Terry polluted the planet, illegally dumped toxic materials in developing Third World Countries and profited off of it, broke in, assaulted people on several occasions, bought off judges to the point they knew each other on a first name basis, did cocaine, had a group of enforcers who literally nearly threw Daniel off of a cliff (the same Daniel he very much groomed) had a stolen Rembrandt in his mansion, but my god, bribing a referee for a local tournament for eighteen year olds is what is treated as the crime of the ages.
133 notes
·
View notes
@jesterofinaba sends:
Adachi had felt guilty that Naoto had to spend some rainy afternoons and weekends over at his cramped little office at the police station, while he filed reports or worked on other paperwork. She wanted to be a detective, but Adachi felt like all she saw was the... for lack of a better word, boring part of the job.
His daughter had taken to looking around at the cold case files (and thankfully, the officer on guard was there to make sure she didn't take anything that included any depiction of violence) on certain days. Once or twice, she’d come to him when he wasn’t busy, and they looked through the interrogation transcripts and the evidence together.
He hadn’t expected to actually go anywhere - those cases had gone cold for a reason - but Naoto was shaping up to have great problem-solving skills. He’d only helped a fraction, he thought, but Naoto had managed to nail down a culprit for a jewelry thief case from a few years ago.
As soon as Adachi had informed his boss, showing him all the evidence Naoto had gathered, he waited until the superior officer was impressed from the news before he revealed that it had come from his eight-year-old daughter.
A month or so had passed, and with a further interrogation and trial, the court had decided him guilty without a reasonable doubt, and the higher ups at HQ had given Adachi a small bonus, and had met with both of them to congratulate them on their work.
“It was mostly Naoto.” He'd conceded, as his boss put a warm hand on his shoulder. He looks down at his daughter.
“I’m really proud of you, kiddo.” He leans down and ruffles her hair after his boss had done the same thing. “Being promoted to a Junior Detective means we should celebrate, right?”
Unprompted | Always Open
Being the daughter of an inspector in training came with perks, such as being able to look through files of previous cases, just as long as she was careful—and she was! Eventually, she was allowed to look at cold cases, the ones where the trail dropped dead, as long as she didn’t lay a finger on anything related to murder and anything else they deemed inappropriate for her age.
She picked a simple case and went straight to work, which basically consisted of her reading transcripts and looking at evidence, of which she needed Dad’s help because she technically wasn’t allowed to handle the physical evidence since she was a civilian and not a police officer. After lots of reading and note taking, things fell into place. Dad guided her along, but for the most part, where she pulled at one end, the other easily came loose. Soon the knot unraveled, she put a name to the mysterious culprit, and Dad submitted the evidence to his boss.
Waiting was the worst part, not knowing whether she was right or not gnawed at the back of her mind, enough where she started to pay attention a little less in school—not that it mattered because she was smart and none of the teachers’ sudden trick questions caught her off guard.
When news came a month later that she’d nailed the guy, Naoto glowed, but fully expected Dad to say he solved most of it instead of her. At that, Naoto decided she didn’t really care. Being able to solve the case and make people happy that the stolen merchandise finally returned was enough for her, and Dad’s boss wouldn’t believe that she solved it, anyway.
But to her surprise, Dad told the truth and instead of being confused on the matter, his boss ruffled her hair, with Dad following suit. She tried to be composed, but Naoto couldn’t help but beam with pride, more than she already had after her deductions were proven correct.
Naoto smiled brightly, eagerly looking at Dad with all the pride an eight-year-old could hold. “With sashimi, or maybe ramen! Or anything!” As long as it didn’t contain onions.
Temporarily putting the celebrations and the excitement to the side, she looked at Dad’s boss and began fiddling with her hands slightly. “Maybe you could give Dad a he— I mean, a handshake. Because he helped me too.” It was hard to explain and Naoto didn’t want to get on the bad side of the boss. “I would have gotten stuck if Dad hadn’t nudged me along. And he’s smart too! So I think you should give him a handshake or... whatever professional things you do.”
She then raised her right to salute because this was Dad’s boss and she’d forgotten to do it before and she didn’t want Dad to get demoted just because she forgot. “Sir.”
2 notes
·
View notes
I was at a Palestinian solidarity gig last night & the one Palestinian artist who was going to perform had COVID so the organisers asked around to see if there were any Palestinians who'd like to say a few words instead.
A local guy who was born & raised in Gaza offered to speak. He started with "I'm an engineer. i'm not a poet or a politician. I don't... do public speaking… I had no idea what to say when I came up here. So i'm just going to tell you about the street I grew up on."
And then he did! He went down the street building by building. He told us about the ice cream shop on the corner, the grocery shop, the charity that supports people with intellectual disabilities. He told us about the people who he knew growing up, the families who still live in the different houses. He told us about the university buildings and about his friends who quit being accountants to start a band together. All on that street.
All of which is gone now, by the way. Bombed to dust.
31K notes
·
View notes