(2018-10-21) Old Souls
Vic and Calvin reconnect and catch up.
Players:
calvin..vic..

Vic Grey got paid. She finished a job yesterday, that allowed her to pay her rent for next month, and had a little left over to treat herself, after making sure her booze supply was good, to a meal. The short-haired woman is seated at the counter in Maude's diner, with a loaded burger, fries, and coffee in front of her, and a notebook at her elbow with a pen atop it.

She's dressed in a heavy canvas jacket due to the chill in the air outside, a Henley, jeans, and boots. It appears Maude, or whomever is waiting on her, gave up trying to keep up with the coffee refills, and just left a pot on a trivet within the PI's reach.

*

Calvin Shay is lucky to be a local. He doesn't draw any extra attention when it goes to the old haunts around town. Even with that new video going viral at the moment. So he just cruises inside and takes a seat at the counter, one empty spot away from Vic. He's bundled up as well but slips the coat off as he orders a patty melt, fries and a milkshake. He looks down at Vic, his eyes squinting. Does he know her? "Excuse me…" He leans over and asks softly. "Are you related to the, uh…shit. The name…do you have family in the police? I swear you look like…sorry, nevermind. I get…nevermind." He leans away and seems to be digging around for his smartphone.

*

Vic reaches for the coffee pot, colorful tattoos peeking out from the cuff of her jacket on her forearm. She refills her cup, though from the tired expression on her face, she'd probably wake up more if she just dumped it over her head. She looks hungover. Threads of grey run through her hair, chopped in a short pixie but spiked up a bit at the front, like she's still clinging to part of her youth.

She blinks over at him, mid-pour, at his question, and smirks faintly. "Yeah. I'm a Carmichael. My dad was Walt. Detective." She squints then, past the throb of her current headache. "You're that guy, right?" How specific of her.

*

"Carmichael! Yeah, yeah. Detective Walt Carmichael. I remember now. You must be Vic." Calvin pauses a beat. "You were ahead of me and my brother in school. Yeah…" He chuckles. "I'm /probably/ that guy. Calvin Shay. Musician… and I own Starkweather Music." A large music store near the University that famously pushed out a national chain nearby. "I have a few Grammys too so…I might be that guy."

*

Vic holds out a hand to shake with a soft snort of recognition. "Vic Grey now. Well, sort of. I was married." Clearly not now, apparently. He may have heard the news about 15 years back, when her husband, another cop, was murdered. "Grammy's, eh? How heavy are those things? Do you keep them in the bathroom like some people keep their Oscars?" She grins a little, warming up to the man who did so well for himself.

"I remember you. You were a cute little thing. I might have even had a crush." But she was ahead of him by two years, no way was she going to date an underclassman. "Have to say, you're less cute now. You look like you belong on the Brawny paper towels label."

*

Calvin reaches out and shakes her hand before chuckling, "It's not that they are really heavy, it's just that they give you so many at a time. You look like a dork later with the press trying to hold five golden gramophones at once. Such a dumb spectacle. Still, I'm enough of a narcissist that my awards have their own room." He snorts and turns to freshly delivered milkshake. "My mother says something similar about my look. Like she didn't purchase all the plaid for me when I decided to move home for good. Besides, it was my brother who got all the good looks." Which is pretty funny considering he was an identical twin. Was. Is? "Did you say Grey? Oh. Ooooh." He remembers now. "You were married to that cop someone put a hit on." Hell, even he knows the score. And he was most likely off being a rock star at the time. "I'm sorry. It's a late condolence but…still."

*

"Thanks for that. Most people don't want to bring it up with me. Like it's protecting me or something, not talking about it," Vic says quietly, giving Calvin a real looking-over now that she knows who he is. Or more who he was. The Rockstar in front of her is a far cry from the kid in high school. "I never wanted to live wrapped in bubble wrap. I was a cop for chrissakes," she mutters, before sipping her coffee. Nothing added to it; definitely a former cop. "Nice to see someone made it out of here and did good. Which begs the question." She sets her mug down and turns on the stool to better face him, resting an elbow on the counter and clasping her hands together. "Why the hell are you back here in Calaveras? Not exactly a center of the music industry, Calvin."

*

"People treat me like that when it comes to my brother, Dex." Calvin admits softly. "I didn't take his loss well so…I guess it was warranted for a while but not so much anymore. He was sick and he was ready." He looks away for a moment, a memory in the distance. "Anyway, Calaveras is two things to me. Home, for one, and far, far away from the music industry. I almost died half a dozen times after Dex passed. After my umpteeth stay in rehab, I decided to leave. Sold my homes in Austin, L.A., and New York and built a place out on the family property. It's been really good for my health." He shrugs a little as his patty melt arrives. "Not so much for creative drive but, I can't have them both, I think."

*

"Oh hell. You're on the wagon," Vic says with a wince. She is so far off the wagon, there aren't even any ruts in her road. "Glad you got healthy though. Your music is good, but it's better if you're still around to sing it, Calvin." She looks down at her hands and scratches at the edge of her thumb. "You're just lucky you caught me sober. Doesn't happen often." Yes, she knows she has a problem.

*

Calvin frowns and shakes his head. The body language isn't clear as he turns to his sandwich. A few bites later, he says, "There is on the wagon and then there's white knuckling the side of the wagon and praying you don't fall off. I could be either on any given day. No, scratch that, any hour. Dry drunk's the word but booze wasn't my number one." He nibbles on some fries. He has a habit of talking with food in his mouth. "I was a classic heroin and cocaine junkie. I lived on speedballs. I quit for a while to give my brother a kidney but as soon as I was back on my feet…" He just shrugs. "It's hard. You won't get an ounce of judgement from me. Not one." He sighs.

*

"I never really got into the hard stuff. Couldn't afford it. But I've been drunk pretty much since Evan died so, I understand where you're coming from. I just never saw a real reason to quit. Get's me through the day, or the night mostly." Some things you can't unsee, like your husband's dead body. Nightmares are forever. She digs into her coat and pulls out a slightly bent business card to hand it over to him. "I'm not a cop anymore. But I run my own private investigation firm over in Willow Heights." That is not a good part of town. "If you ever need to find someone or the like. I try to take the cases the police just can't put a priority on." The card reads "Grey Investigations" and has her name, number, email and the address on it.

*

Calvin takes the card with a knowing nod. He freezes and pulls out his own card, one from the music store. "Here. The second number is the cell. If you need an ear…I'll listen. Grief is tough. It's only been a few years since I lost Dex and, fuck…" He shakes his head. "J-Just know you aren't alone, alright?" He looks at her card. "I might need you soon. I got a Billie Jean situation brewing according to my lawyer." He rolls his eyes. "I'd rather hire a local to look into this possible baby mama. Locals are discreet."

*

Vic takes the card, and her usually hard expression softens a bit at the offer of someone willing to listen to her. "It's less the loss, I think, than the lack of closure. Not know who," killed him. She doesn't say it, just grimaces and nods her head. "Sure, just give me a call or drop by. If you drop by, don't be driving any fancy car to the agency. It'll be up on blocks before you hit the curb," she warns with a faint smile. "And where is this alleged baby mama these days?"

*

Calvin snorts. "I drive a pickup from…2006? I think. My dad's old truck. I sold the fancy cars with the multiple homes." He leans on the counter. "Not having closure would drive someone to drink, I imagine. I exchanged that hangup for the feeling of losing part of yourself. I still walk around with phantom pains. Like…he should be here. Right here." He points to the empty seat between them. "See? I still make space for him. Uh..anyway, the woman in question is in Denver currently. I met her in Austin about six or so years ago. Groupie shit but I used protection. Always. And I never just left…it. The condom." He lowers his voice a bit. How respectful. "I know that chicks will milk that shit to get themselves a pay day. I got a vasectomy the following year, in fact. My lawyer says she's on some blackmail shit and I told him to delay her as long as possible because…I've got a few songs. I'm considering an EP but…this shit is not what I need."

*

"Well the easiest way to clear it up will be a DNA sample from you and one from the kid. But the latter will require her consent because it's a minor. If you want proof she's intentionally lying to try and blackmail you, I can snoop around, find out who else she was spending time with six years ago, see if she's said anything to friends or her favorite bartender," Vic notes with a grim smile. "Do you have any other kids? I remember you being married I think." She is so pretending not to be a fan. It's hilarious.

*

Calvin smirks. "No, no kids. I was married twice. Not counting my Vegas annulment in '98. The first lasted six months. No kids. The second…" He chuckles. That's the one people remember. He made a spectacle of marrying on Y2K and the divorce seven years later was just as much spectacle. The allegations of abuse, drug use, adultery, and reckless spending. They got back together twice before a public blowout after the CMAs ended it for good. It was a long and drawn out mess. "…well, we tried. It didn't happen and christ, I am so glad it didn't. I don't know if the kid even exists to be honest. She's not baying for DNA. Just hush money. So, yeah, it would be an extended background check of sorts."

*

"Yeah, that sounds suspicious. If there was a kid, she'd have trotted it out by now as proof. So I don't think you have much to worry about, Calvin." Vic digs in her jeans pocket for some crumpled bills to pay her bill. "At least I'm not the only 40-something in town without kids. You can take half the side-eye I get for that," she mutters. "Listen, I have to get back to the office to meet a client. I am totally not running out on you. But give me a call or drop by and we'll get the details hammered out for your case, ok?"

*

Calvin shoves her cash away. "It's on me. Let me do it just once, yeah?" He smiles. "I'll be in touch. Take care, Vic. Call if you need an ear, I mean it."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License