❧ @aslandurmaz // her place
It was a rare occasion that would see Stella ever ask Aslan to come to her place at such an hour, especially after going over files and through a data base after another into the late hours at work. Entire days had been spend wiggling her way through every possible bit of information; from video footage available to cars noted and parked even remotely near the whole thing. The hitman had spent hours doing that, checking facts, cross-referencing places, traces, chemicals and whatever could be found at the places of the fires, spread across New York like a wildfire. What a silly pun that was, to note such a reality.
Only once she'd found something and made copies of said files had the brunette texted Aslan to ask him over, but not before taking a tour of her own. Every word in those case files stuck out like a sore thumb, something that made her fingertips tingle with suspicion and a need for answers. Hours spent staring at the footage, the notes and the van had shown as bright as the lights on Broadway. One name popping up repeatedly, in ties with a robbery: Eddie Fernandez. If she had anything to go by, certainly he looked scummy. It hadn't been easy to find his current hideout, to find whatever hole scum like him would hide in. Contacts on the darker side, asking around in what most people would consider the underworld. And a lot of cctv from around the city, cross-referencing the van and places it had been seen. That was the moment she'd stopped being the detective, slipping so very easily into the woman who took hits on others, to morph and make sure not a soul would be able to recognize her. Cover of night, a simple mask. Perhaps it would have looked ridiculous to people who weren't trying to remain private, hidden from the public eye but it seemed to make sense to her, then and there it certainly did. Aslan wanted answers. She wanted those very same answers just as much.
"Who." It wasn't a question. His van had been all over the place, every damn corner posing the thing. Part of her wondered if the man in question was stupid or simply trying to bait people who were desperate enough to look. "I'll ask again: Who?" Stella hadn't come unarmed. Of course, she'd not take a hit on someone nobody had paid for but something told her that the person in front of her would at the very least respect their life hanging in the balance, should the answers not come as the brunette wanted them. "You don't look like someone who just decides to play with matches, Eddie." Stella paused. "Are you someone who plays with matches? You're not the only one who can play. So, who's the one up the chain. Who asked you so nicely you gave in and started messing with things that aren't yours?" The hitman would have been caught dead lying if she'd claimed that part of her didn't enjoy the fact that she'd entered someone's apartment to hold them at gunpoint, to push and prod until they gave up a name, whispered in utter frustration. Whatever position Eddie had been left in afterwards, Stella had no doubt that a bruise would be the better choice for the man to wake up to.
And so she'd found herself in her apartment, searching and reading and remote accessing things that needed confirmation. Her apartment was less suspicious, this late given the files she carried with her. And the information. It wasn't the most normal thing for her to text anyone to come to her place, yet here she was. Even then her eyes were staring at the laptop in front of her. With a sigh she moved to the side, leaving enough room for Aslan to glance over her shoulder and peek at the screen if he wanted to. "I went over everything. Took hours. Days. Checked and referenced what I could." Her finger moved, pointing at the screen in front of her, the light lit up her face. In her focused state Stella hadn't even thought of turning on the lights. Perhaps it was easier that way. "I cross-checked things. Found a man. Took me all week. He doesn't know who I am, but the bump on his head should be a nice reminder."
