Un-beta'ed, as always; all mistakes remaining are mine.
Just a little one-shot for the Fourth of July.
- o – o -
July 4th, 2003
If there was one thing that Vince Faraday hated more than stake-outs, it was doing stake-outs on a holiday weekend. His captain had volun-told him to take a double-shift doing security at the docks yesterday. There were rumors circulating that Dominic Raoul, a small-time crook, was planning something big.
All attempts to wheedle information out of informants had been met with grins, laughing, dead-ends, or outright refusals to volunteer any information whatsoever. Added to that, no less than twenty-six cops had actually requested transfers to work the docks over the holiday weekend.
If Vince hadn't known these cops, he would have guessed mass delusions or drugs. But all of these cops had stellar records and more commendations than you could shake a stick at. That was the main reason he hadn't complained to much at being assigned a stake-out. Something fishy was going on at the docks, and he wanted to know what was up.
(Dana, on the other hand, had not been impressed with his change in plans. Vince had been lucky that his wife had only thrown a bag of frozen peas at his head.)
His partner on this stake-out, Michael Jenner, had point-blank refused to explain anything to him. Vince had practically begged for an explanation as to why so many decorated detectives with no history of corruption suddenly wanted a transfer to the docks.
Jenner had brushed him off with the explanation of "You'll understand in a few years when you start asking for them". That answer had left the newly-minted detective with more questions than answers, but Jenner had given him the finger when he'd asked for more information half an hour later.
It was now nine p.m., and he and Jenner had over three hours left on their shift. Vince stretched, yawning, and unbuckled his seat belt. At his partner's look, he shrugged. "I'm going to stretch, and probably go get some coffee."
Jenner nodded and picked up his headphones again. Vince had made the mistake of asking the man what he listened to once, and had never asked again. He grinned and walked off towards the coffee shop a block from where the unmarked cruiser sat.
Vince stopped halfway to the coffee shop. Someone was kneeling in the empty lot that separated dockside from the rest of the city. He (or she; it was hard to tell in this light) was setting something up.
Every bone in Vince's body was screaming at him to run away really fast; he ruthlessly quashed the instinct and drew his gun. Something fishy was up, and this was probably part of it.
The detective froze three feet away from the figure—a man wearing a bulky jacket and knit cap—and stared in slack-jawed amazement. The man was setting up what looked like one of the most complicated displays of fireworks Vince had ever seen, and was almost completely focused on his task.
The man looked up when Vince cleared his throat.
"What?" he grumbled, sounding offended as he hid a large book of matches behind his back. "I have a permit!"
Vince froze when he saw exactly who he was talking to. Kneeling on the pavement was Dominic "Scales" Raoul, the small-timer rumored to be making an attempt at the big leagues tonight. The information was clearly wrong.
"Can I check that?" Vince asked, sounding much braver than he actually felt. In the military, it would have been a straight-forward case of "shoot the bastard and then check for the permit"; in the civilian world, though, he had to ask to see the permit first.
Scales muttered something under his breath and dug a worn envelope out of his jacket pocket. He looked at the front, nodded, and then handed it over to Vince.
It was a city permit, allowing the bearer to set up whatever fireworks they wanted, as long as the appropriate safety precautions were taken.
"Ah, do you mind?" Scales asked, breaking in on Vince's thoughts. The detective looked up to see the smuggler holding a lit match between thumb and forefinger. Vince's eyes widened and he scrambled backwards.
The smuggler grinned, before touching the match to one of the strings.
The resulting fireworks display was probably the best on Vince had ever seen. Red, blue, green, pink, orange, and white starbursts lit up the night sky. It was definitely not the standard fireworks display, that was for sure.
Vince returned to the cruiser after the first set of rockets had gone off, perplexed at what he'd just seen. There had been a guy in his unit—he'd only lasted a few weeks before being returned stateside for psychological reasons—who got the same look on his face when he got his hands on a lighter. The corporal had been a genius with explosives, but a little…unhinged, to put it mildly.
Who knew that the small-time smuggler was the same way?
When Vince got back to the car, he found Jenner sitting on the hood watching the fireworks. The older detective looked over at Vince, grinning.
"Next year you can put in for a transfer for the Fourth."
Vince sighed.
- o – o -
July 4th, 2011
Scales toyed with the book of matches in his coat pocket. This was going to be the tenth year running that he'd done these, but damned if it didn't get more fun every year. It was going to be better this year, because the number of cops running around his turf would hopefully drop this year.
He didn't mind the cops wanting to watch the display, but they were always so annoying when he was trying to have a bit of fun with explosives. Now if only the Cape would stay away as well.
The Fourth of July was always his favorite day of the year, for one specific reason: There was no other holiday so widely celebrated in the United States that let him indulge his pyromania in such an open manner.
He struck a match and watched it burn for a few seconds, watching the flame eat away the match stick with awe. That something so unassuming could be so destructive and beautiful at the same time…
The smuggler struck another match and set off the first round of fireworks.
Happy Fourth of July everyone!
- - o - - o - -
Author's notes: Hey look! It's a story with Scales where he isn't abused in some way! YAY!
Okay, so it's still not the sequel. But I promised my Scales muse a story where I didn't abuse him. So...