(as vinny)
waking up to a new york morning is something else entirely. first, there's the raucus roar of engines and squeeking of shot-to-hell brakes on the automobiles that crawl out like ants from some source you can't trace. then there's the horrible stench of smog, even if you have freshly scented dame bedside. and that incessant, annoying new york accent laced in the words of the passers by beneath my balcony. needless to say, this reassignment to new york sucks- i don't like it in the least.
draping on a robe as i scratch myself on route to the fridge. opening it reveals something more pathetic than my professional career situation: a bottle of mustard, some cans of budweiser, a jar of pickles, and an orange juice container that is empty. i try my luck with the freezer. pretty much the same: frozen assortment of bagels and ice cubes. grunting out a sigh, i take out a bag of blueberry bagels and nuke the hell out of them. opening my cupboards and not even a speck of a folger's grain. shrugging, as i open the fridge and start the day off on my alcoholic ways, yet again.
i retrieve the soggy bagels and take it to my seat at the table. munching on a breakfast that tastes like cardboard, i sift through the files claire sent me at hq yesturday. seems that it was a good idea to enlist her- outside of department approval, of course. she's so much the opposite of me: an action junkie with a twisted infatuation with everything that is fatal. not that i'm a sour-puss or anything like that- i guess i'm just too lazy to give a damn about most things is all. give me my damn paycheck, and we'll have no problems is the code i live by.
good stuff she's found. we have a good, clean voice recording of tristan. also,claire managed to jot down his registration for his yatch, making it a lot easier for me to track his movements. i did notice something odd on the video files though. he's usually good at cloaking his mannerisms, but based on the visuals claire got for me i feel that he made a mistake of letting his guard down in front of concealed cameras. the thing puzzling me is, why exactly did he show up at claire's place in the caman's? i highly doubt you can chalk it up to chance. hmm...does he know we're on to him? i mean, i got nothing solid on the guy...but sources say he's linked to the "zulu" murder of many days past....seems some of the victim's bones washed up on the italien shores, which is what landed me here in the big apple to begin with...
turning my chair around to at least enjoy the massive skyline before heading out and having to face my superior, lisa cohen. she's a nice piece, if you're into stiff broads...or interested in working your way up the ladder. but i'm not here for pleasure, and if i nab tristan on my own that'll work into an automatic promotion anywyas. though i don't intend to report what i've got on tristan to lisa yet, i do intend to squeeze as much help as i can. and i already need to, because that lieutenant dame down at the nypd busted my chops over some routine info...well, routine where i come from, because if you need info only the locals got, usually they let you slide on in....but my olive-oil charm obviously didn't have any effect on dara bertolli. she told me to march my ass to lisa and have her call captain ryan to clear me on obtaining info on aronne and dante zasa. chuckling even now- rejection by a blondie bombshell like her was actually kind of nice. another name i should report to the captain is gabriel mancinni of the nypd- he gave off a funny vibe when he heard me mention the zasas. it might be nothing, but that doesn't matter- i already don't like the guy, so his ass is in my doghouse.
staring at my badge and rubbing some of the grime off of it. i pick it up and decide to take it with me into the shower....which doesn't have any warm water coming out if it. as the first cold pellets of water sting my flesh on contact, i yell just how much i love it here...."I FUCKING HATE NEW YORK!!"
