Disclaimer: I'm just taking them out for a test drive. I promise not to hurt the Hulk™ or the Waif™ in any permanent way. Just ask CC, I was nice to his creations, and I'll be nice to DW's too, maybe.
Thanks:To the new Beta Crew. Always there with a kind word and encouragement. Cyber-brownies all around.
A/N: So, with a new fandom, the penname might not be familiar. Quite frankly, I have been uninspired for many years and went underground, writing only for myself or not at all. Well, guess what, I'm back. Anyway, first story for a new show, so be gentle. And enjoy.
Whenever your memory feeds my soul, whatever got broken becomes whole – Sting
Cops can be so predictable, sometimes. Like dumb dogs, tugging away at the root of a tree, having no clue at all that what they want is attached to something much larger than themselves. I've been rolling over precinct detectives for years, weaving in and out of the criminal justice system like a world-class skier on a slalom course. I've been a person of interest in more crimes then most career criminals have thought of. But I have remained unscathed, until now.
When that hulking mass of a Major Case detective slapped the bracelets on, I had a feeling I might actually be playing the game for my soul, this time. He had an air about him, something preternatural and slightly menacing. Okay, maybe not slightly. On the plus side, he had a lovely little waif of a partner with him. She could make a man sit up and beg. If I've got to ride with them to One PP, I hope she sits in the back with me.
No such luck. Yet another smelly Sector Car with a sticky, plastic back seat and no airflow. I'm thinking about writing a book, The NYPD RMP for Dummies. I could make a mint maybe go legit. Nah, where'd the fun be in that?
I'll bet you are wondering how I got here, aren't you. Well, it's taken my entire life, but I'm rapidly approaching infamy. This go around the dance floor, however, is where I will start, since the rest is all water under the bridge and of little importance in the grander scheme of things.
I like expensive things, the type of thing that rich people horde and poor people drool over. The types of things that tend to be transported in truck. Normally, jacking trucks isn't my thing. They are a bitch to stash and rarely yield anything worth the effort required. This time was different. I stalked this truck, watched it being loaded every week, tracked its routes, and wrote everything down. When I saw that it was being loaded with a particularly nice haul, I knew it was my golden opportunity and, you know, opportunity doesn't knock twice.
Which is probably what got me into trouble. Poor timing and all. I wasn't prepared for this opportunity, I picked a lackey with loose lips and now my ship might be sunk. If I get out of this one, I'm going to kill that guy.
Anyway, somehow, the dicks from Major Case found me. The Hulk and the Waif stood in my office last week, pretending to be interested in some property I was trying to sell in Maine. Playing the goofy husband and tolerant wife to a tee. They had me fooled and I like to believe that I'm pretty good at spotting a con. He kept hovering around her, intent on her every word and ignoring me. After I sent them on their way, brochures in hand, they didn't remain long in my mind. Sure, she was a looker, but they were so in love that there was no way I could have worked my way in there. Or so I thought.
Maybe I was mistaken.
I do so enjoy the fencing match that is an interrogation. The opponents dancing around each other, looking for weakness, looking for the coup de grace to finish the match before it starts. I have ended many a stint in the interrogation room with a crippling blow to the poor sucker who got the miserable task of trying to get a confession out of me. As I sat there, awaiting my adversaries, I figured this time it might be a challenge. I had heard of my capturers, legends that they are. If only I had paid more attention when they were talked about, I might not be sitting here now, fooled by their act and a victim of my own ignorance.
Detective Robert O. Goren, the Hulk, resident genius of MCS, had a reputation in the circles I traveled. He was alternately spoken of as a god or a devil, depending on the day of the week and the root he had hold of. He made enemies like some people make phone calls. But he also had influence, lots of it. I guess cops really do have quotas and he was hitting his, in spades.
Oh, don't get me wrong, I had also heard of his partner, the Waif, Detective Alexandra Eames. She's rumored to be as cunning as he is, in an entirely different and devastating way. She knew how to use her charm and her looks to her advantage, as evidenced by the Newlywed Act they pulled off in my office. And she got me; hook, line and sinker.
But maybe, just maybe, I can still get out of this. I wonder just how close the Dynamic Duo really is. If they are as close as they act, I'll be home for supper.
TBC