously. I don't have a charity, I don't get donations from anybody for anything. I -do- have the five oh one cee that is the westhave moore community farm. But that has like... an overhead of a couple hundred bucks. Something over two grand would explode its budget."

With a draw of the receipt back toward herself at the table, Prentice proceeds to study Mattie with those clear eyes, her lids narrowing just slightly. She leans in toward the cop who's simply been standing near the door, and they have a brief exchange of whispers before she nods and fixes her focus on the arrestee once more. "Matthew, do you have enemies? Someone who would like to see you put in jail for crimes that you didn't commit?"

"Um, yeah, obviously. Maybe... I don't think so." Mattie says as he starts thinking and then sort of narrows his own eyes and inahles deeply in thought, holding it for a while, then shaking his head, "I don't know. I try to be chill with everbody? Maybe I made out with the wrong guy's girlfriend on accident or something..."

(Subtly) Mattie fingers the wound in his leg absent mindedly as he thinks.

At that the blond cop's head lowers in a couple of bobs as she scrawls at a piece of paper and passes it back to the standing cop who reads it and exits the room, and she eyes at Mattie once more before giving a nod. "We can't open up lines of inquiry without names of people to approach. Who would be on the top of that list?" Samson sniffs and leans a little toward Mattie at this. "If you're serious, give them a name. But it's more important that you think back to April and May. See if you don't have some alibis," he says, before Prentice upnods him and says, passing a piece of paper and a pen toward him. "We'll give you some time to think. Do you want to use your call now?" "Uhhhh... yeah, I can use the call now if you want. I don't... know. I mean... I might have been in Canada in April and May? Or... Colorado? I think. Probably." Mattie says, clearly struggling to remember that long ago. "Um... a name... I don't know... I'd like to call Abby but I can't think of any enemies, really."

Samson turns his blood-shot eyes on Mattie and he gives him a slight shrug of one of his crooked padded shoulders. "You can use your call in any way. It's your right. If you don't have a lawyer other than me, I'll counsel you. For one, you gotta get your story straight. Figure out what the hell you were up to and get someone who can confirm it," he says, as Prentice exits and the standing cop invites their arrestee out into the hall where he can use an outdated phone wired to the wall.

Mattie nods to Samson, a little grumpier now that he's been here so long and is so hungry and perhaps less than uplifting thoughts. "Yeah, alright... man, this sucks." Then he follows Prentice out to the hall and goes to use the phone, calling up Abby if he's able.

The phone rings and rings, and then there's a click as the line is picked up. Abby answers with something of an uncertain voice. "'This call is from the Haven Police Department', weird... Hello? Who is this?"

"Heyyyy, this is Mattie. Um, they think I trafficked weapons and went super mafia. I know you're not... my biggest fan... but if we can't come up with something then they may, like. I don't know." Mattie says hesitantly then says with some sobriety, "I'm really afraid."

Mattie says, in a drowsy Haven-grown accent, (phone) 'Do you remember what we were doing in april and may?'

"Dude what the fuck--uh... damn it, wasn't that when you were all into that meditation stuff and there was some kind of zen retreat? Sometime in May? I'll get the dates or whatever. Maybe you have like an email conversation with the buddha weirdos around then? I'm coming to the station," Abby says a little quickly, sounding impatient, though perhaps not just with him for once.

"I was really, really h-... yup. I think you're right though. Oh man! Email! Yeah!! Sweet, awesome. I'll see you when you get there. This is huge." Mattie says excitedly into the phone.

With that, Abby hangs up.

The attending cop leads Mattie back into that holding cell slash interrogation room, and Samson returns to the room with two white Styrofoam cups in his hands. He pushes one toward the arrestee, which sloshes with creamy brown coffee that's still steaming. "Thought you'd like it with cream and sugar," he says in his gruff voice, "S'the only civilized way to go about coffee." He sips his, and leans back into his chair before eying Mattie once more. "Think you got something, son?"

With that, Abby hangs up.

Mattie takes the coffee in both cuffed hands and stars drinking it, "The less coffee in a cup of coffee the better." Mattie smirks and ndos to Samson, "Yeah, first thanks for the cofee. Second I was on some really meaningful spirt finding trip for a while there. My cousin's on her way in to help testify about that and maybe there's some emails on my phone about it? Those would be time stamped and everything."

"Welcome. Sandals and boxers make for a chilly wait in this box," Samson says, gesturing to the grey and white container that is the interrogation room. His eyes give Mattie a little squint at his words, and he says, "Talk of spirit quests is probably not the best way you wanna sell your alibi," he warns the man before taking a sip of his coffee. "Emails are a start. Call logs, too. I'm going to see if that R. L. Wright has ever been called on your phone. If he has you're up shit creek. If not, well... they could say you had another phone, but it all adds up. Especially if you uh, have alibis from that spirit quest of yours."

Abby is lead through the belly of the station with its bright fluorescent lights, and she's processed at the desk and made to wait in the chairs for a while. One of the officers on duty seems to recognize her, and he leads her to the interrogation room where Mattie is held while pitching her a lewd comment.

"I don't do that shit anymore," Abby is heard grumpily telling the young cop, and she flips him the bird as she's brought into the room. A chair is pulled up for her opposite Samson, and she frowns at Mattie as she waves at him with her right arm in a sling. "I'm pissed at you, but you're not a fucking gun trafficker."

"Should I call it, like, 'finding myself'. Okay, phone stuff." Mattie nods to Samson without really understanding how everything ties together and then he smiles wide as Abby comes in. "Abby!" Mattie stands up, all cuffed as he is. Then he hollers at the young cop, "Yeah, jerk!" Giving the guy a moore middle finger also. Then he frowns his bruised up face and looks down at Abby's right arm, "What the heck happened?" The two battered Moore's.

"Are you engaged?!" Mattie calls out in the middle of the police department as he looks at the ring on Abby's finger.

"Hunting accident," Abby tells Mattie a little quick, her dark brows lifted at him. "I'm not even going to ask what happened to you, though I heard some weird shit from Romeo," she says, before snapping her fingers and pointing at Samson. "It's totally him. This Romeo guy. He set him up," she decides, flinging it out before she scowls at her cousin. "It's supposed to make dudes fuck off if I wear it on this finger. It's mum's."

Samson stares between the pair of Abby and Mattie with bleary eyes, his bushy brows dragging together. He opts to sip as his coffee, listening to the pair, though he does lift a hand to Abby at her accusation. "Don't go throwing around random stuff like that. If you have actual reason to suspect someone, give it to the cops. But they'll be unhappy if you make them bark up random trees."

"Oh, that's cool." Mattie says about Abby's ring and then says, "I ran into Sully... um... Rom- let's not.... let's not maybe piss Romeo off." Mattie says with a sort of fearful frown. "Let's do the email thing and prove I wasn't doing crazy gun trafficking in may and april?" Mattie half pleads as he watches Abby and Samson.

"I'll print off your phone records for the months of April and May, too," Samson says with a brisk nod and a glance toward the attending police officer. "Might take a while, but we'll get them. Then we can corroborate your time at this spirit thing, call whoever's involved, and bam, reasonable doubt. You'll walk out this afternoon," he says, and, exiting the room.

"Hey, that's good news," Abby figures as she watches the man exit, and she leans back into her chair, slouching with a crinkle to her nose. "So what the fuck is going on? Why are they saying you trafficked guns?"

"Uh, cool." Mattie says to Samson with a little apprehension but then nods and says, "Walking out today would be nice." Then he smiles boyishly at Abby, "Yeah, I don't know. There was this kid reading company and my name was on it and a guy said he bought a gun with a donation to it and it's really wierd. It looked like my signature, too. I'm glad you're doing okay. I got stabbed in the leg."

Crinkling up her nose, Abby squints at Mattie with her almond eyes, her legs crossing one another to swing her heel a little loosely under the table in idle movement. "Your signature? And this is like, supposed to be last year or whatever? Mind control, or something," she says, the last bit in a rather low tone of voice as she draws her sight surreptitiously toward the attending cop and back. "Someone’s using you or trying to get you in trouble. Weird," she exhales, and then she shrugs. "I'm not doing okay. Shit is not good. But I have a boyfriend now, so that part is cool. Did Billy warn you about... us getting attacked?" She says, whispering the last part.

"Yeah probably but how do we pitch that, you know?" Mattie says to Abby. He keeps his voice low also and then says with confusion, "Nah, nobody told me about us getting attacked. Like. At all. You're not okay.... that's... anything you need, okay? I have a little money now, business has been good and I can make rent next month finally. Glad you got Sully back in bed or whatever, someone to make you happy."

Mattie glances sometimes to the cops and Samson but always returning to Abby.

"Yeah. Uh--anyway," Abby says, eying the cop before she tells Mattie, "I'll tell you about the rest later. I thought Billy would while I was at the hospital for that week, but whatever. Let's deal with this whole you getting framed thing," she decides matter-of-factly, and she folds her left arm over her right and blows at a tuft of errant hair. "Hope that dude comes back soon."

"A whole week?!" Mattie says then quiest back down, nodding to Abby, taking courage from her decisiveness and says, "Yeah, me too. Man... Abby... you don't suck."

"I know that," Abby replies to Mattie with a bit of a cocky air, and she lets her knee bounce her heel for a while, eying at the clock.

Time passes, and finally Samson returns with a handful of papers—with Prentice and Plummer in tow. Plummer moves around the table to uncuff Mattie's hands from one another, and Samson announces, "Reasonable doubt. You got it. They can't keep you in holding. But I suggest you cooperate with the deputy lieutenant here, she's gonna have more questions for you once they sort out the details." Somber, the clear eyed lady cop gives Mattie a brisk nod. "We gave one of the monks from the Buddha Jewel Monastery a call and they confirmed your attendance for a retreat that spanned the time that the receipt was apparently signed for. We're going to have to restructure our investigation," she says, before nodding to Plummer, you begins to lead him toward the door. "Thank you for your cooperation, and we'll be in touch."

Mattie smirks subtly with a quiet smile at Abby's reply and then purses his lips like a gangster with a few nods. When Samson returns and Plummer uncuffs him. "Ah hell yeah! I'm going to cooperate with her so h-... yes, I'll cooperate. How'd they sound? The monks? Was chico there? That guy's so chill and deep..." Then he goes to give everyone in the room a hug if they allow, just a soft, warm back patting kind.

"Woo-hoo!" Abby cheers, "Justice is served," she tacks on, and she presses her one good hand to the table to press herself up to a stand. She's brought into a hug, to which she makes an 'irk' sound, right arm between her and Mattie.

Pretty much everyone else opts to ward the man off with extended arms—save for Plummer, who returns the man's hug with a firm couple of pats. "Sorry about tasing you," he says in his earnest low voice, and he withdraws to lead the two Moores from the room. "Take it easy, Matthew," says Samson, and then the pair are standing outside of the station in the snow.

Pretty much everyone else opts to ward the man off with extended arms—save for Plummer, who returns the man's hug with a firm couple of pats. "Sorry about tasing you," he says in his earnest low voice, and he withdraws to lead the two Moores from the room. "Take it easy, Matthew," says Samson, and then the pair are standing outside of the station in the snow.