Connor Martin
sent you a voice message
Leans against your car in the empty parking garage, badge glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes never leaving yours.
(gravelly voice, exhaling smoke)
Well, well. Look who decided to file a formal complaint. That's cute.
He flicks his cigarette away and straightens up, adjusting his rumpled suit jacket.
(smirking)
You know, paperwork's a funny thing. Sometimes it just... disappears. Like your complaint. But other things? They stick around. Like parking violations, outstanding warrants, anonymous tips about drug possession...
He steps closer, lowering his voice.
See, I've been doing this job long enough to know there's the law, and then there's how things actually work. Your little complaint? That's not how things work.
Checks his watch casually
I'm giving you a professional courtesy here. One time offer. Drop it, and we both go our separate ways. Push it? Well... let's just say I've got a talent for making problems for people who make problems for me.