Post by Dreamfire on Jul 11, 2008 23:31:04 GMT -5
The plays's the thing...
Fisk handed a slip of paper to Tom.
“Get down to this theatre. The proprietor there, a Jack Michaels, says there’s a lot of blood in one of the seats and that added to the anonymous tip you got earlier I’d say it’s significant.” He ducked straight back into his office closing the door with a snap.
“All of us?” Jim asked from the corner.
“Yeah I think he means all of us.” Karen closed the file she had been perusing. Sometimes she forgot he missed all those visual clues.
~
“Mr. Micheals?” Marty called out as the four detectiveswntered the off broadway theatre. There was no answer.
“We’ll check the office.” Karen touched Jim on the arm, “This way, it’s upstairs.” Jim turned Hank and they followed.
Tom and Marty went through big double doors into the theatre seating, looking for the evidence of a murder.
“What’s the layout here?” Jim asked as they walked under the large domed roof.
“Big double doors we just came through, circular foyer with maybe a dozen small steps all around and leading up to the multiple doors to the theatre directly in front.”
“Like, the foyer is sunken?”
“Yeah.” Karen glanced around, taking in the details. "Everything else is up on that level too. To the right of the theatre doors we have the candy bar, then cloakroom then Ladies bathroom. Left is the office and then the men's bathroom, then sales desk.”
“Thanks.”
“Easy.” She stopped and rapped on the door to the office. She opened it, “Mr. Michaels?”
Karen turned back to Jim, “Let me just check he’s not here.”
Jim and Hank stayed by the door. Jim walked a few steps to the left, felt along the wall to the door. At head height a cameo of a man in a top hat identified it as the men's bathroom Karen had mentioned.
Karen came out. “Not in there. I guess we’ll go see what Tom and Marty have found.”
“You go ahead, I’ll find you.” Jim pushed on the door to the men’s room.
~
Emerging a few minutes later Jim turned Hank left and headed to the main theatre. Passing by the office he heard a man’s voice inside. Assuming it might be the proprietor, Jim turned into the office door and opened it. “Mr. Michaels?”
There was no answer, Jim moved forward and heard the voices again, this time to his left. They were low, in a whisper.
Jim motioned for Hank to continue and walked slowly up the stairs. He stopped half way. Two men, arguing, voices low and urgent, tention filled the air and Jim's intuition worked overtime. He snapped Hank’s harness downward and the dog sank to a drop on the stair. Jim moved to the wall closest to the voices where he would hopefully stay hidden. He crept up slowly, until he could feel the edge of the stairwell and hear the voices clearly just a couple of steps away.
“Come on Johno, Reno said no one he hadn’t authorized.” The accent was pure brooklyn, with a whining pleading tone.
The answering voice sounded excited, almost happy, the accent southern and cocksure, “I’m gonna do it. I can get all three of them from here. They’ll never know what hit ‘em.” The man sounded intense, excited, as if he were out on safari.
The sound of a rifle safety being released was unmistakable. Jim had heard that sound a hundred times before, he knew there was no time to get help, to do anything but act. He pulled his cane from his pocket, still folded, moved swiftly around the corner and straight into the back of a man. He pushed the end of his cane into his back. "Police, don’t move.” He felt the man’s hands go up, but nothing fell to the floor. Damn, the other one had the gun.
A heavy guage gun shot boomed in the confined space, the man in front of Jim fell backward into his arms. Jim pushed the man to the left and dived forward, over the man's legs and into the arms of the surprised gunman. A shot rang out somewhere above Jim's head and he grappled with the man, smaller but wiry, strong and angry. Jim managed to pull the firearm out of the smaller man’s hands and toss it behind them. The carpet muffled the sound of the gun landing and Jim lifted his head to follow its movements.
Thinking Jim was letting up, the gunman made his mistake and tried to reach his weapon. He broke Jim’s grip on his arms and started to crawl toward the gun.
Jim knew he had to contain this guy immediately. He sprang, landed on the smaller man and heard ribs crack. With the breath knocked out of him, the gunman couldn’t put up enough fight and Jim had him pinned and cuffed in seconds. Jim lay recovering his breath, on top of the smaller man, who groaned and screamed “Get off me, you’re killing me.”
~
Marty, Tom and Karen raced up the incline of the theatre seating toward the doors. Tom was on the radio “Shots fired, at …”
“In here,” Karen led them into the office where she stopped, there was still no one here.
Marty turned, alerted by the sound of the struggle, and saw a dark stairwell tucked in behind the door. “Tom, get up here.” He drew his weapon and advanced but Karen was fast, she ducked under his arm and started up the stairs. She could see the shape of a dog, Hank sitting half way up the stairs, whining a little, clearly distressed but unmoving.
A second shot was heard and she ducked, crawling with Marty and Tom close behind her. “Get back, behind us,” Marty ordered her.
She didn’t bother to answer but flattened herself against the wall as the long barrel of a rifle landed at the top of the stairs and a man cried out in pain. She peered around the corner, into the dimly lit space, afraid of what she’d find.
In the gloom, she could see three bodies, one outstretched on its back - arms above its head. A little further on two piled on each other. “Jim?”
“Yeah, cover this one?”
She stepped carefully into the gloomy space, leveled her gun at the man under her partner. He was cuffed, disarmed and groaning. “You can get up Jim, he’s not going anywhere.”
“The other guy, he’s shot, I don't know what…” Jim got to his feet a little unsteadily and backed up a couple of feet. He looked shell-shocked. His hands were shaking, as he felt behind him for something solid.
“It’s cool Jim, we got him.” Marty shook his head, finding no pulse on the body on the floor.
Karen stepped over the dead man and crossed to Jim. “Don’t step back too far, there’s a rail and then a long drop to the theatre seating below.”
Sirens signaled approaching backup. The gunman groaned as Marty heaved him to his feet. “Shit, that guy, he broke my ribs, that’s assault you know.”
“And you’ll shut the fuck up if you don’t want more than that, or shall I let him back at you?”
“No. Oh, hell I’m spitting up blood.”
Tom got on the radio again, “We need an ambulance to the Theatre. Jim, you hurt?”
“No, no I’m fine.”
But Karen didn’t think he looked too fine, sweat beaded his brow, and his hands had not stopped their shaking.
“Karen, did you see Hank, I left him on the stairs, is he okay?”
“He’s fine.”
Hank came running at the sound of his name and Jim squatted to run his hands all along his dog. “There was an extra shot… I didn’t know where it went.”
“No, he’s fine. But, come on let’s get out-a here, it’s too crowded. Tom and Marty can handle this now.”
It was a sign of how shaken he was; Jim didn’t argue but nodded and took Hank’s harness.
Back in the office downstairs, Karen swore, “Shit, Jim, you got blood all over your shirt.”
“Must be from the first guy,” Jim looked worried. “He’s DOA?”
“Yeah, can you tell me what happened?”
“I heard voices in the office and thought maybe you’d found the proprietor. The voices came from upstairs but as I walked up I realized it was two men arguing. I told Hank to stay and got closer to listen in. Then one guy said he wanted to shoot the three on the theatre floor, I guessed that meant you. I heard him let the safety off and I just reacted. I grabbed the first one, I heard a shot, the guy in front of me fell backward and I dived for the one with the gun.”
“Jim, what were you thinking? You could have been killed?”
The color rose in Jim’s cheeks; his anger even faster. “As opposed to hiding while you guys all got killed?”
“Oh, Jim.” She touched his arm. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I just… Fisk is going to kill us.”
Jim’s face lost what little color it had regained while he spoke. “Oh shit. I am screwed.”
~
The gunman was marched down the stairs with Marty at his back and Tom following.
Karen and Tom exchanged looks. Karen pointed to the blood on Jim’s shirt.
Tom volunteered, “Jim, what do you say we try to get that blood out of your shirt, before Fisk get’s here.”
“Sure.”
They went to the men’s bathroom, Jim stripped out of his coat, suit jacket and shirt. He rinsed the shirt under the tap until Tom declared it fit to step out in. “You wanna try drying it, there’s one of these blow dryers?”
“No, I’m fine. This'll do.” Jim put his wet shirt back on, it felt cool against his skin. He threw on his his suit jacket and shoved his blood spattered tie in his pocket. “How’s that?”
“Much better.”
“I’ll meet you back out there Tom, give me a minute?”
“Sure.” Tom stepped out.
Jim turned back to the sink, he ran the tap and splashed water on his face. He was still so goddamn hot. He straightened up and patted his jacket, shit his glasses must be on the floor upstairs. In the quiet he could hear the faint sound of Hank’s breath, water in the pipes and… breathing, he could hear another person breathing. “Tom?”
“Help…” A groan, barely a whisper, it came from the left.
Jim motioned Hank forward and found the cubicles. He pushed; nothing, the next one; nothing, the next one the door swung but hit something, Jim reached, down, a leg. Another victim, this one breathing.
“Tom!” Jim shouted, while he ran his hansd over the body., looking for wounds.
The door banged open. “Jim? What … Oh shit.” What is it with you and bleeding bodies? They just follow you ‘round or something?”
Jim squatted next to the body. Tom was on the radio again, calling another ambulance. The man on the floor woke, he grabbed Jim’s hand and pulled him close. "Mr. Micheals?"
“Yes.” The breath was shallow. "Row 15, the body is in row 15."
"Okay, we'll handle it. Where are you hit?"
"My side, oh shit it hurts," he slid into unconsciousness again.
"You hang in there. An ambulance is coming you’ll be okay.”
~
Mr. Micheals was packed off to hospital, CSI was due shortly and the Liuetenant had told them to wait for him, he wanted to see the crime scene himself. The four detectives waited in the foyer, an undercurrent of tension banding them together.
“Guys. Before we see the lieutenant. We need to be very clear on what happened here today, because I guarantee you, he’s not going to like this.” Marty looked Tom and Karen in the eye. Aimed his voice at Jim.
Jim turned away. He hated what Marty said, but it was true. Every action he took, every risk he stepped up to, whether he met it or not, was weighed more heavily that for any other cop. He felt like he was on the front line every day. But the snipers weren’t just the perps on the streets, the dangers weren’t just inherent in his blindness, rather in the fight he had to put up every day just to keep his job. To keep his head down enough that he wasn’t noticed, but close enough cases, get enough collars that he earned his way. Sometimes it felt like walking a tightrope blindfolded.
“We could say I was with Jim.” Karen volunteered.
Jim turned to her. “Karen, you really want to start lying to the Lieutenant, and then on an official report?”
Her silence was enough, she dropped her eyes. “No.”
Jim ran his hands through his hair. “Why not keep to the bare facts? I walked in to a scuffle where one guy killed the other. It was dark, they didn’t see me and in the confusion I got the other guy cuffed?”
“You think he’ll buy it?”
“Well, it’s basically the truth, then you guys can be straight too. You walked up to find – what?”
“I walked up to find you cuffing the second guy, the first had been shot already.” Karen spoke up first.
“Yeah, that works.” Tom.
“See, no lying, just keep it low key.”
~
It hadn’t worked. Fisk had smelled a rat. The gunman's statement stated Jim had shot Vern in the back and confronted him with a gun. He said that Jim had then thrown him to the ground and beat on him. While ballistics would show the bullet was from the rifle and the wound from the front and Fisk knew Jim wasn’t carrying a weapon, it made the “bare facts” that Jim had handed over in his report incongruent.
“We have one man dead and another with a punctured lung who says you killed the first and assaulted him.” Fisk waited for an answer.
“Obviously you didn’t pull a gun on the first guy. What did you do? Stick your finger in his back?” he prompted.
Jim didn’t answer in the longest time.
“I’m waiting.”
Jim looked down to his lap. “My cane, I poked my cane in his back.”
Fisk’s voice was low, quiet and therefore all the more dangerous. It dripped with sarcasm. “You held the man up with a white cane?And the second guy took a look at that and just threw his weapon away?”
“It was dark in there, Boss, I –“ Karen attempted to deflect some of the heat.
“I’m asking Dunbar, not you Detective Bettancourt. I will deal with you in a minute. Dunbar?”
“No, I… I took it away from him.”
“Jim, I want it all, now.”
Jim sat up straighter, he faced Fisk straight on. His voice was strong and clear. “I heard a man say ‘I’m gonna do it. I can get all three of them from here, they’ll never know what hit ‘em.’ When I heard the safety taken off the rifle I assumed he was about to shoot the detectives down below. I stepped into the man who had been arguing for them to leave and shoved my cane in his back, I told him not to move. The gunman turned and fired. The man in my arms fell backward and I dove over him to grab the man with the rifle. I disarmed him and cuffed him. The others arrived.”
Fisk slammed his hand down on the desk, smashing the mement of silence that had followed Jim's statement. It wasn’t just Jim that jumped at the violence of the sound. “You what?”
Jim’s voice was bitter. “What would you have me do, Sir? I know you don’t want me killed, and I know I can’t react with the same instincts as when I could see, but I ask you, what would you have me do? Let some guy shoot them? Run back down the stairs calling for help while they died?”
“In fact if Jim had been able to see, and carried his gun, there’d probably be two dead perps now, not just one.” Marty tried to sound reasonable but was silenced with a sneer from the Lieutenant.
“I am sorry if I've made things hard for you, but I couldn’t do anything other than what I did.” As Jim spoke Karen’s eyes moved between her partner and the boss.
“And you, Karen, how did it come to be that your partner found these two guys on his own, where were you?”
Jim interrupted, not giving her time to answer, “Lieutenant, I told you when I came here that I wasn’t a civilian aid. And if I need my partner to do a little more, to describe a crime scene, to guide me at times, that’s one thing, but I don’t need to be babysat. I’ve been a detective for ten years. I don’t need someone watching over me every minute of a tour. My first day you asked if we could be honest and you told me no one wanted to go out on the street with me. Well you were right. But I’ve earned Karen’s respect and unless that’s changed, she’s willing to go out on the street with me. We make a good team and a viable part of this squad.
“But you could change that right now, by changing the rules, enforcing some kind of protection that I don’t need. I wouldn’t go out if I thought I had to baby-sit a cop. And she won’t either. No cop would go out under those conditions.
“She's had my back countless times, and I've had hers. You can’t ask anything more. And if I get killed or injured, it’s like for any cop. It happens.”
Fisk looked at his four homicide detectives. When had they become such a strong team? When had they accepted this blind man so unconditionally? Was it just today, when he saved their lives in a stupid but effective move? Or had it happened somewhere earlier and had passed by unnoticed?
“Tom?”
Tom looked the Lieutenant straight in the eye. “Jim had our back this afternoon. He was lucky, he’s alive, and we’re alive. But, if it had gone down differently I would be saying the same thing. He did what any cop should have done.”
“Marty?”
“Jim doesn’t need to baby-sat.”
“Karen?”
“I would prefer he still had a gun, but, like I told him the day he gave it up. I’m happy to be his partner. Boss, Jim saved my life twice now.”
Fisk let out a long breath, with it the tension in the room dropped in all but Jim.
“There is still the matter of the report.”
“There is nothing inaccurate in it.” Jim was still defensive. It was good to know the guys were backing him up, but in the end his job was on the line, not theirs.
“It’s a bit thin on the ground though, Jim, you got to admit.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Nothing that would help. Let me think on it.”
~fini~