1964-10-19 - Alex Cohen
Summary: Constantine and Lamont go to investigate a lead.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
lamont constantine ninette 

So. A toymaker somewhere in the Lower East Side named Alex Cohen. Fortunately, his shop is called Cohen's Contraptions. That makes him somewhat easier to find, though the name Cohen isn't exactly rare in this neighborhood.

There's a temptation to buy something for Lindon, even if the scene proves entirely benign. But….with these two masters of the Dark Arts on hand, how can anything be entirely benign. Lamont isn't in drag as the Shadow, he's just Lamont - dark suit, matching hat, all of it terribly conservative. However theatrical his alter ego, on the mundane front he's about as flashy as an investment banker. He keeps pace with John easily, hands in his pockets.

Constantine looked like the stylish rascal he always was, but his give-a-shit was back in force like a man poss- well let's just stop that analogy. There was a sharpness to his focus that brought the strangers life to light in him with some moved of importance. It's entirely possible he was on a hunt for vengeance, but there was something left that Lamont might find familiar. God damn him thrice, but he might actually care if someone lived or died because of this maniac. They found the shop and toys were great, he was on a mission. "Mr. Cohen in by chance?" Direct like a punch to the face.

The man behind the counter looks up and says, "We're closing, you'll have to—" He's in a suit that has seen better days but never a time when it was the height of fashion. He's got brown hair, a full beard, and a haggard face housing grey eyes that are far too weary for his forty year-old frame. He's slouched from hours spent over a work table, and on the counter there's a mechanical dog barking as it walks with stiff steps. He lays a hand over it to still it as he looks at the pair, standing up straighter. "I am," he says. "How can I help you?"

Oh, thank goodness. There's visible relief in Kent's face at that. He, however, is quite content to let Constantine spin whatever bullshit story….or just come out with the truth. Not like he can't lend his mental weight and *make* Cohen believe it, if needed.

Constantine knew if Cohen was on the list he knew a thing about a thing. John pulled out his business card and handed it to Alex; consummate businessman he was if nothing else. It had the usual text. His name: Exorcist, Demonologist, Master dabbler of the Dark Arts.

John concluded simply, "I think it is time to close up the store and talk shop. I'll say, mate, it is a pleasure to meet you finally." Truth. The man was breathing!

Cohen takes the card hesitantly and looks at it. He must be the right Alex Cohen, because rather than looking puzzled and somewhat offended, he just gets more tired around the eyes. He lifts his gaze to the two men again and says, "Will one of you lock the door and turn the sign?" It's a shop with narrow aisles, just a small place, and it's easier to ask than to try to shuffle past them. "What is this about? I've done nothing wrong."

He does as asked, quietly - taking care of the door and the sign with his peculiar quiet. "We know," Lamont's voice is gentle, though try as he might, he's an ominous figure. He's a master of fear, not reassurance. "You are in danger, Mr. Cohen."

|ROLL| Ninette +rolls 1d20 for: 7

|ROLL| Lamont +rolls 1d20 for: 8

|ROLL| Constantine +rolls 1d20 for: 20

|ROLL| Ninette +rolls 1d20 for: 3

Constantine looked from Alex to Lamont and back quickly adding, "Oh, not with us, mate." He paused and looked at the man and offered in a fissure of his general bullshit and leveled with him, "Aoyf di nshmh fun meyn muter ikh meynen ir nit shatn, fraynd." Or for those familiar with Yiddish, On the soul of my mother I mean you no harm, friend. John could be the most honest soul alive when he wanted to be and pulled his head out of his ass long enough to be that genuine. "We're here to see you survive. I'm John. This is Lamont. It is nice to meet you, Alex."

Alex studies Constantine for a moment. "I suppose if you meant me harm, you'd have already done your business," he says. Still, he holds himself in a wary stance. It's because he believes John, and John is telling him he's in danger. "I don't understand. I keep to myself. I don't cause any trouble. I just… I just have my toys." He releases the windup toy, and it walks along, barking. He murmurs to it, and then it stops, falls over with a thunk, and a wisp of an animus wafts from the toy, whirling into the air before disappearing.

Across the street, a woman with a dark bob wearing a red rain slicker pushes off a lamppost and lights a cigarette. She seems casual, but Lamont is just barely able to catch her looking away from the shop when he spots her. Puffing on her cigarette, she walks away.

"Excuse me, please. I rather think someone was watching us," Lamont says, suddenly. "Mr. Cohen, is there a back way out?"

Constantine sighed and said off the cuff, "It's times like this I wish I knew a flasherr. Really startles the lads followin ya when there's a flasher about." THe smile though seemed patient and hell, genuinly sympathetic. Not everything could be met with bullshit and finesse. Sometimes it was the kindly but unkind truth. "Short of it is it's not what you done, mate. It's someone who wants to canibalize us or what we know. Now I'll be honest, this man that seems to be the culprit already too someone of interest and import to me. Did I care much for em? No, but he tried to hide me and I can only try to do the same for a man, and his shop whose seen far too many of his own fall under the boots of tyrants. You heard of a guy name of Hargrove before?"

Cohen shoots a worried look Lamont's way and, soft-spoken, says, "Yes right this way." There's a German lilt to his accent, though he's been in the US long enough the accent has faded quite some. He heads toward the room behind the counter, and he gestures for them to follow. The name Hargrove gives him pause, and then he shakes his head slowly. "No, I stay under the radar whenever I can." I don't keep up with who is out there." The room behind the counter has a staircase leading up to the apartment above, and there's a door that opens into an alley, though the man looks hesitant to leave his moderately warded store.

"Stay here," Lamont says, before easing himself out into the alley via that door. He may not have the costume on, but he doesn' need it. Not when he can bring that power of his to bear. If he can help it, that woman won't know he's trailing her. He hurries around the building to where he saw her.

Constantine warmed a smile and looked around the shop and back to him, "That… is Lamont and he is one of the very best bloodhounds I know. So, if I'm to venture in teh dark, substitutiary locomotion? Object animation? What's your knack, mate?" He reached over to pick up one marble out of a nearby jar and examined it while learning and making chat. Cules were everywhere weren't they?

|ROLL| Ninette +rolls 1d20 for: 13

|ROLL| Lamont +rolls 1d20 for: 4

"I can channel spirits into my creations," Cohen says, a touch awkwardly, not used to talking about himself. "And then draw them back out. I have some regulars who like to wander around in my toys. They're harmless. They just like to have a little fun." And the way he hovers over some of the toys back here in his office, he's quite protective of them, too.

Out in the street, one can catch a glimpse of the woman in red. She can't see the Shadow, no, but she's paranoid enough from knowing herself that she's left in her wake a befuddlement spell, triggered when Lamont tries to focus on her too much. Within a moment, he's reeling, and he loses her in the crowd, but not without catching a whiff of the magic. The resonance. She's borrowing from Faerie for her power.

He doesn't let fall his own ability, at least. But he's oblivious enough to walk right into it, and then…he's left swaying like a drunkard. Maybe if he'd worn the costume, it'd've helped.

To be fair, how many people casually expect faerie magic in the middle of the Lower East Side on a Thursday night? It's a fluke. The strands of the spell are like spider webs, and once brushed away, Lamont's senses are clear. She's gone, but he's aware of where he is, what has happened. Also aware that there is a witch in the city who is doing business with the good folk.

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