2014.06.01 - The Banshee's Cry: Cryptozoo Murder Camp in the Pine Barrens

Jeannette was most agreeable in bringing on a second PI to consult. Or. Well. "Hired muscle." Just... don't let Jessica /know/ that's how her role in all this is /technically/ being interpreted by the woman paying the bills. Jess is also the one driving both herself and Eddie out of Gotham to look into the man last seen with the apparently real-life (albeit undead) Las Vegas Siren singer Marissa Errings.

And, because the whole thing involved getting a New Yorker to drive out to Jersey, she stopped at Costco on the way to pick him up. The trunk and backseat of her sporty-but-totally-practical crossover vehicle are loaded with diapers and other sundry baby supplies and non-perishable food. And like, four pairs of yoga pants, shut up, they were fifteen bucks for a pack of two pairs.

"So," Jess is saying, still going over some of the smaller details about this case, the ones that Nygma /is/ allowed to talk about (Jeannette having told him not to spill about /her/ nature for any reason, even if /Marissa's/ must be a slightly less-kept secret now), "scary Marie Antoinette lady is paying you double your rate. Plus a bonus. Please, tell me again what this bonus is?"

"Special to me and you wouldn't get the appeal," Eddie said, shuffling cards in his hands as she drove. "It's just-- something that I don't get to do much anymore." Mostly because he's damned dangerous in a casino. He saw past every safety, every cheat, that a casino had, and his ability with a card game was legendary.

"So how's motherhood treating you?" he said, ignoring that it was an obvious subject change and he didn't care how transparent it was. "You seem to have recovered well."

Jess side-eyes him over her sunglasses at that. "Special? From the scary casino-brothel-owning mystery succubus lady," she says. "Seriously, the shit that comes up about that woman on Google /alone/..." she makes an exagerated shivver, and... doesn't press the issue. "The mommy gig's been so good so far, and... well. Superhuman durability, strength, slightly accelerated healing and... you know, all that," she says. "Still ended up with stretch marks, though. And like, twenty pounds I can't get rid of no matter /what/," she grumbles. "Probably a good thing I gave up the tights. Last thing I need is Perez commenting on how I can't fit into them anymore," she grumbles, and slows down to compare a road sign to one on her GPS screen. "Where the fuck is this place even supposed to be-" squint. "Did I miss a turn? Was that thing back there a /road/?"

"She's not a succubus," Eddie muttered as he leaned againt the glass, eyeing the road. Yeah, was that a road? Fuck if he knew. He just knew he didn't like being this far out. He had misty memories of his Lazarus Pit road trip... it took him to weird places outside the usual. If he thought hard enough, he could remember Egypt...

"I think that was the road. Back it up, we'll go down." He's so glad he let her drive. His classic Hornet would never have managed these roads.

And Jessica would have made fun of his need for a vehicular penis extension for the /entire ride/ if they took the classic Hornet. Never show her that car, Eddie. /Never/. At least not when she's sober. Drunk Jessica might admit it's kind of cool. Drunk Jessica also still thinks her old costume is pretty cool, in context, compared to the fashion trends at the time.

With the help of the rear-view camera (these modern, sensible cars and their neato gadgets) she backs up and turns down the narrow road- so narrow pine-branches are brushing against both sides of the car until she pulls into a clearing of a sort of... campsite-turned... something. Homestead? Non-travelling circus? Farm? There are a few cabins, and some makeshift barns, and chicken coops and a cottage-y sort of structure that appears to be the main... house?

"Yeah, this isn't creepy as all fuck," says Jess, getting out of the car. But then, city folk. A perfectly nice farm house would probably still be "creepy."

It's a beautiful, classic car in a gorgeous green and one of several he (less than legally) owns! Shut up about his cars! It's totally normal for a guy to like cars!

"Well, this is foreboding," Edward mutters even as Jessica invoked the status of 'creepy'. "You know I did a lot of carnie work when I was a teenager, but this.... this is... This is more like... murder camp." He got out of the car, and immediately began to poke around the site; how long had it been since it was used? What was the trash like? Were there any recent footprints? Inquiring Nygma minds needed to know.

Jessica raised an eyebrow at 'carnie work' but somehow, /somehow/, managed not to comment. Maybe she worked with Hawkeye in the past or something and used up all her carnie jokes. Or she's actually trying to be nice. Or professional. "Yeah, do you have your vampire mistress on speed dial? I mean... we... might not have good news for her if we make any finds here," Jess says, frowning at the sight of some rusty old chains and an honest-to-god axe sticking out of a pile of chopped firewood.

And from somewhere nearby, the bleating of goats. "Ooh, that's... promising." Jess starts towards the house. Maybe she can... talk to the owner of this creepy horror show of a farm in an area /totally/ not zoned for farming, and the breaking of local zoning bylaws are probably just the /begining/ of things that are so totally not right here. Suddenly, a very loud, metallic SNAPCLANG sound. "JESUSMOTHERFUCKINGSHITBALLS-"

Jessica has stepped into a bear trap. In her defense, she is the tank in this little adventuring party, and not outfitted to check for these sorts of things.

"Can we please stop being speciest about my employer? Her cash spends as good as Bruce Wayne's, or-- or-- anybody else's," Edward began snippily, as he he examined the firewood - and the weapon embedded in it. But when Jessica began to shriek, he turned sharply and--

Well. That didn't bode well. "I'll get my tools," he said. "That didn't actually hurt you, right? You're-- you now, bullets bounce and all that, right?" he had his gig bag in the car... which is the polite way of saying 'all this Riddler gear, and yet no deathtraps.'

"It's hurting a fucking lot, actually, but it's not rending my flesh from my bones, no," Jess says through clenched teeth. She thinks she can get it off herself, but she would prefer Edward at a distance if her accidental unstealthiness brought any attention- which, it did. After about a minute of having her foot in the trap, a man appears from inside the house, armed with (of course) a shotgun.

"Daniel McMichaels, I presume?" she says, far too calmly for a woman with her foot in a bear trap. Which means the gun stays very very steadily aimed at her. "Jessica Jones. I'm looking for Marissa Errings."

He snorts, taking a few steps closer, barrel levelled at Jess's chest. "You and me both. That freak bitch nearly drowned me, left me deaf in one ear, and damn near cleared me out of half a year's tranqs." He makes that country-boy horror movie chuckle. "But what did I catch out here, huh? You sure ain't screaming- or bleeding- enough to be human. Now, a mutant won't get me much. Not as much as a real siren, but I'm guessin' there's some sorta market for somethin' that can take that kinda punishment and still stand..." Evidently, he didn't see Nygma, nor has he considered that Jess might have backup of any kind. Especially /sneaky/ backup.

"God, the more you talk, the more I look forward to beating the everloving shit out of you."

Looks like he went to get get his gig bag just in time. Riddler gear galore, not all oof it nonlethal. Batman would be wetting himself (no he wouldn't, Eddie) at the very idea of this just of Eddie's old crap still in his possession.

Thankfully, though he might be a detective, he's still a thief. He's not unusued to sneaking around strange places-- including rural ones, and keeping the skills sharp also keeps him alive. He pads around the side, letting one of his collapseable canes snap out into his palm, as he slips around McMichaels. And then he struck for the back of the knees.

"Sorry, the honor of first beat down is mine," he says, and snapped out with the cane again. There were few things Edward Nygma hated like someone who took advantage of the mentally ill. He took it very personally... and then he took it out all over McMichael's head and shoulders.

The man goes down like a sack of potatoes at Jess's feet. She looks at Nygma. "Well. I enjoyed /watching/ it anyway," she says, glumly, and reaches down to start prying the trap apart, actually ripping it into several pieces in the process. Yes, this does make it very clear that she feigned being trapped, though whether it was for the sake of Edwards, or to lure in McMichaels, well, that remains to be said. And she isn't saying.

"Can you get him secured? He says the siren's not here, but who knows who or what else he's got locked up around here. He prettymuch copped to... well. Metahuman if not human trafficking. Gross." She pauses, and kicks the unconscious man in the groin, just for good measure. Another pause.

"And it's not speciest towards your employer if I don't know what she is. Especially if I can't be sure she's not anything that's going to /eat/ you. She has that Lady Lazarus... I Eat Men Like Air vibe to her." Yes, she read a poem. Try not to faint.

Edward produced zip ties. He should have been a boy scout, alright. Always prepared. Kneeling down he carefully got McMichaels secured, before pulling back and then spraying down any point of contact (And his cane) with ammonia. It stank like hell, but did the dirty job of destroying potential physical, biological evidence.

"I can hope I'm on the menu at some point. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a date, let alone seen anything like repeat action?" he shook his head. He had his membership to Pandora's, and that was good for one night stands but these days, Edward craved deeper connection. Maybe it was just that he was getting older, but... he was a little bit lonely.

"She's not going to eat me. Or date me. So, don't worry about it. Let's worry about this yutz."

"That woman wants to put you on something. A plate, a display case, something," Jess muttered. "Look, I can't read what... creepy other type things she has going on, but she's got some sort of interest in you. If you actually /want/ to ride that creepy train, try for it. Just... don't blame me if your tombstone reads 'death by snoo-snoo'," she advised him, picking up McMichaels by the collar of his denim jacket to carry him somewhere nice and out of the way. And full of mosquitoes.

The bear trap did, evidently, do enough damage to her leg to cause a limp as she began to investigate the camp. "Fuck, these were the last jeans I had that /fit/. Now I have to wear those damn maternity things again until I go shopping." Pause. "Which reminds me. Do /not/ knock the scary lady up if you do go for it. I am /not/ babysitting for you if you father the antichrist," she adds, limping towards the first of the cabins, and pulls on the door. Locked. "You want to pick this, or should I just... you know... brute squad?"

"Not to quote Lonely Island or anything, but 'Still Had Sex' would be right beneath 'death by Snoo Snoo,'" Edward said with a wry grin. "Having a teenage ward puts a huge crimp in getting action and..." he wouldn't do anything to risk Johnathan. The kid was doing better; therapy with a doctor who wasn't quack helped. The Court of Owls was going to be aching a long, long time. So.... tht was pretty good, right? Just meant there wasn't a lot of dating going on.

"I had a vasectomy years ago, so no babies for me. Sorry to disappoint," Edward said as he went for the door. "i'll handle the door. You keep an eye on our creepy companion and make sure he's not faking it while I pop the locks." He took his tools out of one pocket and set to work. He did love a good lock.... and this was actually a cheap, shitty lock so it gave in under a minute.

"Really? That's actually really cool of you. Not a lot of guys are willing to-" Jessica starts to say, conversationally, while watching the unconscious McMichaels, when she's interrupted by a shuffling sound from within the cabin/shed Edward just picked the lock to. A heavy shuffling. She makes a pained face. "Right. Squishy rogue, take a few steps back- maybe go grab the shotgun Dannyboy was aiming at me, and the less-squishy tank will have a peek inside the cabin o'doom to see if we need to be rescuing someone, or running away from some/thing/."

She sighed. "I /hate/ that the one game of Dungeons and Dragons I played with my brother to shut him up is /actually/ proving to be full of valuable life lessons to me. Again."

"I shouldn't mention that I built a lot of my deathtraps in D&D as a fourteen year old and they were still viable years later, right?" Edward said as he ducked back, letting the 'tank' go forward and went back to grab the shotgun. God bless his gloves; he didn't want to leave prints all over it.

"Ready when you are...?" Sort of. At least he had goot aim and knew for certain the shotgun was loaded.

"My brother was /really/ good at deathtraps. Which is why I only played the once. Conniving little bastard," she said, and poked her head into the cabin, and-

About five seconds later, was pinned to the ground by a goddamned gryphon. Like, an actual mythical animal about the size of a Newfoundland dog (which is probably small for a gryphon?). "Fuck! Fuck! Shoot it!"

Jesus, Gotham was getting /weird/.

Edward didn't think twice-- well, he did. But he'd checked the load on the gun and found it was neither buckshot nor slugs but heavy-duty tranqs. He lifted the gun, aimed, and fired, feeling the gun jerk in his arms.

He aimed for a meaty haunch. (The animal's not Jess's), and found a mark. Hopefully, before it ripped up any more of the clothes the poor woman was going through.

THUMP

For a few seconds, Jessica just sort of... sprawled there, beneath about 250lbs of mixed animal parts that should not have belonged to the same animal, before prying the limp form off of herself, and getting up. "Great. Entire outfit ruined /and/ I need to make a call to Dr. Strange about..." she looked at the animal, checked off the combination of beasts in her head "no-kill gryphon rescues in New York and New Jersey," she picked it up, like an oversized puppy, and dragged it back into its cabin, closing and locking the door, "and we still haven't found our siren."

At least the other cabins and barns were free of non-mundane living animals, though judging by some of the more exotic equipment and evidence- iron shackles of varying sizes and shapes (including a few that seemed to be designed for wings), a large tank that probably held saltwater at some point, large shed snake skins that had /feathers/ attached to them, and a basement full of jars, freezers and other creepy serial-killer-like paraphanalia that was going to haunt Jess's dreams for a while (the fetal sphynx specimen in a jar was particularly unsettling, and the mounted unicorn head in the living room was either genuine or a very very clever work of taxidermy and FX work, the way it seemed to ~shimmer~ even without a direct light source).

"Okay. I just took a bear trap /and/ a gryphon for this case, and now that thing in the jar is never going to be un-seen. If that bonus is any good, I want in on it," Jessica said, when they got back to the car. Instead of getting in, she took out a pair of her new yoga pants, and one of Luke's old t-shirts, and proceeded to simply change out of her shredded clothing, and into the un-shredded, keeping the vehicle between herself and Edward for modesty.

No no no no ! Don't lock Edward out! He needs pictures! To find out how to get one! Some fourteen year old nerd who rolled dice, lurking deep in the ex-supercriminal's heart, CRAVES to see and touch that creature! He makes a small, mournful sound at the window: awwwwhhh. Petulent, he follows after, hoping something as amazing lurks in the other cabins. (Amazing, but maybe less face-bitey.)

"Can't share. It's speficically designed for me," Edward said, as he pulled up a chair to confirm that the unicorn head was in fact crytpozoologically accurate and not a fake. "Since it involves a pile of chips and access to casinos I would normally be banned from."

Jess thought about that for a few seconds. "Huh. A woman truly after your heart, I guess," she mused. "You've probably done the full background check, too. On top of the casinos, a handful of brothels in Nevada, the Netherlands and Cana-" she stops "oh god," she makes a pained face as realization dawns on her. "You're literally being paid in blackjack and hookers. Wow. I almost have to admire that. You went /straight/ and now you're being paid in gambling and sex. You could start a prison mentorship program."

"Ha, ha," Edward groused. It wasn't untrue, but-- jeez, way to make it sound tawdry! "Look, the payout of these jobs pays my bills and keeps me afloat because i have no credit score. But i can do that with a lot less work chasing cheating husbands and corporate fraud. But this..."

He patted the unicorn's cheek before he got down off the chair. "This has the unknown, a fat bonus primed to tickle all of my fancies, and it's keeping my brain moving. Also, I got to beat up someone. I don't get do to that every day." Edward Nygma's name was not synonymous with 'asskicker'. More like 'ass, kicked'. "Even if there was no fat bonus, I'd have still taken the case. It's got enough to sink my teeth into and then some."

He headed back toward the door, opening it. "Drag McMichaels in -- I want to check that tank again. Our friend Marissa had a thing about water... and he said he nearly got drowned. I want to make sure she didn't leave any traces in the other cabin."

"Right, I do the heavy lifting, you steal the shiny things, I get it. I /do/ remember what the rogues do in that D&D game. Leave the unicorn head though, pretty sure Strange will want that once I talk to him. Plus, I don't have room for it in the car after the Costco run, and I didn't bring my bag of holding." Okay. Maybe she read her brother's books, too. She had to go through what was left of her family's stuff after the coma, and those were in the storage unit after the house was sold. And she wouldn't admit it, and probably didn't even realize it, but the books were packed away somewhere in the Harlem townhouse she and Luke shared now.

She picked up their Crypto-smuggler, threw him over her shoulder, and carried him in.

The tank didn't hold any traces of Marissa, but some of the nearby restraints did- a few strands of snagged wavy green hair on a pair of nasty iron shackles, and a chain that had some shimmering, irridescent scales caught on it, and was smeared with blood that despite being long-dried, still smelled of both copper, and seawater. Later drug testing, if done, would show a ton of barbituates and opiates present, and trace amounts of psychiatric medications (of course, said testing would also say it was human blood dilluted with ocean water and some other unidentifiable substance). The more complicated tests done on hair strands would tell a more detailed story- one of psych meds suddenly withdrawn and replaced with other more deadly, addictive poisons. McDaniels probably wasn't expecting the withdrawal from her usual medications to cause some of the violent reactions it did, which may have been what allowed her to escape, despite everything else he drugged her with.

Other than the wherabouts of McMichaels, no real questions were answered here. Marissa was alive when she got away from him, but was she still? Was she in more, or less danger now? And was she really so close to becomming the monster Edward's employer feared she could be, if given the time and means?

Gig bag meant a sample kit and he took bits of evidence for running later; knowing Gordon and being on his good side meant he might have to call in a favor or two. But he'd look into that soon as he could...

The fetal sphinx? Well, that was just loot for his trouble. He did have a fondness for them, considering the legends about them.

A momoment later he returned with his evidence (and fetus), and put his bag aside. "How's our friend doing?"

Jess Flicked the con-man/smuggler/kidnapper/god-knows-what-else's ear. A few times. "Bruised. And better than he'll be in a few minutes. Find anything useful?" she asked, still ear-flicking the guy, even as he wakes up, protesting the immature, if painful treatment. "Hiiiiii, Danny. We have some questions. You... probably only have a few answers. That's okay," she grinned. "We're good at finding them on our own. But we're gonna have some /fun/ anyway. You've heard of my buddy here, right?" she asked over his shoulder, looking to Eddie. "Did you show him your cane? He might recognize the cane." Smirk.

"I do hate trading on my old reputation," Edward said with a roll of his eyes, but never the less let his cane snape out, heavy brass question mark handle under his gloved hands. "Who am I to deny my public. Mr. McMichaels... My name is Edward Nygma, and you have attracted the attentio of some very bad, very powerful people. I am currently the only thing between you and cetain doom."

And as on as he went his way? McMichaels was probably a dead man. But Eddie couldn't be too put out. This person was scum.

"We need to talk about your former guest. The more you talk the easier this will go for you."

There was a gleam of... some sense of recognition in the man's eyes at the question mark. He knew the symbol was associated with a Gotham criminal. A costumed Gotham criminal. Being very, very much noth the Gothamite, McMichaels kind of lumped them all in his head together, unfortunately for his impression of Eddie, but for the moment, kinda fortunate. That 'All of That Crazy Gotham Shit' mixed up in his head with 'The Joker' made for one very terrified non-costumed criminal. The heavy-hitting henchwoman didn't hurt, either.

"The... the green haired bi-" he starts to say, before Jess hits him again "-girl, right? The siren. Look, I haven't seen her since I was in Gotham. She flipped the fuck out on me in the hotel, shattered all the glass in the room, nearly drowned me,- and the place didn't even have a tub, just one of those shower stalls. She just filled my goddamn lungs with water. Would'a been dead, if she hadn't run for it, I figure. I passed out, woke up puking salt water, hearing gone in one ear. I'm not fuckin' messing with that vampire casino bitch's stuff again, okay? Fuckin' headcase mermaid did enough of a number on me. I'm fuckin' retiring."

"Wow, no wedding band," Jess remarked, casually, really resisting the urge to break one of his fingers. "Such a shock, he's such a charmer."

"Mr. McMichaels, you are making my associate very testy. I don't suggest you continue in that vein. First off: you're lying. You had her up here-- chained at some point. Why would you unchain her to transport her to Gotham, and then lose her? Were you meeting a buyer? Does anyone else know about her?" He checked his watch -- made a show of it even. "I mean, the longer we're here dealing with you and Casa de la Freakshow, the further we get from our soggy friend, who needs to get home. So: From the top, and this time with everything you omitted."

"What the fuck does it matter? I had her here, I lost her in Gotham, before I could get her to the buyer. Go to the hotel yourself if you don't believe me. Information's all still in the hallway, with the mail," he said, to which Jess began rifling through the papers she'd gathered.

"Oh my fucking god," Jessica actually /laughed,/ and put down the flyer from said hotel in front of Edward. One of Gotham's largest /waterfront/ hotels. "I thought you did this mythical creature smuggling thing professionally. Seriously? You kidnapped a helpless siren, took her off the pills keeping her mentally stable, took her out of the desert, then took her to the motherfucking /Jersey shore/. I think the only reason you aren't dead, is so you can go the rest of your life knowing how stupid you are."

"I don't usually do aquatics!" McMichaels tried to argue. Pathetically.

Edward palmed his face. Were people really born this stupid? Did they not attempt to change themselves, to think they knew it all when they really knew pathetically little?

"Alright. You, you're too stupid to live. Thankfully, that's not my problem. We... need to get to that hotel and get to the area. But first... buyer. I need a name. And you're going to give me one... or the loss of some goods is going to be the least of your worries."

"This is wear I get to break his fingers, right, bossman?" Jess asked, possibly a bit too cheerfully, possibly falling a bit too easily into her role of plucky henchwoman. Or maybe overselling it a little. Or /enjoying/ overselling it a little. She even grabbed at one of his hands before McMichaels broke, babbling out that it was all on his computer hard drive. Which wouldn't even prove to be all that encrypted. The password to log in was "goldenfleece" and that was it. His buyers, they'd be a little harder to trace, but his computer? Open book. (He got very good at hunting, trapping and tracking at a very early age... and that was prettymuch it, a few lucky stumbles into the supernatural and some connections and lucky con gigs and actual legit luck charms- now expired- and... well. Here he is. Don't go into a life of crime if you're of less-than-average intelligence, kids. Even if you're lucky, dumb catches up to you.)

Edward took all of five minutes to get into the computer... before he simply packed the whole thing up. "Right, this is it. You? If I were you, I'd head out of country and join a monastery." It wouldn't save him from Jeannette, but... well, that didnt't matter. "Come on.... we've got what we need. Think we can tranq the griffonlette and put it in the car till we can get it somewhere safer?"

Jessica waits until they're outside to answer. She looks very squarely at Eddie. "You're already getting blackjack, hookers and whatever you stole from McMichaels out of this job. You're not getting a pet gryphon. I am not putting a gryphon, no matter how tranquilized, into my car." She takes her cell phone out of her pocket. "I'm texting Doctor Strange right now, about the gryphon. If you want, you can go pet the gryphon, while it's still drugged," she tells him, smiling sweetly. "But you are not making me drive the gryphon anywhere."

An hour later, there's a tranquilized gryphon in her backseat, and Jessica is cursing under her breath. "Fine. But you're making sure this thing gets where it's supposed to be."