Chili

Part 1: Their First Chili

(Set before the pilot, after the flashback in "Tom Dayton Is Loose among Us")

In the hallway famous Chief of detectives Robert T. Ironside crossed rookie cop Ed Brown, the officer whose fiancée had been killed a short time ago and who had surprised him with his thoroughness and professionalism while bringing down Tom Dayton, the man who was responsible for her death. Ironside had come to the conclusion that the officer was worthy of his furtherance.

"Good morning, Brown!" he greeted him. Contrary to custom - he was a tall man himself - he had to look up an inch or so.

"Morning, Sir." Brown's short response lacked in courtesy… or was it something else? Ironside shook his head.

Since he was still early he made a slight detour to Lt. Simon's office.

"Say – what's the matter with young Brown?"

"Well, after the death of his fiancée it seemed to me as if he had lost it. As you know pressure makes a good cop and breaks a bad one. I put him under pressure, let him work double shifts, gave him the toughest jobs in order to see how he holds on under pressure. And what you have just seen is the result."

Ironside was not sure he understood him. "Care to explain?"

"It's a shame. He is an intelligent officer, attentive, always by-the-book, never complaining, ready to work night and day. But he won't get old as a cop."

"Why not?"

"Either he will resign soon or he will be killed in the first dangerous situation."

That wasn't exactly what Ironside had expected.
Answering his skeptical look Lt. Simon said: "I suppose he's just not tough enough, or else he can't put his girl's death behind him. He's … a shell. I have never seen him smile, or have a drink with the others, not even curse or object to somebody. I know that he is a good shot, but last time I saw him on the firing range he failed miserably. He has become so thin that I doubt he could defend himself if assaulted by my grandmother. Wanna hear more?"

Ironside felt disappointed… and challenged. He had thought that Brown had the makings of a good cop, and it was rare that he could not trust his instinct. And yes, he hated being wrong.

"I want to keep a close eye on him for a day or two. If you are right I will make him resign. He has a college education. He could always work as a school teacher or a social worker or whatever. I have no use for an officer who doesn't have it in him. And I don't want him killed either."

Brown's square-jawed face did not give away whether he was pleased with the prospect of working directly with the Chief or not.
Usually Ironside would not have cared a fig about somebody being pleased or not, but this time it was different. He felt challenged. He wanted Simon to be wrong.

The Lieutenant had exaggerated of course, but Brown indeed looked as if he had lost weight. He was probably the type who stops eating when in trouble. Ironside soon noticed that Simon had been right about the rest too: Brown was faithful, he had a good eye for details and he tried to do everything right. In the beginning he winced whenever the Chief raised his voice against somebody, which happened quite often, but then he seemed to get used to it and to deal with it the same way as with everything else, be it a murder case or an old lady looking for her doggie: indifferently, like a shell, as Simon had called it, almost apathetically.
The Chief had taken a look into his file, and it confirmed his feeling that the man had a potential. His colleagues seemed to like him. They called him 'Steady Eddie'. But there was a difference between 'steady' and 'apathetic'. And Ironside had seen a very different side of him when they had investigated Tom Dayton: an angry, energetic one. He would have to find a way to give him some emotions back – be it happiness or anger or fear or whatever.

The occasion arose when he had to go out on a murder investigation which did not get on. It seemed to be part of a mean, dirty serial killing. It would be interesting to see the man act on a really distressing case.

Yet on their way to the murder scene they heard of a robbery in process, done by a youth gang. It was only a block away.

"Turn left, we'll have a look at that!"

Seconds later they saw three youngsters intrude into a gun shop by a smashed window. Both men jumped out of the car and pulled their weapons.
Ironside signed Brown to enter by the door while he watched the window.
As he had expected the youngsters fled through the window, as soon as they saw Brown's uniform.
There were four of them, Brown on their heels. "Stop, police!" Ironside shouted.
Three of the teenagers obeyed, probably more convinced by his gun than by his shouting.
One, an Afro-American, ran past him at high speed. The Chief had no intention of shooting him.

"Brown, go get that kid!"

Immediately the officer complied.

Surprised Ironside noticed that the other members of the gang started to smirk. One, a Latino with a scar on his cheek, even cackled.

"What's so funny about being caught by the police?"

"For one your boy will never get Mark, he's too fast. And I suggest you even pray that the pig won't get him. 'Cuz, if he does, Mark Sanger will make mincemeat of him. He's the next Cassius Clay."

The fugitive was indeed quick as a flash. But long-legged Brown followed him much faster than anyone – except the Chief – would have expected.
He managed to corner the black boy. Quietly he talked to him. Of course, they were too far away for Ironside and the gang to overhear what he said. Most probably he tried to convince him to give up.
Suddenly Mark's right fist shot out and he punched the policeman hard into the stomach. Brown doubled over, his head colliding with Mark's hoisted knee.

"What did I tell you?" triumphed the Latino.

Ironside had to think of Lt. Simon who had said that Brown was unable to defend himself. Still this was only a teenager… Should he really let three rascals get away in order to save a cop from a fourth one?!

Yet the officer seemed to pull himself together. Sanger kept hitting him, but now Brown blocked most of his blows.

"Your pig doesn't get in a single hit!" sneered the scarred Latino.

Ironside knew why. If Brown injured the boy he would be accused of police brutality. Right now the newspapers loved this term. So he just waited for his chance to subdue the kid.

Finally Brown managed to turn Mark's arm around. He had learned the moves well at the police academy.
Determinedly and absolutely correctly he steered the captive back to Ironside. The man really ran things by the book!
Mark kicked against his shinbones at every possible opportunity. By the time they reached the group Brown was breathing heavily.

"Keep him under control, officer, I will call for backup," decided Ironside.

The four kids were taken to headquarters and booked.
Looking at Brown and Sanger, Ironside caught himself comparing the two young men. Their being both young and unhappy seemed to be the only thing they had in common. Sanger was angry, aggressive and criminal. Brown was depressed, self-controlled and straight. Sanger was definitely better off. Although the officer had done a good job today Ironside could not help being concerned about him.

When Ironside opened the door to the men's bathroom a little later he heard a strange sound: somebody was vomiting into a sink.
The Chief was about to turn around and leave. After all he was the Chief of detectives. None of his officers would want that he see them in such a demeaning situation.

Later he would not be able to tell what had kept him from doing exactly that; perhaps it was some kind of a hunch.
Together with his superior mind this half-unconscious alertness made him the outstanding detective he was, and he knew it. He trusted his hunches.
He entered the restroom.
He was not surprised to recognize the back of the tall, slim man who was bending over the sink.

"You should see a doctor."

Brown pushed himself up. "I'm fine."

"That must have been a nasty punch to your stomach."

Something in the officer's pale face seemed to change.

Out of the blue he went through the roof. He punched the wall, hard.
"Who cares? Every bum has the right to swipe, to threaten, to bash us up, and if we defend ourselves we make the headlines because we are violent. Talk about equality: the crooks always have the law on their side. I'm fed up with it!"

Author's note:

This is the beginning of a story written as a birthday present for "Bluesyblege" (Part 1) and "Lemonpig" (Part 2). Thank you, my dear friends, for letting me publish 'your' story!