The lights of the street were dark; the bulbs under the metal hoods had been shot out weeks ago, merely seven hours after the city had them replaced. The cherry end of a cigarette burned in the pitch blackness of the alley in the shelter of a navy blue Ford Escort. A brunette with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail sat in the dark with that lit cigarette, dragging deeply off it and making it burn brighter. The windows were all rolled up and the doors were locked down, glass tinted black; nothing was getting in there with her and likewise, the smoke wasn't getting out. It was good that she enjoyed the lonesome sound of silence and the smell of burned tobacco and clove. She enjoyed the burn on her tongue that the clove cigarettes left; the Marlboros she used to crave long since left in the past. She watched the transaction across the street from the protection of that dark vehicle. She'd been the one to call it in but she was waiting for the gang's upper echelon members to arrive. "Come on, show me your mean, boys." She muttered to herself, smoke curling out of her nose and puffing out of her mouth, clove tingling her tongue. "Where're your daddies?"
Meanwhile, over thirty miles away, Conyers Police Department was following up on the second overdose in their county in the span of a week. A detective, rather young in appearance to fit the title, stood over the ME's metal table, a body under a sheet the cause of this detective's late hours. Despite his young appearance the detective had faded, tired eyes that belonged on a career cop three times his age. Likewise, for being dead the body under the sheet looked much too slight and young to be so eternally cold.
"Loki, Jesus, don't you ever take a night off? You look like something Vlad would drop off for me." The ME, Florence Belter, commented with a note of care. She was fifty-nine and knew the hazards of a no-family all-job lifestyle. "Find a girl, son. Get hitched and have babies."
"Right." Loki replied dryly, short, curt. "So I can bring them into this world? What kind of a parent would I be then?"
"One that actually understands the stakes." Flo breathed a sigh, then continued. "I suppose you're here for her…" She didn't wait for his reply before uncovering the head and shoulders. "Deceased female, adolescent Caucasian; I wouldn't put her age over fourteen. Official cause of death is asphyxia due to emesis – vomit – due to overdose of heroin as shown by the tox screen. No form of identification was found on the body. I sent dental records up to Philly. She had a crown on her back molar so that should pick up an identity for you in 24 hours, give or take."
"Thanks, Flo." Loki had been taking notes the entire time. At the conclusion, he flipped the book closed and slapped the edge of the table with it. "Give my best to Susan."
Florence smiled like there was no death to weigh her down. "She's starting junior high this year. It's been so rewarding doing this volunteer outreach thing…" Yet another prod to try and get him on the path to that: a family.
He tries to grin but it comes off pained.
He's got too much on his mind for a girl or family, or whatever else.
And these overdoses were really starting to bother him…
By the time Loki made it to his car his eyes were blinking feverishly. It was a facial tic, one he barely noticed anymore…until someone else did.
Ѫ
It was late morning when Loki made it home. Finally… He wouldn't have even minded if the Captain let him sleep in one of the empty interrogation rooms. He hated going home. There wasn't anything for him here, not anymore, not for a long time now. Or so it seemed on those odd occasions he let himself think about it… It was too goddamned quiet. Not to mention he lived in a place that was, by its very nature, a dump. The door creaked in protest of its use as he came inside, keys clattering as he haphazardly plunked them down on the side table. He didn't really have a foyer or hall that led from his door to the rest of his shit Brownstone rental. It was a one bedroom, one bath, on the outskirts of town; that was its only redeeming quality really…
Next stop was messages on his answering machine but, alas, he never had any. All calls for work were patched through his cell phone and anything pertaining to his rental property was handled immediately by the super of the complex. It was a good thing, once in a blue moon, to be a detective for the police when delinquent landlords turn up. He blinked a few more times when the machine told him he had zero messages, raising an eyebrow and curling his upper lip up as if to say he wasn't surprised, but then, one could always hope.
He marched himself into the back, into his bedroom, sitting on the very edge of his bed like a perch and took his boots off. David wasn't like normal people, not so much anyway; instead of kicking off his shoes he took them off one at a time by undoing the laces first. He would then methodically line them up even with one another, toe to heel, in front of his closet. He peeled his shirt off of his tattooed body and folded it neatly on a chair in the corner of his room, following suit with his pants. In boxer briefs and sock feet he pads into the bathroom to run a hot shower. This would complete his ritual – after the old socks and underwear go directly in the hamper – and he would crawl into bed in new socks and underwear to sleep until his next shift called him out. Knowing his schedule and his workload, that was never very long coming.
A line of very disgruntled looking individuals sat handcuffed and shackled to metal chairs single-file in the warehouse the brunette officer raided with her team last night. Over and beyond the call of duty last night, agent Cara Mason tailed all of these men, plus sick more to a warehouse in the marina district of New Jersey. Granted, the drugs had already been in-country for days, but at least they'd taken this load and all these losers off the streets. "Hey, hey, bitch… You wanna suck my cock off after I piss in your mouth?" One of the unfortunates was goading her.
Cara rolled her eyes before looking down at his crotch, not even looking at him or meeting his eyes. She chuckles. "You know that saying: hung like a horse?" The petite agent barely waited for an ounce of recognition or reply before continuing, pulling out a long buck knife with serrated edge and stabbing the seat of the chair between his legs before he could even blink. "I can make you hung like a hamster."
"Tough bitch…while I'm all tied up here…" His tone was tightly controlled, trying to regain his macho testosterone with his buddies present.
She wrenched the knife out of the metal seat, creating a grating sound. "I don't much care if you were lathered up with grill grease; I'd still take you on and I'd still cut off your cock. But, maybe…upon further review I'd make you swallow it when I was done…"
It had been a rough 76 hours and the brunette hadn't slept in longer. She needed to sleep, then 'Netflix and chill,' but she didn't know which order to put them in. This whole thing was a fucking three-ring circus. Thankfully Barnum and Bailey finally called in the tiger and let her do her thing. Good thing, or most of the pinheads in her department would still be trying to find their asses in the dark with both hands… Come to think of it, not even flashlights would be of any help… Cara was on loan from the Boston headquarters of the FBI; all the northeastern states pooled their resources to fight a spike in drugs coming in from Asia well over a year ago and the elite taskforce had been repurposed after that – oddly enough the answer to that case too, was Jersey – and she'd never left. Now she hunted dumb gang bangers and their drugged-out, little pimp-bitch, gun-toting friends and sent them to the only rent-free in existence anymore, courtesy of Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty.
Over a year since she'd had a bust this size…
She ached for the meat of a good case like that again…
Her handler and former lover, Jason Nathaniel Kromer, watched her exit the room before saying anything to her. "I take it that went well…" The man wasn't usually serious and it was throwing her off. The look she gave him said he shouldn't elaborate on that if he wanted to live. "Harsh! Okay, I'll remember that. Is there anything you would like to say? For the record…?" They were talking as they walked down the hall and out into the stuffy summer night, 'er…morning…
"Not a whole lot, no…" Cara commented. "Can you put this on the official report?" And she gave him the finger…
"I could… But, I'm going to do you a solid and negate that you had anything further to report tonight."
"That sounds great, Jay."
"Happy to assist…" His mouth was set in a grim line that somehow, minutely, resembled a smile.
She saluted him in a sloppy sort of way as they came outside. The rest of the taskforce was comprised of two local detectives from Trenton and three more FBI agents that were more muscle than anything else; they certainly couldn't claim the title of genius that Cara could, to paint the picture with broad strokes. Pete Hannigan was her favorite muscle so she went easy on him. "Pete, did you get me those bolt cutters from the truck yet?"
"No ma'am. I heard you were busy with knuckleheads."
"Does that mean I can't do two things at once?"
"No ma'am."
"So what does that mean?"
"Means I'm leaving to get those for you now…" He jogged off just as she smirked.
"Good man."
By the time everything was said and done it was ten in the morning. Cara didn't know whether to say it was late or early anymore; maybe both at once. Her drive home was quiet. Thank the gods for fucking silence! She lived in an apartment complex just outside of the Chambersburg section of Trenton, a building that – besides herself – housed the newlywed and the nearly dead. The elevator reached floor three and she heaved a sigh that she even had to walk to her door from here. Upon entering the brunette locked up behind herself, plopped the keys down on her foyer table, took her bullet proof vest off and let it drop onto the floor, shuffled through the apartment to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and fell in bed face first and fully clothed. Usually this was her thinking position but not fifteen minutes later, the agent was out like a light.
A phone was ringing somewhere in the void. It was getting louder, sharper, clearer now as pale eyes darted around beneath long-lashed eyelids. Finally they fluttered open and Cara lay glaring at the lit display screen as though it was possessed. "Really, right now!? Fucking animals! Is nothing sacred anymore!?" By the time she answered the other party would have usually given up…it it wasn't Jason.
"Rise and shine, badass."
"Have a horrible morning and piss on you, too. It's way too fucking early." Delicate but capable feminine fingers wiped sleep from her eyes. "It's…" She paused to actually look at the clock. "It's two o'clock. I've been asleep for the better part of three hours. This better be Bishop needing an appendectomy good or I'm hanging up now."
All he had to say was one thing, two or three small words that meant so much more. "It's happening again, Car."
Silence.
"Did you hear what I said to you? You still there…?"
There was a shaky breath inhaled letting him know that there was, indeed, someone still on the line. It took a bit for Cara to respond. She'd been through Hell and back again for that case. It had taken almost two years of her life from her. It wasn't as though she regretted taking the case because she didn't; it was the kind of case careers were made on. Or the kind they tanked on, depending… "I thought it was done." Her tone was calm. Calm was good.
"I thought so, too. But it was international, remember? Just because we cut off their usual contacts, suppliers, and lines here in New Jersey before, doesn't mean they didn't find someone new and start over again someplace else."
"What's the pattern?"
"I don't have specifics or numbers right now; Ryan's got those. He's waiting on you to come in and we'll all have a pow-wow."
"I'm there." While they'd been exchanging words she'd been putting her shoes back on and trading the slept in shirt for a new one. Pants, too? No. No one gave a shit about somebody's pants. Call-ended registered as she grabbed a denim jacket and ran out the door, quick.
Ѫ
Detective Loki lived for his job and it was known to all those around him that he slept only to recharge his mental faculties, never for relaxation or sloth. He arrived back to the station promptly for his shift with new fresh clothing – shirt and pants – socks, and smelling the part of a freshly showered individual. He was a bit anal about his personal hygiene habits, too. One before work and one shower after, before bed. He wouldn't go so far as to say he's a germ-o-phobe or anything but being clean never hurt anyone; and the hot water helped him relax – but let's be honest and say that virtually never works; it's just a compulsion like his blinking and the placement of his shoes, and his constant work, whether at work or elsewhere – at the end of the day.
Almost everyone looked at David like he was an enigma or some other form of unsolvable mystery. No one knew much about him at work outside of Florence, the Medical Examiner, and people didn't really care for her that much either. They only knew what they saw, which was work ethic, a strong almost terrifying mind, and lots and lots of anger. Anger in spades! Rage wasn't a strong enough term for the anger David owned. It emanated off him like heat off macadam in the summer sun. It was mostly a testament to his private personal internal mental and emotional pain, but he'd never tell them that.
Two other detectives eyed him from the broom closet they'd fashioned a break room out of. Their stares were cold and biting; it was incredibly maddening that a person didn't know a thing about another person and they still condemn them to judgment. He walked straight past them to his desk and flipped open the file on the young Jane Doe. The detective had two other files on his desk besides hers, all overdoses and, it would appear, all first time users. It wasn't uncommon for overdoses to occur in any person. The inexperienced users wouldn't know how much to use and the experienced users would be taking too much of a dose to compensate for long-term use and tolerance. Long fingers flipped open all of the files and had them arranged side by side by side in chronological order of when the person was found deceased. There had to be a clue here, something he was missing within these pages that gave him more to go on. Why now? Why were these overdoses suddenly happening now? And, why do many?" Granted, there were only three so far but David was sure there were more elsewhere; he'd put in a request to collect data from other precincts, some federally, but he hadn't heard back yet. And anyway, it was three of these deaths in a three week period of time!
He'd read those files half a dozen times each and he read them again now. As if the ME telling him to go home for once wasn't enough of a clue into his psyche, he wasn't just a work-a-holic. Loki almost never went home when he was on a case, just to shower and most times, if that. Most often other cops or people from town would catch him sleeping in his car; and that was when he slept at all. Recharged or not, David was always on duty on a case…
"Loki, forensics is sending up their report on the DNA evidence collected at the overdoses along with their findings on other samples." One of the older detectives called over.
"Thanks, Harry."
Well, at least that was a step in the right direction…
It didn't take long to figure out that a step in the right direction was two steps back, as it turned out. Detective Loki hadn't been prepared for the report he received. It was as the Medical Examiner had told him, the Jane Doe and his two other overdoses had indeed been overdoses, accidental. The prints and DNA residual on the syringes had matched to the victims which implicated no one else in the death but the deceased themselves. Wonderful. So, no other leads… Swell. He thanked the forensics team and left, even though he wasn't feeling very grateful. He was at another dead end and nothing to show for his efforts, nothing to show for the victims he was sworn to defend and help…to avenge.
The Conyers Police Department sat at the city center next to all the usual suspects where it wasn't very hard to find crime. It practically revolved around them like the earth around the sun. Director Ryan Gregory Bishop sat in the waiting chairs outside of Captain Richard O'Malley's office. It was a visit that had happened before with other local law enforcement leadership. This time, however, was a bit different; the same thing that happened two years ago was happening again but, unlike the last time, a local detective had the signs into a viable equation. This detective had put in a request for Federal and interjurisdictional records on similar cases to the cases he had recently taken, cases that pertained to why Ryan was here…
The Captain opened his door and immediately offered a hand. "Director Bishop, Captain O'Malley; it's a pleasure, sir."
Ryan took the proffered hand and shook it but maintained a steely fixed stare. "Is it really a pleasure, Captain?" It sounded like a question but it wasn't. "We're not meeting at the Police Officers' Ball, really. What is it they say? 'I went to Hell and all they gave me was this lousy t-shirt'?"
"It's no Ball, but I assure you, sir, Conyers is no Hell." He paused for effect. "Please, step into my office and we can speak further."
"I'll keep that in mind, Captain O'Malley. For now, I have nothing further to go on. Perhaps you can begin with telling me about your detectives and how this locale differs from many others…?" It was the same old song and dance but it had to be done, especially now. This had been the only time, to reiterate, that a detective on the local level had even remotely started to put the whole picture together. A half spiel droned on about O'Malley's department before Ryan just…stopped him. "That's all fine and well Captain, but let us…cut to the chase here, shall we? You are not the reason I am here. Your department, generally speaking, is not the reason I am here. You have a single detective that I'm interested in seeing and I have an on-going case of international importance he'd stumbled into. Now, you can oblige me now or you can risk the wrath of the President himself for hindering an investigation that has international and foreign affairs ramifications."
Across town Cara sat with Jason, her legs up and bent, knees up at her chin and her feet planted on the chair cushion. "Ryan was quick to get us here and leave." That was the most she'd said in hours. "Is it a rush or not!? Jesus…"
Jay shook his head. "Patience. You know what that is? Right? Calm down! You have a problem, you know that?"
"Yeah, I have a problem, Jay. I have a problem with things going unfinished, things that should have been fucking finished two years ago!" Her hands gesticulated angrily, bringing her legs down.
"You didn't know these assholes would be back in business. You certainly didn't know it would encompass Jersey again." Jason was trying to talk her down. He should have known Cara's propensity for being hard on herself would take precedence. "Or go further than that…"
"This is on me. Don't even try, Jay."
"Oh, okay, I'm sorry. I forgot. You're the Anti-Christ; everything is your fault. I wondered why I smelled sulfur over here…"
Cara flipped him the bird again; it happened a lot between them. They had that romantic past of casual sex that both of them needed every now and then but it never affected their work relationship; they'd been friends for years before that and they hated each other just enough to keep it real – which was barely hate at all really.
She'd been about to ask him about Ryan Bishop's call for a meeting; their Director had been nothing if not cryptic on the secure line when he'd called them in. Jason was always okay with cryptic. It was never Cara's strong suit… She'd go into any situation, do any job, but she always had to know for what and why. It was what made her a superb agent…and a gigantic pain in the ass. "Speak of the Devil…" Jason commented, grinning as he looked up, his cell buzzing with their Director's programmed codename showing. "And he shall appear…" Cara's eyes locked onto his and he grinned comically. "Oh, sorry! Forgot, that was you." She smiled tightly back at him as if to say she wasn't amused at all at the same time 'stick it up your ass' was implied. He answered. "Sup, boss?"
The call was brief. Ryan updated his team as to his whereabouts and approximate time of return. Jason and Cara were both prime agents but neither one liked sharing things with the local cops. They hadn't liked his update one bit; but they didn't have to. He hadn't told them about his real reason for the visit. Sure, it was the tip-off to the locals that was customary when the Feds were in town and pulling jurisdiction and rank, but it was secretly more; he wouldn't go so far as to say recruitment was in the cards but it could be. This detective was good, better than standard. As Ryan looked further into him, this detective was looking even more like potential. Once he'd proctored enough information from the Captain, also reading over the detective's jacket a couple times, he'd made the Captain – also a poor excuse for one of those seeing as he wasn't acting at all his rank and dressed like a derelict grabbing a used suit at good will – fetch Detective David Wayne Loki at once. It didn't take the Captain long to find the detective, and why should it? From everything he'd just read the detective was always at work; he had no personal life to speak of either, which would come in handy on cases like this. It was too bad this wouldn't end up a collaborative effort…
"Director Bishop, this is the detective you asked me about. He's the best one Conyers has, sir, and…"
"How nice for you. I'll be brief." Ryan looked up into the two sets of eyes before him. He stood and the detective blinked in such a way that screamed 'facial tic.' "What I hoped to accomplish in coming here and having you all go to this…trouble, is that in that you would realize who I am, who I represent and what we do. There will be no need for an actual meeting or exchange of information. What you have will be turned over to my people as soon as humanly possible. You will cease and desist from all investigations and leads garnered in regards to this case. I don't want to even smell Conyers PD or Detective Loki on or around this. This is a Federal case now. Have I made my points clear enough that you both understand them?"
Loki blinked repeatedly as his sudden anger was spiking to a crescendo. He found his voice when the stranger was finally done. "With all due respect, sir, you may have the pull of jurisdiction over us here at the local level but you have no right pulling me off this case." He wasn't yelling but damn if he didn't want to. "I've worked hard on this. There hasn't been a case I haven't closed. And beside all that, I made promises to some families that I'd see this through." The agitated blinking hadn't stopped yet.
Ryan Bishop smiled in a most saccharine way, too sweet and fake emotion down to the sympathetic core. "With all due respect; do you know what I hate about that? No one ever says that to you when they're sincere about it; it's almost always followed by some form of disrespect. First of all, you mistake my ending before with a question as your chance for a rebuttal and that's just…not the case here. There are no exceptions to my requests and they are to be handled and processed timely. Secondly, Detective Loki, I don't really give a good goddamn if you promised to learn how to fly to the moon and bring those families back a star; it is not happening. You won't give them anything, least of all the justice they seek. Now, before I give the two of you anymore reason to debate me, I'll be on my way. Good day to you both." He exited promptly and was met with only stony silence at the door. It followed him all the way out of the Conyers Police Department headquarters.
David waited until he was sure the Director of…whatever division of the FBI he was from was gone down the hall before speaking to his Captain. "Are we really going to acquiesce to that fucking blowhard?" Mad blinking…
Captain O'Malley was still finding a silent receptacle for all of his anger. It was all he could do to control the tone and inflection in his voice. "Officially, yes; there's nothing more I can do. He's pulled rank on me and Federal always comes first." He paused and when he spoke again there was a lit fuse behind every word. "Unofficially… I say you make copies of all your files and solve this thing. Do it your way. Nobody talks to my finest detective that way."
