Gotham. Montoya's home. Late Night.

[last_joke_x]

He had been looking through this woman's apartment for any ideas he could get about her latest case. A few issues came to mind and from what he saw, there was little that he could add up to the case. It was first thought to be a serial killer by Red. Though this still didn't add up. Too many loose ends that didn't tie to some sort of way a

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[det_montoya]

Usually she looks forward to going home at the end of the day. Today's not one of them. Dee is out of town visiting family. It means the top floor apartment will be empty when she returns home. A evening of silence or television. Neither sound particularly appealing.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary until she closes the door behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end. She's spent years learning to trust her instincts. She doesn't ignore them now. Before she even thinks about stepping away from the door, her hand goes slowly to her sidearm. Silently, she pulls it from the holster.

[last_joke_x]

"If it'll really make you feel more comfortable, please keep that 9mm Glock trained on me Detective Montoya." Turning on a lamp next to him, Red scans a few more of the lines of the book before looking over to Montoya. "I got some questions for ya dealin' with a warehouse that I raided ealier. I found out you were lead in this situation."

[det_montoya]

As he exhales his first syllable, the gun is up and the sights lined up. The light from the lamp floods the room. Her eyes never had a chance to adjust to the darkness. Immediately, she has the intruder in focus. Dee's favorite book is in his hands. Insult to injury.

"Get out." It's an order. Not a request.

[last_joke_x]

Closing the book and putting it down, Red allows both of his hands to be seen clearly though not in a manner that he'd just give himself up. "I'd love to but there are innocent people that were crammed in tin like fuckin' Charlie Tuna and I don't know 'bout you, but that doesn't sit well with me Detective Montoya."

He knows from her movements that she's tired from a day's work, though the sudden surprise of his being her kick starts her senses. Her breathing is faster. Her pupils slightly dilated. So he calms his voice. Allows it to smooth out even if he's had a long day as well. It rolls out much like smoke blown over dry ice and fills the air for a moment. "I ain't thrilled to be in your pad, but we may have notes to compare and find out who's responsible for these murders."