1965-01-08 - The Frenched Connection
Summary: Julie helps a stranded motorist and makes some new friends.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
julie yuliya 

On the streets of Queens, a little mild-custom '50 Studebaeker working pickup truck slips through side-roads toward the Queensboro bridge, Dizzy's shifting into third just as traffic slows again, and forces her to do the same; the rock and roll station between songs gives an update that the accident on the Brooklyn Bridge that sent her this way has finally cleared, "Well, whattya know. I might as well have stopped for cawffee."

Meet Henry, a slightly rotund man who appears in his forties with salt and pepper hair. He looks like he's had a hard life or just done a bit too much drinking by the look of his face. He stands by the side of the road in a broken down white Buick, which has steam pouring out from under the open hood. The man himself is dressed in a business suit and is carrying a briefcase while trying to flag down passing traffic. Traffic seems to ignore him, and he's red in the face from frustration as he continues to try and get someone to pull over so that he can try to get a lift to whatever business meeting he has.

Julie sighs, a bit, at the rather pathetic sight, as she pulls up alongside. There's the name of some Brooklyn garage in faded paint on the side of the door, at least. It matches her accent. She leans over to roll down the passenger window. "Darn T-heads, right? You want me to call someone local?"

Henry glances at the truck that pulls alongside his broken down car and seems relieved when the window is wound down. "If you could, then I would appreciate it a lot. But I am going to be late for an appointment," he comments in a European accent that might be from Switzerland. The man glances towards his watch, his brow furrowing deeply at the time. "I'd hate to impose, but would you be willing to drive me to my appointment? I will pay you for your time," he offers hopefully.

Julie ahs, as horns start honking behind her when a light changes to green. "Ah, awright, hop in. You heading into town?" Takes her hand off the floor-shifter to pop the door open.

Henry looks back towards the honking vehicles behind the woman's car, and when she pops the door open, he's very quick to slip into the front seat. "Thank you very much, Ma'am," he offers as he closes the door after himself. "Why yes, I am heading into town. I do not know the suburb names, but I know the way there. It is over the local bridge." He gives a nod and it seems that he's willing to provide directions.

Julie nods, then, shifting gears quickly to catch up to traffic, just enough to make up for the slowdown. There's a number of extra gauges mounted under the dash, including a temperature gauge that shows the truck is not in fact overheating, unlike the Buick seems to have chosen to. Also, a two-way radio. "Awright, already was detoured that way, anyhow. I think the martini lunch crowd's about off the roads by now, hopefully we'll make it. Where to, then?" Various metal rattles in the bed behind, mostly a late-model car fender seems to be the culprit, there.

There's a good chance that Henry hasn't seen that many guages inside of a truck before, or even the inside of a truck. He reaches into his pocket and unfolds a scrap of paper with an address on it. It's towards the centre of the city. "Oh, once again I thank you for doing this," he offers as he tries to read the hand writing. "Oh, sorry. My hand writing is very bad," he jokes. He seems to decypher the handwriting and starts to give directions.

As the two get going on their journey, the man squirms in his seat and reaches up to loosen his tie, while sweat starts to form on his brow.

Julie nods, "Eh, forget about it, whattya gonna do?" As the truck goes, there's a feeling it's somewhat more powerful than it needs to be, if nothing too ridiculous by American standards. She points at the radio. "You got a mechanic around here? I could try and call home base and have em call someone in the neighborhood for your car. Signal's better once we cross the river for some reason, though." She smirks. "Hey, relax, would you? Happens to about everyone, once in a while, stuff like this. No wonder they have so many martinis, but really, what can you do."

The man takes a deep breath and continues to shift uncomfortable where he sits, before he starts to rub at his chest. "I… I do have someone," the man offers in reply, as he closes his eyes for a moment. "Pat Ja… Jackson." He trails off again while his free hand clasps tighter around the handle of his briefcase. He swallows hard, and then takes several deep breaths. "Sorry, I think I ate something which disagreed with me." More sweat continues to bead down his brow and run down his face.

Julie ahs. Glances over again. "Ah, I think I got some Rolaids in the glove box, if that'll help." She's realizing her passenger doesn't look so good, and opens her senses to the motions of vehicles around, in case she needs to make better progress. Decides instead to keep on with the calming-down routine, especially because a guy losing said martini lunch in the cab of the truck isn't a very fun idea. "Pat Jackson, eh? Friend of yours? Maybe he'd say girl drivers don't make him so nervous, maybe?"

Henry continues to squirm in the seat, and he shakes his head. "No, you are not…" He trails off as he holds a hand up to his mouth, then starts to fumble for the window. Thankfully he gets the window down as he starts to dry heave. He seems to control himself for a few moments, and shakes his head as if trying to clear cobwebs from it. "You do not make me nervous with driving." His accent has slipped a little bit as well. "You have not…" He doesn't finish his sentence as he hangs out the window and purges his stomach contents. He settles back down and wipes the back of his mouth with his hand, smearing blood from his mouth as he continues to try and swallow. He coughs violent, with bloody spittle splattering the back of his hand. "Lady in White," he mutters in English. "Give the case to the Lady in White."

Julie ducks, casually, among some slower delivery vehicles, crossing the Queensboro bridge, …while the fellow hurls. She says something under her breath in Italian, and hrms. "Believe it or not, I think I know her, but you don't look so good, pal. You hang in there, we can make Bellevue before you know it." The little truck then rushes ahead with a quick gearshift, weaving through the gaps in cars, with occasional urgent honkings-of the horn and splitting of lanes. She glances over, "Ah, what's your name, mister. Tell me something, how bout. You know, maybe you'd rather be doing something else, that kinda thing…"

"I… I doubt you do," Henry gasps, as he continues to struggle to swallow, while tears stream down his cheeks. "She is not from here. She needs what is in the briefcase." His breathing becomes more shallow, and he leans out the window again. He doesn't seem to pay attention to Dizzy's driving, and neither does he answer the question about himself. "Medicine will not save me." He leans against the passenger side door, and reaches up with his bloody hand to withdraw the slip of paper again. "So thirsty…" he mutters before falling silent.

Julie may have noticed that when she sped up, a black car several car lengths back also sped up as well and is veering through the traffic. It seems she's got a tail and they might not have anticipated someone picking up Henry.

Snow tires squeal around a fair bit as Dizzy ducks and weaves the little Studebaeker. It's not hard to pick up on the pursuing car, and after a couple of glances at mirrors, she quips, "What is it with the black cars? Good guys, bad guys, mob guys, they all gotta go with the black cars…" She guns the motor, breaking for the right lane… and half of the service lane, to look like she's cutting for the northbound exit behind a row of trucks, …but she has something else in mind, reaching a hand toward the driver's side, and with a VVVVMM sound of mutant powers, slows one of those trucks to make herself a hole to slip back out onto the main road. Hopefully, pursuit will be misdirected, as she hasn't given up on her passenger's life, whatever he says. She breaks cover for the FDR Drive exit at the last moment, skidding around the ramp under power. "You better be worth this, buddy," she says.

Black cars are invisible right? That's got to be a reason, right? It seems that they might have thought so at first, but they continue to hang back, still tailing the woman and her passenger in the Studebaeker. For a few moments, it looks like they might fall for the fake exiting trick as they move into the right lane as well. They don't fall for it, however the truck trick does have then kept at arms length. The horn blars from the black sedan as the truck moves back to its original position once Julie has passed and the driver of the car is hugging the extreme right of the lane as they continue to try and keep the vehicle within visual range. It seems that they may have missed where Dizzy's car has gone.

Henry on the other hand, just weakly mutters something under his laboured breathing.

Julie is, meanwhile, darting across the road to make the tricky left-hand offramp that's coming up fast. Between shifts she clicks a dial on the idle two-way radio, and rolls a hand over the 'on/volume' knob. "Ay! Ay you!" She thumps her passenger on the chest a little as she slews the truck amidst gaps in traffic. "You stay awake, you mug! Who are these people?" Trucks… Maybe really aren't known to maneuver quite this way, but she's somehow managing to maintain control, and the little truck roars through glasspack mufflers as she pushes revs to accelerate onto the upper deck of 'FDR.' "You're gonna freaking live, now…who's after us, you stuna-" She pauses this inquiry to lean on the horn and cut around a family-carrier and blasts toward the hospital exit, not far away.

Henry is still rather unresponsive at the first questioning, and he doesn't even pay attention to the approaching corner. He does gasp at the smack on his chest, more out of shock than surprise. He mutters something softly in Russian, "Mama," he sobs while struggling to breath and trying to curl up into a ball.

The other car isn't following, and no doubt trying to find their way in the unfamiliar territory.

Julie is meanwhile, running the little truck up a clear lane faster than sane people on snow tires usually would, and picks up the handset to that two-way radio, "Ten-two-hundred, ten-two hundred, I need cops at Bellevue hospital, I've got an emergency here," She's on the emergency channel. "Come on, I think this guy's dying here!" She drops the handset and downshifts to head for said hospital's emergency room entrance.

"Roger that," comes the reply over the handset. "A nearby unit is being routed to the Bellevue hospital. "What is your name and how long do you think it will be until you arrive?" The responder keeps a calm and professional tone the entire time. "The guy, what is wrong with him?"

It could be a good think that the seats are vinyl, as Henry has just started to produce a terrible smell. He dry heaves again and shakes his head. "No police. No hospital," he weakly murmurs. "The… briefcase needs to get there."

Julie looks over to the guy, in a spare moment. "Get where? Who the freak are you? You better answer quick, cause your next stop's coming up…" She has to slow, slightly, to divert attention, but dives for the right lane as their exit approaches…. one not really made for high speeds. She scoops up the handset, "I dunno, poison, maybe. I just… Listen, I'm coming in fast, have someone there." She discards the mike again to concentrate on driving. Spares a glance for her ailing passenger.

Once again, no name is given by Henry, as he's trying his hardest to continue breathing and living. He vomits again, once again out of the window. He shoves the folded up piece of paper towards the woman, still stained with his blood. "There. Take it there," he murmurs weakly as his body starts to shudder. He then starts to convulse in the seat and slides forward a bit.

When Julie reaches the hospital, there are people outside waiting around a stretcher.

Julie does snatch up the paper in a free moment as she tire-squeals around the unfamiliar ramp. "OK, whatever you want, there, guy! She's honking the horn as she comes up until she sees the information actually got through, and the little truck screeches to a halt. She pops doors. "I dunno what it is! Gotta be worse than bad food, though! she calls out, part of this from the running board as she pops out of the truck. "And where's our cops? Someone's after this guy!"

The doctor and nurses are quick to move to help the man, though they keep their gloves on. Even an orderly comes out to help with the move of the now unconscious Henry. They transfer him to the hospital bed, and the Doctor starts to perform his evaluation of the man. He checks his pulse, as well as his breathing, and his brow furrows for some reason. He speaks quickly and quietly to one of the nurses, as the group disappears inside of the hospital doors.

As soon as the doors close, a police cruiser makes its way onto the emergency department ramp, and two officers step out of the vehicle, and take a few moments to look around. They know they've been called their for some reason, and one ducks back into the vehicle when the police radio blars out an update.

If Julie's curious about the contents of the briefcase, it seems that in the man's hurry, he hadn't locked it properly. A small pistol is inside, and strangely enough photos of different areas around the city. There is also a manilla folder inside, that appears to be in Russian, though it all seems like its jibberish.

Julie gives a wave to said cops as they approach, and rifles through some things in the briefcase. The New Yorker girl doesn't know Russian, gibberish or not, but she knows what it *looks like.* The pistol's almost no surprise. "Dammit, commies," she mutters, flipping through the things. Pokes her head up as police lights flash behind her through the truck window. Tucks two pages from the manila folder under the passenger seat and closes the briefcase, leaving it there. Steps out again, keeping her hands in sight. "Hey, lissen, I dunno what this is, but… Ah…. I dunno what this is. I think someone wants to hurt this guy."

The two officers approach, even one resting his hands on his belt as he saunters over. "I'm Officer Brendal and this is Officer Rankin. You say someone wants to hurt him?" the first officer comments as he reaches to take his notebook out to start taking notes. "We heard over the radio that you suspect it to be poison or something, is that correct Ma'am?" He takes a moment to consider the woman, and then slowly moves around the side of the truck to inspect the now messy mess down the side of the truck. "What's your name miss?"

Julie shrugs, "Julie Bottero," she says, and hand-talks a bit, " As for the rest, How wouldI know? He seemed ta think so and he was hurling out on my runningboards there, only some of it was blood. So, I kinda, …Came right here, as fast as I could, Only someone chased us, I dunno who, and I don't wanna know, but maybe we oughtta call…" She glances in toward the doors and looks a bit helpless for a moment. "I dunno, who would you cawl, you think they got a bathroom in there? All's I did was pick up a hitchhiker, here."

"Thank you, Miss Bottero," Officer Brendal replies to Julie, and he keeps his hand on his belt. He listens closely, taking down notes as the woman speaks. "That sounds unpleasant," he replies, and he might be thankful it wasn't in the back of the cruiser. "You said he was vomiting blood? I am assuming you did not come into contact with it in any way?" He nods slowly for some reason, as if considering something. When talk of a hitchhiker is brought up, he arches a brow. "Miss Bottero, can you tell us where you picked the hitchhiker up from? Oh, and I am certain they have a bathroom here so you can freshen up." He then seems to consider the comment about calling someone. "Well, if it's something like a poisoning and a car chase, no doubt the FBI will be informed."

Julie glances down at her own clothes, at the mention of contact. "Ah, no, I don't think so." She glances at the back of her hand a bit nervously, then thinks a bit, eyes narrowing. Crap, she thinks, …since she should be the only one who knows this could be an FBI matter, then says aloud. "Well, I'm just really glad you guys are here in a green and white… You know, in case those ba guys show up." she points again toward the doors, then scoots that way. Bathrooms, right?

"Look, go get yourself checked by the Doctors," Officer Brendal offers to Julie. "Go to the toilet and get a drink. You can tell us when you're fresher about where you picked the man up from." He then casually makes his way over towards the car, jotting down the number plate. No doubt he'll run that through HQ, just in case. "It's our pleasure, Miss. After all, that's what we are here for." It seems that Brendal is going to continue to check out the car, while Rankin goes inside to get more information from the doctors and the no doubt stand guard.

Julie nods, looking over the faces of those officers. "Sure I'm not in the way, here?" She looks anxious to find said bathroom, but, really, it's a phone she's interested in. She darts inside, glancing around. And fumbles for a change purse.

"No, you are not in the way," Brendal offers to Julie. "I'll just have a look around, see if I can spot anyone lurking or anything." He continues to rest his hand on his utility belt as he does a slow walk down the ramp towards the road to look for anything that looks out of place.

It's the 1960s, so it won't be too hard to find a phone inside of the hospital.

Julie peers back through the doors, watching the police officers. Out of the change-purse comes a nickel, and after a bit of fussing, an enignmatic business card with a Shield logo on it, a bit soft at the corners since the occasion it was handed to her, looking at it. Dizzy pauses. "Awright, this is too spooky." The nickel goes in the payphone, and she hooks a finger in the dial to make the call. She waits, craning her neck a bit to peer outside.

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