[b][color=9e0039][h1][center]Calvin Lovegrove[/center][/h1][/color][/b]
[color=9e0039][h2][center]Central Police Station, Ad Vice[/center][/h2][/color]

Ashley rounded the corner of the dimly lit precinct, and as if a devil summoned by the mere thought of his name, Cal appeared. The man was sprawled out, feet kicked up on the desk, sleeping soundly. Ashley cleared his throat pointedly. “Haven’t you got somewhere better to sleep, Lovegrove? This is a precinct, not your living room.”

Calvin slowly opened his eyes. Through the thin morning light that pierced the blinds, he could see Detective Gallagher standing before him, arms crossed. “Good morning.”

At that, Detective Lovegrove slid his feet off the desk, stood up, stretched, and sighed. “Coffee?” He sauntered over to the middle of the office where an espresso machine—the dividing line between Cal’s half of the office and Ash’s—awaited him. “Eh, no matter. I’ll make you one anyway. We have a lot to talk about.” Sweat stains had accumulated under the suspenders he had fallen asleep in. He looked a mess.

Calvin haphazardly filled two cups of black coffee, spilling some of it onto the floor as he poured. He seemed alarmingly unaffected as he handed Ashley a mug, one that dripped some of its contents onto the floor as it was handed off. Cal sat on his desk and took a deep swig.

“I have always come to understand that you are thorough and don’t make many mistakes.” Detective Lovegrove sighed. “Yet, last night was a disaster of your own making. You left our most valuable witness alone like a fancy piece of bait, and I had to be her knight-in-shining-armor myself. That is not the kind of police work they brought me to do. That’s your game.” 

“…And that’s not even the beginning of it. The Florist knows where you live. I interrogated a witness last night who saw him watching you…and…her…in your apartment. You’re being sloppy, and it’s going to get both you and she killed.” 

Cal sighed “Evidently, he also knows that I live in Ossining. He paid my wife a visit in the hospital. She thought he was me, Ash. That does mean that we have a mild physical description. Brown hair, early 30s, six-foot-four.” 

A pervasive fog of terror lingered in Calvin Lovegrove’s head, but he could just barely see through it enough to know that Ashley had become a liability. In many ways, so had he, but the enigma of Danielle Raymonde would have to wait. He set down his mug of coffee and replaced it with a glass of scotch.

“So, here is what is going to happen. You are going to get your shit together and be of some use to me before more people get killed, or I am going to formally recommend that you be removed from this case. Between the death of Detective Smith and your brazen lovefests with our biggest witness, you are way too close to all of this.” 

Lovegrove sighed and took a hearty sip of his scotch, a content yet unnerving hum escaping his lips from the taste. “Vacate your apartment until this case is closed or you’re willingly killing yourself. Judging by what happened to Detective Smith, I am astonished that you are alive at all.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath before continuing. “Then, go back to Club Carousel, find ‘Emerald’, and either keep her in police custody for her own protection, or implore her to hotel-hop under a fake name.” Calvin noticed that Ashley’s eyes had continually wandered toward the case files. “I presume you are here to look at these, but they are of no use to you if our only sane witness is dead.”

“If you can do all of this, then we might have a chance of getting this case restarted. As of now, it is in limbo, and half the fuckin’ Manhattan underworld is laughing at the NYPD.” Calvin’s true form started to shift into focus. “There’s more at stake here than the lives of a few shiny whores at Club Carousel. If the underworld cannot respect the abilities of Ad Vice, then we have nothing to bargain with and this gig is meaningless.”

Calvin stood up from his desk and tossed the case file onto an armchair. “While you are out saving that poor girl’s life, I’m going to go find the other witness. Perhaps with a bit more motivation, I might be able to find out something interesting.” He smirked down at the handle of his pistol. “…And then I’m finding a place in the city to live. Off the record.”