A/N: Amphigorey, etc: collections of works by Edward Gorey, illustrator and very dark humorist
Jacks: children's game played with a small rubber ball and tiny caltrops
Slapjack: simple two-player card game. Cards in the deck are turned over one by one. If a jack is turned up, the first player to slap the jack gets it and all the cards under it. When a player wins all the cards, the game is over.
As noted before, the ballgame described in this story was played on August 15th, 2007 in Real Life.
Alex Rodriquez' grand slam, mentioned in the story, occurred on April 7th, 2007 (Real Life)
The usual language warning applies here, too.
Residence of Andrew Beale
205 East Sixteenth Street
15 August 4:20 p.m.
The phone call from Sofarelli chilled Benson to her bones.
When I heard Couch say 'bomb,' all of me turned to ice… I'd rather a bomb in my home than the squadroom….
She listened intently as Couch ran through the details.
Fin's got the detonator, Elliot's supporting him… okay, that means he can get the hell out of there, but Fin… Fin….
Part of her brain noted the details of Couch's call, how he had performed the necessary evacuation protocols for the unit, how he had left messages for Cragen and the other detectives, how the precinct commander had summoned the bomb squad. Everything else was consumed with worry and fear for her colleague and her partner.
It's good Elliot's there with Fin, but… the danger… in our house… our place….
She asked Couch if she was needed back at the house, feeling both relief and shame when he said "No."
I want to be there, and I don't… standing outside safe, not able to do anything… this doesn't make Beale go away… but, if we find anything here, Elliot's not available… it's better he's with Fin… better Fin's got one of us with him… shit—why us and why now?
"Couch," she said, "Elliot is supposed to assist me with something later today. I hate to sound callous, but who's available?"
"Looks like me," he replied. "Lake can handle things here. Munch or Loudoun are down in Alphabet City checking out Freds. Judith's available, too. I just talked to her so she knows what's up."
"Okay, I'll keep that in mind. Let me know…."
Couch cut her off with a tense "I will" then hung up, saving her from voicing her fears for Fin. Olivia pocketed her phone without noticing she had.
It's like that bomb is here next to me… the thought of Elliot, of Fin—no, not them… not them….
"Trouble?"
The question came from Borgia. The ADA had been watching Benson's search of the bookcases from Beale's desk chair. Now, Borgia was next to her, peering at the detective with concern. Olivia drew in a deep breath before answering.
"Yes. Someone placed a explosive device outside our squadroom. The precinct house is being evacuated, and my partner and Fin Tutuola are babysitting the bomb until it's defused."
Which sounds so much better than "if Fin's hands slip, we lose both of them…."
Borgia went pale at the news. Robinson's voice called up from the main room.
"Did you say 'bomb?'"
Olivia stepped over to the loft's railing.
"Yes, near the One-Six, but it's under control."
"Thank God," he replied. "Last thing we need in this city right now is people blowing up things—oh, and we've finished the kitchen. Want us to start in here or the bedroom."
Olivia considered the question, thankful no one had questioned her version of the matter.
If I were Beale, I'd hid my trophies in an intimate place like the bedroom… I should search it myself… but, if I set Robinson and Salazar to work on the living room, they might decide to turn on the TV… just in case something goes wrong, I don't want to see or hear it… something better not go wrong… damn, I hope it doesn't….
"Bedroom," she told him. "I'll get the living room; I'm almost finished up here." when I'm done."
She watched as Robinson waved Salazar toward the bedroom then Olivia turned back to face Borgia.
"Lying to my investigators, Detective?" the ADA asked.
"Okay, so I fibbed," Olivia admitted. "Better that than having them glued to the TV, too busy watching to search."
Olivia turned back to the last unchecked bookcase.
Backing up my story with action….
She squatted before the shelf and took a book from the second-to-last row.
Amphigorey…next to it Amphigorey, Too… then Amphigorey, Also… The Comic Mark Twain Reader… The Thurber Carnival… guy sorts his books by category and I'm in the humor section… wish I found it funny… nothing funny about where Elliot is… Elliot and Fin… nothing better happen to them…..
Residence of Joseph Fontana
17 Battery Place
Manhattan, NY
15 August 3:55 p.m.
The meeting with Derek and Cammie Landis-Otten had gone better than Joe had expected. His apology had been accepted by Cammie, and Derek's worries about his mother had been addressed to his satisfaction.
However, after the good-byes had been said, and the front door had closed behind the departing couple, Judith spun around and marched to where Joe stood by the dining table. She stopped in front of him with her feet planted and her hands on her hips.
"Italy? Italy?"
Judith's voice rose in volume and pitch on each repetition.
"What makes you think I'm moving to Italy?"
Geez… at least let me sit down before you start in on me….
Joe leaned his weight on his walker and wished with all his might that Derek had not asked whether the men pursuing him might also go after his mother.
I told Judith I would answer every question honestly… but I should of kept my mouth shut on that one….
A scant three feet in front of him, Judith's glare was threatening to sear through his skin.
Instead, I told Derek we weren't safe in New York—not after that stunt Judith pulled with the fake ambulance… I told him I thought we should spend some time far away from here, maybe in Italy or Switzerland—I did mention Switzerland… not that Judith paid any attention… all she heard was 'move' and 'Italy….
For the next few minutes, Judith chewed Joe out.
She let me have it with both barrels… first, I shouldn't make decisions for her… second, New York City is her home and she isn't going anywhere, especially to Italy… then she reloaded and let me have it again… and again…
Just when he thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen, Judith finally paused for a breath. Joe seized his chance.
"The hell with moving to Italy," he snarled. "Let's stay here and wait for someone to shoot you."
He slid his walker forward until he could lean over Judith. She pulled back slightly, but kept her scowl aimed at him.
"What mean you by that?"
"I mean that stunt of yours Thursday is why this place is being triple-teamed by Crespo's thugs. They can't get at me so they're after you. That's why Bradley is driving you around—not because you wrecked your car, but so you don't end up bleeding out on the pavement."
Judith drew herself upright until she was nose-to-nose with him.
"I can take care of myself."
Joe leaned his weight on his left hand so he could gesture with his right.
Anyone who can look at me and say that needs a good swift kick in the pants….
"Fine," he said with a careless flip of his hand, "take care of yourself. We'll turn the wedding into a funeral, and save a bundle on the catering "
Judith gaped at him, her eyes so wide her lashes seems to hit her brows.
Great, I finally got through to her….
"Now," he said, "if you're ready to listen to reason—"
Her eyes narrowed as Judith's nostrils flared.
"If it means me moving to Italy, no—I'm not!"
From the kitchen counter came the sound of Judith's cell phone. Judith glared at Joe as though pinning him in place then she stomped around him to the kitchen to answer the call. Joe took the opportunity to beat a retreat for his bedroom, ignoring the curious looks he got from Wainwright and Bradley in the spare bedroom.
No sense in me continuing this… might as well argue with a brick wall….
He left the door open.
In case she comes to her senses… except she just went from stunned to enraged in a blink of an eye… can a sane person do that?
Joe roamed his bedroom, going from the bath to the closet to the exercise equipment to the closed blinds blocking access to the terrace, then he ran the circuit again, too agitated to settle anywhere. His thoughts also ran in circles with Judith at each center.
Can't she see I'm trying to keep her safe? Everything I'm doing is for her—changing my life, clearing out my closet—I gave away some damn fine suits, shirts, and ties—not to mention that Brioni wool pea coat… I don't think Judith appreciates everything I'm doing for her… trying to keep her alive and safe… trying to make "Happily ever after" last more than a couple weeks… why can't she see that?
Joe finally parked himself on his bed, stretching out on the bedspread and leaving his shoes on. He picked up a book from the nightstand then tossed it aside. From the living room, he heard Judith's phone ring again.
Must be family checking in on the Derek and Cammie situation… fine, talk to them… beats having you yell at me for no reason….
A sharp rap on the door frame brought him out of his thoughts. Joe snarled a "What?" and Wainwright came into the room.
"Detective Fontana," he said, "you probably should come out here."
"Why?"
Did Judith send you in to signal the start of Round Two?
"Because someone tried to blow up the Sixteenth Precinct house, and the attack appears to be related to one of Detective Otten's cases."
Joe slid from the bed and grabbed his walker.
"How do you know that?"
"It's on the news, and I listened in to Judith's end of two phone calls. Both sounded like they were from detectives she works with."
Joe hurried past the operative to the living room, where his flat screen TV was tuned to NY8 News. He paused by the dining table, transfixed by the shot of the street outside the One-Six. People streamed from the surrounding buildings; officers were directing them away from the precinct house. Joe could see patrol cars blocking the intersection two blocks north to divert traffic. Below the live shot, the news crawl explained the situation, mentioning that two NYPD detectives were inside with the unexploded bomb.
Judith stood in front of the screen, her hand still clutching her cell phone. Joe went to stand beside her.
Her eyes are closed… I think she's praying… don't blame her—if some of our guys was in a mess like this, I'd be calling in favors from whomever I could reach….
As though she sensed his approach, Judith took a sidestep toward Joe.
"They pack those bombs with ball bearings, tacks, nails," she whispered as though afraid her voice might set off an explosion. "It's not just the blast, but thousands of projectiles killing and maiming. I saw a suicide bomber take out a bus in Israel. Two of my friends were on that bus. I helped with—with…."
Her voice caught, keeping her from finishing her sentence. Joe reached behind her and gingerly rest his hand on her shoulder. She did not move away so Joe decided to say something neutral.
"Wainwright said this is tied to one of your cases."
Judith nodded.
"Couch said the bomber's name is Eshan," she told him. "End of June, we stopped a man named Nurzai Eshan from taking his niece back to Afghanistan to redeem their family's honor."
Joe raised an eyebrow.
"Judith, don't soft-soap things with me. I may not be SVU, but I've handled my share of rapes and family violence."
"Okay, call it rape and murder," she replied. "Nurzai's brother Admad was told to send his daughter home to pay for a mistake he had made. When he refused, his brother took things into his own hands. Admad and his children are in hiding, and his wife, who assisted with the abduction, was arrested along with Nurzai. Munch and Couch handled the arrest while I got the Eshan kids safely away from their relatives."
"So, Couch thinks this hump targeted your unit as revenge?"
Judith nodded. "Couch said our desk sergeant thought someone was scoping out the house. Looks like he was right."
"Did he say who's inside with the bomb?"
"Fin and Elliot."
I've worked with Tutuola… he's good people… I hope he's okay… don't remember which one Elliot is….
Judith turned her attention to the TV, which was showing an interview with Inspector Renault, the precinct commander.
Renault's giving them the standard line—everything under control… nothing to worry about… bomb squad arriving shortly….
"Our bomb guys are the best," Joe offered. "They'll defuse it in no time."
She bobbed her head up and down in agreement. The nod became a tremor that ran through her body.
"I have nightmares about bombs," she said. "I see the blood and the body parts and…."
Judith paused to draw a deep, shuddering breath.
"You'd think I could handle it, but…."
Joe saw her eyes start to fill with tears.
Oh, hell… she's gonna cry….
He put pressure on her shoulder, urging Judith to turn to face him. When she did, he pulled her close and let her sob into his shirt.
So, getting gunned down doesn't faze her, but getting blown up does… sounds like leverage to me… sooner I get her and me away from here, the better….
Residence of Frederick Dover
320 East Eighth Street #6B
15 August 4:23 p.m.
Dover stood up and waved his hand at the closed bedroom door.
"How about I watch you and Julie? I promise—you won't be disappointed."
Munch set his beer on the floor by his chair then he used the chair's arms to push himself to his feet.
Note to self—stop sitting in low-slung furniture….
His grin was genuine.
Except Dover doesn't know why I'm grinning… even if he's not Amy's killer, I'm getting a child molester off the streets—him and his two 'friends….
"How can I turn down such a generous offer?" he asked his host. "Please, lead the way."
Dover leered at him as he stood up.
"This way," he said as he led the way to the far end of his apartment. There, he opened the bedroom door a crack.
"Julie love," he called, "the Fredmeister's here and he brought a friend."
John clenched his teeth to keep from gagging.
Please don't make me use a cutesy name for my penis….
Dover swung the door open, giving Munch his first look inside.
Narrow room barely wide enough for the double bed in it… no room to move if something goes wrong… shelves and a hanger rod behind the headboard… work shirts and pants on hangers… wall next to me has hooks for coats—only one in use… outer wall to my left has a window over the bed—curtains drawn—and a dresser at the foot of the bed… small TV with a cable connection—he's subjecting Julie to 'I Dream of Jeannie'… that should be a felony in and of itself….
Julie, who was seated cross-legged in the center of the bed, looked to be around six. Long ponytails and thick bangs framed her face; baby blue shorts and a bright pink shirt covered her body. She stared solemnly at Dover with only a flick of her gaze toward John to show she knew he was there.
Now, all he has to do is explicitly offer her to me for sex… I want it plain enough for even the most brain-dead judge to understand….
Dover entered the room and stood by the dresser. John took a position in the doorway, blocking the only escape route. He leaned against the left door frame, knowing the casual posture also kept his right hand free to pull his weapon.
He watched Dover turn off the TV then beckon to the little girl.
"Honey, this is John. You and him are gonna make a movie for the Fredmeister."
Julie's expression went blank and her eyes lost what little sparkle they had. She shifted from cross-legged to kneeling then she shuffled on her knees to the corner of the bed nearest John.
She's done this before, which means there's tapes of her being swapped around so other pervs can beat off to them… you scum-sucking shitstain….
John realized he was glaring his hatred at Dover. He quickly drew up the corners of his mouth.
Look excited… think about how good it will feel to slam his head against the roof of the RMP taking him in….
Dover opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a small digital camcorder.
"You don't mind if I tape this?"
"Not at all," Munch said. "You planning to narrate?"
"Sure."
Dover pushed a few buttons on the recorder then he aimed it at Julie.
"This is Julie love," he said. "She's about to make my friend John very, very happy."
Dover then swung the recorder in Munch's direction.
"This is John. He's about to get the best Chinese blow job he's ever had."
That's my cue….
John straightened up and moved his hands towards his fly.
Loudoun should be here any minute now… I'll have Dover cuffed and ready for transport… proof that I'm not old and in the way… if everything goes the way it should… something it rarely does….
Instead of unzipping, he reached into his pants pockets.
Badge case in my left… gun in my right… he's only four feet away… leaves me no margin if he tries anything… can't let him go for my gun or the door… or the girl… he outweighs me… he's younger… he does manual labor….
The worst case scenario, John incapacitated or dead, the girl dead, Dover in the hall meeting an unsuspecting Loudoun with John's weapon in his hand, made John very mindful of the danger.
Have to overawe him… act as though he has no choice… and be ready to shoot him if he goes for it… knowing I'll get hurt in the process… shit….
john pulled his hands from his pockets, aiming his gun at Dover as he flipped the badge case open.
"NYPD," he shouting, hoping to shock Dover into submission. "Turn around and put your hands on that dresser—now!"
At the sight of the small semi-auto, Julie stiffened then threw herself backwards onto the pillows of the bed. From there, she slid into the narrow space between bed and wall where she curled into a ball and began to whimper.
At the same time, Dover jerked back against the dresser. He lowered the camera and glanced at John then at the hall behind him. As Julie hit the pillows, Dover charged forward, the camera swinging at the gun's muzzle to knock it out of his way.
John pulled the trigger just as the camera struck, followed immediately by Dover crashing into him. John fell backwards against the door frame then, unable to stop the fall, toppled back onto the floor of the hall. He saw his badge case go flying, that sight blocked by Dover's head as the pervert fell with him. A brilliant light filled his head and a huge weight hit his chest—then nothing.
Donna Loudoun was on the fourth floor landing when she heard the gunshot. She grabbed her phone and hit the speed dial button for Central Dispatch.
"Loudoun, Manhattan SVU," she said as she drew her weapon and ran up the stairs. "Badge number one-four-two-seven-two. Shots fired, location 320 East Eighth Street. Be advised, plainclothes detectives are on the scene at Apartment 6B."
Dispatch acknowledged as she ran up the last flight of stairs.
That shot better not be somewhere else… I'll look like a fool checking on Munch while some citizen bleeds out on a floor below….
She paused on the top step to check the hall. Dover's apartment was on her right. All four entrance doors on the hall were closed; no residents were peaking out to see what the noise was.
Damn… just when I could use a finger pointing in the right direction….
Weapon at the ready, shield case hanging from her neck, Loudoun pounded on Dover's door.
"NYPD. Need to talk to you."
No reply came so she tried the door knob. When it turned in her hand, Loudoun pushed on the door, but it swung an inch before hitting an obstruction, leaving a crack barely wide enough to look through.
Oh, God….
On the floor by the gap, she saw two motionless hands.
Blue cuffs and sleeves, fingers curled as though clawing at the floor… can't tell whose or why….
"Munch—you in there?"
There was no reply. In the quiet, she heard sirens coming closer, letting her know backup was approaching.
Screw them—I don't have time….
She holstered her weapon then she placed both her hands flat against the door by the edge below the door knob and pushed with all her might. When she had enough of a gap to get her foot between door and frame, she wedged her hip against the door and shoved her body against it.
The door gave enough to let her slip inside.
Oh, God….
The hands were attached to a male lying prone against the door, his arms above his head. Her partner also sprawled on the floor, supine under the male's legs as though the man had crawled over Munch to reach the door. Fresh blood smeared Munch's shirt and his slack-jawed face. Loudoun noted that his Glock lay across the entry, just inside the bathroom threshold; his badge was on the floor close to the bedroom door.
Oh, God….
Loudoun squatted at Munch's shoulder to check the pulse in his neck.
It's there… steady, not strong… and he's breathing….
She also checked the male.
Nothing….
Then she redialed Dispatch, telling them she had an officer down and unconscious, a young girl—possible victim, and a dead male suspect, and to send two buses, the ME, and CSU. While they acknowledged, she hefted the dead man's legs from her partner then felt again for his pulse.
Still steady… good, because I need to see about the girl….
Donna drew her weapon again, this time holding it low against her thigh while she scanned the room to her right and the bathroom before her. Seeing both rooms were clear, she carefully stepped over Munch to check the bedroom.
There she is… on the floor against the far wall… trying to hide under the bedspread…..
She holstered her weapons then squatted by the foot of the bed.
"I'm Detective Loudoun," she told the shape under the drape of the bedspread. "It's okay. You can come out now."
The fabric moved a bit then Donna saw a small hand grab its edge and lift it to uncover a young Asian girl. Donna glanced behind her, making sure her body blocked any view of the men in the hall.
"It's okay," she assured the little girl. "I'm here to take care of you. Can you tell me your name?"
The girl bobbed her head up and down.
"Julie," she whispered. "A man shot Fredmeister."
"I know," Donna replied. "That man is my partner. Hear those sirens? They're bringing more police officers and an ambulance. We're going to get you checked out then we'll take you back to your family."
Julie shrank back against the wall.
"No," she said, a sob choking her voice. "Mommy will yell at me. No, no, no—"
Donna rocked back on her heels.
Damn, now what? I got to get her out of here—they're going to be mucking with Dover's body and I don't want her seeing any of that….
"Okay," she said, "how about I carry you out to the couch? You can wait there for the paramedics then we'll talk about calling your mother."
Julie stared at the floor while she thought about it then she nodded. Donna crawled to her, squeezing through the narrow space between wall and bed. When she wrapped her arms around the child, Julie grabbed her around her neck and held on tightly.
Loudoun turned around as she stood, trying her best to keep Julie from seeing the body by the door as they past it.
Damn place is one big room… good thing the kitchen wall block the entry from this end of the sofa….
She set Julie down and cautioned her to stay put then she returned to her partner.
Still breathing… pulse okay… and I can hear people coming up the stairs….
First through the door were two uniforms. Loudoun asked if either of them had children. When one admits to having two boys, she had him go sit with Julie. The other officer she set to marking the apartment as a crime scene.
His neighbors will love coming home and finding yellow tape everywhere….
She then went her partner, staying with him until paramedics arrived four minutes later. While they worked on Munch, she checked in with SVU. The call rang once then, after a pause, rang again until answered.
"Bronx SVU, Detective Rubio."
"What the hell?" she blurted. "Why am I talking to you?"
"Because you called me."
"No, I called Manhattan SVU. This is Detective Loudoun."
She heard a muffled voice repeating her name then Rubio returned to the phone.
"People having been trying to reach you, Loudoun. Someone planted a bomb at the One-Six and it's been evacuated. We're handling your calls until the 'all-clear' sounds."
Loudoun mentally kicked herself.
That's what I get for ignoring my messages… and more uniforms and Julie's paramedics just arrived….
"Okay, thanks."
She hung up on Rubio then she directed the paramedics to check out the little girl.
A bomb… on top of everything else I'm dealing with… why the hell a bomb? Doesn't matter—think about the mess I have and not the mess someone else has….
Donna drew in a deep breath as she surveyed her crime scene.
Okay, take care of Munch, the victim, the dead guy in that order… work the crime scene… and I have to check in with my unit… Olivia or Cragen at home, I guess….
Having set her priorities, Donna turned to the paramedics working with Munch. They had his blood-soaked shirt open so she could see bruises on his sternum and ribs.
And talk about pale skin… library paste has more color….
"How's he doing?"
"We're waiting on a backboard and stretcher," the paramedic answered, "then we're transporting him. Blood pressure and pulse are good, but he's not responding to voice commands, but don't worry. We'll take good care of him."
Loudoun said "Thanks, guys," but she thought Don't tell me not to worry—he looks too dead not to worry….
On her way to check again on Julie, she stopped by the bathroom to inspect Munch's Glock.
Been fired… okay, so Dover rushed him and was shot—assuming that is Dover….
"You," she snapped at an officer standing near the body. "Check for a wallet."
The second set of paramedics told her Julie was in good shape and did not need medical treatment. Donna sent them on their way and made a mental note to call Julie's mother after Olivia and Cragen.
The call to Olivia was short.
She knew about the bomb—so why didn't she call me about it? She also told me to call Lake about finding someone to be with Munch… said Fin and Elliot are busy with the bomb squad or something… I'll get to that right after I call about Julie….
Her call to Cragen went straight to voicemail. She left a detailed message.
And there's the stretcher for Munch… okay, he's good—at least, I hope he's good… now, to take care of Julie… get someone to the hospital to be with Munch… and figure out what the hell is going on, first here, and then at the house….
Yankee Stadium
15 August 4:50 p.m.
Just thirty minutes ago, all these people were cheering like hundred dollar bills were raining down on them… Sandy Duncan's three-run homer in the ninth had tied the game… everyone thought we would win our first series against Baltimore this year….
Don glanced around at the mass of dispirited fans trudging along the ramps toward the parking garage.
And then Rivera allowed three runs in the tenth inning… no way could we recover from that… Yankees ended up losing 6-3….
"We're still five games behind Boston," Beale groused. "The entire team should quit baseball and take up Jacks. Then, they might have a chance at winning."
"The way Rivera was handling that ball? Try Slapjack instead of Jacks."
Beale snorted his approval of Don's remark, as did several people walking nearby. Don chuckled ruefully then he reached into his pocket for his phone.
"Who are you calling?" Beale asked.
"No one," Don replied. "Just checking. No way I could hear it over the crowd noise."
It buzzed several times… one I'm sure was John—that call I have to return… another is probably Olivia reporting in for shift-end… I'll check the rest—see if any are emergencies….
As he pulled out his phone , someone close behind him bellowed, "Stop shoving, asshole!" A loud grunt followed the shout then Don heard the sound of scuffling. He turned to see what the problem was just as an older man sidestepped to avoid the tussle and lost his footing. Don grabbed the man's shirt and shoulder, hoping to stop his fall, but the man toppled sideways, taking Don with him to the concrete.
Don landed on his side and instinctively curled around the man, trying to protect him against the moving crowd. Above him, he heard yells of "Look out" and "Give 'em a hand" and "Watch your feet!" The crush of people around Don opened, and he saw hands reaching down to help him and the man back to their feet.
As soon as Don was upright, he checked his gear.
Weapon, badge case, wallet, phone—shit….
"I dropped my phone."
Several of the people near him began looking for it. Don glanced at the older man, who smiled with embarrassment at the commotion he had caused.
"I'm fine," he told Don. "Sorry about this."
Don waved off the apology and began to scan the concrete for his phone.
Nothing but old gum, litter… all these people—someone could have picked it up or accidentally kicked it….
A touch on his shoulder got Don's attention. It was Beale, who held in his other hand the mangled remains of Don's cell phone.
"This young man," Beale said as he indicated a boy around thirteen in a Yankees cap turned sideways on his head, "tried to rescue it, but some lout's foot got to it first."
Don stared at the wreckage.
Shit… how am I going to call John back? What if an emergency comes up?
He sighed before thanking the boy for returning his phone.
"S'okay," the boy said, "I mean, you tried to help that old guy so—"
He shrugged as though to say 'Sorry it didn't work out' then he walked away. Don pocketed the ruined phone.
Well, at least no one will be using it to make prank calls to the Chief of Dees…
"Andrew," he asked, "can I borrow yours?"
"I didn't bring mine," Beale told him. "Every time I do, some dumbass calls me just when the game gets exciting. Last April, one of my ADAs called about a case—mind you, this was a Saturday afternoon—and I missed A-Rod's grand slam, bottom of the ninth, that drove home Cano, Jeter and Abreu and won the game."
The rotund man tipped his head and looked thoughtful.
"Come to think of it—they were playing Baltimore that day, too. I guess what goes around, comes around, right?"
Before Don could respond, Beale continued, "If anything major comes up, your people will call your home, too. Hell, if it's a real emergency, they'll send a patrol car to your house."
He hooked his thumb toward the parking garage.
"So, come on. There's a couple of great steaks sitting in your fridge. Let's not make them a moment longer than we have to."
Don smiled ruefully as he fell into step besides Beale.
He's right about contacting me… in a emergency, all the stops get pulled out… I'll call John when I get home… I don't expect anything to happen until after dinner's eaten… I'll be fine until then….
Sixty-second Precinct
Brooklyn, NY
15 August 4:51 p.m.
The officer assisting at the precinct's desk hung up the phone before calling to the desk sergeant.
"Hey, Sarge—that was a Detective Lake from Manhattan SVU. Seems they can't reach their captain so they want us to send a RMP to his house to fetch him."
Desk Sergeant Frank Almeida caught himself before asking , "What the hell for?"
Manhattan SVU is based at the One-Six… if he's out of reach, then he probably doesn't know about the bomb threat… and he's not going to learn anything from us….
"Ignore that request," he told the officer. "I got word from on high not to disturb Captain Cragen today for any reason—no phone calls, no drive-bys, no nothing."
"But, Sarge," the officer protested. "If there's a bomb in his stationhouse, shouldn't he be told?"
"Sure," Almeida replied, "but not by you and not by me. Like I said, we got orders."
He turned his back the officer, ending the conversation.
Yeah, those order came straight to me from the First Deputy Commissioner… when Balzano shits on you, you stand still and enjoy the downpour….