A/N: To SASSAFRAS: Normally I only reply to signed reviews, but I really enjoy your comments! To answer your questions, congrats on spotting the bucket of water allusion; you can be treasurer of the fan club and I'll be secretary; and I could lie and say yes, that's how clever I am, but the Germany reference was pure coincidence.
Chapter 3: The Thursday Arsonist
Back at work, Freddy tried to loosen up. After being released from hospital he'd been ordered to rest all of Saturday. Irene was visiting her mother, otherwise he knew she would've spent the day with him, but in a way he was glad that he didn't have to see her so soon. Anyway, he'd spent the whole day alone in his shitty apartment. At first it had been difficult – he'd been tense as hell, expecting Vega to stroll through the door at any minute twirling his razor. A cop was posted outside now that he was a known target, but shit, it wasn't like another cop was going to stop a man like Vega. The more the fucking merrier for him.
After pacing around the apartment like a fucking idiot, Freddy had finally been able to relax a little. And it had been pretty nice, kicking back on his sofa as he ate his way through a double double with cheese, listening to Keith Whitley's "Miami, My Amy", taking his mind off the cuts and bruises that still ached no matter which way he moved. But when he went to bed his paranoia came back. He'd tossed and turned, images flashing through his brain of Vega holding a lighter in front of a screaming Marvin, or crouching in front of him with a hacksaw.
But now it was daylight, and Freddy knew that it would be reckless even for Vega to try to snatch him from the middle of the fucking police department. It was safe here.
He walked down to Holdaway's office and pushed the door open a crack, pausing when he saw Holdaway and Jeff in the middle of an animated conversation.
"– piece of glass came flying right at me, man. You can see where it went all the way through." Jeff had pulled up his sleeve and was showing Holdaway the back of his arm.
The older man snorted. "That's nothin', kid. Check this out." Freddy had to struggle not to laugh as he watched Holdaway drop his pants, revealing a fetching pair of stars-and-stripes boxers. The man pointed to a jagged scar on his thigh. "Knife wound," he said proudly. "Shit, you think yours is bad? This baby here is the motherfuckin' queen of scars. She's the fuckin' Battle-scar Galactica, man."
Freddy couldn't take it anymore and burst out laughing. The two cops looked up as he entered the office. "Nice one, Jim," he said, grinning. "But you gotta admit, I take the fuckin' gold when it comes to scars."
"Whoa, don't let me interrupt." McKlusky was standing in the doorway with an amused expression on her heart-shaped face. Holdaway pulled up his pants completely without shame, covering up the ugly scar. Freddy couldn't help wondering where he'd gotten it. That could wait for another day.
McKlusky dropped a file onto Holdaway's already-cluttered desk. "That's all we have on the garage that was burnt down, which isn't that much," she said, "Someone'll have to do a bit of digging." She turned to Freddy. "How're you holding up, Newendyke?"
"I'm okay," he insisted, not wanting her to make a fuss. "Vega knows who I am now, but Ferchetti's got a flatfoot hangin' round my apartment twenty-four-seven. It's no big deal." There was no fucking way he would tell these guys about the nightmares, the cold sweats, the insomnia, the flashbacks, all hitting him since Vega's personal attack. No. Fucking. Way.
McKlusky was still looking at him in some concern, so he decided to change the subject. "I'm fuckin' pissed about my finger, though," he said, holding up his left hand for all to see. "I gotta keep the splint for another week. Hurts like a bitch whenever I move it."
"You all right to shoot with it?" asked Holdaway, looking up from the file on the garage.
"Don't have to shoot with it," said Freddy. "I'm using a one-handed grip now. Got my aim back." He really was proud of that. Even Oscar had been impressed; they'd gone out for beers.
"That's good news, Freddo," Holdaway smirked. "You'll save big bucks on all your wasted ammunition."
"Boys," said McKlusky as Freddy punched Holdaway in the arm. "I've got a dozen sheets to pull up for Ferchetti after I'm done here."
"All right, we're listening." Holdaway sat down, and Freddy perched on the edge of the desk. Jeff was leaning against the wall beside the window.
McKlusky gave them all a look to make sure they were paying attention. "Okay," she said. "So when Dov and the rest of Cabot's boys go down, Vega has no employer. Three weeks after the bust, he commits the first arson at a pub called the Coach and Horses, okay? Since then there's been one every Thursday, and this garage was the eighth. So far no pattern's been detected."
"And that's our job," said Holdaway, passing a tired hand across his forehead. "Shit, we're no closer to guessing his next move than Cleveland is to winning the fuckin' World Series."
"How'd the media take this one?" asked Freddy, popping a piece of gum into his mouth.
McKlusky shrugged. "Havin' a field day. They're calling him the Thursday Arsonist. Now they've got a description to tack onto it, the one we put out asking for tips. Media attention's been growing the whole time. The burning garage was all over the news – not you, Newendyke," she said at the look on his face. "They just mentioned that a cop was taken to the hospital with minor injuries. No names, no pictures."
"And now we gotta figure out where Vega's gonna strike next," said Jeff, chewing his bottom lip. "I'll find out what I can about the garage. Poke around the neighborhood, knock on some doors, see if there's a link to Vega somewhere."
"And what should I do?" asked Freddy.
Three heads turned in his direction and stared. It was very uncomfortable.
"You?" said Holdaway, raising his eyebrows. "You can take the rest of the motherfuckin' day off. I don't even know why you came in today, man." When Freddy didn't move, the older cop jabbed a finger at him. "Get your ass outta here, kid. You can come back tomorrow when you don't look like someone who stood in for Jean-Claude Van Damme's fuckin' punching bag."
Freddy left the office and tried to slam the door behind him, but it was an old door and just bounced open again, hitting him in the heels. That made him even more pissed, and he slouched his way down the hall with his head down and his hands in his pockets.
"Newendyke?"
Freddy doubled back to see Detective Zack Jiang watching him from the door of a crummy little office. The guy was wearing jean cut-offs, sandals, and a tie-dyed t-shirt. Coupled with his scruffy beard and wooden bead necklace, he looked like he belonged at fucking Woodstock, the furthest thing from a detective investigating crime boss Marsellus Wallace.
"Welcome back, man," said Jiang, sticking out his hand. Freddy shook it. "Hungry?" He held up what he'd been munching on. It looked like a muffin, but Freddy wasn't too sure.
"What's that?"
"It's a gluten-free rice bran muffin," said Jiang, and Freddy made a face. "What? You won't stay for breakfast?"
"Actually I'm just on my way out," said Freddy ruefully. "But I'll be back tomorrow morning."
The other man glanced in the direction of Holdaway's office. "Huh. Well, how're the arsons coming along?"
"Shitty. How's the Wallace case coming along?"
"Shitty," Jiang admitted with a smile. He stepped into his office and beckoned Freddy after him. The small space was almost entirely taken up by two desks and a filing cabinet. Jiang obviously shared this space, because one half of the room was plastered with environmental posters and sported a compost bin, and the other was crammed with Dodgers paraphernalia. Interspersed among these personal decorating touches was information on Wallace and his associates. Freddy peered at a blurred black and white photo of a young woman with dark hair.
"That's Mrs. Wallace," said Jiang, tapping his mouth with a finger. "Marsellus is one lucky son of a bitch. Last I heard she went to Amsterdam. Still there for all I know.
"What's the big guy up to?" asked Freddy, turning next to an eight-year-old mug shot of Wallace.
Jiang was busy pinning up the corner of a poster that read 'Arbor Day: a tree hugger's favorite holiday' under a picture of a tree. "You might find this interesting," said Jiang as he pushed the tack into the wall. "Wallace is trying to take over some of Cabot's business, now that the old man's gone. Wallace just purchased a couple of clubs. Word on the street is he's tryin' to find guys to run 'em. He'd probably be approaching some of your old friends if you hadn't taken 'em all down."
"He sure doesn't waste any time," Freddy muttered. Then in a louder voice he said, "Thanks, man. I'll see you tomorrow when I come in."
"Yeah – oh, Freddy!" He turned to see Jiang waving a hand to get his attention. "There's a reporter hangin' around outside the station, ambushing cops for statements on the arson. We've all just been ignoring her."
"Thanks for the warning." With a friendly wave Freddy strolled away, feeling better than when he'd stormed out of Holdaway's office.
True to Zack's warning, as soon as he stepped outside he was intercepted by a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and enormous earrings. He recognized her at once. "It's you."
The journalist blinked, tearing her eyes away from the scar on his right cheek. "I'm sorry?"
"Nothing," said Freddy hastily. He recognized the woman from her picture, but apparently she didn't recognize him. To her, he was just another cop leaving the station. She didn't even realize that he was the coma victim she'd written about before. Took pictures of him in hospital and everything, ruining his chances of ever going undercover again.
"I'm Barbara McGowan from the –"
"I know about the shitty little paper you write for," Freddy interrupted her. "You consider yourself a real hero, huh? Talking about everything that's wrong with our fucking society, slinging dirt left and right."
McGowan frowned, but soon recovered her composure. Her large fake smile made him want to slap her. "I was wondering if you could answer some questions, officer. As you know, there's been public outcry to catch the Thursday Arsonist. Many civilians have been injured in the fires, and it's only a matter of time before somebody dies. The LAPD have confirmed they have a suspect, but they won't say who."
"And you think I'm gonna tell you?" Freddy gave a disbelieving laugh and walked away. McGowan wasn't to be taken seriously. She wrote in a radical newspaper devoted to deploring social conditions that nobody ever bothered to read. He had bigger problems to deal with.
A/N: The "Battle-scar Galactica" comment is actually one that I made to a friend, but Holdaway was referring to the original 1970s series. The Coach and Horses pub is where Quentin Tarantino and Tim Roth got completely drunk before Roth was cast for the role of Mr. Orange. Zack Jiang appeared previously in Addendum II: Obsession as one of the detectives investigating Marsellus Wallace.
