Tag John McClane, dated to noon.

[j_matt]

Mail Jeevas. Matt. 19. Plenty of fake IDs. Smoked cigarettes since he was just a kid. At least a two year history of working with a section of the Los Angeles Mafia. An interest in all things that go boom

Comments

[yippiekiyaymf]

It was a good thing to wonder, because the room designated for the chief of police's office had only a meeting table and chairs and some file cabinets.

The nameplate: CHIEF OF POLICE: John McClane had been taken off that door some time ago, and was now affixed to a desk like any other in the room. This particular desk commanded a good view of all the entrances and exits, but the craggy bald guy at it was intent on his computer screen -- occasionally making notes on a pad.

"Octavian's gone, so Carlos will go there...I'll have to call myself something, chief pessimist doesn't sound right...Training coordinator. Yeah, that'll do."

[j_matt]

Matt spotted the only person in the room, though he did wonder who he was talking to. He glanced around a moment, trying to figure out if McClane was talking to him, then he stepped in and cleared his throat.

"Chief McClane?" He asked, his tall scrawny figure seeming a bit out of place.

[yippiekiyaymf]

John looked up and nodded, finished typing, then stood, extending a hand.

"That's me. You must be Matt." That's two scrawny, digigeeks named Matt he's known.

[j_matt]

"Yep, that's right." He smiled, shaking the man's hand. McClane was tall, too, taller than him. Beefy. Rough.

"Is this the control room?"