Improv
Office of Executive Assistant District Attorney Jack McCoy
One Hogan Place
Monday 18th September 2006
" Mr McCoy, I can't tell you how surprised – but pleased – I was to hear that the DA's office is taking illegal panhandling seriously at last."
"Indeed," McCoy said, shaking Tony Nettle's proffered hand and hoping his face didn't betray his own, equal, surprise. He shot a glance at Regan Markham and behind Nettle's back she spread her hands and shrugged. You told me to think of something, her expression said.
Yes, but I didn't think you'd be able to. Markham was unexpectedly inventive. McCoy had assumed from her drab appearance and her earnestness that she'd be the hard-working-but-unimaginative type.
"I've been campaigning on this issue for the past two years," Nettle was telling him. McCoy forced himself to pay attention. "I realise that it isn't the most serious of crimes – "
"It's a misdemeanour, Councillor," McCoy said.
"But it is a real issue for the peaceful enjoyment of the urban amenity. You've seen the figures – of course you have – despite the so-called crime rate the only illegal conduct most New Yorkers will experience in any given week is being approached by one of these pests." Nettle settled himself in the chair across from McCoy's desk, eyes aglow with the zeal of the fanatic.
"Can I offer you a coffee, Councillor?" Markham asked, and when Nettle accepted she left the room, leaving McCoy to listen to the problem of the panhandlers for another five minutes.
Markham came back with the coffee in a slick plastic cup. "Sorry about the disposal-ware, Councillor, the dishwasher has been broken for days."
"No problem." He took the cup and sipped the coffee. McCoy and Markham watched him drink and talk and drink and talk until finally he tossed the empty cup in McCoy's wastepaper basket.
Markham immediately reached for the pocket of her ill-cut suit jacket and pulled out her phone. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Councillor," she said, looking at the screen, "but Mr McCoy is needed upstairs right away."
"Of course," Tony Nettle said.
"I'll walk you out," Markham said.
"I can send you those reports – " Nettle started to say to McCoy as Markham ushered him towards the door.
"I'll give you my card. You can email it to me and I'll make sure Mr McCoy …." Markham's voice trailed away as she closed McCoy's door behind her.
McCoy picked a pencil off the desk and fished Nettle's discarded cup out of the wastepaper basket. He dropped it gently into his desk drawer and picked up the phone.
"Lennie? Jack McCoy. I've got some evidence that needs to be picked up and taken to the lab for fingerprinting."