10 C-Section
When Banks was younger, a career in Citadel Security had seemed like it would be full of adventure with a dash of danger. A younger Jennifer Banks had envisaged herself helping take down armed criminals in the Wards or maybe uncovering that bit of crucial evidence that would bust a case wide open - and if she were honest with herself, raise her profile among the turian-heavy patrols. Instead she had found herself in a cubicle in the C-Sec Academy entering incident reports into the database. The then twenty year old Jennifer Banks was little more than a glorified secretary. A secretary authorised to carry a gun but still, a secretary. Regardless, the young woman was determined to rise through the ranks and by the end of her first year, had been assigned a foot patrol route in the Wards. Fairly standard stuff - offering directions to lost tourists and that sort of thing but it was a start.
During high school, at one of those career information presentations, recruiters and instructors from the C-Sec Academy offered the students a chance at getting on the fast track to a career in Citadel Security. Most of the other kids in Banks' class had scoffed at the idea, though she had jumped at the chance. She had always been a high achiever in school - teacher's pet, suck-up, nerd, the other kids used to call her. Then, while most of the rest were attempting to hold down three different jobs just to pay their way through university, Banks had graduated from high school and straight into an intensive training program on the Citadel itself. The very heart of the galactic community. Leaving her family and friends behind had been difficult but the transition had been worth it.
At twenty-three years standard, Banks hadn't been around to experience first-hand the ripples caused by the First Contact War, or the Relay 314 Incident, as the turians knew it. But even twenty-six years after the Council had forged a peace between humanity and turians, there was still lingering resentment on both sides. Banks hoped that by performing her duties to the best of her abilities, she could do her part in helping humanity earn the respect of the other races in Citadel Space. Particularly the turians.
Of course, there was always going to be some drunken waste of oxygen loser who would do his best to not only drag down humanity as a whole but tarnish the reputation of C-Sec itself. For those two reasons, Banks utterly loathed Harkin. She had plenty of other reasons to despise the man - he was coarse, sexist, corrupt and took absolutely no responsibility for his problems, preferring instead to blame everybody from the Executor on down. Sure, Pallin had a reputation for being a real hard-ass and he was more than a bit skeptical about humanity's place in the galaxy but about Harkin, the Executor was right.
Banks' immediate superior, Detective Chellick, with whom she had cracked the Citadel Slasher case had instructed her to get down to Chora's in response to a drunk and disorderly report. Three guesses as to who was the cause of the report and the first two guesses don't count.
Chora's Den was like a krogan - it just wouldn't die. No matter how many busts and arrests were made at the place, people kept flocking to it. Perhaps, Banks thought, that was part of its appeal - if a person wanted to be seen to be travelling in certain criminal circles, they frequented Chora's. Then there was Fist, a small-time crook with big-time delusions of adequacy. Even C-Sec investigators didn't know the whole story, but the now-deceased boss of Chora's had pissed someone off badly enough that the someone in question had set a krogan mercenary on him. Somehow or other, that krogan mercenary had hooked up with the crew of the SSV Normandy, and, together, they had proceeded to clean out Chora's from one end to the other. Even after all that, Chora's had been back in business almost immediately afterwards - the meatwagon had yet to depart with Fist's shotgunned corpse in the back when the staff returned, setting the place to rights as soon as C-Sec had finished their investigations. Banks shook her head at the thought...harder to kill than a krogan.
Banks along with Officer Eddie Lang exited the rapid transit car just outside the 'gentleman's club' that was Chora's Den. Even from out here Banks could hear a male's voice raised in a shout and the sound of smashing glass.
"I hope he forces me to draw down on him, I really do," Banks muttered as she and Lang walked rapidly to the club's entrance. The heavy set blonde officer glanced askance at the slightly older woman. Lang had been in C-Sec a little over a year and had mostly been relegated to running diagnostic checks on various pieces of C-Sec equipment - computer terminals and the like. Jen seemed a little too eager for action, he felt. Still, she had assisted the Detective in solving the Slasher case - that had been nasty, and she had even gotten to work briefly with the Spectre, Commander Shepard. Lang shook his head as he remembered the look on Chellick's face after Shepard had accidentally killed the Slasher. The paperwork...
"I'll kill all you alien freaks!" Harkin yelled as they entered the club. The middle-aged man - suspended from duty for drinking on the job - was holding the broken neck of a liquor bottle to the throat of one of the asari dancing girls. That had to be a fun job, Banks thought. Spending your days clad in little more than a few strips of strategically placed material with drunks ogling you and yelling at you to get your tits out.
To her credit, the asari seemed fairly calm. Maybe this sort of thing happened to her often, Banks mused. Harkin's hand trembled and the jagged glass of the bottle came dangerously close to slashing the dancer's neck. The rest of the patrons seemed disinclined to get involved. Some of them were egging Harking on. "Go on! Give those stuck up asari a lesson," another, equally drunk human yelled.
"Lang, go sort that jerk out," Banks told the other officer, nodding towards the overweight man a few tables away.
"Oh, look! It's Officer Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee!" Harkin sneered as he saw them enter.
"Let the girl go, Harkin. I'm taking you in," Banks said, voice level. She placed a hand on her stunner. A single jab from that and Harkin would be reduced to a twitching heap on the liquor-soaked floor, muscles jerking from the shock.
"You and what army?" Harkin slurred. "Come any closer and I shwear I'll cut her throat. I'll open her up and she'll be dead before you can call for the medics." Harkin jabbed his captive with the bottle, jagged points dimpling the skin of her throat and she jerked back, gasping.
"What's the matter, Harkin?" Banks taunted him, "Is a big man like you afraid of a little chick like me? Come on, let her go and try me, if you think you're hard enough." Banks prayed that she hadn't pushed him too far. Harkin's eyes went wide and his face flushed an ugly mottled purple. Oh damn.
Shoving the asari to one side, Harkin came in at Banks like a bull charging the matador. Banks smiled, corners of her hazel eyes crinkling. Guys like Harkin were so easy to play. Just call their precious manhood into question and bang, they became testosterone-fueled morons, reduced to thinking with their genitals rather than their brains. Snorting like an animal in heat - which he more or less was - Harkin swung wildly at Banks' face but Banks wasn't where she had been a second before. Nimbly sidestepping the drunk, Banks grabbed him by the upper body and face-planted him into the grimy floor. His right hand opened and the broken bottle rolled away.
Banks put her knee into Harkin's lower back, putting her weight on him. She wasn't a particularly large girl, but the shock of being slammed into the floor seemed to have stunned Harkin and he was unresisting as she forced his arms behind his back and cuffed him.
Banks turned as she heard somebody applauding. It was the asari dancer. She seemed to be in good shape after her encounter. Banks hauled Harkin upright and he swayed unsteadily from side to side. This close to him, she could smell the reek of liquor, failed aspirations and unwashed clothing.
"Harkin, I'm placing you under arrest for drunk and disorderly behaviour, deprivation of liberty, going armed in public to cause fear, making threats of violence, destruction of property - yeah the liquor bottle, deal with it, assaulting a C-Sec officer," Banks paused to take a breath and Harkin grunted, "I never laid a hand on you, you bitch."
"Yeah, but you wanted to and a broken bottle like that can cause some nasty injuries. Heck, I'm almost inclined to cut myself up a bit and say youdid it, that'd be enough to get you some jail time. But unlike you, I respect the law and I don't manufacture evidence." Looking at the asari, Banks said, "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to come down to the C-Sec Academy and give a statement."
The asari nodded and headed for the staff area. A few minutes later she returned, a long coat covering her outfit.
"I hope you get what's coming to you," the dancer told Harkin. Don't we all thought Banks.
Turning to Eddie, who had cuffed his own troublemaker, Banks said, "You OK there, Lang?"
"Everything's fine, Officer Banks. I got this one down for creating a public nuisance, inciting violence and, when I ran his name through my omni-tool, I found out he's on probation for an earlier incident." Looking his collar in the eye, Lang said, "Looks like you're going back to the big house."
Banks surveyed the other patrons of Chora's who had been avidly observing the entertainment with eager eyes. "All right people, nothing to see here," she said and began walking Harkin out the door, Lang close behind her.
Jen smiled to herself as she and Lang walked their charges to the rapid transit terminal. This, this was more like it. This was what she had signed up for.
A/N: Harkin has always struck me as a sexist pig. I don't much like sexist pigs and, the idea of a having a girl half his age toss him to the floor appealed to me.