✓ | 𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗘 · ͟͟͞͞➳ spencer reid

CHAPTER 2 ━━━

# ! | CHAPTER TWO
- they're crawling in the
alleys for info

━━━ WHEN THE TEAM
touches down in the big apple, they've got two leads to pursue. One involves questioning a big mouth street rat they brought into custody earlier this morning, and the other means going to a bar to get some answers from the locals.

Their first stop is the precinct, where they get set up with a nice room with some evidence boards and a round table, plenty of monitors and outlets for Garcia to do her thing on the go.  While she continues to scavenge the interwebs for any sort of connection to the victims, the rest of the team splits into groups. Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss decide to take the bar. Rossi claims he wants to have a crack at the fellow in custody and Hotch, alongside JJ, prepares to face the media. That's the thing about New York: it's crawling with people sticking their noses in spots that they don't belong. Murder is a fascination, a curiosity, and their unsub has made quite the splash already.

The bar that Derek drove towards is called The Dove's Nest, a modern taproom in the city that people have raved about.

"If I owned a bar in NYC, why on Earth would I close it up at six every night?" Emily asks, bending one jean clad leg at the knee, looking out the passenger side window.

"More pressing business to attend to?" Derek supplies.

Without looking up from his crossword puzzle, Reid pipes up, "Take the next left."

In a few minutes, they've reached their spot. The parking lot is empty for a Friday morning, as are the surrounding streets. Their phones ding with a text.

Hotch
Tread lightly. They know you're there.
Read 11:32 a.m

The three of them holster their guns and proceed to the entrance, walking through the doors like any normal customers.

"We're closed," comes the gruff voice of a man in his late twenties. He has a towel over his shoulder, it swings back and forth as he puts stout glasses upside down in their corresponding cabinets.

Derek walks up to the bar, all confidence, and produces his credentials. "I think you can make an exception, homeboy."

There are two other men in the restaurant, one at the bar and one at the corner booth. Both of them look like they've been there awhile. The wall of muscle behind the bar has a name tag that reads, "Bob". How descriptive.

Bob finishes up his dish relocation and then gives the agents a withering look. "How can I help you fellas?"

Reid speaks up this time, carefully perching on a barstool after Emily does the same. "We'd like to know what you've heard about the recent murders."

Bob shrugs his shoulders. "Ain't nothin' passed through my ears. You boys?"

The two other men shake their heads, refusing eye contact.

"We don't need this crap," Morgan shakes his head, coming to stand in front of a hefty bearded man who's clothes and breath reek of booze, "Who do we need to talk to?"

The man thinks this over for a moment before answering. "If you can find her, the woman you're looking for is Aphrodite."

Another fellow in the corner booth snorts a laugh. "Woman, yeah," he takes a swig from his glass, "She's more machine than woman."

Emily's phone beeps.

Incoming call from: Rossi

She steps outside and then presses accept, putting the call on speaker. "Got anything over there?"

There's a shuffling of something on the other end. Paper, maybe. "Our guy broke real quick. Said we needed to talk to some lady called Aphrodite. Any luck at your place?"

"Weird," Emily replies, "these guys are all saying the same thing. You think she's a queen bee or something?"

Rossi hums. "If that's the case, means she'll be hard to catch." Emily agrees and then promptly hangs up, running a hand through her hair, now a little frizzy from the repetitive motion.

"If you're gonna talk about me," comes a low drawl from behind Prentiss, "how about we do it in person, yeah?"

Emily pulls her gun and whirls around, the barrel of the glock nearly poking into the chest of a dark haired woman. She puts two fingers against the weapon and pushes it away. "Careful, sweetheart. Don't shoot me till I can stop your friends from getting shot."

Without waiting for a response, she walks past the taller woman and into the bar, where all five men have their weapons drawn, as she'd expected. Men, always ready to make a mess.

"Lay off, boys," the green eyed girl clicks to them, boots tapping across the dark oak flooring. The three men who were in the bar prior to this whole ordeal immediately drop and holster their weapons. She turns to the agents. "Dr. Reid, Agent Morgan, that includes you too. Prentiss, sweets, the door's unlocked."

The fraction of the team comes to stand side by side. Morgan scratches his neck. "So you know our names, but we don't know yours. Let's start there."

"Call me Aphrodite," she replies, gesturing for her men to head to the back of the establishment, probably toward an exit, "everyone does."

"A little bit presumptuous, isn't it?" asks Spencer. "I mean, Aphrodite is depicted in the mythology as being one of the powerful representations of love, beauty, and sexual desire. Do you think of yourself that way, also?"

The girl smirks and unwraps a cherry lollipop, rolling the stick between her teeth. "She was also a scheming, vindictive, jealous bitch who put her own pussy on a pedestal. It's not the best namesake, but it's quite the first impression, no?"

No one speaks for a few moments and then Aphrodite speaks again. "I think this is the part where you handcuff me and bring me into custody."

Emily nods and steps forward, putting a hand on her back and guiding her forward, throwing a "What the hell?" look to her colleagues over her shoulder.