Sally's Story (1.5-9): Just a Job to Do

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	The architectural philosophy behind Sally’s home precinct was concerned less with convenience and function and more with defensibility and survivability. Should some devastating attack try to level it its broad concrete underground and solid offices would endure- indifferent, however, to the needs of its current population. Feet tacking up the stairs Sally bemoaned those choices that put two whole stories between the personal offices and the first-floor pits for the different investigative wings of the city police. Captain Locke, like the other desk heads, was perched two floors above their subordinates. Rounding the first landing Sally kept up the clacking of her tip-toe feet on the linoleum underneath, the little packet of papers snugly folded underneath her arm as she came to the door to the third floor. Pulling it she started to route herself toward the captain’s office. Turning down a carpeted alley to the man’s private office she paused, the walls spilling a trickle of conversation into the hallway. Sally flushed, nervous, not wanting to violate the privacy of the occupants behind the gypsum board and newish wallpaper. As their voices peaked inside her ears locked onto their words, her inquisitive nature roping her back in to listen.
	Beyond the orange, patterned paper a broken conversation was forensically pieced together in her head, arms scrunching to hold her little packet closer. Shouldering into the wall she strained her mechanical ears to hear more, the sturdy barrier holding most of the sound in. A familiarly pointed voice stabbed at the captain, complaining about some cowardly indecision on his part, the gruff man sighing and batting away Vincent’s criticism. Some talk of performance reviews, manufacturer’s rights, and ‘lateral’ promotions beat its way through the drywall, Sally’s cheeks burning higher at the insinuation. She scrambled to grab the unsigned affidavit when the captain muttered “kill count” through the walls, Sally’s core shrinking and pseudolung pausing for a second. Catching her breath she spit out the few seconds-worth of warm air, plastic fingers shaking at the captain’s words. Vince wasn’t a killer, not even close- none of the officers she’d worked with were. It wasn’t any secret that Vincent found himself under fire more than the other detectives but there was a reason he was where he was. She couldn’t handle the building argument behind the door, scrubbing the accusation from her mind.
	“Hello,” she knocked, “sorry if I’m interrupting anything important. I just have some papers for Detective la Fontaine to sign.”
	“O-Oh Sal, right, right- give ‘em here.” Taking the packet Vince flipped through it, picking his head up to meet the captain’s again. “Affidavit for our current investigation, Captain.”
	“Hi,” Sally waved, smiling.
	“Right, ahem. Well, Vincent, I hope you take our discussion into consideration when you take that affidavit in.” The captain sniffed, his train of thought rudely derailed by the intruding robot, the two meeting eyes briefly before he turned his attention to some pressing papers on his desk. “Be safe out there, detectives.”

	“Jeez Sal, you could’ve waited downstairs-”
	“You were getting quite the grilling Vincent, it pays to have some backup sometimes right?”
	“Yeah,” he sighed, “sometimes. Other times you gotta go it alone, like when the boss asks for *just* me. Understand?”
	“Understood, sir…”
	“...It’s not a big deal or anything, Sal, no one’s in trouble,” he half-smiled. “And he said he’d clear any sort of backup, should we need it. Let’s run down to the magister’s office and have this taken care of, yeah?
	“Oh, right!” She slipped the bundle of papers from under her arm and into Vincent’s waiting hands, a handy pen slid between his heavy fingers. “I need your signature before we go, please give it a read-”
	“It’s fine, Sal, looks about right to me. So long as we establish enough reason to search this place we’re in the clear.”
	“The Captain must have been worried about another shootout… I can hardly blame him, given-”
	“It’s- It’s really nothing, Sal, it’s just cop talk. A dangerous city doesn’t mean we have to be, okay,” he snapped. “Let’s just drop it and get this taken care of.” With a few harsh strokes from the cheap ballpoint pen Vince swirled his name onto the line labeled ‘Affiant’s Signature’, handily dating it underneath. Handing the papers back to her he waved her out and onto the street, the magistrate’s office just a short walk two blocks away. Traffic buzzed on the street besides them, crisp Autumn air swirling around in sporadic, breezy gusts through the towering buildings of Beacon City’s bustling downtown. The pair walked silently through the throngs of passersby, the affidavit neatly entombed in a manila envelope Sally held tight to her chest, the odd pair of eyes watching her and twisting around to keep an eye on the pink-cheeked robot. A nandroid out of uniform was a strange enough sight, a robot like herself typically existing outside of the public spotlight in spite of her exploits.
	Sighing she followed Vincent up the chiselled stone steps to the smooshed city courthouse, feet tapping on its floors as they were ushered through winding hallways built of the same era as their precinct building, the only difference being the tar-stained wallpaper hadn’t been changed in more than a decade or two. With some explaining they were admitted through to one of the open magistrate’s offices, a knock more and the two were seated in front of a tired old man, the wispy corona of white hair atop his head waving at them in the stir of air at his open office window.
	“Afternoon officers,” he said, waving them in. “How can I be of help today?”
	“We have an affidavit to submit, sir.” Vince handed the envelope to him, the ink still drying where he’d signed it. “And we’ll be happy to answer any pertinent questions you have.”
	“I need you to sign these forms for me.” Shuffling in the cabinets behind him he produced another form for Vincent, the cold script staring back at him as he took up his pen again. Glazing over the blocks of text he dropped his signature at the bottom, swearing that the affidavit itself and anything he or Sally added would be the truth. He nodded to the waiting nandroid before sliding the paper back. “Thank you,” he sniffed, already poring over the bulleted list of pertinent evidence. Helpful annotations provided by its author drew them together, a perched adjustment to his spectacles the extent of the magistrate’s questions for the time.
	“So, could you elaborate on the connection between this,” he shuffled the page, checking, “Mister Sidran and the location you would like a warrant to search?”
	“Well, sir,” Sally said, “Brian-”
	“That’s Mister Sidran,” Vincent interrupted, taking the reins. Sally’s eyes shot to the side, not wanting to wrest the discussion back from him. “*Mister Sidran* is or was an employee of a local establishment in the Northeast, and from there he helped deliver liquor to customers of this establishment. In those deliveries he arrived at the location in question and became involved in drug trafficking through that location, culminating ultimately in his arrest.”
	“And what evidence do you have beyond this singular connection?”
	“Well we have the ledger, sir,” Sally joined. “It clearly demonstrated a repeated and regular relationship between the accused and this establishment harborside, on the order of one month per visit.”
	“That seems awfully regular for a business relationship, and can I assume that he hasn’t been back in about a month?”
	“Yes, it was towards the first of the month each visit…”
	“I’ve read over the affidavit wholly and don’t see much beyond the singular testimony of the accused Mister Sidran and the physical ledgers you’ve gathered to tie this location to the case…” He rubbed his chin in thought, settling his spectacles on the rich, wooden desk as his eyes scanned over the paper again and again, specifically recounting the contents from their second interview with their accused. “Though I think his description of… ‘mercenaries’ is compelling enough to warrant further investigation, maybe- detective,” he said, turning to Vincent, “how would you go about investigating this further given a warrant.”
	“Well, sir, I think that to… to *assuage* any concerns about the legitimacy of this establishment we could do some proper surveillance, given proper authority, perhaps some plainclothes snooping around even.” The magistrate nodded, eyes squeezed shut in thought as he pieced together the location and the submitted evidence in his head. Hands clasped together and pressed to his lips he hummed quietly, some old technique for focusing his thoughts employed in front of the again-blushing robot and her partner in the growing, awkward silence.
	“Sir, I do believe-”
	“That’s alright detective, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and grant you your warrant.” Vincent sighed in relief, Sally’s cheeks dropping the subconscious touch of light when she got nervous. “For some surveillance. You can stake out that place for as long as necessary, and then you can go from there, alright?”
	“Will do, sir,” Vincent sighed. The magistrate across from him settled his wiry glasses back atop the bridge of his nose, fumbling with some more papers as he began to draft up their shiny, new warrant.

	Slipping out of the musty office Vincent handed the slip to Sally, grumbling to himself as they wound their way back out of the maze of hallways and offices, and back to the streets below. Their silent march brought them back to the precinct, quietly slipping back towards the Vice department to sit and mull over the freshly signed paper in their possession. Vince was the first to slump over into his seat, defeated as he threw the paper onto his desk.
	“Everything okay Vince?”
	“Well, Sal, in a roundabout way this piece of paper is useless to us.”
	“Sir?”
	“We could’ve gotten permission for a stakeout from the Captain, hell- I just, ah forget it.” He rubbed his face in his hand before slipping a hand inside of his jacket, procuring a delightful cigarette in his fingers. A drag and another slackened his tense shoulders, making sure to guide his smokey exhales away from the standing nandroid. “We just wasted time and effort for a piece of paper we didn’t need-”
	“Well, Vincent, it’s always better to be-”
	“Safe than sorry? Sure, I guess, but it’s not much help when these guys aren’t… established. They can afford to pick up shop on a dime and bug off to some other part of the city. Odds are they just chose the harbor for concealment, lots of business there so other things blend in.”
	“Well, sir,” Sally started, hands folded in her lap, “perhaps that’s not the case?”
	“How do you mean?”
	“Well, outside of the time we’ve spent on getting the warrant,” she tapped on the wood-paneled desk, “I’ve figured that if these are foreign mercenaries their employers are most likely foreign as well. This would suggest they stick to the harbor, for now, for convenience on top of it being a, a-”
	“A staging ground?”
	“‘Beachhead’ was the word I’d imagined, but yes, that!” She shook her hands a little, glad they were on the same page. “Lost time aside maybe some daytime surveillance could do some good, help us keep an eye on the daily goings on? Maybe we’ll see some smaller shipments come in, oh!”
	“What’s up?”
	“Well, if what we’re thinking is right,” she continued, planting the idea’s origins firmly between them, “then whatever their shipping could be coming directly from one of two places, *ideally* at least.”
	“Well?”
	“Well, the obvious choice is the Netherlands- explains the Dutch for the most part, but alternatively South Africa.”
	“Hm, yeah… yeah that could work. It’s just, heh,” he shook his head. “We always get roped into the weirdest shit sometimes.” He stole another drag from his cigarette, wisps of gray smoke trailing from his limp hand.
	“Well… that’s police work, isn’t it?”
	“I guess so, huh? Now- how’s about we start seeing what ships are coming in tomorrow and when, eh?”
	“And where from,” she added.
	“Right, right,” he nodded, already searching for the phonebook to ring up the port authority. “And once we get this done we should call it a day, it’s getting late. First thing tomorrow, though, we're gonna see if we can catch anything down at that warehouse.” Sally nodded enthusiastically, hopping into her wheely chair and plopping her notebook in front of herself, a pen in her ready hand.