Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.
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Girls Will Be Girls – Chapter. 2
Two Weeks Earlier
The WITSEC office was quiet. Too quiet for Mary Shannon. Ever since her return from Mexico Marshall had been polite. He left the office on solo witness visits the last time she tried to start a spitball battle. Stan, was, well, Stan, quietly busy in his office, making phone calls, keeping Allison Pierson at bay. Rumor had it there would be new Inspectors joining them soon. Mary groaned at the thought of newbies with their millions of questions, lack of experience and questionable judgment. She prayed none of them would be cheerful. She couldn't take cheerful.
Coffee. What she needed was coffee. She looked over at Marshall, his eyes glued to his computer. He was either running in a threat assessment or playing chess with the Russian wonderkind. Ugh. Did she say that out loud? She couldn't seem to wait till her brain was in gear before blurting. She'd never censored herself before and certainly not around Marshall. Since her Mexican vacation, and his new girlfriend, he had treated her professionally. She was determined to do the same. The effort sucked the energy right out of her. Since Marshall didn't react to her wonderkind jibe, Mary assumed she hadn't said it out loud. She missed the camaraderie they once had. Suck it up, Shannon. Face it, you did this.
Heading for the coffee pot Mary felt her phone vibrate. She'd turned it to vibrate at the office. She wasn't trying to be considerate. She liked the vibration, especially when she had the phone in her front pocket. Deep in her front pocket. This made digging it out take a little time, but hey, it was worth it. And just about the only action she'd been getting.
Mary didn't recognize the number but she answered. Witnesses were always losing phones or in an emergency, borrowing one. As long as it wasn't Brandi or Jinx, she answered.
"This is Mary."
Marshall turned to see what the call was about. It could be a witness, work related. If it wasn't, he was going to lecture her about the personal use of government property again. He knew the rules and procedures that Mary routinely ignored without consequence. He was going to change that. It was time she dealt with the repercussions of her actions.
Although he watched closely, he couldn't tell who had called. Mary's side of the conversation was limited to a few 'uh huhs' a 'you really think . . . " ending with a 'sure,' Mary ended the call and worked on worming the phone back into her pocket. Marshall suppressed a smile with effort. Watching Mary struggling with her tight jeans for her phone was entertaining. As long as she didn't catch him.
"Who was that?" Marshall asked pointedly. As her partner he was entitled to be kept in the loop. She hadn't been talking to him. To be fair, he hadn't been in the office much.
"Huh?" Mary was lost in thought. She turned her head at the sound of Marshall's voice, splitting the silence. Turning away from him and toward her desk she formulated a reply. Plan in place she leaning against the side of her desk. Placing the mug on her desk she placed her hands flat on the desk behind her.
"Casavetti." She emphasized with a nod. There had been something 'off' about Martha last time Mary visited. Yeah, lets's go with that.
"Martha is worried about Roman. She thinks he's 'withdrawing from the family.' She made air quotes around the last phrase and lowered her head, eyes open wide, hands on hips. "He's a teenager. Of course he's 'withdrawn.' That's the definition of teenager."
"So?" he drew out the word, making it a question. When she didn't respond he prompted, "What did you do?"
Putting her free hand over her eyes to signal he had to be the stupidest man in the universe, she explained. "I listened, alright? I listened."
"And?" Her avoidance exasperated him. Not an uncommon experience for anyone who worked with Mary Shannon. What was she hiding? Leaning back in his chair he skewered her with his full attention.
"Martha talked and I listened. She came up with her own solution." Mary muttered over her shoulder as she picked up her mug and headed for the coffee pot.
Turning around so he could follow her he continued, asking, "Which was?" he drew out the last word, not hiding his exasperation.
Walking back to her desk with her coffee she sat examining it. "She's going to lure him to stay for dinner by making his favorite dish, sit him down and get him to talk about school, his friends, blah, blah, blah," she spit out as quickly as she could. "She'll call me if she's still worried."
Swiveling quickly back to his desk, he nodded. "Sounds good." He was surprised that Mary would actually listen to a witness, and give them time to arrive at a solution. That was his approach. Hers was to dive in and fix the problem even when she didn't know what it was. She probably didn't want to admit that she had learned something from him. "Why couldn't you just say that?"
Her hair whirled as she faced him, eyes narrowed. "What's with the twenty questions? I know how to do my job Nurse Nancy."
"I never said you didn't," Marshall muttered mildly, turning his eyes back to the computer screen.
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Mary hadn't been to the shooting range for a week. Once she was recertified other things took precedence. She enjoyed shooting. Aiming and hitting the target was close to a religious experience, being "in the zone." The cares of her day, her family, her witnesses, her annoying hang nails, her too quiet partner, faded once she put on her Sonic Defenders. There was just her, the gun and her target.
As instructed by the phone call, her duffel bag was behind her station against the wall, the zipper open. After she finished, she collected her paper targets, signed out, and picked up the bag, now zipped shut. Once in her car, she opened it to find a photo of ABQPD's Northeast Area Commander and Mike Washington, one of her scumbag witnesses. Mike seemed to be handing the Commander something. Hmm. Mike would be getting a surprise visit from his least favorite marshal very soon.
Turning the photo over, she saw the time, date, and location for the next meeting, a week from today. Mary was definitely interested. She'd wanted to bust the creep the first time she saw him. She couldn't figure why DoJ believed him. His best look would be prison orange. As much as she hated firing her weapon and the after action paperwork, she would welcome a reason to take a shot at Mayhem Mike. He'd never live to file a complaint.
Lunch over, Mary returned to the office. She couldn't get the shooting range and the photo out of her mind. Pushing her disgust for Washington aside, she wondered what else Detective Roxanne Lewis knew, and why she chose to contact Mary. They didn't exactly become BFFs when Lewis's partner was murdered. Mary had found her partner's killer, but she doubted that counted. The photo Roxanne had put in her duffel bag was enough to ensure that Mike would be seeing her soon. Marshall watched, wondering what had caused Mary to grab her jacket, badge and gun and charge out of the office. They were supposed to be partners. She was supposed to tell him. He turned back to his work. He wasn't going to beg.
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Several loud knocks at Mike's apartment door had gotten no response. Mary yelled. "Open up Mike. It's Inspector Shepard."
The faded brown apartment door opened revealing a tall, broad, grey haired man wearing a Hawaiian print shirt. The public deserved to be protected from seeing the large purple veined legs visible below his khaki shorts. Mary suppressed a shudder knowing she couldn't show any weakness in front of this waste of space.
"Ah Mary." He seemed surprised. "You got here so quickly." His eyes settled on Mary's tank top visible through her open jacket.
Confused Mary responded hesitantly, "You know, neither rain nor snow nor ..." She paused looking at the hitman, squinting her eyes. "You called?"
"That fucking washing machine." Although his exasperation was real, she wondered if he had actually called. She didn't remember seeing his number on her phone.
"Washing machine?" She reiterated, puzzled. Why would anyone call a US Marshal about a washing machine?
"You always said to call if I needed anything. That damn thing has more lights than the control panel of an airplane. I can't get it to do anything."
Mike had never done his own laundry. As a made man his shirts, socks and even his jockey shorts went to a Chicago laundry in the pocket of his boss. Picking up a cluster of keys, he went out the door and grabbed Mary's hand. Mary pulled her hand back, but he hung on and dragged her quickly down the stairs to the first floor laundry room. "Let go, Mike. Dammit, I'm going to fall on your carcass and break your friggin legs. Let go!"
Mike unlocked the laundry room door and pulled Mary inside. It wasn't a basement, but the cement walls and wooden post in the middle of the room were too much like Spanky's basement. The room was dimly lit by a single lint covered window. Mary tried to slow her breathing. That's all I need – to pass out with this hump able to touch me.
Mike turned and grabbed her arms. "You've been busting my balls forever, blondie. Time for some of your own medicine." He slammed the door shut.
The cement walls, the wooden post, the threatening man all triggered memories. Bad ones. Channeling her fear into anger, Mary let her marshal training take over. Before he uttered another word, her knee found his crotch at the exact moment her head connected with his nose. Mike might have been muscle back in the day, but now he was just fat.
His hands hovered between his face and the family jewels."You fucking bitch." Except she heard "Ew uck itch" since his voice was filtered by cartilage and blood.
Mary didn't care what he said. Once his hands came off her arms, her gun came out. Stepping back, in shooting position, her breath came in gulps. "Try it. Anything. Make my day," she warned. You can't lose it now Shannon. You can fall apart later.
"Olice brut-y." He managed to get out.
"You think that was police brutality? You haven't seen police brutality. That was a federal officer defending herself from assault." Mary was battling her traumatic memories and so far, winning.
Blood had stopped flowing from Mike's nose. He grabbed a forgotten t-shirt, and wiped his face. "I'm going to report you to the US Attorney. I'll get you," he threatened. The fact that his voice was muffled by the t-shirt made his threats less convincing. "They need me. They don't need you! Bitch!"
Mary sneered. "You're going to tell your buddies you were beat by a girl?" She paused. Sure enough, she could see his macho pride take over. She'd bet on it. She was almost sure it was a winning bet, but was relieved to see the gambit work.
"We're done here," Mary declared, holstering her gun and standing with her hand on the doorknob. " I'm watching you," She pointed at Mike and then shook her finger as she continued. "You so much as jaywalk and I will have you in jail and out of the program faster than you can say plea bargain."
Mary turned her back on him and strode through the door closing it with a resounding slam. She scrambled into her purple Probe and squealed out of the parking lot, relieved that it had started on the first try. She drove too fast down the residential street, slowing to turn right then left. Braking, she pulled to the curb.
Putting the car in park, she put her trembling hands to her face. Much to her disgust, her fingers found her cheeks wet. Pull yourself together Shannon. Nothing happened. Placing her hands on the steering wheel she saw the start of black and blue marks on her left and right forearms. Shit. Good thing the weather is getting cool. Long sleeves it is. She was sure no one would notice. It's not as if Marshall spent a lot of time with her now.
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One week later
Mary sauntered into the Pagoda, giving the place the once over her marshal training made routine. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a few men at the bar – or were they? The music was muted and the neon lights provided most of the illumination. The bartender wasn't the one who hit on Marshall the last time she was here. Good. It was never a good idea for civilians to know her job. Guilt at the memory of telling Raph she was a WITSEC Inspector surfaced and was quickly forced to retreat. You don't get to rewrite history.
Mary checked that her marshals star was tucked in back inside the waist band of her jeans. It tended to spook the natives and that wasn't why she was here. Her focus traveled to the booths in back where a dark haired woman sat alone. Their eyes met in the mirrored back wall. Smart choice, Roxanne.
After getting a beer, Mary walked to booth and nodded at Detective Lewis. "Hey." Roxanne's dark hair hung down. When she leaned forward, it covered some of her face. Great minds, Mary thought. She had worn her hair down for the same reason.
Reaching the table, Roxanne lifted her beer. "You never know who might turn up here." Roxanne tipped her head to the bench next to her.
Mary sat, scooting close enough to speak without being overheard. "You a regular here?"
Roxanne pursed her lips to prevent spraying her beer. "No! What gave you that idea? Just because my partner. . . "
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. There's less chance of our coworkers seeing us here." Mary knew Detective Lewis' current partner belonged to a church singles group. He was not going to show up here. Marshall had 'dance' class.
Mary took a sip of her beer, setting the bottle down. "You must have more than you gave me."
Roxanne was concentrating on the label of her beer. "Oh yeah. I've got so much I don't dare go to IA with it."
"You think Internal Affairs is involved?" That explained why Roxanne had come to her. If the corruption was that widespread Roxanne couldn't trust anyone in ABQPD.
"I don't know. You hear about Officer Thomas?" She took a sip.
"The officer who was shot in Cinco Viper territory? I heard. Tough when you lose one of your own." Mary wondered what Officer Thomas had to do with Mike Washington.
So quiet, Mary could barely hear her, "They suppressed the initial coroner's report."
Mary's eyes widened and she chanced a look at Roxanne. "Who suppressed it?"
Shrugging, Roxanne pointed up with her bottle. Lowering her mouth to her drink Roxanne continued, "One of the guys who saw the original report says it has the bullet entering from the back. It has to be someone high up to get the report pulled and the modified one made official."
Mary put down her beer looked straight ahead and shrugged. "So, the department didn't want to look bad. Friendly fire. Tragic, but it happens. I can see why they'd want to bury it."
"Not so friendly." Roxanne insisted.
Mary scanned her table mate, trying to figure what Roxanne was thinking. Turning the possibilities Mary came to an appalling conclusion. "You think he was targeted?" she whispered, incredulous.
Roxanne nodded, watching Mary peel the label off her beer bottle. "There's more. When I cleaned out Thomas's locker this fell out of an old issue of Guns and Ammo." She handed Mary a handwritten note with 5 names.
"I think Thomas discovered something. . ." she searched for a word. "Irregular. I think he was investigating these people. I think what he knew got him killed."
Mary sat back, absorbing the ramifications of what she had heard. When the good guys became the bad guys all bets were off. Mary sighed, "Trust no one."
"Exactly. That photo isn't the only evidence. I've noticed cops I've seen at the station all day logged onto the patrol car computers. Pretty good trick being in two places at once. I've seen reports listing arresting officers, whose names aren't on that day's roll call. I think anyone who brings these things to IA's attention ends up leaving the department or dead."
"Anyone beside Thomas come to mind?"
"Yeah. Dershowitz. He left. Glen Richards died of a heart attack last year. He was in good enough shape to pass the physical the month before, but had a major heart attack less than 30 days later."
Looking at the mirrored back wall, Mary's eyes opened wide. "Crap. What is she doing here?"
Roxanne looked up and saw Detective Abigail Chaffee sauntering into the bar with two female uniforms. Roxanne groaned. "Just my luck. She's looking for a lesbian drug dealer."
"Look," Mary warned. "She can't see us. I'm going to keep her from seeing our faces. Just go with it, okay?"
Her face reflecting Mary's concern, Roxanne placed her bottle on the table. "Whatever it takes."
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Following week, WITSEC office
Detective Lewis had given Mary more evidence, the list of names. It included three officers and two city officials as well as Mike Washington. "Let's start with the obvious," Mary mumbled, checking Mike Washington's financials. She knew Marshall was behind her, enjoying his triple caf half caf whatever. She thought he was appreciating the view of the Sandia Mountains through the glass doors leading to the balcony. It made her nervous to have anyone behind her. Sensing him closer, behind her, she turned and glared at him.
Daring to come closer, Marshall leaned down to see Mary's computer screen. "Why" he drawled out "are you checking Mayhem Mike's accounts?"
Hunched over her keyboard, forehead knit in concentration, she vowed, "He's going to screw up, and I'm going to get him."
Moving closer to focus on the screen Marshall asked, "How many bank accounts does this guy have? I count five. Scroll down."
Mary scrolled down revealing additional accounts, including one bank with an odd name.
"That's in the Cayman Islands. When did he open that? And how did he do it without alerting the Marshal Service?"
Narrowing her eyes at Marshall, Mary asked, "How do you know that?" This could be key to getting Mayhem Mike kicked out of WITSEC. She wanted to know how Marshall knew, be sure of the facts.
"I make it a practice to be familiar with all off shore banks that can be used to shelter assets. I have a buddy in bank fraud who sends me the list every time it's updated."
"Huh." Mary cut her eyes to him. "So that's why you go to those nerd herd things? Never realized those could be useful." She turned back to the screen. "Useful for you, and this time, for me." Her tone was cheerful. She really meant it. A compliment from Mary was as rare as snow in July. Marshall was on guard. It wasn't like her to be kind.
"Here, let me." He gestured for Mary to get up. Marshall sat down, flexed his fingers and began to work his magic. Mary leaned over, both hands on her desktop. She could smell his aftershave. It had been weeks since she'd been this close to him. She fought the urge to put her hand on his shoulder, to bring her face next to his.
Marshall looked to see why Mary was quiet, coloring when he realized his nose was in line with her cleavage. Tank tops really have their advantages. Mary exhaled sharply and straightened quickly. "See anything interesting?"
Oh yeah. From this angle Marshall had a good view of two of Mary's assets.
Marshall coughed and got up. He needed to concentrate on Mayhem Mike's assets. "I've got a couple of access points to the banking system. I need to do this on my computer."
"He's my witness," Mary insisted grumpily, crossing her arms. Mary didn't want Marshall's help. He wasn't the only one who could keep things 'professional.' Besides, she had no idea where this was going. If Roxanne's info was correct, this was big, and dangerous.
"Division of labor Mare. My brain, your mouth. We each do what we do best," Marshall smirked.
TBC