A/N: The bit about the precinct house originally being a courthouse is from SVU show lore. It's also time to give Fin a life. The Bible verse under discussion is James 3:8.
Sixteenth Precinct
Robbery Unit: Interview Room #4
11 July
When the Sixteenth's building was built back in 1887, sunlight and gaslight were the main illuminations and air conditioning meant opening a window and hoping for a breeze. All its original rooms faced an exterior wall or air shaft to allow for ventilation and light. The building was converted from a courthouse into one of the first fully electrified precincts in the early 1920s, but the central HVAC system wasn't installed until 1983. Only after that could interior walls be shifted without regard for windows or air shafts.
The results were graceless chambers such as Interview Room #4. A narrow rectangle that opened off Robbery's bullpen, its dingy green confines cried out for the relief of a window view. During her drive in, Olivia Benson had wondered why Howie picked this room when he ruined her Sunday morning by asking her to meet with him ASAP.
Now I know... it's the perfect place to be knocked for a loop, which is what Brewster just did to me....
"John and Judith tried to kill each other? You've got to be kidding!"
Brewster's tight frown held no sign of joking. He sprawled in a side chair before her, feet splayed before him, his right arm propped on the table to take some strain off his abdomen.
He collapsed on that chair like an injured orangutan... when I asked why he was favoring his side, all he said was Munch punched him... I thought he was joking....
"Sue claims she saw them reach for their weapons," he told her. "She called out for someone to break it up, so I run over and grabbed Munch by the arm."
He shifted in his chair and winced.
"That's when he sucker-punched me. Sofarelli got his partner in a bear hug and she broke his nose—"
"But Couch is a black belt."
Howie waved away her objection. "Yeah? Well it didn't do him any good. Otten threw her head back and caught him right in the schnozz."
Olivia raised an eyebrow at that news.
That's SOP for an attack from behind...break someone's nose and all they think about is pain... but, damn it, Couch shouldn't have fallen for that trick....
"That's how things stood," Howie continued, "when Cragen came in—me still doubled over, Sofarelli bleeding all over the place, Munch and Otten frozen like deer in headlights. Cragen was not happy, not at all happy."
"What did he do?"
"Gave all of us a really dirty look then he started to get to the bottom of things. He sent Munch to Interview One with Maddox to watch him and Otten to Two with Smoot. He talked to everyone in the squadroom, then Sofarelli, Sue, and me at length."
Howie frowned. "He asked if I wanted to press charges against John."
"And?"
She tensed, ready to tear Brewster a new one if he answered wrong.
"Hell, no—although I'm reconsidering if I start to pee blood."
Olivia noted the upturn at the corner of his mouth and decided that, this time, Howie was joking.
"What did Couch say?" she asked.
"Guessing from the lack of a rep sitting with Otten, he's not pressing charges, either."
"So, what happened? Cragen didn't turn them over to the rats, did he?"
Howie shrugged. "If you want to know, you'll have to ask Cragen. He isn't talking to me."
He wrapped both hands around the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet.
"I've been breathing a sigh of relief because it's your shift getting the crap kicked out of it and not mine. But today, two detectives tried to kill each other on my watch—your people, Benson. Your shit on my shift."
Olivia planted her feet and braced herself against the insult.
"Got any suggestions, Howie?"
"Yeah. Fix it."
Olivia scowled at him.
"Hell of a lot of help that is. Thanks, Brewster."
He ran his hand through his thatch of red hair then he shook his head slowly.
"That's not how I meant it. What I mean is, if you don't take steps, who will? Cragen?"
Olivia's blurted "Yeah, right" echoed Brewster's thick disdain.
"Chief Conrad?" he continued. "Beale? Hate to say it, Olivia, but this one is all yours."
Brewster took a step toward the door.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and stand by Sue. Should be fun: half my people think she was right to speak up, half think she should have kept her mouth shut."
"What do you think?"
Howie's shoulders sagged, making him look even more like a red ape.
"I think she's my partner and let's leave it at that."
Olivia let Howie return to the squadroom. She cut through Robbery then took a right by the holding tank so she could observe the unit from the hallway. Inside, the detectives of Howie's shift worked their cases and moved about the room as usual.
It's always weird seeing the other shift in our work space, using our copy machine, talking by our desks... damn... Howie was right about Sue... both Amelia and Sam just snubbed her at the coffee pot....
She craned her neck to see into Interview One, but Munch was not there. Instead, she saw Chloe fussing with a laptop computer that sat open on the wooden table.
Okay... they must be in Cragen's office getting their butts chewed....
The thought that Judith had more to be chewed off than John made her choke back a laugh.
This isn't funny... if Sue is right, then John and Judith both attempted assault with a deadly weapon and that means Cragen has to turn them over to the rat squad... even if he decides Sue is wrong, I doubt he'll go easy on them....
Olivia spent a few moments wishing the two older detectives had waited for their own shift to pull this stunt.
Howie is right; our shit on his shift... our shit on our own shift, too... even if Cragen only suspends John and Judith, come four o'clock, it will be just the four of us... one-half the required duty roster... and we spent last shift barely being civil to each other... with two more gone, we can't cover our cases....
She headed for the stairs as she mulled over the situation.
Be nice if Cragen would resolve this.... what a dick... I hope his head comes out of his ass after he finally wangles those oak leaves....
Between the third and second floors, it hit her.
Fixing this isn't a matter of rearranging partner assignments... that's no better than rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic—we're going to sink no matter how I line them up....
She slowed her pace down the stairs.
To fix this correctly, I have to get to the root of it and start there... anything else is a Band-aid on an arterial bleeder....
That thought occupied her until she reached her car. She slumped in the driver's seat and ran through the possibilities.
Things I can't fix: Cragen's ridiculous promotion chase... Fred and Tammy's deaths... Couch's taking the sergeant's exam... Fontana and Judith—what in hell is Judith thinking? Smugtana, for God's sake....
The thought of anyone voluntarily pairing up with that self-satisfied jerk sent a shudder down her spine.
But hey—it's her life, not mine... now, maybe I should have done something about her bickering with John... at the time, it seemed harmless—a way to blow off some steam... everyone does something to relieve the stress... John rants about civil liberties, Elliot talks about his kids, we had Tammy and her practical jokes....
The memory of Stabler coldly telling her to go to Hell after Tammy's last prank interrupted her thoughts.
That really tore it... if I thought he was ignoring me these past two weeks, that was nothing compared to last night... as far as Elliot was concerned, I was dead and long buried—a ghost without form or substance... Fin at least talked to me about cases—if you can call one-syllable responses and grunts communication....
She drew in a deep sigh.
We can't keep on like this... I knew when we all blew up at each other that something had to be done... I knew I'd have to do it... I even know what I have to do... it's just that I'm no good at saying "I'm sorry"....
She leaned back and rolled her head against the headrest, trying to loosen taut muscles.
I'd rather French-kiss a rat than apologize to Stabler... he's the one who didn't support me... he questioned my professionalism and stability, which is a real laugh considering... but I'm the one who hit him below the belt with Tammy's list... ball's in my court now....
She took her phone from her pocket and punched in the speed-dial for Elliot's apartment. After four rings, his answering machine picked up. Rather than leave a message, she tried his cell.
"This is Detective Elliot Stab—"
She hung up as soon as she recognized the voicemail recording then she checked her watch.
Almost eleven... either he's at church or it's his weekend with his kids....
On a hunch, she called his house. The phone picked up on the third ring.
"Stabler residence, Richard speaking."
She chatted with Elliot's son for a few minutes, asking about his week at camp and his other summer activities, before she inquired about his dad's whereabouts.
"He picked Mom and Lizzie up and took them to eleven o'clock Mass. Lizzie had a soccer tournament yesterday in Albany and they got back real late."
Olivia thanked him for the info then ended the call.
If I leave now, I should get there before service is over... where better to apologize than a church? If nothing else, Stabler won't dare start anything there.... almost like "Highlander"—holy ground is safe....
With a snorted laugh at that notion, Olivia turned her key in the ignition and headed toward Queens.
Office of Captain D. Cragen
Manhattan Special Victims Unit
11 July
He had listened to Sue Lynde's version of the event. He had verified that neither Howie nor Couch wished to press charges. He had watched Munch and Otten stonewall him, each of them granting that there had been an argument, but neither giving up what caused it, and neither admitting to any form of assault.
Now, with the Venetian blinds closed for privacy, he stared at the two service weapons and the two detective shields in their cases, one with Munch's I.D., the other with Otten's, and wished he had the answer to one question only.
Couldn't they have waited until after the promotion list came out?
Third Grade Boys' Bible Class
Ebenezer A. M. E. Church
Rochester Avenue, Brooklyn
11 July
The boys in the mismatched desks all were dressed in pants with belts and logo-free shirts. By Pastor Briggs' request, the Lord's Day was free of advertising and lewd t-shirt sayings. Some of the boys were from the projects, kids Mrs. Rachel Washington rounded up every Sunday and Wednesday to bring with her. Others were the children of long-time members. Fin had sat in this same classroom with their parents when his grandmother had brought him and his brother to Sunday worship.
Now, he stood at the front of the class, dressed not in hand-me-down slacks and a much-washed shirt, but in a deep red shirt and black tie with a gray three-piece suit.
I'm the closest some of these kids get to a father figure... it behooves me to set a good example in dress and behavior....
"So," he told his class, "the Bible tells us to control our tongue because it's an 'unruly evil, full of deadly poison.' You understand what that means?"
Caleb Johnson, a short stocky boy from the projects, held his hand up first.
"If'n we talk without thinking 'bout what we gonna say," he answered, "we say shit we oughtn't say."
Fin scowled at his choice of words. Kemel Lambeth, a skinny kid eclipsed by Caleb seated before him, poked him in the shoulder while the other boys snickered.
"That's exactly what it means," Fin told him, "and you prove it by answering like that. There's places where your words should be clean and this is one of them. Try it again."
Caleb rolled his eyes at the request, but he managed to repeat his answer using "stuff" in the appropriate place.
"That's better," Fin told him. "What this verse says is that your tongue—your mouth—can get both you and other people in trouble, sometimes big trouble. The words you speak can ruin people's reputations as well as hurt their feelings. Words can cause fights and make people hate you—sometimes get you and others killed."
His cell rang. The screen's caller ID showed the call came from Dan Womack, a detective on Howie's shift and a friend of Fin's. A quick glance at the room's wall clock showed that class was almost over.
"So you all watch what you say. Do your memory work and come back next week—you hear me?"
The boys shot from their seats as Fin answered his phone.
"Dan—what you got? What? The hell you say...."
At the news, Fin turned his back to the classroom's door, privacy being instinctive when hearing the words "partner", "assault", and "Cragen's on the warpath." This meant he did not see Caleb and Kemel remain behind to see what was up with him.
"Hey—Deet say 'Hell'," Caleb whispered to Kemel.
Kemel slugged him in the arm. "You call him 'Detective Tutuola' when we's at church."
"Munch is a damn fool," Fin said in reply to Womack's news. "Always said that mouth of his would get his scrawny ass in trouble."
Behind his back, the two boys stared wide-eyed at Tutuola.
"God's gonna strike Deet-ective Tutuola dead right here in front of us," Caleb said with a grin in Kemel's direction. "He say 'damn' and 'ass' after he say we can't say such things."
"Mrs. Washington hear you talk like that," Kemel told him, "she's gonna—"
"I tells her Deet say it first. Anyhow, man's a fool for saying I can't say 'shit' when he talks like that."
"Deet ain't no fool. Everybody know that."
Their whispered argument finally caught Fin's attention.
"Dan, I gotta go. Some boys here are forgetting their manners."
He pocketed the phone and shifted his glare to the two third-graders.
"Now," he asked, "why you listening in on my conversation?"
Kemel eyed Caleb, daring him to answer the question. Under the weight of his friend's urging and knowing he'd pay if he didn't speak up, Caleb stood straight, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, and met Fin's glare with a wide-eyed, innocent smile.
"We hear you saying 'damn' and 'hell.' I was tellin' Kemel God don't like hearing that here."
Fin stared sourly at the two boys.
Judging from Kemel's blank expression, Caleb is lying, but I'm still busted... better 'fess up and show the two of them how a man admits to his mistakes....
"You're right," he said. "God doesn't like that—not in Bible class, not outside of Bible class, neither. I was wrong to talk like that. I apologize to you for doing it."
Both boys blinked at him like startled pigeons. Finally, Caleb spoke.
"It's okay, Deet. You's human, too."
"That guy Munch you talking about," Kemel asked. "He in trouble?"
Fin folded his arms across his chest and pondered the question.
I don't want to talk about it... but I promised I wouldn't lie to you guys when I said I'd be your teacher....
"Yeah, Munch shot his mouth off one too many times."
"Like you was talking about in class?"
"Yeah. He's been spreading some truly vile poison about people and it got him in trouble with our captain."
Kemel peered up at Tutuola.
"You gonna help him?"
Fin drew back in astonishment.
Hell, no—I gave up on him when he tried to ruin my career... but I can't tell Kemel that... can't be a bad example....
"No, Kemel. My help won't do him any good right now."
"If you can't help him," Caleb said, "then he's in some real deep shi—stuff. You want us to pray for him?
The thought of Caleb and Kemel asking God for Munch's deliverance from the hands of the Rat Squad brought a grin to Fin's lips. He quickly covered his mouth and faked a cough.
"Excuse me," he said. "Prayer's always a good thing, but I don't know—"
"S'okay, Deet. We gots time before service starts."
Caleb caught his friend's attention then they both closed their eyes and raised their arms then they both began to sway.
Perfect imitations of Rachel Washington... I hope she don't walk by right now....
"Father Lord God," Caleb intoned, "you who created the heavens and the earth and everything in it, Deet and Kemel and me ask you to protect—"
He stopped swaying and opened his eyes.
"Is Munch a detective like you?"
Fin nodded and Caleb resumed his proper prayer position.
"We ask you to protect Detective Munch from the troubles his tongue got him in. You be with him and make sure he stays out of trouble after this. You're gonna do this 'cause when we pray in Jesus' name, things happen. Amen."
"Amen," Kemel repeated.
Both he and Caleb stopped swaying and stared up at Fin.
"That okay, Deet?" Kemel asked. "You think Caleb needs to pray more?"
Fin had to clear his throat before he could answer.
"No, boys. You both did just fine. Munch couldn't want a better prayer than that."
Both boys grinned at his praise.
"Thanks, Deet," Caleb replied. "We got to go now or Mrs. Washington will come get us and we don't want that."
Kemel shook his head hard. "No. She likes us punctual."
With that, both boys dashed from the class room. Fin remained where he was as he tried to figure out what had just happened.
I guess they actually listen to what we say to them here... that's a real humbling thought....
He slid his Bible into his suit jacket pocket and turned out the room's lights.
I ever talk to Munch again, I gotta tell him about this... he won't believe it....
Interview One
Manhattan SVU
11 July
This place really is a fishbowl... never seems that way when I'm in here questioning someone... of course, then my mind is on that person and their answers... I'm the cop, not the perp....
Munch took a lap around the table. Officer Maddox, a pear-shaped man two months away from his thirty years and retirement, watched from the corner by the door as the detective breezed past him for the fifteenth time.
No one in their right mind would set Jerry Maddox to guard a dangerous felon... not only am I in deep shit, I'm also considered harmless....
He stopped at the door to gaze at his reflection.
Any second now, this door will open and two of IAB's finest will enter... if I really have Bolander's horseshoe up my butt, they won't make me wear cuffs—who am I kidding? That kind of luck ran out the moment Otten stood up to hit me... another two seconds and she would have swung like a girl and missed... giving me cause to deck her the way I decked Lt. Cutler... that happened only a month ago... I'm sure the rats haven't forgotten how I helped pull their chestnuts out of the fire—maybe that will count for something....
His reflection sneered at the thought.
Yeah, right—when was the last time IAB did anyone here a favor?
He shrugged just to see his reflection act nonchalant about his situation.
At least they can't yank my benefits and pension... I knew when I moved that retirement age would come before I made my twenty here, but no one can touch what I get from Baltimore... Otten, however, will lose everything—pension, health benefits, reputation....
His reflection broke into a wide grin.
Serves her right for starting this... I'll hit bottom, but she'll hit rock bottom... I can live with that....