This is a world where all the police series placed in New York City can and do meet. I can't imagine that there would be a different One Police Plaza, CSI units and court systems in all the different shows, so anyone may show up here.

This is a Blind Justice, Law and Order SVU and CI and CSI:New York crossover

Officer Down

Chapter One: Friday Night at Bang Bangs

Friday night at Bang Bangs had become a loose kind of tradition in the NYPDof Manhattan. It took an ex cop with a particularly bad sense of humour to name his bar Bang Bangs, yet it had become one of the most popular cop hang out in the city. A not so discreet police scanner behind the bar let the owner, Pete Maguire; keep his fingers on the pulse of the city.It was one of the things he refused to let go of. The insignia of every precinct house in the five boroughs decorated its walls and below each crest the names of each cop shot in the line of duty. Some names had KIA after them, some had RET and some had FFD. Killed in action, retired or fit for duty. Jim Dunbar was one of the few names that had his designation changed from RET to FFD.

That night five tables had been pulled together. It was Detective Connie Suarez's tenth wedding anniversary and her colleagues from the 8th Precinct and friends from her days in the academy were toasting the happy couple.

"How did you manage to snag a doctor?" Karen Betancourt giggled as she finished her third beer.

"Easy, I was conscious when the ambulance pulled into St. Clair's. I saw this gorgeous ER doc, I decided to entrap him." Connie said as she pulled her husband, Dr. John Padgett, close. "Not bad for an Anglo, is he?"

"That didn't get your name is on the wall, did it?" Jim Dunbar called out from the end of the table.

"Nyah, I was hit by a get away car, no boom-boom sticks for me," she laughed. "It was bad enough being the victim of a Chevy Nova."

"You're giving away your age, Connie." Tom Selway and Dave Cotton said almost in unison.

"No she's not and I don't care," Padgett said as he pulled Connie up into his arms. "I am having a dance with my wife no matter how old she is."

"No dance floor here, John," Connie whispered as she snuggled into his arms.

"I don't care," John replied as he maneuvered Connie over to the juke box and swayed in time with Sinatra's 'Come Fly with Me.'

"I've got to fly away myself," Karen said as she pushed away her beer glass. "Actually I'm already flying: you better call me a cab."

"Karen, you're a cab," Jim said straight faced and sober looking while Tom laughed. "Okay, Pete will get you a cab, just crawl on over to the bar."

Karen gave the table the thumb's up and headed towards the bar.

"Mike, you know two of the names on that wall." Dave Cotton turned to his friend, Mike Logan.

"You are a pain in the ass, you know that," Mike said as he shook his head.

"What's the matter?" Jim swung his head towards the tall Irish cop sitting with Dave Cotton, Ed Green and Danny Messer.

"Over there, under the 27th crest is Max Creevey and Phil Cerreta; both were my partners and Max is a KIA." He turned his head, "it's a very unlucky precinct, eh, Ed."

"No kidding, my name is at the bottom of that list. I can't believe the amount of names we got and so many other precincts don't have any names at all."

"None under the 8th," Dave chimed in.

"I thought you were in the 8th, Dunbar." Bobby Goren said as he turned to the blind man.

"I was in the 77th when I got hit." Jim said as he ran his handsup and downhis beer. "I got another dead soldier here, who up for another round," his credit card was taking a beating tonight.

"Let's hope nobody comes in here with an AK 47 or just about every Manhattan precinct would get names under their crest." Tom said to no one in particular.

"Don't ever say that!" Connie swatted him as she came back to retrieve her coat. "That is just asking for trouble."

Mack Taylor and Stella Bonasera were packing up their evidence kits just about that time. Stella had meant to be at Connie's party tonight and she was going to drag Mack there no matter what argument he made. Then the call came in, body parts from more than one victim but there was no telling how many vics there were and whether any could still be alive.

"You know, Stella," Mack said as he examines two right index fingers before putting them on ice, "I think these have been surgically removed a long time ago."

Stella walked over and calmly reached for the gruesome artifacts. "I think you're right. There are no jagged edges on the flesh and it looks like very clean cuts to the bones. That's either surgery or pruning shears. Is that formaldehyde I smell?"

"We'll know better when they get examined at the lab, but I think these fingers and the other assorted pieces are the remains of gross anatomy study cadavers." Mack replied as he packed the fingersonice. "I want to get started as soon as we get back."

"No," Stella put her hands on her hips, "we are supposed to be meeting Connie and John at Bang Bangs. I went through the academy with her and she wants to introduce you to some pretty young thing called Karen."

"I don't want any pretty, young thing. I want to get the paperwork started."

"I want you to have a pretty, young thing… then maybe I can rest easy knowing that you will have a life again." They made it out of the alley and to the SUV they were using to transport the evidence downtown. "I want to know you are having fun."

"What's more fun than amputated index fingers," Mack started to say when the gunshot exploded almost in his ear. He ducked, drawing his piece and searching the rooftops looking for the shooter; a sniper. He heard the other officers do the same; then he heard a ragged breathe behind him.

"Stella?" Mack wheeled around to see his partner slumped against the vehicle, blood oozing between the fingers she pressed against her left shoulder.

"Stella," he screamed as he threw himself at his partner, one hand grabbing for her as the other reached for his walkie-talkie. "We need a bus at the postal sorting station behind Madison Square Gardens, Officer down, I repeat, Officer Down

Pete Maguire heard those urgent, dreaded words. "Officer Down." He cut the power to the juke box and sent the volume on the scanner to max. The bar went silent; not a foot moved, not a glass clinked, not a word was spoken as the report bounced around Bang Bangs and the officers there held their collective breaths in an attempt to hear tevery word.

"Officer down! We need a bus at the postal sorting station behind Madison Square Gardens, Officer down, I repeat, Officer down."

"Identify yourself," the dispatcher voice was monotone, "and the situation."

"This is Mack Taylor of CSU, shots were fired and Detective Bonasera has been hit. I need an ambulance NOW!"

As if a starting pistol had been shot, half the occupants of the bar rose to their feet.

"An ambulance has been dispatched. Is the suspect still active?" the flat voice of the dispatcher sounded over the scanner.

"At this point in time, it is impossible to tell. Where is that damn bus?"

The sound of a siren could now be heard over the scanner, the ambulance was almost there. Along with the tinny sound of sirens over a bad speaker came the sounds of telephone ring tones. One, two, three; the beeps, bells and buzzes of cell phones sounded in the bar.

"Text message," Mike Logan said as he pulled out his cell.

"Me, too," Bobby Goren added as he opened his phone.

Jim Dunbar felt his cell buzz in his pocket. Jim fumbled for it, flipped it open and listened to the mechanical voice drone, "text message… this is number one and the fun has just begun. Next is number two but I won't tell you who."

"Jesus, that's what mine says," Logan said as he compared Dunbar's phone screen to his.

"We've all got the same message," Jim head swept from the sound of Logan voice to the sound of Goren's. "This is very bad."