I don't own anything
Shiny Magazine - JET
"It was impossible to get a conversation going; everybody was talking too much."
Yogi Berra
"I hate this. We've been at it for the past two days non-stop. Hell, we've been working through with the night shift. And nothing."
"Whoever it is, the guy's a goddamn ghost. He cleaned up after himself good. Fuck." Mahardy scowled into his drink. "We don't even got C-O-D."
This was a new piece of information. Jane wrested her eyes from the counter to look at her the partner she had recently been saddled with; "You're telling me Maura couldn't get cause of death?"
"Would else would I've been saying?" scowled Mahardy again. "Dr. Isles refused to even make a guess. Not one speculation. Said something about it being ridiculous. Trusting intestines or the other. Had no fucking idea what she was saying, that one."
Jane laughed. Her next words were quiet; "Yeah, she's like that. But she's good at her job. Best ME I've worked with."
"That's what ever police says about their ME," he laughed. "Naw. I know she's good at what she does. This whole thing just rubs me wrong. She did say something about finding pineapple in the skin of the fingers. She started off on something about chemicals and shit." He waved his hand, as if he were trying to push away, what seemed to him, nonsensical science. "Think it had something to do with pineapples being good at removing fingerprints."
"Pineapple at this time of year?"
"Well it isn't easy to get. But possible. Leftover stock from the summer maybe?"
"Yeah. Maybe."
Jane had pushed aside her empty beer bottle a long while ago and noticed the drained glass in front of Mahardy. He twirled it with his index finger, the cubes of ice crashing against the sides. He took one and stuck it in his mouth. The ice broke between his molars in resounding crunches.
"Hey, uh, get us two Jack and Cokes," called Jane, holding her hand up in the air. "Don't be so heavy with the coke."
"Sure thing. Two Jack and Cokes."
Mahardy paused from his task of grinding the ice cube between his teeth to look at Jane.
"You tryna get me drunk enough to get into bed with you, Rizzoli?"
"Keep chasing the dream, Mahardy," growled Jane, smiling. "I'll let you believe that one for now."
"That'll be the day."
Little bubbles rose from the bottom of the glasses to the top, creating pockets of air in the rich, brown liquid. Jane lifted the drink to her nose. She could smell the Jack. Good. She needed it. To wipe the edge off. It's been years since she'd gotten to have a good glass of whiskey in her. Years.
"I didn't see you in autopsy. You cheating on me?"
Jane nodded along to the hidden question. Damn police. Communication issues abound.
"You stink, Mahardy. Worse than that floater. I've got reason enough to stay away."
Message sent. Message received. Mahardy nodded.
"Like roses, baby. I smell like roses." He paused before looking over at Jane, with a wink. "I know you're just too chicken of all them dead people. Can take the rest of the autopsies."
"I got more balls than you do, Mahardy."
"Your welcome." This was one was sincere. Mahardy's voice changed, lowered; "Listen. She asked for you. Wanted to know where you was."
"You must've heard wrong."
"Well the whole damn time she looked like she was about to cut one of the arms clean off. I was afraid blood was gonna start pissing everywhere."
"Maura's not like that."
"You weren't there, Rizzoli."
Jane winced; "But I know her. You read the goddamn report," she said bitterly. The pretext had all but disappeared. "You know what I did. To her. She won't look at me. She doesn't want to see me. It's that simple."
"Hell, Rizzoli. You're some kind of idiot, aren't you?"
"Leave it alone."
"That chick misses you." He waved his armed gesturing towards an imagined crowd. "I hear things at the precinct. You two were best friends, right? Stuck like glue."
"Yeah. Three years ago, Mahardy. And before I went off waving my gun around. You do the math."
"I'm not good at math." Mahardy's statement was simple, blunt. He stared at Jane. "And don't tell me I'm not seeing what I say I'm seeing. Keep in mind I don't like it when my partners hide shit. It makes for bad unit cohesion. And all that bullcrap. So don't act like you're not telling me something. If you think that I didn't notice… Well then I'm very offended. You clearly don't think I'm very good at my job."
"You stink too much to be good at your job. The perp can probably smell you from a mile out."
"Rizzoli," he warned.
"I care about you," she finally relented, annoyed. "I care about her, okay?"
"And?"
"And it's better that she hates me, not her own family. I don't want her to end up thinking everybody who's related to her are a bunch of criminals. It's better that she keeps at least one of 'em in good light. She's gonna start thinking that her blood's all messed up. I'd rather have her hate me."
"You telling me you haven't told her what really happened?"
"You gonna make me say that all again?"
"Damn, Rizzoli. You really are some kind of idiot. I've met kids who're smarter than you."
"Never said I was smart," replied Jane, bluntly.
"You don't think she's got you down as part of her family, too? You're a cop, Rizzoli. You know family extends beyond all that flesh-and-blood crap. I know enough and I've heard enough to deduce that the two of you were tight. Like family tight."
"It doesn't matter how things used to be, Mahardy. Hoyt… Hoyt had her all messed up. That's my fault too. A lot of this is my fault. So this is me fixing things. Making things right."
"Well you're going about it all wrong."
"That's not up to you."
"It is if it affects our job."
"It's not gonna affect anything."
"You love her don't you?"
Jane coughed, immediately feeling her throat go dry. She suddenly became painfully aware of the few people around her. It didn't matter that they were all too distracted – engrossed by their respective drinks – to notice that the two cops were even having a conversation. It only mattered that they were there, and they only allowed Jane's mind furiously race into hundreds of different scenarios. What if's. She coughed again. Her throat still felt dry.
"What the hell, Mahardy? Jesus Christ…"
"I guess I got my answer then. This should get interesting."
"Fuck you," Jane muttered, wryly.
The phone on Jane's hip rang, and she brought it to her ear, glad that something had thought to interrupt their conversation.
"Rizzoli… Yeah… Okay, sir. We'll be right there… I'd say in five or ten."
She hung up the phone and answered Mahardy's questioning gaze; "Cavanaugh wants us back at the precinct. Someone on the night shift was just giving our case a look over. Has us some info. A possible lead."
"Alright. Let's go."
The two rushed out of the bar, leaving their untouched Jack & Cokes behind. The bartender sighed and emptied the glasses into the sink. What a waste of good whiskey, he thought.
Maura stared down at the body, sewing up the Y-incision she had made. Jane hadn't come to the autopsy. Not that she expected that the detective would. She had every reason to believe that Jane wouldn't come down, and she had every reason to believe that she didn't want Jane to come down. But that didn't stop the growing pit in her stomach.
Detective Mahardy had come in Jane's steed. A good detective. A thorough detective. A lot like Jane, except that he carried that distinct New York accent. It had been a little pleasant to listen to – a nice reminder of that short time she had spent in the large city – and he had gone on about the intricacies of why the Yankees were better than the Red Sox. He had begun his tirade on the Knicks and Amar'e Stoudemire when she stopped him with a terse, rubber-gloved hand.
"Detective, would you mind telling me why Jane didn't come down with you?"
"Rizzoli? Oh, yeah. She wanted to stay upstairs to put some finishing touches on some paperwork."
"She hates paperwork."
"Who doesn't?" he said, with a toothy smile. "She probably wanted to get away from this one." He pointed at the opened up body lying on the autopsy table. "The guy stinks worse than a Manhattan garbage truck."
"Yes… Decomposition is made much more putrid when the body is submerged in water."
Mahardy smiled to himself, satisfaction etched all across his face. Clearly he had gathered what he had been looking for. She couldn't help but wonder what it was the detective had been searching for. And there it was again, that tight, knotted feeling weighing down on her intestines.
She ignored the feeling.
"Uh, yeah, right. So what else do you got for me, doc?"
Jane Rizzoli permeated her mind once again. When did it all start to go wrong?
"I didn't see it coming," she murmured, as she pushed the needle through the leathery skin. "I should've but I didn't." She looked down at the pale body. "I had spent the previous night with her. Everything seemed fine… There should've been signs but I couldn't find them."
The body didn't answer. Of course it didn't answer.
"Could I have stopped her? She still didn't tell me why. I still don't know why. Don't I have the right to know?"
She sighed.
"A part of me thought I could let things go back to normal. I don't know why I said the things that I said. I have missed her. I've missed her a lot. It's been awfully lonely. Even with Angela staying in the guesthouse. This all feels wrong."
She sighed again.
"It feels as if… something is missing. That's it. Like something is missing."
She scrunched her face, creases forming between her eyebrows.
"I don't know that either."
She looked down at the body again, frustrated.
"I'm a doctor, and I still don't know a thing. Why don't I know? Jane is… and… I still don't know. But I should, shouldn't I?"
Jane had her eyes avidly glued to the television in front of her. The beer in her hand had warmed, and she was too distracted to notice. The pitcher tried for a fastball down the middle. The hit flew off screen, and the cameras cut to the outfield, the ball landing safely in the crowd.
"No! Don't do that! What the hell, Lester! Goddamnit."
"You can't change the outcome of the game, Jane."
"I know," she retorted. "But I'm pissed. I mean c'mon! We were up four! Grand slam and boom. Tie game. Jesus."
She brought the beer to her lips, only to spit it back into the bottle. Warm beer. Warm beer is gross. Back to the game. She watched as the pitcher began his wind-up once again. Preparing to send another pitch at the batter. The bat swung in the air like a pendulum, back and forth, back and forth. Her eyes were once again glued to the screen, and she was briefly aware that Maura was saying something to her.
"…You're not listening to me, are you, Jane?"
"No."
Jane turned her had and let a smile touch her lips; "I'm sorry. Really. What were you saying?"
"I was trying to explain to you the most efficient way to swing a baseball bat. In terms of the muscles utilized. It's a fascinating subject."
Jane smiled again; "I'm sure it is."
"So why aren't we at the Dirty Robber tonight?"
"I wanted to spend time with you," Jane said, shyly. "I was getting tired of the bar, you know?"
"Aren't you getting tired of coming here so often?"
"No; of course not. Besides, like I said. Wanted to spend more time with you. Without everyone buzzing around."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be," muttered Jane, pouting.
"Do you want to put in the movie now?"
"Uh, yeah. Go ahead. I don't wanna watch the Sox lose, anyway."
She switched the TV into DVD mode as the pitcher proceeded to walk the batter. She watched as Maura left the couch to gently place the disk into the player, grabbing it by the edges, so as not to touch the mirrored underside. The disk began to whir inside the machine.
"What're we watching?"
"The Blind Side."
"The Blind Side?"
"Yes. It has all the attributes I like in a movie, and it's about football. We can both enjoy it this time."
"I thought you liked all my football movies," teased Jane.
"I never said that," replied Maura, comically scrunching her nose.
"What about all those action movies you said you loved?" Jane said, feigning horror and disbelief.
"Well I did enjoy the Italian Job… I like those better. Please don't make me watch Angels in the Outfield again."
"That one's about baseball, Maur."
"They're all the same."
"No, they're not!"
"Let's just start the movie, Jane."
And Maura had sidled up beside Jane, briefly noticing that the detective had visibly tensed and relaxed all at once from the contact. They watched the movie in a comfortable silence that neither had truly experienced with anyone else. That night, Maura Isles knew only one thing: she was happy.
Slowly, Maura closed the autopsy room down, turning off the lights and grabbing her purse. Bitterly, she remembered that she wouldn't be on call this weekend. Bitterly, she distracted herself with memories of one Jane Rizzoli, desperately trying to discover the answers to her questions: the reasons why.
"Were you two at a bar?" grunted Cavanaugh.
"Yeah, we were," replied Jane. "We only had a beer each. If that makes things better."
"Whatever. You'll both be fine. We need everything the two of you got for this case."
"Don't you want more people on it?" asked Mahardy, skeptical. "I mean, c'mon."
"We don't have any real confirmation. Only what you said. Adding more detectives to this case will only get the captain looking over your shoulder on this one. And don't forget about the damn media. We have to be sure before we have this whole damn city scared about some Boston Bomber."
"We're not very creative with our names, are we?" muttered Jane. "What do we got?"
"I just spoke with the night shift lieutenant. One of the detectives just had a quick glance over your case… after a uniform brought in some punk who says he knows something. The detective recognized some similarities to a string of homicides his partner is working. Undercover. You two get all of that."
"Yes, sir." Mahardy turned to Jane. "You want to interview the kid, or you wanna go follow up on the lead."
"Guess."
Mahardy audibly sighed and turned towards the interrogation room.