Do You Know What That Means?

caldecott_icon.png zan_icon.png

Where: Las Vegas - Mayors Home

When: April 30, 2012

What: Zan and his father butt heads over withheld evidence and what the consequences could be.

His chores have been done for an hour or so, garbage taken out and the kitchen and living area cleaned up. It gave Zan the opportunity to disappear into his room and attend to his own pursuits. He spent some time on homework, quite likely less than he should have, but there's enough time later on to focus on it. The books still sit open on his bed, accompanied by a couple of notebooks and a pencil. Beyond that bit of clutter, the room is relatively clean. Some laundry in a basket, the bed made. The desk littered with pencils and paper, a couple of cameras and and the accessories that go with those, a laptop opened so that the display glows.

Zan is currently sitting at the desk, slouched in his chair while his fingers trace over the trackpad. It's actually quiet, for once, no music in the background or videos playing on the screen. And for all his attention on the screen, it would seem his study is completely mundane. Webcomics are a great time-waster.

The downside to living at home while you go to school is that one lives under the rules of their parents.

Another downside is when your father is the Mayor of Las Vegas, your behavior reflects on theirs. So when cops come attempting to knock on front doors of mayoral mansions, it's little surprise that there's an immediate cockblock.

Or that the ripple from said cockblock and from living at home means that the perfunctory knock on zan's isn't so much a warning but out of respect. Forget that the knock was coming even as the door was opening. 'Alexander Caldecott" Full first names and last coming from the man who's sweeping in, is never good. Long hair that's astoundingly businesslike on him, clean faced and brown eye'd he's zeroing in on his son.

A breath is pulled in preparation to answer the knock, a simple 'Come in' meant to be offered in polite tones. But it dies, slain by a minute flinch. "Yes sir," Zan responds instead, turning in his chair to face the opening door, meeting his father's gaze with a touch of impassiveness. It's safer that way, judging by his dad's own expression. His hands fold in his lap, elbows braced against the arms of his chair, while he looks up in askance. "Did I forget to do something?"

"Do you want to tell me why the police department is trying to climb up my ass, in an attempt to talk with you, about a memory card from a camera you were carrying at a murder scene?" Hand still on the doorknob, reading glasses in the other, the Mayor is looking down at his son with a very unhappy look on his face.

"They took my memory card," Zan responds, lifting his hands up in a helpless gesture. "I don't know what they're doing. I answered all their questions, turned over my camera when they asked." He shrugs, brows pushing upward a touch. It's not wholly a lie, he had given them a memory card, the other safely hidden away. "Hell if I know what got their panties twisted that they're hounding you."

"Best I know, given what I had some detective telling me, is that you were recording, but there's no appropriate footage on the card." He jabs the arm of his glasses in Zan's direction a few times, shaking his head. "If you have that card Alexander, you need to tell me now, and hand it over. It's a murder they're investigating and I don't need the Las Vegas Police Department going to the press and claiming that the Mayors son is witholding evidence"

Sighing, Zan turns to face his computer again, when those glasses are pointed at him. He shakes his head, staring at the screen that's still glowing, though the comic holds no interest. "It doesn't have anything on it," he states finally. "Not that'll help their investigation. Bunch of random stuff, some drunk women celebrating getting married, some guy that looks like Christopher Walken. Typical Las Vegas." The boy leans to one side after his piece is said and pulls out his wallet. The card is fished out of the billfold and tossed onto his desk.

"Won't help them at all. In what world Zan, are you an officer, and capable of deciding whether or not there is anything useful on a tape? Really?" He moves in to pick up the memory card and look at it, then back to Zan. "Do you know what you did? Interfered with a police investigation. Do you know what that means? That means I won't get re-elected next year, because my son, interferes in police investigations" He holds up the data chip, waggling it.

The no's come in, answering the first battery of questions, muttered and long suffering. It's followed by the yes's to the next. Zan stares at his laptop without truly seeing it, silent while his father speaks. "I'm sorry," he replies after a moment's pause, looking up at his dad. "I messed up. I'm sorry. I just… I didn't think it was a big deal. There's a hundred other cameras there that probably got a better angle than I ever could have. I'll take it to the station and turn it over."

"Damn right you will. You'll hand over this one and you'll sit in the room with that detective and our lawyer and you will answer all her questions. Do you understand me Alexander Caldecott? Or we'll see how fast you'll enjoy life without your camera's" He turns, starting for the door and about to leave before he pauses to look back at his son. "You really didn't see anything?"

Turning back to his laptop, though his hands stay carefully placed, hung from the arms of his chair, Zan only nods his understanding. The threat leaves him angry, some possibly misdirected at his father in a constant reminder of the age old battle between father and son. Mostly he's angry at his own oversight, that the conflict is yet to continue. He leans forward when the door begins to close, tabbing away from comics to pull up a search window and return to his homework. The question gives the young man pause, and he half glances toward the door. "No sir, didn't see anything. One minute she's alive, the next she was dead. In between was a bunch of party girls."

"You tell them that. No sticking your nose out Zan. Not in situations like this" He lingers, lips pressed together momentarily before he nods and closes the door, giving Zan the much desire privacy and a barrier between the two of them.

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