2013-02-05 Taking Fate Into Your Own Hands

Just as 6:00pm rounds the clock, numerous members of the overworked, Gotham City hall staff mutually agree on this random workday to cut themselves a break and head out just a wee bit earlier than usual. This includes some of Janet van Dorn's staff, one of which makes an excuse about a sick family member. The sun just begins its descent, and the first hints of dusk whisper into the sky. Black Widow, dressed in a khaki trench coat, with her red hair pinned into a bun, waits inside city hall. She's been here for the last 77 minutes... a behavior that might seem conspicuous to some, but Miss Romanov is skilled at looking like she knows what she's doing.
Most of her time was spent tapping away on a small, personal computer. One that's been on the fritz--but still functional--ever since she arrived here a few days ago. She's clearly here with a purpose, despite the idle state. Her eyes frequently gaze about the walkway.
 
Also watching...perhaps for similar reasons, perhaps different ones, is the nondescript gentleman who has only now come into the hall area. A good thing for the Widow, because John Jones' keen eyes would, no doubt, have spotted her had he been here any length of time. Staff are starting to peel out as he slips in, moving against the traffic quite easily. That, though, might cause him to be noticed. Perhaps not so much by the civilian staffers, but certainly by the red-haired spy.
 
The ADAs have gone home, mostly, and Janet's sent her personal assistant off for a break. She's always here, though -- famously always here working far later hours than she needs to. Famously a bit of a micromanager, too, but in a city like Gotham it's not unwarranted. Few of her staff work very much without her close oversight. But she's not unkind to them, at least to the ones who avoid becoming corrupt bastards, and she doesn't insist anyone work the sort of hours she does. 
Which is why she's up in her office alone at last on the third floor, kicking back with a mug of good hot tea to ward off the flu. The double doors to her office are closed, but her assistant's desk is empty. No one to show people in; then again, no one to tell them to get out.
 
Taking her time, with casual but measured steps, Natasha decides that now is probably the least risky, and least creepy time to make her move. Her insistence to get moving is the only thing that kept her from becoming more curious about the incoming man--entering a building while most are leaving.
 
Natasha heads towards the DA's room with sense of purpose; she really wasn't "supposed" to be engaging the DA, but since this was a personal assignment--not official SHIELD business, at least not directly--she pretended that she could get away with it. She had a way of sweet talking ol' Fury anyway, should he get upset. This definitely wasn't playing it subtle, however: other than reading dozens of news bulletins, profiling information, and a few brief interviews--Natasha didn't really have much time to get her own take on the DA. Nevertheless, she headed up to the doorway, and stood there, looking at what she expected: her assistant had left for the day, but she was still at work. Time to act.
 
 
The detective? He's noticed the redhead now. He casually follows her at a distance, as if he just happens to be going the same way...uh oh. If the woman is an assassin, she's about to get a very nasty surprise. If not? Well, that depends on what she has to talk to Ms Van Dorn about. Either way...the DA's back is covered in a manner she wouldn't really be expecting. The detective...here originally for a quite different purpose...is listening just a bit to Natasha's mind. Just trying to work out if she's a threat or not.
 
Janet surely wouldn't expect the assistance of the Martian Manhunter, or anyone like him. She and vigilantes don't tend to exactly get along, though whether he really counts as one is up for debate. She and SHIELD have a slightly less chilly relationship, though: as long as people have accountability, she's a lot happier. Setting her mug down -- because five minutes' break is enough, surely -- she tugs a folder closer and flips it open. Organized crime is at least as big a problem in Gotham as costumed crime is, and it's that she's more concerned with at the moment.
 
>> Natasha's thoughts are primarily images at the moment -- What keeps appearing is a strange fixation, something that seems almost dream-like. She's on the ground, a dozen men dressed in some sort of bizarre, almost alien-like, samurai-like armor are beating her with clubs, and stomping on her. Behind them are swords...on fire... levitating in a circle. The haze of the vision makes it unclear if this is a memory or a fantasy. -- When she snaps back into a more verbal frame of mind, it seems clear that Natasha does not seek to harm Janet van Dorn, but merely probe her for questions over Gotham’s affairs. Natasha jokes about shaking the tree of Gotham to see what falls out. >>
Having never before met the DA, she knows she's going to have make the introductions. She's done this before.
 
"Miss van Dorn?" she begins, with a coy but sweet tone. She's trying to sound non-threatening, projecting a practiced, nervous smile. "I know this is a bad time--with so much happening right now--I just wanted to get a moment of your time..." she says, waiting to see a response before continuing.
 
 
Okay. Not a threat...a seeker of information. In some ways, perhaps, a kindred spirit with the man who now, almost accidentally, drifts into the outer office. And hey, the Manhunter might be a vigilante. John Jones is a private investigator. Wait...that's worse. The memory or fantasy is set to one side. Private. No need to spy further as he pulls back from her mind, just watching for now.
 
 
There's a degree of tension in Janet's shoulders when she hears Natasha's voice. She looks up in surprise before rising, blinking behind her wire-rimmed glasses and looking the woman briefly up and down. Her office really is quite nice. Large, too. There's a niche on the far wall surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that's obviously intended for a desk. Janet apparently doesn't like having windows behind her, so she's opted to move her desk against a wall instead. Everything's very Federal, with clean lines and suggestions of Roman capitals. White-painted wood and plaster. Blue carpet. Lovely old wooden desk. 
 
"Usually we make appointments," Janet begins. But there's something in the woman's manner. The smile. The voice. Are they too good to be true? Is this actually a nervous and innocent woman? Can't be a Gothamite if she is. They don't exist much. "Come in," she adds, gesturing to the seats across from her desk. "I'd offer you a cup of coffee, but it's terrible and my assistant's out. Tea I can just about manage." She holds up her own and nods to the electric kettle behind her. Extending a hand, she adds: "Who do I have the honor of addressing?"
 
 
Natasha responds with a warm smile, clearly thrilled to get a pleasant reception. "I'm just fine," she says, trying to hold her more innocent natured tone of voice. A little voice in her head reminded her that the DA of Gotham is likely to be someone she'll run into again, possibly while she's in Black Widow gear and posture, and she could be resented for playing a more timid character for the same of easing tensions. Natasha shushed that little voice promptly--she shouldn't worry about being called-out for being manipulative... hell, she was a spy. But this DA was sincere... sincere in a place where so few were. It was like finding a diamond in the rough. But let's see how she deals with questions, Natasha thought.
 
Slipping smoothly and gently into a seat perched on the other side of the desk, she came clean: at least about who she was. "My name is Natasha Romanov. I'm an agent of SHIELD. But that's not why I'm here." She paused, thinking it might be a good idea to let her affiliation soak in before going on.
 
 
Huh. He's heard that Van Dorn is straight. Hearing this conversation makes John Jones realize that she is. And actually makes him feel bad about eavesdropping, he moves towards the inner office, kind of hovering in the doorway. More visible to Janet than to Natasha, who has her back to the door at present. Yes. Van Dorn is definitely coming over as solid.
 
 
Janet's comfortable having her own tea, and she settles back in her chair as Natasha takes a seat. Her eyebrows perk when Natasha introduces herself, and her demeanor shifts slightly. Interested, definitely. A little more receptive. "You have identification, I presume. SHIELD has a comfortable working relationship with Gotham City, to my understanding; we cooperate as fully as allowed by state law. But it sounds like this is something of a more personal matter..." 
 
Her eyes flick up to the door. It's still mostly closed, but there's a shadow falling across the threshold. "Hello?" she inquires. "Do you need something out there?"
 
 
Holding up her SHIELD badge, almost reflexively... almost as if it were a literal shield, Natasha starts: "I'm here because I've been tracking--"
 
Natasha's expression and entire manner shifts with a sudden alertness, responding to the presence of John, as Janet called out to him. She stops herself from panning her head around, which makes her appear to be twitching. This would, presumably, not be someone Natasha expected, and one might detect an irrational, sudden level of fear for a mere split-second across her face.
 
In one quick, graceful, almost martial arts-esque motion, Natasha gets out of her seat, twists 180-degrees, and strafes to the side of the door, stepping into a space just in front of John Jones. Looking at him in the eyes. This sort of finesse betraying her more timid, mousey introduction but a moment ago. Natasha just stares, waiting to see what he does.
John Jones blinks a couple of times. "John Jones. Private investigator. But I could come back...later." One guess as to why a PI would show up after hours...when he knows the DA is still working. He's presumably hoping for information, just as Natasha is. His reaction...he's not intimidated by her so much as startled.
 
 
From sitting in the wingback chair to on her feet and at the door. Janet sits stock-still in her own seat, eyes wide and amazed. She lets out a low whistle: all right. Before she dies, she's going to learn to move like that. "And I thought I could dance," she says, hiding a smile behind one hand. 
 
As John makes himself known, though, she nods her understanding and her relief: "Mr. Jones. I think you've worked for the city before. You know, Terry's /great/ at making appointments for people, but as soon as we're finished chatting in here, I should be able to make some time for you. Cup of tea while you wait?"
 
 
Feeling a bit silly, over-reacting here in City Hall, Natasha reminds herself that she's seen more obnoxious assaults in more protected spaces than this. She's learned that being paranoid is better than being naive.
 
A part of Natasha wrestles for a moment with the question of the exclusivity of the information she's looking for--but decides she need not give anyone in the room *all* the information. It's not like either of these two can read minds, right?
 
She begins again: "Tell me--have you heard of 'Unmei no te'?" Natasha probes, speaking with perfect Japanese pronunciation. She waits a moment, but only as posture--she didn't even give a chance for a real response--"The hand of fate," she says, translating the phrase. "They're an international ring. With ample evidence that they've a station here in Gotham."
 
 
John Jones frowns. "Heard of those guys. They're trouble." He was about to withdraw, but it seems that he's hesitating now a dangerous, organized crime name has been mentioned. Of course, the private investigator keeps his ear to the ground. And...may or may not be reading Natasha's mind. Probably not, right now, now he's established they're...more or less on the same side, based off of the questions she's asking.
 
 
Ah. /That/ makes some interesting sense. Janet raises a hand, striding over to the file cabinets that line the wall next to her desk. She stoops and opens a drawer, pulling out a fairly thick folder and hefting it in her hands. "Classic organized crime," she agrees, nodding faintly to both her guests. If Natasha's all right with John staying, she'll accept it. 
 
Setting the folder down on the table, she goes on: "There's insufficient evidence to link them to... oh, anything in this folder. Not the prostitution rings or the contract killing or anything. We've never been able to make a proper case."
 
 
Natasha slips back into the chair she was previously in, looking back to John occasionally as she speaks, "It may be luck that you haven't batted this beehive--" Natasha stops herself mid-sentence. She has to be careful here. She puts on a more serious, but respectful expression. "I'm not here to remind you of yet another big, bad player in the Gotham chaos," Natasha says, her tone relaxing despite the doomy words. "What I'm most interested in, for the moment, is locating one man. And finding out what specific chemicals he's involved in smuggling. I can not stress enough the importance of finding this out," she says with a certain air-slicing sincerity. 
 
Picking up the file, she begins to page it quickly. "Jin'ichi Tanaka," she says with a sudden monotone, trying to make the name more English-speaker friendly. "He is a VP at a tech company based here in Gotham.... I don't see his name in this file, though."
 
 
John winces. "I hate drugs," he notes, albeit a little wryly, moving to take a seat unless anyone tells him to leave. Beehive? Hrm...probably just a saying, a saying she doesn't finish. "Tanaka. Not familiar with him." Useful information - always handy to bump into the SHIELD types. They're good at finding things out.
 
 
Blinking, Janet shakes her head. "The name's familiar. I think I've met him at one of those interminable political functions they invite the VIPs to. I gave a speech, he had a canopy. I don't think he's ever been charged with anything." She glances at John and inclines her head slightly, taking her mug and having another sip of tea. "I'd have to go through my files to remember what company it is he works with. It's headquartered here in Gotham, I think, or they have an office here at least. A chemical company, but their factories are outside town."
"That would explain why there's virtually no special tech, no chemical equipment--not so much as a notebook in their HQ. I'll be honest, I don't know much. I don't know even if they're manufacturing or shipping."
 
 
Pausing a moment to think, Widow decides that, despite her exceptional detective skills, having a local P.I. with his ears to the street could very well be handy. She's been trying to read this John Jones, to find out what sort of person he is. Having not come up with many conclusions, she dismisses him as a simpleton, but not a threat. She reaches into a pant pocket, tucking her hand under her trench coat, still on, and slips out to business cards. They're plain, simple, and simply say: 'BLACK WIDOW' followed by a contact phone number.
 
"Tell ya what," she starts, "If ya find out anything about this guy, give me a ring. You may be handsomely rewarded,"--she grins, knowing that the vagueness of no quoted fee probably would annoy most P.I.s she's met.
 
Turning back to Janet, she says, "At least I know that he's not untouchable, or a ghost." Did she mean that literally or figuratively?
 
 
John Jones snorts at her, but does take the card. Yeah. Not quoting a fee, annoying. But he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't have a bit of a budget...and besides, he'll keep his eyes open. And ears. And telepathy. This guy might be innocent, but it's unlikely. More likely, he's trouble with a knack for pretending to be that way. Much more likely.
 
 
There's a lot of fellows like that. "I'll see what I can do," Janet agrees. "If you can point me to things you know he's done or crimes you suspect he's committed, I can pay some particular attention his way." She reaches out a hand, adding: "If I could get your card, I'll contact you if something comes up. All right?"
 
 
Slowly getting out of her seat, having only been there for some five minutes, Natasha pretends through her body language that she feels bad for soaking up some of the DA's precious time. She slides the second card she pulled out to Janet, smiling, "I'm so glad to meet you... and I'm so glad that this place has someone like you helping drive. It's a miracle that you're still here," she says, trying to sound hopeful and complimentary but instead sounding more cynical and fearful, "I hope others appreciate you." She moves towards the door, but stops, and looks at John, "Thank you, also, for listening. I wouldn't be here if it weren't important."
 
 
"I *will* keep an eye out." He's an ex cop, after all. He'd do it even without the promise of cold, hard cash...even if he caught the edge of Natasha's slightly insulting impression of him. Then again, that's not a bad way to be thought of. Being underestimated? It always helps.
 
Natasha makes her leave, bowing her head slightly before turning away. She realizes that might've seemed odd to two Americans--they'd have no way of knowing (other than telepathy, hyuk hyuk!) that Natasha spent the last few months stationed in Japan investigating the very crime ring she mentioned earlier, and her head bowing was typical, polite business behavior. She reflected for a moment on how if Nick Fury knew she was independently, without his knowledge or permission, investigating this case, would throw a major shit-fit. This whole quest of hers she was embarking upon was a gamble, but she had her reasons.
 
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