Good Cop for Good Cop
By The Chronicler
0o0o0o0o0
Spike's head was on fire.
His lungs were on fire.
His ribs weren't feeling all that great either.
And that damn grinding and puttering of an old pumping engine was not helping matters.
Blinking away tears, he tried to focus, tried to figure out where he was, what was happening. He was leaning at an awkward angle against some steel pipes, his face pressed against cold, wet wood. The flickering of some sort of flame sourced light seemed to make the whole room flutter.
He could smell stale water, cigarette smoke, mold, sweat…
A chattering over the puttering engine: voices, angry and excited…
Smells, sounds, movement all bleared together…
… his stomach lurched, the world tilted…
Spike took a deep breath. The result was a fit of throat grinding coughing. He doubled over himself, ribs protesting, lungs aching…
"Hey… Hey! I think he's dying!" came a cry as a hand rested on his back.
"Stay away from him!" someone else snapped. "He's dangerous!"
"He can't breathe!"
"Let him die!" a third person snapped. "Damn cop… they'd all kill us without a thought… why'd we give a damn about him?!"
"'Cause, he's not the one we want, dumb ass." A fourth voice, calmer, more self-assured than the others.
Sharp fingers dug into Spike's shoulders, lifting him up into a sitting position. "Come on, cop, cough it out. You're no good dead." encouraged the fourth voice.
Sitting up, Spike fought for another lung full of air, coughing again. Blinking through the tears, he managed to get his first look at his captors.
There were five of them standing or crouching in a dark, circular room. Four males, one female. Dressed from head to toe in black, their faces covered from nose down with black bandannas. All except one.
Spike stared at the young man with shaggy black hair wearing an SRU vest and jacket… his SRU vest! His SRU jacket! "So… ?" he managed around coughs. "We goin' for… pizza… or something?"
The fourth, a man with a scar across his eye brow, knelt in front of Spike, holding him up right. "Humor. Good sign. You gonna live?"
"Keep laughing, cop." growled the one of the males. "Never know when it's gonna be your last chuckle."
Spike licked his lips, nodding slightly, but instantly winced. Reaching up, he touched his head just above his right ear. When he pulled his hand down, his fingers were dark and sticky. Slow realization came: he was hurt.
His training kicked in, taking a mental check list:
Head wound.
Bruised ribs.
Lungs burning.
He tried to look about, but moving his head too fast brought on waves of dizziness. Swallowing hard, Spike chose, instead, to sit very still. "Wanna tell me what this is all about? Maybe I can…" He saw the gun tucked in Eye-scar's belt… his gun! "…help…?"
Again, training stepped in when everything else wanted to panic.
Understanding.
Making connections.
Create sense of humanity.
Offer Solutions.
Alternatives.
His brain frantically went over the steps in his head. You can do this, buddy, talk your way out of this. Just pretend to be the boss or Ed or Jules or anyone other than yourself!
Eye-scar smirked at him. "Huh… would you listen to those wheels spin." He tapped Spike in the head. "You SRU guys… you're trained to negotiate and talk folks out of what's right, aren't you." It wasn't a question. "Might as well give that cracked skull of yours a break."
Spike shrugged. "Just want to help out, make sure everyone gets out of this alive." He paused to cough. "My names Scarlatti… but folks call me Spike. You… you tell me what you want… maybe I can help you get it."
A bark of laughter drew Eye-scar's eyes to his associates. The one in the SRU vest was making some final adjustments, tugging at the many pockets, the badges on his arm, making sure everything looked as it should. "Eye for an eye, pig cop!" he snarled. "That's what we want."
Another boy shook his finger at the officer. "You kill some kid, we kill you."
Spike wondered if they could hear the sudden pounding in his chest. Taking a breath, trying to calm himself, he gave himself a moment to think, to remember, to sort through the jumbled mess of his head and figure out what this was all about.
Hugged Ed.
Park the car.
The riot.
The truck rocking.
Shattering glass.
Smoke.
Dead kid.
Cop got off.
Kill cop.
Well… so…
"I didn't kill any kid." Spike breathed.
"Not as far as we know." Was the response from the SRU impersonator. "Probably just 'cause you haven't had the chance."
The girl leaned close, putting her face in Spike's, their noses only inches apart. "That right? Would you shoot me if you had the chance? Maybe if I had my hands in my pockets, huh? Maybe then? I stole some gum once when I was a kid… Gonna take me out in a hail of bullets?"
Spike shook his head. "I don't want to shoot anyone." he protested. "I don't want to see anyone shot." It was the truth.
God's honest truth!
Her eyes blinked above her mask. Then, with a sudden violent scream, she grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head back against the pipe. "Liar! You bastard liar!"
"Hey! Hey, Pip! Calm down!" Eyebrow-scar grabbed her around the waist and spun her away. "Take it easy."
She let out a maddening scream, but turned away, slamming her hands against the wall.
Eyebrow-scar glanced at her over his shoulder before, with a shake of his head, he called to one of the others. "Dog, gimme the phone."
The smallest edged forward, looking everywhere but at the officer on the floor. He kept tugging at his bandanna as if afraid it wasn't hiding enough of his identity. The black hood pulled over the top of his head was adorned with a huge, floppy pair of hound dog ears. He leaned close to Eyebrow-scar when he handed over the phone, whispering "He can breathe now, right?"
Eyebrow-scar jerked his head to the side, sending the boy scampering back into the dark corner.
Spike watched the boy until he disappeared into the shadows. "He's kinda young to be a regular at the protests, isn't he?" he mumbled, more than a little concern that some kid was going to end up in the line of fire when Team One came flying in to the rescue.
Then again, Team One didn't charge in blind. They were smart. They were careful. They will know every ounce of information about everyone they possibly can before even attempting entry.
"Worry 'bout your own damn self!" the girl snarled, spinning about again. Snatching up a baton, she waved it to the others. "Tie 'im up!" she pointed , giving them directions. "Arms high! Anchor his feet! Tight!"
Spike was jerked to his feet by two of the males. Hand cuffs from his own equipment was snapped around his wrists: one set to each wrist, then locked around a brace above his head. With his hands secured, they began work on his feet, using a heavy tow rope, anchoring him down to the pipe that ran along the floor.
"You don't have to do this." He tried to keep his voice steady. He needed to keep them calm. Keep them from steady, in control. Don't be a threat…. "I won't try to get away. Just tell me what you want. I can help you…"
"What I want?" the girl screamed. She jabbed the end of the baton into the constable's ribs.
Spike cried out as fire laced through his body, every muscle jerking in protest to the sudden attack of electricity. When she pulled the baton away, his knees gave way under him, leaving him hanging from the cuffs at his wrists.
She looked over her shoulder at Eyebrow-scar. "Start rolling."
"please…." Spike whispered. He twisted against his bonds, trying to get his legs to work. "Just tell me…"
"What I want?" Again she jabbed him with the cattle prod.
Again Spike cried out, squeezing his eyes close.
"I want justice!"
Another jab.
"I want what's right!"
Another jab.
"I want my life back!"
Another jab.
"I want Luc back!"
She held the end of her weapon against Spike's back.
Pain spider webbed across his back, through every muscle, through every joint, every vein. White light exploded behind Spike's eyes, his body convulsing with the current racing through it from the point of contact. Some part of his mind held on to thought, wondering where that far of scream was coming from. But, then, finally, even thought attempted to escape the pain.
"Pip! Pip, stop! Get off him! Damn it, Pip!" Eyebrow-scar grabbed the girl and threw her back against the far wall. "For crying out loud… he's not the one you want!" He took a protective stance between her and their captive.
"I don't care!" she screamed, desperate rage ripping away at what little hold on sanity she had.
"Focus, Pippy! We have a plan. Stick to it." He stepped close to her, offering his hand. "Stay focus. Remember why we're all here? Your vision! You have such a strong vision… stay true to it and we'll follow you anywhere." He shook his head. "But, lose it… Pippy, we have a goal… your goal!" he reasoned.
She was breathing heavy, her chest pumping with the effort. But, as he spoke, she began to hear, to remember why she was here, why they were all here. She lowered her weapon, closing her eyes, forcing herself to calm down, to remember. She fought down the tears that threaten, the despair of feeling so alone, so lost…
"Alright." She finally breathed. Her eyes opened. "Did you get it? Good pics?"
Eyebrow-scar licked his lips. It almost frightened him how passionate she was. But, then again, it was her passion that gave them their focus. Nodding, he admitted "Yea. Kept recording right up 'til he dropped. Ronin? You good with this, man?" He held the phone out to the imposter.
Tugging on his SRU disguise, the young man stepped up to take the devise. "Yea… yea, I got this."
"They're not gonna let you go. You're taking one for the movement."
Ronin shrugged. "What's anarchy without a little sacrifice." He actually grinned. "Set a bonfire and sing my praises at the next rally." He took a moment to tie down the last of Spike's gear to his legs before turning and climbing up the ladder to the hatch on the roof.
"Mat, get him close enough, then get out of the way." Eyebrow-scar ordered, sending another up and after the first. He turned once more to Pip. "Go watch for your man. Jamie and I'll keep them busy outside the courthouse."
She started to turn to the ladder, but paused to glance back at their prisoner.
"Dog will watch him. And he'll be here when you get back." Eyebrow-scar promised.
She turned to look at the boy.
"I… I will." He stuttered his own promise, his eyes big with fear.
Pip nodded a little. "Remember, get out of here by six, okay? That's when the water starts."
The boy's brow wrinkled with a frown. "But…" He looked back at the constable who was just starting to moan softly, coming around again.
"If I'm not back by then, then we didn't get what we wanted and he pays the price." Pippy told him, her voice strangely calm with the notion. "If we get what we want, then cops will be swarming this joint in an oh such a hurry to save one of their own." That being said, she swung up the ladder and was gone.
Eyebrow-scar threw the boy a glance. "Don't talk to him. These guys… they're trained to talk right minded people into thinking they're wrong. You know we're right!"
The boy nodded almost frantically. "They killed Luc." He announced as if it was news.
The leader nodded in agreement. Then he too disappeared up the ladder.
The hatch was closed behind him, leaving the circular in cold, wet darkness save for the kerosene lantern that flickered, casting strange shadows across the strange walls.
0o0o0o0o0
"I can't watch this." Constable Bill Greely cursed. He turned away from the video screens and headed for the far door.
"Ed…" Greg barely spoke, but he knew his friend would understand.
"I have him." Ed assured, rising to his feet and heading after.
The riot police commander was snapping orders into his own com. "Bring up the jail truck. disperse the crowd, any resistance deploy the sound canon and…"
"Tim, that isn't going to help. We need to calm…" Greg tried one more time.
"Really? You really want to keep doing this your way, Parker?" snapped the man. He started for the door that lead down to the front of the building. "You already lost one man doing things your way. I'll be damned if we lose him on my watch! I don't care if I have to drag every one of those punks through the ringer. I gonna get our man back!" The last he shouted over his shoulder as he stomped out of the room, barely avoiding the remainder of Team One as they entered the courtroom.
Greg watched as the three entered, catching himself as he counted heads. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, there was the thought that this was all wrong. Someone had heard wrong, made a mistake, was playing a real bad joke.
One.
Sam, looking mad, but in control.
Two.
Jules, calm, but fidgeting, worried.
Three.
Wordy, instantly pacing, anger rolling off of him like a tidal wave.
Four…
Greg closed his eyes for just a breathe.
Three.
Opening his eyes, he took charge. "What do we know?"
"This wasn't a chance, boss." Sam spoke first, certainty giving strength to his tone. "They waited to get someone alone. They targeted him, they got him, and then they vanished into the crowd."
"Not exactly Anarchist behavior." Greg observed. "Jules, what's that?" he nodded to what was left of some sort of pipe in her hand.
"A pipe bomb." She explained. "I don't know what type, or if it was meant to just be smoke or if it misfired. It's what was thrown into the window…" She stopped before noting that if Spike was there he could tell them everything about the bomb. But then she added "If they hit the window right, there's a chance the dash cam caught something…"
"Check it out." Greg tilted his head toward the computers.
Both Sam and Jules moved to the computers to begin searching the security cams.
Greg turned his attention to Wordy.
The man was pacing angrily, his hands flexing as if searching for something to hit.
"Wordy…" Greg started, carefully.
"I was right there, boss." He hissed, avoiding eye contact. "Right there. They must have been dragging him out the other side just as I was opening the door. Right there!"
"Slow down, Wordy. Take a breath." Greg quickly interrupted the rant. "Wordy, stop and look at me!" he commanded when his man still paced and growled.
Reacting more out of instinct than thought, Wordy snapped to at the command, meeting his Sargent's eyes finally. Instantly, his anger gave way to fear. "Sarg… it's Spike. I know he's smart as hell and he's a damn good cop, but… Sometimes he's… I don't know… just a kid. A geeky, awkward kid." He shook his head. "I was right there." He whispered.
"And you will be again." Greg assured, his voice gentle, but confident. "We are going to find him. We are going to bring him home. But we need to stay focused. We need to keep it together." He reached out to give Wordy's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You with me, here?"
The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself. "Yea. Yea." He answered after a moment.
"Good." Greg smiled a little. "Besides, Spike might be some geeky kid, but he's a geeky kid with combat skills."
Wordy chuckled.
Satisfied that his man was back in control, he told him "Taking him wasn't a random act against the powers that be. That's a personal act. Someone personally connected to this case instigated it."
"You thinking the Buteaus?" Wordy asked as they moved to the command station where Jules and Sam were working.
Greg thought back to when he had spoken with the father.
The man had been angry. Rightfully so. His son was dead. The man he believed responsible be released without punishment for what he believed to be a most horrific act: the murder of his son. It was very possible that Jean Paul Buteau would, could, and still might, strike out at the man he saw as responsible.
But, to take another man in his place?
No, Greg didn't see that.
But, someone close to Luc did do this thing. And Luc's parents would be the best source of information in that area.
"Look at this guy." Jules spoke up, pointing to a screen. "Watch how he directs everyone. Even the civilians are following his lead. And he gets right into the window. He directs the bat swing that took out the window. He threw the pipe bomb."
After that the area is engulfed in smoke and running and massive confusion. They could see something happening on the other side of the truck, but not what was happening.
"Can we get a look from the dash cam?" Greg asked.
"Winnie's patching it through…" Even as Jules answered, one of the screens took on a greyish hue and they were suddenly seeing through the passenger window of the truck.
They watched as the masked man swung the bat, sending shattering glass through the cab. They could see movement from the side as Spike dove for cover just off the side of the frame. They watched as a masked man ran up to the broken window, waving others back. Unaware of the dash cam, he looked right at it.
"Freeze that frame!" Sam spoke quicker than the others, his sniper reflexes snapping on the close up of the man who seemed to have been directing the movements around the truck.
Jules hit the right keys and the four of them stood there, staring at the picture of a man dressed head to toe in black with a black bandanna covering most of his face.
Sam frowned. "Looks like everyone else in the crowd."
"Problem with these Black Block strategies." Greg pointed out.
Jules agreed. "Can't single anyone out, or they just drop the black gear and blend right in with the civilians."
"Except…" Greg tapped the screen. "The scar. See the scar across his eyebrow?"
Wordy jumped at the sliver of a clue. "Use facial recognition and see where else that scar shows up. See if he's been picked up before, has a record…" he turned to look for the man who would usually do that job, only to remember…
Spike!
"Winnie." Greg told him. Winnie was no Spike, but she had her fair amount of computer skills. She could do what was needed.
Jules nodded. "There's another way." She looked up at Greg. "I can go down there with them."
Sam shook his head. "They'll be on you in an instant…"
"Not if I'm one of them." She quickly returned, never looking away from Greg.
Greg eyed her. "Undercover?"
"Dress all in black, slip into the crowd, sniff out the leaders…" Jules was rising to her feet, not really excited with the idea, but confident in it. "We can learn more down there among them than we'll ever learn up here, watching everything happening on camera."
Greg felt a stab in his chest in letting any of them out of his sight again. He had to remind himself that they weren't children, his children. Each and every member of Team One was a highly trained and, if the need arose, lethal officer of the law.
He should know.
He trained them.
Greg looked at his team leader, Sam.
Sam was frowning. "It's a risk…" he started, but he wasn't saying no.
"Yea,"Jules agreed, "but, let's face it: who brings only one pipe bomb to a riot?"
Letting his breathe out in a sigh, Greg nodded. "Sam, get up on the roof and watch her back. Wordy, find the Buteaus and talk to them. See what you can learn, but don't push. We're going to need open lines of communication with them… and not just today. The city will need both sides talking to each other to recover from all of…" he waved a hand at the riot displayed on the multitude of screens on the tables. "…all of this."
Focused, aimed, and moving, SRU Team One leaped to the task of trying to save their friend and the city they lived.
0o0o0o0o0
(A/N: this plays a little rough to me, but if I kept reading and rewriting I would never get anything posted again. So, please read and offer feed back. Let me know how I'm doing: good, bad, "We hate you for all your live long days!".
Thanks-The Chronicler
Another A/N: Just added a line or two and reposted.)