((OOC: Myra is from the universe of The Shadow, and is from not long after the story of "The Invincible Shiwan Khan".))Having battled unsuccessfully with the computer system, Myra had relegated herself to doing things the ‘old fashioned way’, and was reviewing files at an unoccupied desk that she had temporarily claimed. She’d carefully placed the
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Dani Reese was an easy person not to notice, when she wanted to be. And these days, she very much wanted to be. One on one it became a problem -- people would ask questions that Dani didn't care about, or didn't want to answer. So mostly, when she saw weird shit going on at the 2-7 (Vodoo rituals, Mounties talking to dogs), Dani didn't intervene.
But there was a difference between weird shit, and a complete stranger sitting at her desk. Her desk. With her files, her computer, her Dollar Store pencil cup. The desk didn't look all that lived in, to be fair. But this wasn't a commune -- what's Dani's was Dani's, and nobody else's. She walked up to her desk, hands at her sides, badge clearly on display.
"Can I help you," she asked, in a way that wasn't a question but rather a thinly veiled 'explain yourself before I arrest the hell out of you'.
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"I'm sorry, Officer." Her voice had the hint of a New York accent. Myra stood, picking up the files she had been given and quickly stepped away from the desk. With the exception of a few moved papers, the desk was completely undisturbed.
"I didn't mean to steal your desk, but there's really no place for me to read these." The folders, and contents within, were turning yellow with age as she motioned to them. They were old reports stemming back any number of years, most of them relating to thefts and burglaries in various antiques and curios shops.
Her explanation was honest though, at the time she'd had only the option of the vacant desk, or camping out someplace on the floor to review the files.
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"That could be because this isn't a library," she observed, dryly. Again, she glanced around bullpen, her eyes landing on detectives Huey and Dewey. "But then again, it's not a comedy club, and that doesn't stop most people."
Still, those guys actually worked here (she'd been told). This woman didn't. "Who are you, exactly, ma'am? You make regular reading trips to our fine establishment?"
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"Myra Reldon, Private Investigator. I just arrived in Chicago a couple weeks ago, so...I hope you'll forgive me that I don't have a proper card yet." She spoke calmly and professionally, lacking the usual gun-ho attitude that stereotypically came with private investigators. She gave a sober look around the precinct and frowned. "This is my first time here at the 27th."
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