I do not own any character from Law & Order. This story is for entertainment purposes only...no profit here!!
Oh, God, my head. McCoy laid back, eyes closed, seriously considering never opening them. Hang overs were nothing new, but he usually knew better than to mix his liquor.
New Year's Eve was amateur night for drinkers everywhere. Usually, McCoy spent that night at home, a bottle of scotch and T.V. remote close at hand, watching the ball from Times Square drop at a safe distance. This was his first New Year's with a virgin New Yorker.
Thankfully, Jillian had no desire to stand out in Times Square until midnight. At least, not until she had hit the after Christmas sales and get a good, heavy, wool coat to replace the light weight trench coat she had brought from California.
Yes, Jack had lucked out there. He had been so relieved that he didn't even put up a fuss about going to Jamie and Dave's place for New Year's.
McCoy shifted slightly.
"Oh God, whose rocking the boat," came from a barely audible whisper next to him.
"You too," he asked softly.
"Yes, yes, don't shout," Jillian whispered, "just don't move for a minute, okay?"
"You know, one of us is going to have to get coffee. Maybe the one wanted to "do New Year's New York style"…"
She sighed," I knew I'd hear about that. Although, you were the one that thought champagne and scotch would go well together. After Dave's 'special' eggnog."
McCoy's stomach started to churn," Don't even say the word "egg". I NEED coffee...!"
Dennison caressed his bare chest," You're sure you don't want something else?"
"Anything else would kill me right now."
Reluctantly, Jillian Dennison reached for robe on the chair beside the bed and headed towards McCoy's small kitchen.
"You know Jack," she said returning with two cups in her hands," I hope you're going to be recovered by Tuesday."
McCoy sipped the coffee and raised an brow.
"You agreed to speak to my students for Career Day."
McCoy groaned," That's tomorrow?"
"Yep. You my friend, as well as the fact my head would explode right now, are the reason I am not at my place writing a lesson plan," she said as she ruffled his graying hair," you are my lesson plan."
McCoy knew he had cleared his calendar to attend. With Nora's blessings, as well. Jillian taught at PS 187 in Harlem. A school known by the D A's office for the number of gang members that had started their high school careers there. The irony of the school number wasn't lost on McCoy (at one time 187 was part of the California criminal code for homicide).
McCoy sighed as he moved out of the bed. "Why don't you teach at a nice, quiet Catholic school, in Westchester? You know the kind without metal detector."
Dennison followed him into the kitchen and gladly accepted another cup of coffee.
"Such places still exist," she said with a smirk." Now, where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm Protestant."
He rolled his eyes, and slapped his forehead in mock despair," A heretic! I should have known!"
"Smart ass. How do you feel about toast?"
He nodded approvingly as she placed the bread in the toaster.
"Seriously, I'm surprised Jamie pointed you in that direction. She knows it's a school with a rough reputation for a reason. I probably know a lot of your students, or their parents."
"Jamie knows the head of Human Resources for the city school system. That helped get me the interview. When they hired me I was offered three sites. I chose Harlem."
McCoy's stared at her, for a second; unsure he had heard her correctly. "I chose Harlem", he thought. She says it like she chose decaf instead of espresso. He was silent. It was a long, uncomfortable silence.
"What," she said unable to stand the silence, knowing exactly what "what" was.
He looked her dead in the eyes," You chose Harlem?" he paused. Careful to not jump to conclusions, at the same time carefully laying the groundwork for her to incriminate herself, as he would a defendant," What were your other choices?"
Jillian stopped buttering the piece of toast. His smooth shift from lover to prosecutor, didn't go unnoticed, she could hear the unspoken "Ms. Dennison" at the end of the sentence. She set the toast down holding his gaze, bracing herself for what would follow.
"P S 54 and P S 700, Mr. McCoy", she said flatly, hoping he had no idea where those school locations were.
"Upper West Side and Long Island," he shot back,"...and you chose Harlem. On purpose. Lady, you are one crazy beach bunny," he said as he opened the drawer where he kept the asprin,"what do people on the West coast use for brains? Do you have a death wish?"
"Well, at least you didn't call me a beach bimbo. For the record, I lived two hours from the nearest beach. Look Jack, it's done. Not worth a debate. Not while we can enjoy what's left of our hangovers and a day off. Besides, you chose to stay in the D A's office all these years. You've had more death threats than you can count - don't deny it. I've checked you out. I know how to use Google. Hell, you were almost shot-"
McCoy held up a hand,"Alright, so we both get bullet proof vests next Christmas," he washed the aspirin down with a gulp of coffee. He thought about pursuing his point. He knew she was right. It was done. She had a contract. Nothing he said would change that. For now. He sighed and pulled her to him, a twinkle in his eyes," Checked me out, did you?"
She moved closer and her hands moved from his shoulders downward," a girl can't be too careful, being in a new city, and all. Besides, I've checked you out before and I haven't heard any complaints."
Jack McCoy waited patiently for his turn to go through the metal detector at P S 187 on Malcolm X Blvd. and 116th St. It was as bad as he expected. In the center of Harlem, the surrounding neighborhood was covered with gang tagging. Many stores boarded up and long closed, the remaining ones gated up with security guards inside and out. Pimps and drug dealers in doorways or finalizing deals with people in cars, motors running. The brief walk from the station to the school was like a walk in a war zone.
The school itself was in a losing battle to keep up the defaced buildings and eroding construction. He could have just said "No" when Jillian approached him with the request. She herself had said she knew it was short notice that she'd understand if he couldn't do it. She was looking for a replacement for a Harlem businessman that had cancelled just before the school's Christmas break had begun. If he couldn't do it, she was sure Jamie or Dave could help her find someone.
She'd been great about the long hours, the bar association mixer he'd taken her to, and he hadn't forgotten all the trouble she'd gone to the week before. The amazing meal she'd not only cooked but brought down to his office, he had smiled at the memory, in that coat and very little else. She was asking for such a small thing, how could he say "no"…when someone else might do it for him?
When he had gone to District Attorney Nora Lewellyn for the time off, McCoy had hoped she wouldn't be able to spare him, on a week's notice. Much to his dismay, she was thrilled at the chance show support for the community by having her office participate in a Harlem high school event. The court calendar was lighter than usual in January and Serena could hold the fort down for a day. She was sure the press would give the event some coverage. Good community relations.
She had reminded him that the conviction of two gang leaders from Harlem and caused a public outcry and outrage from the community, when it came out the men had been assaulted by police when they were arrested. This was a step in smoothing things over with community leaders.
Oh goody, McCoy thought grimly, as he was escorted down the hall to Jillian's classroom, a day of kissing ass with the likes of The Ledger for the sake of better
thug/prosecutor relations. At 8:00 am. After taking the subway down to banger central. Great.
The security guard unlocked the door and McCoy stepped into the classroom,"Ms. Dennison said to tell you she left coffee for you on the desk and she'll be right back. You'll be okay by yourself here?" the guard said, in a tone that left no mistake as to his feelings about playing messenger.
McCoy saw the Starbuck's cup and was slightly puzzled. A Starbucks that was open around here? He didn't remember seeing one on his walk in. "I'll be fine. Thanks."
He drank a long swallow of the coffee and looked around the room. Not bad, he thought, just as his eyes feel on the Taster's Choice wrapper in the can beside the desk. He looked at the cup again and chuckled.
He could see Dennison had done her best to make it a welcoming and desirable room. Bulletin boards that covered the peeling paint and the graffiti he knew lay behind them. Student work displayed, as were rules and school policies. Colorful maps, he could see where she had already used white out to remove obscenities and gang tagging. Maps that were new enough that he knew the school hadn't purchased them. But he could also see the panic button behind the teacher desk and the locks on the cabinet doors.
He sat down on the edge of Dennison's desk scanning the names on the roll sheets as he drank his coffee. He rolled his eyes. Maybe a vest wasn't a bad idea, he thought. While he hadn't prosecuted any of them, he recognized four names from the citywide Gang Taskforce meetings he had attended with Nora.
He looked around the room, dismayed. As he set the coffee down, nearly knocking over the small frame on the desk. Instead of the picture of himself, or a family member, he found something written. He read the title of the yellowed article it held: Why we Teach. McCoy recognized the author, that damn Irish idealist, McCork, immediately.
"I chose Harlem" echoed in his mind.
He thought about the Catholic high school he had attended as a teenager in Chicago. It wasn't Westchester, but it was safe and clean. Sometimes safer than home. He sighed and suddenly understood her choice.
"Oh, God...she thinks she's can save them," he said aloud shaking his head in disbelief.
Lt. Anita Van Buren was almost out of her office door when the call came. She almost hadn't gone back. She'd skipped breakfast that morning. Her boys had been running late and it was an easy choice between getting them to school on time or breakfast. The rest of the morning had been a blur of meetings with no time for more than a cup of coffee. She had exactly 45 minutes before her meeting with the Chief, just enough time to run down to Kaplan's and get a sandwich.
Reluctantly, she picked up the receiver.
"Van Buren...Serena, if this is about the Danvers case-...what? Why is he in Harlem?" Van Buren automatically nodded as she listened,"…how many down?..alright, were on it. I'll send Ed and Lennie. I'll call you when I know something."
She could see the two detectives had just returned from a court appearance. Lennie was just slipping off his jacket when she motioned for them for come in.
Briscoe saw the worry in her eyes as she turned to them after turning the T V in her office on.
"What's up Lute?"
"I need you two out at P S 187. There's a hostage situation. Gang unit and SWAT are there now."
"You mean Crip/Blood High? How many dead?"
"Southerlyn said five. Two students, one security guard and two teachers. God knows how many wounded. Jack McCoy's one of the hostages. Down there for Career Day," she said answering the quizzical look in Lenny's eyes.
The detectives exchanged glances as the newscaster on the set started an update.
"I'm here at P S 187 in Harlem, where the school is in lockdown after gang violence broke out here this morning during a Career Day Assembly in the school's gym. Five have been confirmed dead and at least three others have been wounded and taken to county hospital for treatment."
"No names. Yet. We'll keep you posted," Briscoe said over his shoulder as the pair left.
McCoy looked across the stage to where Dennison kneeled, her jacket as a makeshift compress down on the arm of the Principal who lay beside her. She caught his glance. He could see she was on the verge of tears as she mouthed the words," I'm sorry."
He nodded and smiled to reassure her. He looked carefully around the room. It had happened in the blink of an eye, as the Principal prepared to start the last part of the day's activities.
Earlier, the speakers presented information on their professions to students individually, to groups of 30 - 40 in classrooms.
He had to admit the attentiveness of the students was impressive. Some had been surprised to learn he didn't come from money and had put himself through law school. Although there were the usual questions about salary and ways to avoid the years it took to complete college and law school and still become an attorney ("Are paralegals lawyers", "I've seen ads for 2 two year law degrees") many of the questions seemed well thought out and sincere ("Have you ever convicted the wrong guy?", "How do you feel when someone you know is guilty gets off"). The time flew by. A few stayed after class to ask about grants and scholarships information he might have. While about a third of the students did sit in the back and draw or pass notes, the majority had listened to him respectfully.
He'd seen too much in his time in the D A's office to think his fifty minutes of fame would turn anyone from a gangster wanna be into a honor roll student, with a eye on law school, but it wasn't the hell he'd expected.
By 11:30 it was time to go to the gym for a joint presentation geared to the 12th grade population of the school.
Ten or twelve professionals; a doctor, broker, hotel manager, contractor, local journalist whom McCoy recognized from The Ledger, sat with Jack on the portable stage in the gym. He'd been watching Jillian do crowd control in the bleachers. He enjoyed watching her in action. Composed, in charge, professional.
He had smiled to himself when he saw her settle down a group of boys with a deadly stare and a few short words to the ring leader across the room.. She looked very proper and no nonsense in the dark purple suit and lavender turtle neck, a school I D hanging from her neck. Dark auburn hair pulled back. McCoy smiled to himself knowing what was on underneath the work clothes. Maybe this wasn't a total waste of time, he thought.
The Principal had called for order as he began. McCoy could see Jillian moving towards the stage. He had been discreetly focusing on her legs as she had started up the steps of the stage, then his attention shifted to the disturbance at the right side door. She gave him a quick smile as she joined her colleagues on the other side of the stage. He strained to see what was going on.
"..it is with great pleasure we welcome those of you who took time out of your busy lives to join us today. To support Harlem's Bright Future Program. At this time," the Principal paused abruptly. The middle aged Latino man went for the walkie talkie on his belt, getting the words "Lockdown " and "Gun" out before the shooting started.
"Everybody DOWN," a male voice from behind him yelled.
McCoy hit the ground seeing the Principal take a bullet in the shoulder, as he did so.
Then all hell broke loose.
Green called Van Buren and relayed the information he and Briscoe had received from the SWAT commander.
".It's a mess L T. Parents and press all over the place. Centrals sending more unformed guys for crowd control before it turns into a riot outside...the released hostages said anywhere from 6 to 10 armed inside... Military style...Machine guns. Good question. Lennie & I will check it out...Seniors at the assembly only..the rest of the school went on lockdown as soon as shots were heard...SWAT sent guys to get everyone out of the classrooms..no, most of the kids were released in the first hour. Last of them just came out as we got here. They're holding adults. Staff and twelve guests for the program..No, he's still in there...Doesn't look like anyone knows.. Just came. They want the two from the Rivera homicide released. Like that's gonna happen...definitely Blood's. Gang Unit knows the leaders. They said by three..will do."
Green was putting the cell phone in his pocket as Briscoe joined him.
"Last word is SWAT's gonna storm the gym, "Briscoe said rolling his eyes.
"What,"Green said incrediously,"the negotiator just got here-"
Briscoe cut him off," I don't like it either. Too many hostages, too much fire power with those machine guns. But there's a time factor."
Green waited.
"Ed," he said lowering his voice," it looks like they don't know they have a DA in there...yet. SWAT wants to go in before the media blows it and these kids realize what they have."
"Damn Lennie. Looks like the shooters took all electronic devices..cells, pages..some of those cells have web access. About a hundred kids know Jack's a D A. If one of them says something to a reporter-"
"Not if, Ed, when. It's just a matter of time before someone gets their hands on some kind of list for the program. Time isn't on McCoy side. Geez "Career Day" Briscoe said with sacasm and bewilderment," What was he thinking?"
"Listen Lennie, Van Buren wants to know how weapons with that kind of fire power got passed school security. They have metal detectors here and some city police. Can't just be a handfill of kids."
Briscoe nodded," They had help. Someone on staff had to see those guns come in. You know anyone at Human Resources that could help with access to personal records?"
McCoy carefully looked around the gym, watching the last of the freed hostages go. He had counted eight shooters. One on each door. Four on the stage. Who knows how many on outside? All in red hooded sweatshirts. Eight of them and about thirty hostages. As well as God knew how many rounds of ammunition.
They had let the students in the gym go quickly. The wounded next and finally several members of the school staff. He had prayed Jillian allowed to go, but no such luck. She, two vice principals, and a handful of other staff remained. All means of communication; walkie talkies, cells, pagers had been confiscated and lay at the bottom of the stairs. McCoy had been relieved they hadn't demanded wallets as well.
The ring leader "J", was a face McCoy recognized, from the citywide Gang Taskforce meeting he had attended with Nora. He and three of his gang took center stage.
"Alright. Everyone listen up," he said and the other three laughed." that's right listen up. Just be cool. Stay where you are. Do what we say and don't get stupid and no one has to die."
The accountant next to McCoy whispered to him," What the hell do they want?"
"J" saw the movement and came over to the two men.
"Yo, dude, Mister.." ,"J" moved closer and grabbed the badge from the man's jacket, " Mister Jerome Peel, accountant, Dunn, Davis & Kline, something you want to share with the class?"
Peel forced the words out, his face pale, as the group laughed again," Money? How much money do you want?"
"J" tossed the badge on the floor,"Is that what you think this is about...money? Hell no! We don't want money Mister Accountant. We want justice."
McCoy suppressed a low moan, silently swearing, as lowered he his eyes.
"Justice for our people. You understand justice accountant man? "
Peel just stared, unable to speak the words.
Jack understood.
"Hey, you, you...old dude..grey suit, yeah you," "J" kicked McCoy's left shoe.
McCoy looked up at "J" saying nothing.
"Where's your I D man? Yeah I D..like Jer o me's got,"again laughter as "J" taunted, "Got to have I D here, it's a rruuulle, right? You look like a ruler breaker to me." he turned facing the facility", Yo, Ms. D. no I D! Check it out."
Jillian would not let herself look at McCoy. "J" motioned for her to stand.
"Come on, you know what you gotta do? You gotta check I D's . Like in class. Hurry up, let's go," he sneered.
She stood inches from where McCoy sat and stared at "J". She knew "J" from a fight she'd broken up her first week at the school. She remembered the way he'd instigated the violence "Come on man, you ain't gonna let some lowlife Crip mess with your bitch.." . She'd been walking through the lunch area and turned around hearing the geer, just in time to see the younger kid "J" had taunted lunge at the older boy in red stripes.
A crowd had gathered to cheer the fight on. Dennison alerted security with her walkie talkie, knowing she was on her own for a good 2 -3 minutes. She fought her way through the crowd, only to have "J" grab her, clearly displeased she was going to break up what he viewed , as lunchtime entertainment, "No one tell you yet this aint your job, lady?"
Instinctively she pulled away "You're already going down for assault, you started this"she hissed looking for his school I D to put a name with the face," no I D? Automatic suspension. Get out of my way."
She felt the very slightest touch of McCoy's shoe against hers for a brief moment.
"DO IT," he yelled.
She cleared her throat and turned to McCoy.
"Where's your I D?"
"Lost it," the second that wiseass walked in here ,he thought to himself, feeling the plastic badge in his shoe.
"What does that mean?"
"Automatic detention," she said realizing what was coming.
"No, man," "J" corrected," you need his name. Can't give a detention without a name."
She looked at "J" and calmly said," I know his name, "J". It's Zoowitt. Ira Zoowitt. Owner of Zoowitt's Eternal Lumber"
"J" looked shocked for a momemt,"No way, bitch. You shittin' me. He canceled."
Dennison shook her head, trying to keep her tone from showing anything but her natural contempt for the thug without setting him off," Ask him yourself. I'm sure Mr. Zoowitt can tell you anything you don't already know about dead bodies."
"Zoowitt from Zoowitt's Mortuary, here today? That's pretty damn funny," he said at last with genuine humor." Hell, dude, this must be you're lucky day. When this is all over, you'll make some bucks" He turned back to Dennison," You can skip Jerome here, keep going."
McCoy relaxed slightly when roll call finished and Jillian returned to the other side of the room. It was clear "J" despised her and McCoy wanted her as far away from him as possible. Two other people had missing badges, the beautician from Queens and an elderly optician from Brooklyn. "J" seemed to be satisfied all were who they claimed to be. He and two of the three men huddled at the back of the stage.
McCoy knew what they wanted and that there was no way two convicted murderers with rap sheets longer than his arm were going to be released to free anyone.
McCoy felt a tug from behind, he turned his head to see that damned reporter from, New York's answer to sleaze journalism. With everything else going on, He'd forgotten the reporter, he viewed as no more than lowlife trash.
"Hey, Zoowitt ", the young man whispered," we need to talk."
This day just gets better and better, Jack thought as the two men moved backwards so the panic stricken Mr. Pitt, sitting between them, couldn't hear their whispered exchange.
"Thought you were done for for a sec."
"Damned if I'd hand that rag of yours another next headline."
"Geez, McCoy, way to hold a grudge. Quit being such a hard ass,"the other hissed."We don't have time for this. We're all dead when these punks realize the Rivera brothers aren't coming home."
McCoy nodded," After our last meeting, it's hard to remember you're not the enemy, Levine...at least not today."
McCoy had no love for the brash reporter Bernie Livine had used McCoy's estranged relationship with his daughter to sell a few papers, during a high profile trial, in the not too distant past.
"What's the plan?"
The plan? McCoy gave the reporter a scaving, incredulous look." To try not to kill you myself before these punks do."
J had walked away from the hostages, but turned, when he saw the reporter talking to "Zoowit."
He sauntered back, gesturing with his gun. "You. Get away from the Zooman. Did I say you could talk to him?" J bent, so he could hold the muzzle of his gun in the reporter's face. In a louder voice, he asked again, "Did I SAY you could TALK to anyone?"
The reporter was backed against the chair back. "No," he practically whispered.
McCoy sighed. "Leave him alone."
J turned. "What? You talkin' to ME?" He imitated Robert DeNiro. "YOU talking to me? You TALKIN' to ME?" J giggled, as if his imitation was the funniest thing going on.
McCoy shrugged. "I don't see anyone else around worth talking to." He saw Jill blanch.
J stared at him, then smiled, and relaxed. "Why you so tough, Zooman?"
"It's Zoowit."
"I say, its Zooman." J grabbed an empty chair, and sat backwards on it, facing Jack. "You think you're tough, huh?" he toyed with his gun. "Tell me. You ever done up any gangbangers?"
"Yes."
"So...any of them, that got shot in the face, say?"
"Yes."
"Get them all pretty for an open casket funeral?"
"Some."
"How?"
McCoy thought. He'd done many of his own repairs or minor renovations, on his apartment over the years. "I suppose you'd call it spackle. The wound is filled in, and if necesary, the facial features are...recreated. Makeup to match the deceased's skin tone is applied." He paused. "Sometimes, the damage is too extensive."
"So...what you do then?"
"Drain the body of fluids, replace them with embalming fluid, and keep the family and friends from seeing what a 357 or an Uzi can do to the human head. The head has to be evacuated of remaining brain matter and tattered skin and muscle and other tissue-if the ME hasn't already done that, then is wrapped to prevent leakage of embalming fluid." He heard someone gag, and hoped it was the reporter.
"And that's it."
"Basically."
"And, you got to go to school for this?"
"And serve an internship with a funeral director."
"Basically learning how to do makeup, and stick a needle in someone's veins." J let out a loud laugh, and looked at Jill. "Hell, she's got more than a few students, can do that-to themselves! Future for a junkie-being a mortician! Hey, Zooman. You're so damned tough...tell me what else they teach you."
"You also learn how to tell a mother that since her 4 year old had his head blown off by a shotgun, that she doesn't want to view the body, and there can't be an open casket funeral." Jack looked at J, thinking of a recent case. A drive by, past a row house, in front of which, kids had been sitting and talking. When the parents inside had heard the shotgun blasts, they'd run outside. Someone had kept the mother from seeing her son's body.
J stared at him, and for a moment, Jack wondered if he'd pushed too far.
"You think you're tougher than me, don't you, Zooman," J sneered.
"If you go by how many dead bodies I've worked on...maybe I am." Jack spoke almost tonelessly, trying to let this hood know, that he'd met someone who cared even less for life, than himself. Who just did his job...just as J did, whether that "job" was robbing a bodega and shooting the owner, driveby shootings, or beating up hookers he suspected of hiding money. Or, taking hostages in a school.
"How many dead bodies?"
"In 27 years...maybe 10,000."
"Yeah, but some died of heart attacks, or cancer."
"You ever seen what radiation or chemo does to a body?" Jack let himself smile slightly, as if his job had made him more than hardened, but slightly demented over the years. "And, I'm not talking about what it does to the inside of a body. It's pretty interesting. Heart attack victims often turn blue. And if they died in their sleep, or aren't found for a few days...besides the decomp and bloating from gases, the side they're laying on, turns black, due to blood pooling there. If they are laying on their front...it takes a lot of makeup to make them presentable. A lot."
J stared at him again, then got up suddenly, and pushed the chair he'd been sitting on, away. He quickly turned his back on McCoy, and walked away, as if he'd had enough.
Briscoe and Green watched as the haggard looking records clerk pulled up file on the computer. The Human Resource department for New York City schools had been unusually cooperative when the pair flashed their badges. News of the shootings had spread quickly. Aside from the clerk, the detectives were alone. The rest of the staff huddled around a portable T V in an adjoining room.
The clerk looked at Green expectantly," Detective, no one named Rivera assigned to PS187."
"Knew it wouldn't that easy," Green commented, undaunted. "Anyone pending results from the fingerprint test?"
"No one starts at a site without-"
"Come on lady," Briscoe interjected," were talking' about a ghetto school in Harlem that hasn't been fully staffed since I went to high school. You get a warm body willing to go down there; red tape gets a little pink, if you know what I mean."
The clerk shifted uncomfortably," just a minute."
A moment later the woman returned with a computer print out and handed it to Briscoe," you didn't get this from me. I need this job."
Green scanned the list," Four Lennie. Janitor, two instructional assistants, and a groundskeeper."
Briscoe checked his watch,"Three too many. It's 1:45. Were running out of time."
Briscoe turned to the clerk, "How 'bout we try emergency contacts for these five? Just go ahead and read out the names."
She clerk typed in the first name," For Hector Salazar, Maria Salazar mother, Javier Torres, Miguel Vega cousin Da-"
"Miguel Vega, Ed that names rings any bells?" Green shook his head, "Right. Before your time. He's banger Mike & I busted about eight years ago for drugs. Took down his whole crew. Still be in prison if he hadn't been eight months shy of eighteen." Turning back to the clerk, Lennie glanced at her I D badge," Ada, were gonna need a print out of everything you've got on Torres. Address, references.. Ed, Jack was the prosecutor. Vega threatened him at sentencing. Said he'd make that "Mick bastard pay","Briscoe snickered," That little gem got him another two years added to the sentence."
"Yeah, I remember the case. But Lennie, Vega is a Crip. Why would the Bloods shoot up a school for a rival gang?"
Briscoe pressed the speed dial number for Van Buren," Why do these kids do anything they do?" he shrugged," What I do know is, someone's going to start shooting, soon. When that happens Jack McCoy is gonna be number one on the hit parade. Emphasis "hit'. It's almost 2:00. The thug in charge gave the Mayor until 3:00 to free his buddies."
District Attorney Nora Lewellyan and ADA Serena Southerlyn listened to the voice on the speaker phone intently. Van Buren relayed the information Brisoce had given her moments before.
"Anita, I appreciate the update, but right now shouldn't the priority be getting the hostages out safety? They'll be time for the the who and why later."
Van Buren was silent for a moment. Man or woman, liberal or conservative, every D.A. thought they knew how to run an investigation. She struggled to keep the irritation out of her voice," Nora, I know you're worried about Jack, and I sympathize. He and I have worked a lot of cases together. The department learned a valuable lesson with 911. The force is working together on this. SWAT and the Gang Unit are working with the negotiation team and the Major Case Squad to get the hostages out. My homicide detectives are working with the local precinct on the particulars."
"As anyone found a connection between the ones in charge at the school and Vega," Southerlyn asked.
"Gang Unit says the one doing all the talking is Jamel Johnson. Kid was pending expulsion. How he got on campus is another mystery," Van Buren said thankful for the overtime her husband worked so her boys could go to private school." Rap sheet longer than my arm. Apparently, Johnson was briefly assigned to Javier Torres, for a work experience program at the school. Torres is Vega's cousin."
Nora shook her head in disbelief," They assigned a student to work experience with a janitor who hadn't even had his fingerprints cleared yet?"
"School site didn't know that at the time."
"Anita, any word on plans to get the hostages out."
"SWAT is planning on going in soon. The 3:00 deadline is almost up. The mayor's office wants the negotiators to try to buy time to get the snipers set up."
"That's why he had us go to court and get a gag order. To keep the press from tipping anyone off when he had Rivera brothers shipped out of state. No way will the Mayor agree to their demands", Southerlyn interjected.
"They still haven't said anything about having Jack", Nora inquired hopefully.
"Not that we've heard," said Van Buren," Lennie's thinking maybe, if they figure out they need an escape plan, they will try to use him to get out of the school," she stopped short of saying "before they kill him".
Boredom leads to restlessness Dennison, like any good teacher, knew. These kids were getting bored and it showed. The skinny kid at the foot of the stage was playing with the cell phones that were at the bottom. One hand on his gun, the other hitting buttons on the phone.
She could feel her eyes start to well up with tears of relief when J returned to his group at the back of the stage and away from Jack. Who has a death wish, she had thought, her breath stopping when Jack drew attention away from the man beside him and on to himself. She had watched the exchange with a mixture of steer panic and steer admiration. She knew why he did it. Jack McCoy wasn't the kind of man to sit in silence if someone was in trouble.
Thank God that damned I D badge disappeared, she thought as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She glanced around the floor not seeing any sign of it. She struggled to regain her what was left of her composure.
She knew, as did Jack, any sign of a personal connection between them would be an invitation for more scrutiny from those keeping them captive. It could also help to tip them off to McCoy's true identity.
When J demanded a name for him, her mind a flashed back on the day Jamie convinced her to watch McCoy in action. They had quietly slipped into the courtroom, just as he began to redirect questioning of the Medical Examiner.
She had listened to his questioning with growing interest. It was clear the courtroom was his stage. He had charisma that made jurors want to listen to what he said. Although he was talking about forensics, an area most lay people would have little knowledge of, he made the information easily understandable. He had no trouble leading the M E exactly where he intended.
Zoowitt's name would still be on the list of speakers, if J had a copy. It was a small piece of luck that seemed to have protected McCoy for the moment.
Jillian strained to hear what was being said behind her. The humor was gone from J's voice replaced by impatience and anger.
"Never shouldda listened to a damn Scrap,"he hissed. "No damned D A here. Guy probably got spooked on the subway down. "
Another of the group spoke up,"Gotta be man, just talked to V man. Someone saw the dude come in."
"Just 'cause V say so, don't mean #$. Even if McCoy showed up, he aint here now. We can't be looking all over the damn school for him! It's all off," he hissed. "Aint no word on our homeboys. No brothers, no hit." J took the cell that had begun ringing,"Hell, I tell him myself."
McCoy couldn't hear what was being said, but he could see the change in J's demeanor. Something was gonna happen, soon. McCoy knew the demands were a farce. The Rivera brothers were probably in Jersey by now, if not further away. His watch read 2:30.
He wondered how long before SWAT stormed the place. Five dead already, the longer they held their hostages, the more nervous the SWAT commander was going to get.
Would J accept a deal from the negoiating team, McCoy wondered. McCoy wondered which Executive Assistant Nora would send ...Kirby? Donally? As good as Serna was becoming, she wouldn't have the experience to represent the D A's office in this. He was a cocky little bastard, but J wasn't as stupid as he seemed to enjoy acting. Impulsive, not stupid. Maybe he'd accept some kind of reduced sentence knowing, if he didn't, SWAT wouldn't let any of them get out alive.
McCoy's thoughts were interrupted by a loud string of swearing that ended in a cell phone flying across the stage and onto the gym floor.
J stormed over to McCoy's group and lifted Levine into a standing position, "Looks like you get to talk after all, Scoop. Carlos," he snapped, jarring the attention kid playing with a cellphone,"give him the phone."
Levine looked at the phone dumbfounded.
"Don't just look at it, TAKE IT! Looks like you be the man of the hour, Bernie Boy. No one gonna pay up for the rest of these losers. Big time reporter for The Ledger," J sneered shoving the phone into Levine's sweaty hand, "bet your paper has the bucks to get me and my crew -"
"You said you wanted justice, not money," Levine almost whimpered.
"Things chance, man. Now dial."
Bernie Levine's hands were valuably shaking as he dialed the number," Marty, it's Bernie...yeah, it's me. I need Sammy, now...FIND HIM," Levine turned to J," it's gonna be a sec. They're getting the boss - Sammy, thank God -"
J took the phone from Levine, "Listen, Sammy, if you want to see your star reporter without a casket, you better listen up and do what I tell you...WHO you tellin' to "calm down"? Just listen, don't talk, unless you I want me to mail Bernie back to you, in pieces!...Good. 5 million dollars in the next hour and maybe your boy gets to live...Yeah, you check with your money man, but for Scoop here you better be fast, or you'll have to scoop up what's left of him..you need WHAT, what the hell kind of newspaper doesn't have caller I D? Don't reporters get death threats all the time?!?... I don't know what the #$ the number is - Carlos, whose phone you been messin' with?"
The kid by the stairs shrugged his shoulders,"Just played the games, J. Didn't look at the name or the number, why would I?"
"Alright, dude, I got your number. I 'll call you back in ten minutes. Here's a message for any cop you talk to: When we walkout we want a car and plane waiting at JFK. We will let most of these folks go, but Scoop here will come with us. Once we have our money, will get him back to you safe and sound." J flipped the phone shut." See, boys, we don't need those damn Crips or that damn no show D A." J looked at Levine and patted him on the back," You did good, Bernie. Just chill," as Levine slipped back in his chair, J turned to McCoy." Sorry, Zooman. If Scoop's homeboy's are smart, may not be much business for you, after all."
Outside EDA Tracy Kirby turned to the SWAT commander with a frown," It went to voice mail," she said with concern mounting in her voice, "what does that mean?"
Before the commander could replied his phone rang," Collins... Go ahead," Kirby waited until the man turned to her," managing editor of the Ledger just heard from Johnson." Collins quickly filled Kirby in on the new demands," No mention of your man inside, looks like Johnson thinks this Levine is his ticket out."
"Sounds to me like they're getting desperate in there," Kirby commented grimly.
Collins nodded in agreement. "I'm alerting my snipers. If the mayor goes for this, we should have clean shot at them when they leave the building."
J paced the stage, idly playing with the phone, as he waited for the minutes to pass. Suddenly, he snickered, walking over to Carlos.
"Damn, man, I thought you knew how to play blackjack! You always stand on 17. This score is more than sorry!"
Carlos looked, shaking his head," No, man. That was there before. I was playin' poker."
J hit a few more buttons and smirked," Should have known. Girl, didn't you learn how do nothin on the Westside?," he said to Dennison." hell, didn't you even go to Vegas? This is even more pitiful-", Suddenly he stopped. His expression changing from mocking to sinister. He motioned for her to join him.
As she walked towards him, J held the cell phone out. He was in the address book.
"Jack," he spat the name at her." No last name? Wouldn't be some sorry ass DA named Jack would it? Let's see where Jack works."
The only sound in the room was that of the ringing phone, then came the recorded message.
"You have reached the Manhattan office for the District Attorney of New York County."
J snapped the phone closed triumphantly. J gave Dennison an exaggerated once over," my, my Ms. D. fresh from the Westside and you already know a Manhattan DA well enough to get him to go slumin' for you? Must be a damn good lay. Well, maybe not that good, since he bailed-"
McCoy cleared his throat and J turned," That you, Zooman? You got something to say?"
McCoy said wearily, "Don't you have a five million dollar phone call to make?"
J thought a moment and laughed," You in a rush to, what-da-ya-call-it, "spackle" another corpse?"
McCoy shrugged his shoulders," Not me. Just figured you'd rather hear about your money instead of giving the SWAT team more time to figure out how to storm the place."
"Man's right, J.," a voice from the back of the stage said. A heavy set black teen moved towards him," You know what happened with that bank shoot out last month. Damn cops shot the place up! Let's just get some cash and fly!"
"Shut up Q-ball."
J. turned his attention away from the hostages. Dennison saw his grip on the gun loosen. She glanced at Jack who had noticed as well. His head gave the slightest turn back and forth. She knew he was right, as she turned her attention to the gunmen on the gym floor who were moving from there posts towards the stage, curious, about the conflict between J and Q-ball. Even if she could manage to get the gun from J., his crew would either shoot her or someone else before she could do anything with it.
"Just make the call, man," Q-ball said, rubbing his hairless head with one hand.
"You not the boss, Q!"
"This is bullshit man. Aint about bein' the "boss" J. 'Bout stayin' alive!"
Some of the others joined in with comments as well. The group moved into a huddle to fight among themselves. J had his back to the hostages.
"McCoy," Levine pointed to the two Vice Principals. One was a man about McCoy's age, the other a nervous looking man of maybe thirty. The men were on their feet and suddenly one of the men was using J as a human shield. The older man had his gun pointed at the group.
"Drop the guns, NOW," the man holding machine gun shouted." Move and I'll shoot you where you stand."
"He bluffing," J said sounding unsure," he don't even know how to fire-"
The man fired a round into the air," Shut the hell up Jamel," he hissed," I was in Vietnam you little shit. I was firing guns before you learned how wipe you butt."
Lennie Briscoe handed the black N.Y.P.D. mug to Jack McCoy as he sat down.
"Thanks Lennie, but I'm fine."
"Trust me counselor. With the day you had you need this. Drink it."
McCoy shot him a questioning, slightly annoyed look and raised the cup. A slow smile formed as he drank. He glanced around the interrogation room.
"We're alone?"
"For now. Lieutenant's with Ed down in booking trying to handle the press. You like your Johnny Walker latte?"
"Best "coffee" I've had all day", he said with a wink." Thanks, but will your Lieutenant approve?"
"Hey, it's only my badge," Briscoe joked. "Besides, I remember Career Day, from when my kids were in high school. I needed a more than one drink that day and held me hostage."
McCoy chuckled and carefully set the mug down," What did you get out of Vega and Torres?"
"Typical story. Torres gets himself hired at the school. Finds himself mentoring a hotshot banger. School talk for: Johnson helps Torres empty trash. Word gets back to his cousin, Vega, who just got out of the joint. Not too long after, Vega sees the Career Day list of speakers - some article in the local paper - and genius that he is, he starts thinking.
"First, he thought about taking the reporter, Levine, for ransom. Seeing how risky it is, he decides to go to Johnson and his crew. In exchange, he agrees to use his connections with the gangs and dirty prison officials to get the Rivera brothers out of prison. He figures, the mayor will move them upstate or to Jersey when the demand for their release comes. That's when his boys tried to bust them out," Briscoe laughed, "Vega didn't count on the so called "dirty" correction officers being undercover Gang Unit guys. "
"But to take hostages? Shoot up a school?"
"Not at first." Briscoe paused. "Torres got a hold of the memo said that you were coming. He recognizes the name and tells Vega. Vega figures he can kill a couple of birds with one stone. Talk his enemies into doing the dirty work. Making a deal that got the brothers out would have given Jamel "J" Johnson a lot of clot with the big players in the gang, if he could pull it off. Vega figured he could get a dozen or so Bloods killed and get them to do his dirty work."
McCoy nodded," Something for every one, especially Vega. Sit back and enjoy his revenge without getting his hands dirty."
"Right. Of course, Johnson and his crew aren't the brightest bunch," Briscoe said sarcastically, "so they went for it. Now, we just need to prove it was Vega that was the brains from the start."
Both men looked up as Van Buren and Southerlyn joined them.
"Glad to see you're back," Southerlyn said giving McCoy a hug.
"If I knew that's what it took to get a hug, I'd have become a hostage a longtime ago," McCoy quipped, returning the embrace. "You're handling the interrogations?"
Serena nodded," Just on my way to talk to your friend, Jamel Johnson."
McCoy drank the last of the scotch and started toward to door.
Van Buren moved closer to the door," Now, Jack; I don't think that's a good idea. You've been through a lot today. No one wants to see this case get thrown out of court. Let Serena handle it."
McCoy would not be dissuaded." Serena will handle the interrogation. I'll observe until the Public Defender shows up."
McCoy watched the interrogation dispassionately from the other side of the glass.
Johnson had smugly waved his right to counsel. "I don't need no jive public defender to talk to Blondie here," he'd boasted to Van Buren earlier. Van Buren had been called away and Southerlyn was alone with Jamel Johnson.
He looked at Southerlyn, "I know what I want. I want a deal and I aint dealing with another white bitch."
Southerlyn gave him a withering look," A deal? You shot up a school. Five people are dead. You took hostages and threatened to kill them if you didn't get money and a plane and you expect a deal, Mr. Johnson? Not likely. If you're willing to cooperate, testify and tell us who supplied the weapons-"
" Listen, bitch, I'm a minor. Do you know what that means?"
"It means you need to show Ms. Southerlyn the respect she deserves from a worthless punk like you."
J stared at the man in the doorway.
"Zooman? You got lost on the way to the morgue?"
McCoy said coming closer. "You seem to have a problem with women, Mr. Johnson. With Ms. Southerlyn, Lt. Van Buren, Ms. Dennison. That means, I have a problem with you."
"Like I care," he said rising," You aint even supposed to be in here." he turned to Southerlyn. "Get off your ass bitch and do your job. Get him out of here."
McCoy slammed a wide eyed J back down into the chair and began rolling his shirt sleeves up. "Ms. Southerlyn, go get an officer. Mr. Johnson is about to take a fall."
"Jack-"
McCoy stood J up again. "That happens all the time here. Especially to little wise asses with mouths bigger than their brains, that doesn't know how to show a lady respect."
Realization showed on J's increasingly terrified face," Jack McCoy?"
"You really like that word "bitch" don't you Jamel," McCoy spat the words out as he slammed J's face down on the table. "Makes you feel like a man to say it, does it?"
"Jack stop," Southerlyn pleas fell on deaf ears.
McCoy slammed J against the wall. Blood streamed from his nose.
"Hey man you can't do this", he stammered, terror showing in his eyes.
"As a District Attorney? No. As a victim of a crime where my life was threatened for hours on end? I'm in shock, not responsible for my actions," he said holding J against the wall." I suggest you listen what Ms. Southerlyn has to say. You may be seventeen, Mr. Johnson, but when I'm finished with my statement, it'll be a slam dunk to get this case moved to adult court. Once that happens I can have you tried as an adult with special circumstances. That means death lethal injection. That is, if you don't take too many falls before you get to arraignment."
"What do you want, man"
"Ms. Southerlyn might be more inclined to wave the death penalty if you where to cooperate. You tell us what you know and testify against Mr. Vega and Mr. Torres. As well as apologize."
"Whatever you want."
McCoy turned him around and spin him back into the chair," After you apologize to Ms. Southerlyn, you give up Vega and Torres, as well as anyone else involved in this little plot."
J turned to Southerlyn wiping his nose, "I apologize," he glanced at McCoy," I apologize Ms. Southerlyn."
Serena just stared at McCoy as Briscoe and Johnson's attorney entered the room.
Danielle Melik looked McCoy, then at the bloody nose, then back at McCoy.
"Jamel, I'm your attorney, Ms. Melik. What happened here?"
Before she could begin her tirade Johnson spoke, "Aint no thing, lady. I just get nose bleeds. Happens a lot."
"Really", she said gearing up for a tirade, "Listen Jack, I could have you disbarred, not to mention-"
"Lady, I said I get nose bleeds," J said firmly. Upon meeting McCoy's unwavering stare he added softly, "Ms. Melnik, madam."