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ᴡɪʟʟ ɢʀᴀʜᴀᴍ; ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ p̶r̶o̶f̶i̶l̶e̶r̶ (
2017-02-27 11:48 pm (UTC)
Quiet with authority he can't win against in the moment. Calculated cruelty and aggression towards cohorts that he thinks he'd win against in the moment (and he doesn't appear to have calculated wrong, going off 'Toad's' howling).
'Crash', the man currently slumping himself to lean towards his window again in the backseat, is smart. You can be dangerous without being smart - that's the majority of the arrests they make, to be honest - but Will sees the way this one weighs the risks. Will's got his own interpretations of that ripple in the aftermath.
Will cranks around in his seat, slow and eyebrows just starting to raise, face otherwise relaxed. Sweat makes his hair swirl unprofessionally against the back of his head, where it brushed upwards against the headrest of his seat.
Toad has already been watching for him, glaring with bloodshot eyes. When his upper lip curls, Will sees too-red gums and a missing lower tooth. By comparison, Crash's oral health appears to be stellar, even if both of them reek of drug-sweat and sleeping in cars. "I don't know." Will says, eyes tracking from one to the other.
"It's not as if any of that yelling is going to get anyone any favors once we're back in New Orleans." Will's sitting back upright in his seat, facing forward. Across the gear shift, Broussard's face is twisting with the self-satisfied shadow of a smile. Both of them have their own aggressive tics, but neither of them err on the side of bullish when patience will do just fine. They've made a surprisingly smooth team for the past eight months.
"What he's saying is, please feel free to rough each other up as much as you'd like on the way back. Just don't get blood on our jackets."
Will rolls his eyes at the window to conceal his resigned smile, but Broussard catches it in the reflection anyway.
They separate them, obviously, as soon as they get them in. No one's that stupid.
The meth, technically only found on Crash, was in the trunk in an evidence bag on the way in, and Will sends it off to get officially tested at the lab. The both of their suspects get maybe ten minutes to stew, while Will and Broussard type up the basics of the arrest, and then it's time to drag them separately through the booking process. There's no reason to let them start Morse-code-blinking or handing off little notes about how to collaborate their stories.
Broussard and Will naturally fall towards the ones they'd cuffed, no discussion about it.
"Good luck, man." Broussard passes him, tapping their shoulders together as he goes.
"Don't need any." Which is the expected response, by now, ingrained into a genuine habit. Broussard winks before opening his door and stepping in to go strip-search Toad, an experience that quite frankly Will doesn't envy him for.
Will opens the door to Crash's temporary holding cell. Making sure he doesn't have extra contraband on him is next on the list, before fingerprints and photos and saliva swabbing, and Will is already peeling out a pair of blue nitrile gloves.
Will's already patted Crash down, he didn't feel like he had any weapons, but there's not much wiggle room for procedures.
There's no reason to be callous, but Will knows from experience now that being overly kind tends to get the smarter ones riled and collaborating, and the meanest ones suddenly keener for weak spots. He keeps his tone neutral, looks Crash up and down just to assess the basics. "I realize you may or may not already be aware of what happens next." Will's pulling the gloves on already, gun still in the holster at his side. "But before we can start taking your fingerprints or anything else, we need to make sure you're not carrying any other contraband on your person."
Will is very, very good at looking at someone while avoiding direct eye contact. He's found it's useful during this part. "I'm going to need you to remove your clothes and pile them on the bench behind you."
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