Hey there, this is a pretty radical departure for me but this has been a lot of fun to write. I hope people enjoy it and read it with an open mind. Chronologically this takes place towards the beginning of Season 2, but it was framed to take place in the lull between when Vic and the gang first encounter Armadillo and when he begins to become a serious threat. I'm trying to write it so the timing is incidental to the story.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1 - "City of Angels"

"You know, I love this place... really, I do... you guys smoke almost as much as we do..."

The swarthy man in the chair continued to squirm, making groans and grunts through the duct tape covering his mouth as he stared wide eyed at the pale man and his associates. He wore a very worn, very dirty white Dead Kennedys t-shirt, and his well-sculpted arms were covered in dual sleeve tattoos, an elaborate blue and white ice design going up one arm and the other covered in red and orange flames. His face, however, could best be described as a pure scowl even when he smiled.

"But I don't like comin' here all the fuckin' time to straighten shit like this out... like fucking seriously man... Ghasem, my man... what the fuck happened..."

The tattooed man who was speaking looked at the large, beer-bellied man next to him, who then proceded to nod as if they had just communicated via telepathy. The larger man picked up a toolbox next to him and walked over to the man in the chair. He pulled a pair of gardening shears out of the toolbox. The tattooed man then looked over to the darker man on his other side.

"Now let's hear it from you..."

The darker man stepped forward and tore the duct tape off of the man's mouth in one fell swoop, ripping off part of the man's beard in the process. The man yelped in pain and the darker man punched him in the jaw. The larger man grabbed the man's hand and proceeded to force the man's index finger open.

"Please, no, fuck no please I..."

The darker man punched him again.

"Ok, from the top... you're telling me that what exactly happened to my drugs? That was a lot of money. The Armenians don't exactly like it when vast sums of cash just FUCKING DISAPPEAR, GHASEM!" He nodded again and the larger man suddenly snipped the very tip of the man's index finger off. The man screamed in agony, writhing as the darker man held him as still as he could while the beer-belly forced open his middle finger.

"Better start talking, I'm getting pissed..."

"I... I don't... these people... they jacked the truck once we entered the county!" The man screamed again as he glanced at his now severed index finger. The larger man then suddenly snipped the tip of his middle finger off, and proceeded to force open the next finger.

"Don't look at it you dumb fuck... less screaming and more talking..."

"It'd help if you didn't keep cutting off parts of his hand..." A shorter dark-skinned man sitting on a table behind the tattooed man suddenly spoke up.

"Shut up. Now... go on."

"Fuuuck... well... we were... uuuu... just over the county... line... maybe 20 minutes... when this van pulls out of... aaaaa.. a side... street... blocks... uus... aaa... guys with... aaaAKs... they knew..."

"What'd they look like?"

"Big white guy, a black guy... I don't fucking-" The next tip was snipped off and the man was in agony once more. The pinkie was next.

"What. Did. They. Look. Like."

"Please, uhhh... fuuuuuuck... shiiiit... one had yellow... hair... was ripped, fuck... built like a tank... other guy was... aaaa short, really... and black..."

The tattooed man turned around and the shorter man handed him a blown up picture.

"These the guys?" The tattooed man walked over and held the picture up for the man to see.

"Y-yeah... that's them for sure... fuck...fuuuuck..."

"Krikor called it. LA County sheriffs." The shorter man offered.

"Yeah, yeah..." The tattooed man waved him off. "Ghasem, you guys fucked up, you know that right?"

"What are we... supposed to do, mman? Fuckin' die for those drugs?"

"Wrong fucking answer."

This time the beer belly snipped off Ghasem's entire pinkie. It took three tries. The dark man proceeded to punch Ghasem in the face and neck to silence his screams.

"So what now?" The shorter man interjected again.

"Fuck it, finish him."

The beer belly proceeded to snip off Ghasem's thumb this time.

"I said finish him you fuckin' idiot!"

The beer belly shrugged, a strange grin on his bearded face, his emotions further hidden behind his dark glasses. "Souvenir." He held the thumb up delicately between two fingers.

The dark man let out a heavy sign and proceeded to draw his pistol, shooting Ghasem in the forehead. His body jerked back and then was still.

"Well that was interesting." The man with the tattoos said as he shook his head.

"So now what?"

"Now we hit those fuckers where it hurts, Vikram. We contact Krikor, we get the addresses of these two fuckin' shitbag cops, and we make an example of them. This is why I hate this fucking town, and fucking coming here. Everybody's so fucking crooked it makes fucking Quebec look small-time. Jesus Christ. If it's not this cop it's that cop, this politician that politician. And with the fucking Mexican cartels getting bigger..."

"Kane, Kane... you're ranting..." Vikram slid off the table.

"Yeah, yeah... fuck... I just wonder how much longer til it ain't worth comin' down here at all."

"Retire to Amsterdam man."

"That's the plan. Fuck. We got work to do. Come on."

The beer belly gathered his toolbox and the dark man went over to Vikram's table to retrieve a large case.

The quartet made their way across the warehouse and proceeded to open the door into the bright sun of the early afternoon. The glare of the sun gave them a few seconds of blindness, disorienting them as their vision returned and they found two uniformed cops casually strolling towards them, chatting it up before stopping suddenly and turning their attention to the men leaving the building they were approaching.

"Fuckin' hell."

The cops drew their pistols. "Hands on your head! Hands.."

Kane dropped to the ground suddenly, opening up a line of sight for the dark man, who had already popped his AA-12 automatic shotgun out of the case. Firing blinding the dark man unloaded the entire clip quickly into the direction of the two cops.

Both of the cops where blasted to the ground, blood spraying all the way to their patrol car several feet behind them. They were practically cut in half as they hit the ground, dead in midair.

Now Vikram sighed. "Not one thing it's another." The beer belly went back into the warehouse and re-emerged with a can of gasoline.

"Nice shooting Astroman." Kane grunted as he made his back to his feet. He noted his t-shirt had torn around the waist, and the nasty gash around his wrist from the gravel below.

"Thanks boss."


Detective Vic Mackey stared at the smouldering remains of the cop car as the fire fighters were still hosing it down, his bald head sweating from the resonating heat of the twisted metal.

"I'm surprised it took this long for Ghasem to die." Shane offered behind him. He was staring at the blood stain that trailed slowly towards where Vic was standing. It seemed to trickle down, starting as a huge crimson mass and narrowing into red droplets, like something out of a Jackson Pollock painting.

"Yeah, the fucking idiot had a mouth on him." Vic added, turning to face Shane. They were about to continue speaking when Shane pointed behind Vic, noting an approaching car. They both watched, interested, as a very tall, mocha-skinned man in a grey suit stepped out of the car and walked towards them, displaying his badge. He was an LA County sheriff.

"Detective Pepa Koloatangi..."

"Sheriff's department, yeah." Vic cut him off. "Mind telling us what the hell you're doing here?"

"Guy inside the warehouse here was one of our C.I.s."

"Fucking high? He was one of ours." Shane added.

"Well, I guess you can't trust a criminal to be honourable, or honest."

Vic looked exhausted. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Look... two of my guys... they encountered this guy on the road a couple of weeks ago."

"Encountered? They stupid enough to jack him?"

"They did."

"Fuck's sake."

"Yeah."

"Looks like they're into some deep shit here."

"We got no leads. The Iranians work freelance so often it's hard to tell who is working for who."

"Yeah." Vic paused for a moment. "Armenians and Iranians work together a lot. We got an Armenian guy we can shake down, he'd know the right people."

"Yeah?"

"Worth a shot. Follow us."

Detectives Wyms and Wagenbach had arrived by now and were examining the bodies of the two dead police officers. Dutch called out to Vic and Shane as they walked back to the truck. "No, don't bother to investigate the two dead cops, you know, your colleagues?"

Shane gave Dutch the finger as they drove off. Claudette waved them off like they were nothing.


"I need to tell you, I took a very big risk getting this information for you." Krikor looked very grim, his goatee framing a frown. "My boss does not like when people ask for favours like this one..."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever the fuck ever. Ya got it or not?" Krikor reluctantly handed the large envelope to Kane, who opened it quickly.

"Shit, the blonde guy's just around the corner."

"Yes... Now... our business has concluded?"

"Yeah. Always a pleasure Krikor."

"Yes."

The quartet walked out of Krikor's apartment and proceeded to walk down the dingy hall towards the stairwell, disappearing into the concrete labyrinth. At the same time the red "up" arrow above the elevator began to glow, and within seconds Vic, Shane and Koloatangi emerged and made their way to Krikor's apartment. Vic wrapped on the door violently.

"I told you our business was concluded!" Came the voice behind the door.

"What business, Krikor?" yelled Vic.

"Shit!"

"Open up. We got two dead cops and a dead C.I... who was a very busy C.I. I might add... you don't want to be connected to this, do you?"

There was silence on the other side of the door. The three men looked at one another and suddenly all stared at the door once more when a loud creaking was heard. Vic forced the door open with his boot and proceeded to barrel across the room, hauling Krikor backwards out the window back into the room before he could make his escape. Krikor grunted loudly as the two men hit the hardwood floor.

"That fucking window..." groaned Krikor.

"Krikor."

"Mackey you fu-"

Mackey punched Krikor in the face.

"Krikor... like I said, we got quite a few bodies to be accounted for..." Vic slowly stood up, catching his breath. "Tell us what we want to hear, and we go away."

"These men... they come from up north... that's all I know. They were in town... to settle some unfinished business. A carjacking."

"Ok, great, now we're rolling. Now, are these men headed back up north?"

"Yes. Well, soon."

"Soon, Krikor?"

"They still have... unfinished business."

Vic sighed.

"You wouldn't happen to have pointed them in the right direction to finish that business, would ya?" Shane erupted.

"I... well..."

Shane kicked Krikor in the face as he was kneeling, shattering his nose. Blood gushed down the man's face as he cried out, the blood flowing out his mouth along with his breath and landing on Mackey's shoes.

"We got more important work, fellas." said Koloatangi, already out the door. "Sunday is just around the corner."

Shane and Vic looked at each other.

"I'm assuming he'll tell us on the way." shrugged Vic.


Jeff Sunday relished any day off. Working homicide was taxing work, and the work always came at random. So many 3am phone calls, so many canceled vacations. Add that to the "extracurricular activities" he and his partner were involved in, and Sunday was a man who embraced any moment where he didn't have to think about any of that. His girlfriend had left him six months ago and he really hadn't had much of a chance to go out and meet new people. His friends from school, his buddies from his days playing on the defensive line with the Bruins, were all across the world, much less the country. A Lieutenant in Afghanistan. A janitor cleaning up after a chemical company in Kansas City. A prisoner doing 25 years at Pelican Bay for strangling his girlfriend and her best friend. A corpse in a shallow grave in Colombia because he put his trust in the wrong people. His one solace was Madden for the PlayStation 3. He often played as his beloved Raiders, and had poured so much time into the game that he could still come out victorious even in games where the true Raiders likely would not have.

Sunday had played several years of pro football before becoming a sheriff. On his wall were pictures and uniforms from various leagues, CFL, NFL Europe, senior's leagues, even one from Germany. Sunday never got to play in the NFL. His prized possession was his Montreal Alouettes jersey. He never won a Super Bowl, but he counted among his accomplishments a Grey Cup.

Sunday was at the tail end of a close game against the New Orleans Saints when there was a knock at the door. It was 4th and inches, and even though a kick would tie the game 33-33, Sunday wanted to go for the touchdown and end it. The knock came again. Sunday assumed it was Jehovah's Witnesses.

Suddenly the hinges of the door exploded violently into a shower of wooden splinters and shards of metal. Sunday leapt off the couch, tripping over his PlayStation 3 and coming down hard on it, crushing it into a hunk of useless plastic. Sunday's plasma TV showed a blue screen.

Sunday tried to jump to his feet and reach the pistol he had in the cabinet across the living room, but his knees suddenly popped and pain shot up his legs, battle scars from his years on the field. He crashed to the ground uselessly with a loud groan.

A tattooed man entered with two men carrying shotguns. One, a large bearded man, carried a pump action shotgun that was smoking. He had obviously breached the door.

The other carried a strange looking gun. It was like an assault rifle, only bigger, boxier.

"Do it. Vikram's waiting."

The dark man with the odd gun pointed it at Sunday's left arm and fired two blasts, severing it at the elbow. Sunday erupted into a primal scream as the man continued his path counter-clockwise around Sunday's joints until he concluded at his head.


Mackey and Shane came upon a devastated Detective Koloatangi standing in the remains of Detective Sunday's doorway. Inside was utter carnage.

"Jesus Christ..." whispered Shane. "We've seen some fucked up shit, don't get me wrong. But Jesus... Some Robocop shit right there."

Detective Koloatangi stepped into the room slowly, staring dazed at Sunday's mutilated body. "Think anybody saw anything?"

Vic shook his head. "It's Saturday night. Building like this, everybody's out getting drunk or stoned. We gotta find the other guy, and fast. Come in our car, it'll be quicker."

"We're about 20 minutes away from Dom's house. Let's hope that's enough time."


"I told you, for the last fucking time, it's no big deal."

"You lose that much fucking money playing poker and it's no big deal? Are you fucking high, too?"

Detective Dominik "Dom" Rhodes and his lovely wife Rita had had this same conversation many times before. So many times, in fact, he could almost believe that they were reenacting a specific one at this very moment. He had to tell her the truth tonight. He had to break the cycle.

"Look, it's not a big deal... I got a... a raise at work this week."

"A raise?"

"Yeah."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Well, it was recent, and I wasn't totally sure it was gonna happen, and I didn't want to jinx it, I guess."

"Baby, that is fucking awesome. So what are you pulling in now?"

"$470,000."

Rita's face turned very serious. "Uh, what? A year?"

Dom licked his lips. "Oh, well, actually... it was a bonus, not a raise."

"Which was it? A bonus or a raise?"

"A bonus. Definitely a bonus."

Her eyebrow arched very high very quickly. "A half a million dollar bonus?"

"Not that much. Well, yeah..."

"For... what the fuck did you do? Save the governor's life?"

"Let's just say me and Jeff pulled off a pretty big bust."

"I... I don't know..." She stood up from the couch very slowly as there was a knock at the door. "I don't know what to say about all this, I really don't." By now she had reached the door and opened it.

Rita fell backwards very suddenly, her body limp as though a switch had been flicked inside her brain. Blood poured from her mouth and nose as a very heavy set man with a bloody-butt shotgun strolled into the room, stepping over Dom's wife's motionless body. The man raised his shotgun to Dom, who slowly raised his hands. Two more men entered his house, one a short Indian-looking man with an immaculate part in his hair, the other a scruffy looking man with a torn t-shirt and colourful arm tattoos.

"Detective Rhodes." Said the man in the t-shirt.

"Wh-who the fuck..."

"We're friends of Ghasem."

"Oh... oh shit... oh shit..."

"Yeah, oh shit indeed." He raised his pistol. Suddenly the trio stopped, glancing over to the window as they heard car doors slam.

"Cops." Grunted the heavy set man.

"Thanks, Finn." added the Indian man with a hint of sarcasm.

"Shut up, Vikram. You call Astroman, then get what we came for. Finn, cover the back door."

"What are you gonna do?"


Vic, Shane and Koloatangi practically lept from the truck before Shane had finished parking it. Weapons in hand, they began to approach the house when suddenly the window exploded outwards in a shower of glass and a purple shrouded mass slammed into Detective Koloatangi, knocking him to the ground.

Vic and Shane began to fire into the open window as sporadic gunfire erupted from inside. The curtains blew in the now wide-open bay window. Vic and Shane grabbed Koloatangi's arms and began to pull him to safety behind the truck. Vic absently noted that it was not a purple shroud but a woman's billowing summer dress, complete with a battered and bloody woman inside.

Safely behind the truck, Vic noticed the firing had stopped.

"Give it up! We've got backup coming in 10 minutes."

"I doubt it. Sounds like a tactic to me."

"Hand to God man."

"You want Detective Rhodes to live, I suggest you listen to what we have to say."

"Ok, ok... what do you want?"

"A helicopter... and a bag full of hundred dollar bills... and some pizzas..."

Shane and Vic looked at each other.

"What the fuck is going on?" Mumbled Koloatangi, finally catching what the man inside the house was saying.

Vic peeked over the hood towards the house. "Sounds like somebody's trying to stall us."


Vikram bounded down the stairs with a large duffel bag and a small black object. He strolled into the very well ventilated living room where Kane stood holding the detective by the neck with a gun to his temple.

"Astroman's ready when we are. Got what we came for annnnd a little something extra."

"What is it?"

"This flash drive has some pretty key names on here. Including a couple of LAPD guys working as liaisons with the feds on another one of our operations."

"Do tell? How the hell did you find that?"

"Snooped on his computer, which was in the room with the money. Everything was under a 'Work' folder. Very easy. Here's the fun part. They're LA cops... but they're working against us up north."

"What, back home?"

"No, no, not that far. San Francisco. Part of a joint FBI-DEA action, looks like. Got cops up and down the I-5 working on this. Trying to nail us and all of our friends."

"Ahhh. Well, I guess we're off to San Francisco. Go meet up with Finn, give him the money to carry. I'll be there in a second."


Shane looked uneasy. "They got awfully quiet all of a sudden."

"Yeah... time to move. Koloatangi, you come up the right side, Shane you go left. I'll... negotiate."

They moved into position very carefully. As Vic made his way up the front walkway the door opened, very slowly. A shorter black man was held at gunpoint by a pale man, the two of them emerging from the house very slowly. A blue ice design looked from a frozen river descending from the pale man's gun and up his right arm. His other arm was clutched behind the man's back.

"I don't want no fucking trouble..." hissed the pale man.

Dom suddenly snapped and began to yell. "Don't listen to him! It's a set up! He's-"

The pale man yanked Dom backwards by his shirt violently, and then tossed him forward, his left arm prominent to Vic from this angle, flames licking up from wrist to elbow. Dom Rhodes fell into Vic's arms, throwing Vic off balance.

Koloatangi emerged from behind a bush to the pale man's left. "Grenade! He's put a grenade down his shirt!" He raised his pistol but the pale man was quicker, firing off four good shots, red dots popping up on the tall man's chest. Koloatangi dropped to the ground like a pile of bones.

Vic's eyes were wide as he flung Rhodes' forward in panic. The man's eyes were wider than Vic's as he tore at his shirt while falling. Shane tackled his boss and knocked them towards the truck, and the two scrambled to their feet to get away from the explosive device.

Rhodes had just torn his shirt free and the grenade began to drop when it finally exploded. Dom Rhodes was blown cleanly in half, his pelvis annihilated in the blast. Fortunately for everybody else this shielded the front yard from most of the shrapnel. But for Dom Rhodes, it was the end. He lay on the ground in a shredded mess, his eyes staring blankly into the night sky.


Kane hopped into the van a block away from the house and the quartet drove off towards the highway.

SAN FRANCISCO 347 M


"You're very lucky to have avoided most of the shrapnel. You could have been killed." Detective Claudette Wyms was comforting Rita Rhodes, who was wrapped in a blanket and sitting by an ambulance. She was about to go to the hospital, but agreed to answer the LAPD's questions about the bizarre event.

"I wish I had been... my fucking nose... my fucking teeth... goddamn it..." She began to cry. "Fucking Dom... fucking Dom..."

Vic was watching the scene, Dutch glaring at Vic as he did. Mackey's phone suddenly rang and he answered it.

"Did you get that thing I sent you?"

"Yeah." It was Ronnie Gardocki. "I was able to break into Koloatangi's computer and get those files. Not much of use. Outlines Rhodes and Sunday's activities... pretty loosely to be honest. He really didn't know a heck of a lot of what these guys were really up to. Includes two names, though: MacKenzie and al-Ghurab."

"Yeah? You run 'em?"

"Yeah, they've got no priors here... buuuut... they got International priors."

"What, Mexico?"

"Nope. Canada. These boys did time in Alberta for their role in a bunch of drug-related killings in Calgary about 8 years ago. Something to do with bikers and a Vietnamese gang. Originally from Vancouver though. Last known whereabouts seem to be there."

"Okay... what were those names again?"

"Kane MacKenzie. AKA Snowman. And Said al-Ghurab. AKA Astroman."

Vic scrawled those names onto a pad. "Think there's more than just those two guys."

"Only two names we could come up with."

"Thanks Ronnie, really, I owe you one."

"No problem, boss."

Vic hung up and turned around to find Shane.

"Got some names."

"Any locations?"

"Nope... Well, Canada, eventually."

"Fuck!"

"It's a start... it's a start."

"So wait... Canadians? Seriously?"

"Yeah. They had priors there."

"How'd they get here then?"

"Fake passports I imagine." Vic grunted in exasperation. "We gotta get these guys."

"I hate to say it... but why? We got bigger things on our plate don't we? The money train and all?"

"We've got time until- wait..." Vic raised his hand and stopped talking. He focused his attention on Rita Rhodes.

"-I don't know the whole story... he... fucking died before he could tell me."

Claudette was writing something down. "Something about money?"

"A lot of money. Like, half a million..."

Dutch cocked his head. "Did you see the money?"

"No, no... but he could have had it in the house, maybe... in his mancave or something..."

Dutch chuckled. "His what?" Asked Claudette.

"His... his mancave... where he had his computer and his fucking PlayStation so he could play football against Sunday."

Vic and Shane exchanged glances, catching Dutch's attention.

"What're you guys so interested in?"

Vic bit his lip. "Nothing, nothing at all. Carry on, detective."


Later on in the truck Shane broke the silence.

"Hard to believe they're Canadians. What a bunch of psychopaths."

"Agreed. Surprised the hell out of me, too, but I think... Listen... I think this guy, this whole fuckaround we've just witnessed, it could be connected to the money train."

"Are you serious?"

"I think these Canadians are part of this web that the Armenians have going on the west coast. They could even be counterparts, you know, doing things on that side of the border."

"Seems too easy, too simple..."

"That may be true... but after all this, wasting our time, killing those cops... we can't let this stand. And if we can find ourselves so more info on the Armenians' cash flow in the process, well... you see what I mean."

"Heck, it'd be a violation of our job not to do anything."

"Exactly, Shane. Looks like we gotta coupla stray dogs a long way from home. We gotta put 'em down for the greater good."

To Be Continued... watch out for Chapter 2 - "Oro en Paz, Fierro en Guerra"