Title: Snapshot. Because I couldn't think of anything better.
Summary: A young Danny Messer meets some 'Coppers'.
Rating: Pg-13 (T) because of some language
Author's notes: This was based on and inspired by the official CBS website's description of Danny. I quote, "Growing up in a family under surveillance, Danny formulated his own set of hybrid ethics, blending the world of law-breakers with the world of lawmakers." Also, I am currently not planning to continue this story unless an idea hits me over the head.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, unfortunately.
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"So, what're we doin'?"
"We're watchin'"
Deliberately vague, the statement was intended specifically for the purpose of further annoying the other man sitting in the passenger seat of the car.
"No, I mean – You know… Well, what're we watchin' for, then?
Rolling his eyes, Officer Leonard Tacke glanced towards his less-than-brilliant partner who was carefully raising his steaming cup of coffee to take a large slurp. Sighing, Rick Giordani lowered the cup back into the holder before sending Leonard a frustrated look. He smiled slightly before relenting to the other officer's gaze.
"We're watchin' for anythin' that might connect Messer to the shootings that have been goin' on in the past year. We know he had some involvement in 'em, we just can't prove it yet."
A puzzled expression on his face, Rick turned to look at Leonard. "But if we can't prove it, how do we know that he did it?"
As he spoke, Leonards eyes were drawn back to the window as a muted but still-audible slap resounded from the harsh closing of a screen door. Its grimy plastic surface fit in perfectly with the rest of the small one-story bungalow which was a dull grey colour specifically designed to minimize the appearance of dirt. The cause of the sound, a small boy who looked to be around 10 or 11, stomped over to the middle of the brown-green lawn.
"Ain't that Messer's kid?"
"Yeah… I think so."
The two officers watched curiously as the brown-haired boy turned to face the wall of his house. Only once he'd brought his hand up to pitch did Leonard spot the white baseball tucked into his hand, which was then promptly thrown at the ugly grey wall, producing a dull thud that could only be partially heard from inside the car. From their place parked down the street the Leonard didn't have a close-up view, but from what he could see the kid was throwing pretty hard.
A yelling in Italian from inside the house caught the officers' attention and their eyes were drawn towards the screen door where a big guy with a mess of brown hair and a mean glare could be seen, his gaze focused on the boy.
"Messer, right?"
"Yeah."
The boy studiously ignored the unintelligible ranting of his father, continuing to throw the baseball against the wall, run to pick it up, and then repeat the process. Giving up, Messer crossed his arms, and ceased his yelling. Glaring daggers at his son, he shouted (in English, this time), "Later, you little fucker! You'll get it later!" When the rhythmic thumping of the ball against wood didn't stop he punched the ball of his fist against the plastic of the door which rattled ominously. Finally, he left.
The boy continued his game and after about half a minute, the faded-white baseball hit an odd angle on the wall, sending it rolling beyond the lawn and into the street. Frowning, the kid ran to pick it up, kneeling, scooping, and standing all in one smooth motion. About to turn around, the boy's eyes caught Leonard's. Oh shit. His face a strange mix of aggression and curiosity, he began to walk quickly over to the car, eyes never straying from his goal.
"Leonard, is that kid..?"
"Yeah, he is. Just – just ignore him, alright?"
Blindly, Leonard searched for something, anything, to do. Finding an old Chinese takeout menu he quickly lowered his head, pretending to be absorbed in his reading. Damn, you'd have to be fucking brainless not to see through this façade. He sent a glance over to Rick who was perusing a porn magazine which he must've brought along himself because Leonard sure as hell wasn't ever going to be caught with one of those pieces of crap in his car.
Not wanting to risk a look at the kid, Leonard brought his attention back to the booklet in his hand. Sesame Shrimp: ten lightly battered shrimp with sesame seeds and your choice of sauce. Crispy Shrimp: ten deep fried and – The sound of a sharp knocking made Leonard's head jerk up suddenly and his eyes rose to look at the boy who was glaring into the window. Leaning forward, he tapped against the glass again. Leonard sent a glance over to Rick who was mumbling something about tinted glass as he continued to look through his magazine. Sighing, he rolled down the window – it would only look more suspicious if they didn't respond.
"What is it, kid?"
"What do ya want?"
The kid's voice was curt and apprehensive – it was obvious that he didn't trust them. Nevertheless, he leaned into the car, bracing his arms against the frame in order to keep his balance while at the same time providing a better view of the interior. The motion allowed for Leonard to see a nasty purple-swollen bruise that had formed around his right wrist. Must be a pretty resilient kid considering that he was pitching a baseball with that arm earlier. That same baseball was now resting comfortably between two pale hands which connected to a lean but wiry body, clothed in a T-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. His face was slender and without freckles, a pair of scratched and beaten glasses perched on his nose, accentuating piercing blue eyes which were flickering avidly around the car, absorbing all of its details while at the same time giving him a flighty, wild animal look.
Licking his lips, those blue orbs focused on Leonard and jaw jutting aggressively, the boy repeated himself; "I said, what do ya want?"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about kid; we're just sittin' here. We ain't botherin' anyone."
"Like hell you aren't." The boy laughed; a sudden exhaling of breath that came out more like a grunt. "Coppers like you hangin' out in this kinda neighbourhood only means one thing – you're lookin' to catch someone."
The revelation that this little punk (Messer's son, no less) knew who they were hit the two officers hard, and the shock must've been apparent on their faces because he started laughing. Laughing. Jeez, this kid's got nerve. His chuckles subsided, but the look of amusement stayed on his face as he spoke.
"I know what cops look like. And besides, you've got a radio." He gestured to the space between Leonard and Rick where a microphone hung by a coiled plastic wire in plain sight. Rolling his eyes at the sight, Leonard turned back to the boy who was now grinning smugly. "So, smartass, what is it that you're trying to accomplish by comin' over here?"
"Name's Danny, not smartass, Copper. Ya know, I'm just lookin' for some info, some amusement, that kinda thing. So you're watchin' for someone?"
"Yep." Leonard ignored the look of distress on Rick's face – this kid was smart and it seemed like he'd already figured it out. Even if he hadn't yet, he would've eventually.
The kid – Danny – looked up and down the street, as if searching for the person they were surveying. Seeing no one, he leaned back into the window of the car. "I'm not gonna ask who, 'cause I doubt you'd tell me. What do you do all day? Just… watch?"
"Well, at this point in our careers, yeah. Hey, uh, you're sure you don't want to just go play ball over in your yard or something?"
"Nah, this is more interesting. What's it like to be a Copper, then?"
"Well…" Leonard sent a glance over to Rick, who shrugged, absorbed in his magazine. Rolling his eyes, Leonard turned back to Danny and began to explain the high and low points of being an officer. Eyes narrowed in concentration, Danny listened.