Illegal Dumping

Nov 23, 2014: What starts as a 'routine' eye out for a smuggling operation turns into a rescue. For a Golden Lab puppy.

New York City harbor

One of many fishing wharfs dotting the coast of NYC.



  • None

Mood Music:

Another night, another stake-out. Off the clock.

It's nowhere near as cold as it could be in the City this evening, as the sun sets over the west. Clint's facing east, getting those last few gasps of rays on his back even as he crouches on the roof of a fish warehouse. During the day, it's a bustling market, but when the sun goes down, everything is put on ice and doors lock up tight. The only thing that remains is the distinct 'salt water' smell of fish and the sound of fighting seagulls.

There's movement below, but it's the ins and outs, the comings and goings of what's left of the wharf's personnel. It's not them he's waiting for.

Earlier in the evening, a text came across Katie's phone, complete with misspellings and 'hip' abbreviations. 'Lobster dinner. My tr33t.' is followed by an address.


Kate had…things…she was dealing with this afternoon. Damian things. So when she got the text, she was all too happy to come out and do something that wasn't dealing with the mini-bat. And she knows Clint well enough to show up not exactly at the address, but where she expects him to be staking things out.

"You would not believe the conversation I had this afternoon," she murmurs as she picks out a spot next to him, scoping out the area with idle interest. "Seriously. Things that make you look like an awesome boyfriend."


Clint catches Kate's approach and a smile quirks on his face. Not 'on time' per se, but it works. Means his evening is looking up. Shifting over to share vantage points, he nods his head out to the side where the large gate opens and closes, allowing staff to leave the small wharfside. "Give it an hour and they'll be coming in."

Her opener, however, pulls his attention away and brows rise as he head ducks. "Is that a challenge? Because if it is…" Though, it's not the best in subject openers. "Some guy hittin' on you? Because if he got too bad-" the chances are good that Katie would have taken him out herself. Still, the threat is there and it's not an idle one. "You okay?"


"Yeah. Mostly." Kate shrugs out of her quiver, taking an inventory of the arrows there. It's not that she doesn't know what's in there. The carvings on the shafts let her know at a touch. It's more that it's something to occupy herself while she explains. "You know my friend I had over? He's afraid he's going to die a virgin, so he asked me if I could find him a call girl." And the so many reasons that's not okay remain entirely unsaid.

The arrow fiddling. With most girls and even women, it'd be the hair twirling, but Kate isn't 'most girls'. Clint's eyes narrow as he follows the beginnings of an explanation, complete with the encouraging 'yeah' given in spots. "Die… a virgin?" He sits back and he can't help a laugh. "Okay, he asked you if you knew anywhere he could get laid?" The laugh dies a moment in his throat as he checks, "He didn't proposition you first, did he?"

"Nope." And apparently that's part of the problem? Maybe? Kate is having enough of a girl moment not to clarify on that count. "He's going up against something big, I think. Some woman. I thought it was Waller, but the way he was talking, whoever she is, she's not entirely mortal. So he's convinced he's going to die soon, and making up freaking bucket lists." She looks up from the arrows, grimacing. "I may have taken him to the library and sat him down with a year worth of Glamour and Cosmo."


If it is, Clint is either deliberately blind to it or he's not picking up on cues. Not his strong suit, empathy. Humor returns and he nods his head in a light bounce. "I can see that. Usually, guys' fathers are the ones to take their boys out for their first time. Unless they got lucky in high school, of course. Time honored tradition." Is he kidding now?

"And you sat him down with 'How to have the best sex in the world?' Cosmo? Christ, it's on every month's cover." Clint pauses before adding, "Not that I read the articles or anything."


"Yeah, well, I don't know about his dad, but apparently his granddad's in charge of some creepy, hereditary group of assassins, and Mom's not in line for mother of the year, so I get to try to civilize him. Sort of." Kate shrugs the quiver back into place, shifting to make herself more comfortable. "I told him I'd take him to a club. He's got the brooding, dangerous loner thing going on, I'm sure someone will stumble into his bed."

"You sure you want to do that? I mean, it can get pretty bad-" Clint's trying to be sympathetic, he is. "Doesn't he have any other guys friends? You know, to act as wingman for him?"

The final cars are making their departures, and the sun dips completely down, leaving the area dark but for a few lights. Now, Clint gets a little more comfortable, crouch-walking across the roof so he can see just a little better.

"It's not your job to get him laid. Even as a friend."


"He doesn't really have friends. It's pretty much just me." Kate follows along the roofline, finding herself a good perch. "You know. Kind of like someone else I know." Pointed look.


"Yeah, but I can find my own mistakes," Clint answers, perhaps a little too quickly. "He doesn't have anyone else? Really?"

Besides, and here, Clint straightens and stares at someone who is inarguably one of if not his best friend. "I have friends, thank you. There's 'Tash. Manning, but I don't know if he counts…"

A couple minutes past the last there some shuffling in a spot just off the gate, behind the wharf's warehouse. A man dressed in dark clothing with a bag. First, the bag is tossed over the fence and it lands with a *whump*, and then the man follows.

Clint takes a look and shakes his head. "Not our contact."


"Manning wants to get into your pants," Kate points out, though there's a hint of her usual smirk at that. Because Clint's misadventures are always more amusing than her own. "And I'm still on the fence about whether or not Agent Romanoff actually has friends. So. Besides, I'm the best friend."
Kate leans down to get a look, brows furrowing. "Shouldn't we maybe be curious what he's dumping into the river anyhow?"


"Yeah, I know," Clint doesn't even bother to look at her, just full in the knowledge of the look she's got on her face about that one. He rolls his eyes at the thought before he does finally cast a glance aside. "She does, and she actually does like me. I think." He's pretty sure she does. "His best friend or mine?"

Clint's attention moves towards the lone figure with the bag as he jumps the fence and retakes the sack. It's when the guy in dark clothes makes his feet and his possessions that a car pulls up without headlights on.

"Hey, over here.." and Clint gives Kate a nudge. "This is- why should we?"


"Yours, dummy," Kate snorts softly. "For some reason. Maybe because you invite me to join teams of big-name superheroes. Do I have to interview, by the way? By which I mean, I want an interview, either way, because when else am I going to get to meet them when it isn't the middle of a crisis?" She cuts off her own rambling, watching the car at his nudging.

"Does anyone dump things into the river for not nefarious purposes?"


"I'll just try and remember that you knew me before I knew any of these big names, so you aren't only my friend because I know Cap." Or Superman. Or, damn… he met Wonder Woman!

He's watching the blacked out car as it approaches the gate, and a hand darts out from dark tinted windows and hits a passcode. The gate rumbles open slowly.
The sound of the gate opening gives the guy in dark clothes pause for a moment before he starts to try and stay out of sight in the shadows as he makes his way towards the docks and the rive beyond.

"Yes, you can have an inter— nefarious? Did you actually just use that word?"

A sigh escapes the archer, and he continues, "If you want to check up on him, go ahead-"


"Hey, I read."

Kate straightens carefully, finding a place where she can start to swing down to where the bag was dropped. "If it's a big of diamonds, I'm keeping them," she whispers over. "If it's drugs, though, I'm saying they were yours." True friendship. That's what they have.

She drops lightly to the pavement breath the building, crouching as she hurries toward the water.


The gate finishes it's grinding path open, allowing the car passage through. The moment the back bumper clears, the gate begins to close again behind it.
"Why don't I get both? If I have to take the fall for the drugs- and there she goes."

It's true. Best friends, and there isn't a damned thing he'd want to ever change that.

The guy in dark clothes has the bag in hand once again, and when he steps into a slice of light, it looks as if the bag is moving, or something moved within. He's almost to the dock, and his attention is on the water before him. Not taking any chances.

Clint's now got his attention divided; the car, which is his quarry, and Kate on foot who is following another guy and hopefully going to be staying out of sight of the car.

Eyes, Hawk. You got this.


The bag is moving. That can't be good. At least it's not big enough for a human body, though. That would be really, really bad. And awkward.

Kate moves low to the ground, trying to get a better look at what's moving in the bag without drawing any attention to herself just yet.


(Could be a baby, there, Kate. They're small and baggable too!) Regardless, the man in dark clothes makes it to the edge of the river, and takes a look in one direction, then the other, he gaze lingering on the movement of the car before he opens his hand and allows the bag to fall.

Clint's got his eye out, and as the car moves through, he makes his move, crouching and moving to the opposite side of the roof where he can get a good look at Kate and the guy. It's when the guy lifts the bag that Clint, too, can see the contents moving, and he calls out, "Get it!" before making a leap to the ground.


"Hey!" Kate exclaims as the man starts to drop the bag, trying to startle him into turning. Maybe it won't fall into the river. Oh god, don't make her jump into the river, no shampoo known to man can get that smell out…

Kate dives even as she shouts, trying to catch the bag in the same motion.


Two words.

East. River.


In unison, the bag hits the water, though the catch is a good one. Now, it's just a matter of -wet-.

The man, catching the shout, whips around and begins to run full tilt from the area, and Clint leaps from one spot to another in chase. It's a serious run, with garbage cans pushed over, leaped over, and right before the guy makes a quick turn around the side of a building, Clint sliiiiides, bow out, arrow nocked and the string is pulled and released. For a heartbeat, there is no sound, until *AUGGGGH, GOD! You -shot- me!* sounds from around the building. "You bastard! What the hell?!"

In the near distance, wheels begin to spin as the dark car hits reverse and bashes through the gate with a *clang!* and just keeps going until a good bootleg turn is in its future. Then, it's full speed ahead, still with wheels squealing.



"Ugh!" Kate exclaims as she's baptized by the city. Sadly, probably not for the first time. But the bag is in hand, and someone's been shot.
"Yeah, car," she calls back to Clint, setting the bag down to snatch an arrow out of her quiver and fire off at the car's bumper. "Tracker on. You want it stopped? Last call!" There's another arrow on the string, but she holds off on releasing.


The bag wiggles, and this time in something of a bigger frenzy. The tracking arrow is true, of course, and the little blinkie lights will be with it for some time. Time enough, anyway.

"You bastard! You shot me! I'm gonna call my lawyer!"

Clint looks down at the guy before he reaches out to yank the arrow out of the guy's leg. At least it wasn't one of the specialty tips and was just a target pile. (They come in handy too, and not just against paper!)

"You okay out there?"

Clint strongarms the guy down, flips him over and ties him quickly with a zip. "Stay put."

"You can't do that! I got rights!"


"I think so?" Kate lowers bow and arrow, putting both back over her shoulder before reaching for the abandoned bag. "Kind of stiff. And I smell disgusting, so if we're really having lobster, I'm going to need to clean up and change first. Let's see what we caught here…" She trails off, pulling the wiggling bag closer and reaching for the zipper. "Moves too much to be diamonds."


Clint's taking a slow jog towards Kate's position, and speeds up a little when he sees her dripping, sopping wet. In November. At night. While it may not be freezing, it's not a balmy day in Hawaii either. Clint quickly peels his leather coat off to drape it over her shoulders.

Within the bag, there's more movement and there's almost a desperate quality to it as her hand lays upon the zipper.

"What is it?"


"Oh, hey. Thanks." Kate pulls the bag closer by the zipper, frowning slightly as the motion gets more frantic. Carefully, she tents the coat around herself and the bag, glancing back up at him. "If it's an alien face-hugger, no open casket," Kate quips before she pulls open the zipper.


"Done. Me either."

Clint's there, looking as the zipper is pulled. The wriggling becomes intense, and the moment there's an opening, a dark brown nose pops in the opening made, pushing open with all its little might. A wet, golden-furred muzzle pushes, and wet paws push desperately, trying to get a hold.

"Good lord.. What the-"


Kate makes a noise that Kate doesn't usually make. It's something along the lines of: "Squeeee!" Because, well. Puppy.

She gets the zipper the rest of the way open, picking up the poppy and pulling him out to tuck under her arm. Which is followed by a much more Kate-like: "Who the hell throws a puppy off a pier?!"


Scrabblescrabblescrabble the puppy tries to get some purchase, and the moment it has something to lick, it's darned well going to try its darndest to do so. It's young, still too young to have been taken from its mother, but it's just such a wet bundle of fuzz that it's adorable.

Even Clint thinks so.

"Both of you keep warm." Clint reaches for the bag and whips it under his arm. "I'm gonna find out."


"Shoot him in the knee for me," Kate growls as she lifts her chin up to avoid complete dog breath. "Who's an adorable puppy? You're an adorable puppy," she coos, pulling the coat tighter around herself and the dog. "You're a stinky puppy, too, but I guess that's kind of on me, huh?"


"Already shot him. Now gonna stick him in a bag and toss him into the river," Clint calls back. Of course, his voice carries in the night, and the guy starts to complain again,

"You can't do that, man. That's murder.. attempted murder. That'll put you away for life, man!"

Clint reaches the guy and pulls him to his feet and puts the wet, doggy-smelled bag over his head and pushes him forward. It's difficult, of course, as the guy has an arrow wound in the calf. It's not a few more steps before the man starts crying, begging.


The puppy reeeeeaches way up to lick Kate's jaw, scrabbling. Heeee's a stinky doggy!

"He knows people, buddy," Kate calls back to the would-be dog-dropper. "It'll be a sad, sad accident. And all because you were such a dick you actually tried to drown a puppy." It would probably sound more intimidating if it wasn't interrupted by giggles. Because puppy kisses tickle.


The march, presumably towards the East River begins, and before they actually reach the end, Clint pulls out his knife and cuts the zip tie. He doesn't let the guy go, however, and with a less than gentle -shove-, pushes him into the river with a scream lingering in the air.

Once done, Clint closes up his pocket knife, puts it back into his pocket and gathers his things.

"Okay, Katie… dog." Dog? Really? He puts a hand up to rest on her shoulder to walk out of the wharf, "I'll grab your things. Then you tell me what the hell we're going to do with a puppy."


"Bath. Definitely we're going to give the puppy a bath," Kate answers, smirking as the man goes flailing into the river. Carefully, she pushes up from the pier, keeping the puppy tucked up against her chest. "And we're giving Kate a bath, too. And then we're going to go and buy some puppy chow, because I doubt he fed him before he was going to drop him in the river. And then we should probably make sure he isn't microchipped."


Clint screws up his face, "Oof.. Gotham Sewers got nothing on you two," and he breaks briefly to get the gear as promised. "You know, I forgot to ask if the guy could swim."

Once he's back out, Clint will bring both to his apartment; closest and he's got a fire going in the fireplace. His place actually does get warm in winter. Well, the living room does.

"C'mon. Both of you."


"Aww, Clint. You say the sweetest things," Kate smirks at the other archer, rolling her eyes as she gets in the car. She has an adorable puppy to keep her occupied, though, so there's a limited amount of snark. Once they're back at his place, she's shivering a bit, and offers out the puppy. "Okay," she says through chattering teeth. "You wash this one. I'm gonna go hose off. In really hot water. You paid the gas bill, right?"


Into the apartment, and he takes the pass-off of puppy. "Yes, I paid the bill. And I hit the laundromat, so the sweats are clean on the bed." Ooof. Puppy-stench.

"Kate, this thing isn't old enough to be away from it's mother." Clint's carrying it into the kitchen to put in the sink for a bath. Now, he just raises his voice to be heard, "We're going to have to- Oh! 2A. She's got kids. Maybe she's got a spare bottle?"


"Bottle?" Kate calls from inside the shower, brows furrowing. "How do you get a dog to use a bottle?" Kate knows a lot of things. Taking care of animals? Not one of them. The hot water, though, is a serious relief after the river. Even if she's going to end up smelling like man-wash.


Apparently Clint hasn't had any women-'friends' visiting for any length of time as evidenced by his $.99 Suave and Dial soap. Still, it works as a good enough abrasive to get the East River off! (Mostly)

Clint's got the sink filled, suds from a discovered bottle of dish soap, and the puppy isn't enjoying it in the least. A fight ensues with him trying to keep the golden lab in while said lab really doesn't want to be! Suds fill the sink, land on the counter, drip off the edge of the sink and onto the floor.

"Bottle, Kate. Like babies. They suck."


There's a definite sound of snickering from the shower at that particular choice of words. It's almost enough to distract Kate from the toiletries. "Clint, you are going to have the worst skin ever if you keep using this stuff," she calls out as she scours herself clean. It's enough, though. And in short order, she's padding out of the bedroom in borrowed sweats, coming over to help with the puppy.

"So, if he's that little, then he probably doesn't really belong to anyone, right?" she asks with a sidelong glance.


"It works and it's cheap."

By the time Kate wanders out in (his) clean sweats, he's almost as wet as the puppy. A towel is set to the side to put wet, squirming puppy on to wrap and dry. "He's that little. Probably some dog got knocked up and they didn't want the puppies." Or this could be the last one they couldn't get rid of. "2A. You stay with him, I'll see if I can't borrow a bottle and some formula."

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