December 16; 12:47pm
Impulsiveness … good or bad, it had always been a prominent character trait of mine. There were plenty of times when it certainly worked to my advantage, other times… maybe not so much. Vicky used to say that one day it would be the death of me and although her voice was always teasing, I knew deep down it did cause her to worry. And now as I found myself plummeting through the smoggy skies of Los Angeles, I wondered if maybe she was right. The thought was brief though as I continued my descent; I could see that the firefighters had managed to get the safety bag in place; not that that actually insured one's safety. When you are falling from ten stories up, there are still a lot of factors that can come into play. If the bag isn't fully inflated, it does about as much good as landing on a wet tissue. I've also seen jumpers land too close to the edge, bounce back up in the air and splat on the sidewalk half a block away. Or if your luck really sucks ass, you can just miss the whole damn thing, in which case they have to use a spatula to load you into the body bag. At this point, there's nothing I can do except try my best to control the jump so that we land square in the middle. Not an easy task with this idiot attached to my wrist, twisting every which way and screaming his fool head off.
For a guy that was so eager to kill himself only a minute ago, he doesn't seem to be too delighted with the way this has all turned out. I tell ya, there's just no pleasing some people …
December 16; 12:47pm
Oh, my God … shit, shit, shit … if that crazy bastard doesn't end up dead, I'm going to kill him myself.
December 16; 1:22pm
Unbelievable. I always knew that Captain Murphy, like any captain in the LAPD, was a son-of-a-bitch, but up until this point I had no idea that he hated me this much. However, I could come to no other conclusion as I silently watched my new partner devour a double cheeseburger and large fries. No more than twenty-five minutes ago the man had thrown himself from a ten story building and then followed up that little stunt by trying to put a bullet in his head right in front of me - and now, here he sat, serenely eating a burger as if all of the proceeding events were nothing more than an ordinary day for him. In fact, his expression was remarkably tranquil, his manner relaxed. The only hint that there may have been any lingering tension was the brisk jiggling of his right leg, bouncing up and down non-stop … but then for all I knew, at that point, he was just dancing along to the voices in his head. His behavior and rapid fire mood changes seemed at best bipolar - at worst … I shuddered to think about it. At least I had definitely answered the question everyone in the precinct was taking bets on - whether Riggs was sincere in his suicidal attitude or just pretending. No question, the man was as serious as a heart attack. And now it had become my duty to pass the information along to the higher ups. It wasn't something that I wanted to do but what other choice did I have? After all, I knew that that was the real reason Murphy had thrown us together - for me to keep an eye on this lunatic and let them know what was really going on.
I took a sip of my soda - God knows, I didn't have the stomach to eat anything - and pondered my next move. Like any police officer worth his stripes, I had a deep and abiding dislike for the police psychologist. They certainly had no true idea of what it takes to be on the streets and no matter how many fancy degrees they had nailed to their office walls, they never would. Much like being in combat, unless someone has actually experienced the situations cops can find themselves in, I don't think a person can do much judging… besides I had a sneaking suspicion that the psychologists believed everyone in the Department was touched in the head. No doubt, a very true statement when it came to a certain Martin Riggs, but as for me personally, the thought was rather insulting.
Unfortunately, my only recourse was looking to be the department quack, even if they were just one level up from Internal Affairs; which obviously wasn't saying much. The psychologists managed to beat out IA simply by the fact that they weren't cops. At least when they ratted you out, it wasn't being done by a fellow police officer. My stomach did another roll at the thought of having to turn on a brother in blue. Us cops tended to stick together no matter what was going on - looking out for one another was just part of our defense mechanism – there should be no white, no black - only blue. Because of this, there was an unwritten code of ethics that we held to very strictly in these matters, but as loath as I was to break it, I couldn't see any other way out of this mess. I mean how was I supposed to feel about this guy? His eyes seemed to hold only two expressions – a total unadulterated rage so intense I feared for my life and a vacuous thousand-yard stare that looked right through me as if I wasn't even there. I thought briefly about trying to get in touch with Riggs' wife instead, but quickly dismissed the idea. Dealing with a family member would be touchy, and most likely pointless. Spouses usually saw what they wanted to see and I had no reason to imagine it would be any different with her.
My mind suddenly flashed back to the look that had been on Riggs' face earlier when he had pulled the trigger and that image helped me to steel my resolve. No … no way, no how, was I going to let this nut job bring me down with him. I suddenly stood up, one hand making an impatient gesture. "Let's go."
My tone of voice had come out much more abrupt and sharper than I had intended; however, if it bothered Riggs, he didn't show it. Instead he just stared at me for a long minute through half-lidded eyes, then balled up the burger wrapper, pitching it in the air and into the nearby trashcan. "Right-o, boss man," he said blandly.
"Uh, right … Well, we just have a lot of work to do on this case."
"No problem." Riggs' face was unreadable. "I'm just gonna get some more fries to go." He jerked a thumb towards the fast food order counter. "I didn't have any breakfast this morning."
"Yeah, except for the liquid kind," I muttered under my breath as he turned away. My comment obviously reached his ears despite my low volume, because he stopped in mid-stride and turned back around to face me, eyes sharp as daggers.
"What was that?" His voice was calm and even but there was still a dangerous undercurrent to it.
"Uh … nothing." Giving a shrug, I did my best to smooth out my grumpy expression. No need to push some trigger point and end up with Riggs' boot on my neck again. Once was quite enough. Instead I needed to avoid any possible confrontations and figure out some way to get a moment to myself so I could call Dr. Woods, neither of which were going to be an easy undertaking. Irritated, I stomped back to the car in silence, trying to formulate my game plan as Riggs came up from behind, humming aimlessly and off-tune to himself, greasy fast food bag in hand.
December 16; 2:43pm
All things considered, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that my day was ending with a corpse. I watched in angry resignation as the uniformed cop and one of the coroner's assistants wrestled with the heavy wet body of the deceased drug dealer, finally managing to extricate him from the pool cover and depositing him on the concrete deck with a most undignified thump - but then it had been my experience that there were few dignified deaths. Indeed, death was the great equalizer - drug dealer or saint, we all just became nothing more than a bag of meat and bones at that point. "Well," the assistant muttered as the two men climbed out of the water, "I guess whatever damage the shots to his chest didn't create as a cause of death, the drowning took care of…"
"Shut up, Behrman," I growled, one hand rubbing against my forehead as I felt fury building back up again. The assistant stared at me, his expression twisting up into a look of apprehension. I may not have been a trigger-happy nut job like my new partner, but I was still an imposing broad shouldered 6'4'' black man and I wasn't above using it to my advantage when the situation warranted.
Coming up behind me, Dr. Hernandez laid a warning hand on the young assistant's arm. "No need for additional commentary, Todd," he said with a smile and a nod in my direction. "Let's just tag and bag him, shall we?"
"Yes sir."
The younger man went to work as Hernandez gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. "Looks like you've had quite a day," he added as his eyes swept over me, taking in my unusual appearance. I always carried a quick change of clothes in the trunk of my car for emergencies, but the rather wrinkled sweats I was currently being forced to wear - thanks to a now soaking wet business suit - were far removed from my usual professional attire.
"Believe me, you don't know the half of it," I grumbled.
"Unfortunately, I'm afraid it's about to get worse."
Turning around to follow Hernandez's gaze, I saw members of the Shooting Investigation Team making their way up the long driveway towards the location of the pool. Somehow, I managed to bite back my initial response and just gave a nod of my head. Having to go through the intense questioning of S.I.T. and the mounds of paperwork to be filled out were just some of the reasons I always tried my best to avoid discharging my sidearm. Luckily, I wasn't the one who fired the kill shot, but I knew that I was still in for a long afternoon. The team split up, two of them heading towards me and the other two towards my partner. Riggs was leaning casually against the outside wall of the nearby pool house, one foot propped up, ever present cigarette dangling from his mouth. Not one word had been exchanged between the two of us since we had gotten out of the pool. Riggs had gone to radio in the incident and afterwards at least had had the good sense to stay clear of me - which resulted in his current location over by the pool house while I had positioned myself in a nearby deck chair on the other side; waiting for the cleanup crew and cursing under my breath as I watched the blood slowly spread through the water.
Riggs' eyes cut over to me briefly but his expression remained coolly impassive as he returned the hard stare in the direction of the approaching detectives. Whatever thoughts were running through his mind, I couldn't even begin to guess. And before I had any time to reflect on it further, the other members of the team stepped in front of me, notebooks already pulled out and at the ready.
"Sergeant Murtaugh, we're ready to take your account of the shooting." One of the men motioned to the nearby deck table. "Let's take a seat over here and you can tell us what happened."
"Right." I moved over to the table and sat down, the S.I.T. detectives joining me. My gaze went over one shoulder, watching as Riggs flicked his cigarette into the water and then disappeared into the pool house with the other investigators, never giving another look in my direction. Spreading my hands across the table top, I started.
December 16; 7:22pm
By the time we were finished, the sun had gone down and my stomach was growling so fiercely, I was ready to eat anything Trish was preparing - even that god awful fish she had planned. Truly one of the worst things on our rotation of meals.
"Well Sergeant that should do it. We'll be in touch for anything else we may need."
I looked up at the detective, yawning widely as I gave a nod. "Okay." I paused briefly and gave voice to the thought at the forefront of my mind. "So … should I be expecting another new partner?" My tone was light but the question was serious.
The man just gave a shrug of his shoulders, the blank expression he had worn through our entire interview remaining unchanged. "I can't say anything until I get together with the other team members and we corroborate facts, go back over the shooting scene, have all the physical evidence checked out … you know how this works." He paused for a moment. "But as for Riggs …" he shook his head as he glanced at the other man standing next to him, "… I don't know how he does it."
"What do you mean?"
"He's had more gunfights than Wild Bill Hickock but still manages to stay with the department." He rubbed one hand across his chin, a slow grin coming across his face. "Of course, I imagine it's all a moot point this time anyhow."
"Really, how so?"
"From all accounts, this looks like it was a righteous shoot. Riggs pulled your bacon out of the fire." The smile widened. "In other words, he saved your ass. Who knows … probably get another commendation."
I watched in silence as the two men left without another word. They met up with the other team members down by the pool house and then headed up the driveway. Shit … the crazy bastard had saved my life. I had been so angry about the whole incident, so focused on how I knew Riggs was going to get me killed before the day was over, I had completely overlooked the fact that the opposite had occurred. My stomach did a sudden flip-flop - the way it always does after the adrenaline is gone and the gravity of the situation finally has time to sink in. If it hadn't been for Riggs, Trish very well could have been widowed, my children left fatherless… I looked back over at the pool house but Riggs had yet to emerge. Slowly taking in a calming breath, I began walking in that direction. I owed him … Now what was I going to do?
