Disclaimer: The following program is fanfiction based on the hit TV show NCIS. NCIS is not mine and never will be. I'm not making a profit; in fact I'm probably losing money.
Authors Note: First I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everybody who reviewed the last chapter. I got all warm and fuzzy. Okay, now that that's out of the way, here's the deal about this chapter. A majority seemed to want a 'Nam story first, so I was researching in that direction. However, a muse is a funny thing. It goes where it wants. I guess you know what that means right? You'd be correct. A Boston PD story! Now, I'm from New Jersey and the only things I know about Boston are what I've read and researched on the Internet. So if you're from there, I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. Feel free to point 'em out because I may visit again. In the spirit of why I started this story in the first place this is sort of a tag for the episode 'Witness' from Season 2. I saw it the other day on USA and it made me sad for McGee, 'cause I think that he and Erin would have been good together. Consider the foregoing your SPOILER ALERT.
Charlie's Bar, Saturday February 19, 2005 1115hrs.
Seamus Dolan leaned on the bar perusing the Daily Racing Form. Post time at Gulfstream Park in Florida is 12:50 pm, so he needed to make one or two more selections before calling his bookie. Dolan was up about five hundred dollars so far for the racing season. Today's card had several promising entries. Saturday was Seamus' short swing day. He closed the bar Friday night at 2 am and opened it at 10 am on Saturday morning.
Since he'd done a majority of the clean up after closing, this morning's work was nothing more than a lick and a promise. Seamus ran his eye down the entries for a turf race late in the card.
Hmmm, this looks promising.
There was a horse called 'Tell the Facts' entered. No turf races in his record, but Seamus recognized the names of his sire and dam as successful turf runners. 'Tell the Facts' record at this point was two second and three third place finishes. Today's race at a mile and 70 yards would be his second distance race. In the first, he'd gone a mile and came in third. Encouragingly, from the quarter pole to the finish he was gaining on the leaders, a good sign. Today's race would only be seventy yards longer and on the surface both his parents were successful on.
Worth a wager I'm thinkin'.
Seamus heard the doors to the bar open and the flame in the votive candle by the memorial wall flickered.
First customer of the day.
When Seamus saw who it was that came through the door, he raised a mental eyebrow. Walking towards the bar was the newest member of Team Gibbs, Special Agent Timothy 'Probie' McGee. As always, he was neatly dressed in pressed jeans and a gray MIT sweatshirt. It was his countenance that startled Dolan. Tim had bags under his eyes and he looked like he hadn't slept well in days.
McGee'd been in a few times since joining the team. Mostly with the team. He drank Harp and Seamus joshed him that he should 'really step up to Guinness and drink like a real Irishman'. McGee climbed up onto a stool, his back to the door. Seamus opened his mouth to say something, but thought the better of it. He placed a coaster in front of Tim.
"What can I get you Agent McGee?"
"Jameson, water back."
So much for not drinking like an Irishman.
Wordlessly Seamus turned and went to pour the liquor. He gazed longingly at the Daily Racing Form at the other end of the bar.
No wagering for Mrs. Dolan's little boy today.
From scuttlebutt he'd picked up during the week, Seamus knew that McGee was the lead investigator on a homicide. It was a big step for the young agent and it went well, until it went sideways. A young woman who was a witness was killed and McGee felt he was responsible. Dolan walked the drink back and placed it in front of Tim.
"Thanks Dolan."
"It's none of my business lad, but do you really want to do this?"
"Do what?"
"Start drinking at 11 am when a job gets to you? It's a steep slope you're standin' at the edge of Timothy."
McGee looked stricken.
"I screwed up Dolan. I screwed up and now Erin is dead."
Gentle or brutal? Brutal.
"Well McGee, that's the profession. It's not like insurance or sellin' carpet. We screw up and sometimes people, good and bad, die. The trick is to limit the screwing up."
McGee looked up from his drink, anger darkening his face.
"Hey…"
Seamus shook his head, raising a hand.
"No, stop right there. Listen McGee, that shield you carry does not guarantee you can save everybody that needs saving. Trust me, I know."
"But Erin…"
"Erin did not deserve her fate I'm sure, but it came to her anyway, even though Timothy McGee tried his damnedest I'm sure to stop it."
Dolan noticed that Tim pushed his glass away and was staring daggers at him.
At least he's focusing on me and not himself now.
"I know you used to be a cop Dolan, but…"
"…But what qualifies me to talk to you like this?"
Calming some, Tim nodded. Seamus shrugged.
"Because out of all the one's I couldn't save, there's one that stands out…"
Boston PD District C-11 precinct house, Gibson St., Dorchester, Tuesday June 13, 1978 1225hrs.
Boston police officer Seamus Dolan, shield number 11026 was banging away on a Remington manual typewriter. He was completing a follow up report stemming from the burglary of a business owned by a Vietnamese family. The mom & pop store on Blue Hill Ave. was hit earlier in the week. Since the report involved Vietnamese residents, the initial report made its way from the second floor detective's squad room to Seamus' desk in the Community Assistance Team office in the basement. After poking around in the neighborhood Seamus thought he had a line on the juvies who did the burglary.
Hopefully since I did all the legwork, maybe the d-techs'll get off their ass and do something with the info.
From his peripheral vision, he saw someone standing in the doorway. Dolan turned his head. Leaning on the doorframe smiling was his 'Uncle' Brendan.
"Well, at least my tax dollar is working."
Brendan Flynn wasn't really his uncle. He, his wife Anne and five kids lived two doors down from the Dolan's in Charlestown. Flynn was by trade a welder, but never seemed to be working at it. Money still came in though. The rumor around the neighborhood was that Brendan was with 'Whitey' Bulger. James Joseph 'Whitey' Bulger was the head of the Irish mob in South Boston. Seamus was a little surprised to see Flynn. The older man usually avoided cops like the plague.
"Here voluntarily Uncle Brendan?"
Flynn chuckled.
"Aye, it's yourself I was looking for."
Another surprise. The eldest Flynn didn't really have to much contact with Seamus since he'd become a police officer.
"What's up?"
Flynn looked pained.
"She's gone again Seamus."
The 'she' in question was Margaret 'Maggie' Flynn. Two years younger than Dolan, Maggie and her brother Sean were Seamus' best friends in the world. They'd been friends since first grade. Sean and Seamus played football and baseball together. Maggie was the sparkplug of the relationship though. She was the first to smoke cigarettes, the first to try alcohol (Jack & Coke) and the first to smoke grass. The last thing was what lead to trouble. Maggie went from grass to heroin. While Seamus was in the 'Nam Maggie'd been on and off junk. She'd been sober for at least a year as far as he knew. He'd seen her a month ago and she seemed healthy and happy.
"What happened?"
Flynn shrugged.
"I don't know. She left for work ten days ago and never came home."
"She was going to her meetings right?"
"Yes she was. And she was making it to work. She cleaned out her bank account. Fifteen hundred dollars."
Seamus sighed.
That's a lot of dime bags.
Dolan chose his next words carefully, because he had a sneaking suspicion what his 'uncle' is up to.
"And you're tellin' me this why Uncle Brendan?"
The older man looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds before bringing his gaze directly into Seamus' eyes.
"I need you to help me find her Seamus. Sean is halfway through a 90 day bit in Chucky's Place (the Suffork County Jail in Charlestown) for some traffic warrants."
"Why not go to 'Whitey'? You an' he are pretty tight I hear."
Flynn smiled but there was no humor behind it.
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear bucko. Besides things are a little complicated in that regard."
Seamus nodded.
Meaning Maggie's dealer may be working for 'Whitey'.
Seamus leaned back in his chair. The only sound in the office was the dispatcher's voice on the city-wide radio band coming from Seamus' portable radio. Flynn spread his hands.
"Come now Seamus Dolan, she's one of your oldest friends and me oldest daughter. Will ya help me or not?"
Seamus sighed. It really was a foregone conclusion.
"I'm in."
The Combat Zone, three days later 2215hrs.
Boston's notorious red light district was not as wild and wooly as it first was when Dolan was new to the Job. But you could still get killed for no good reason as a Harvard football player found out the hard way two years ago outside the 'Naked I' strip club.
It took Dolan three days to get a line on where Maggie might be. That was why he was standing on the lower end of Stewart St. across from a boarded up abandoned building. The building was allegedly a 'shooting gallery' and flop house for addicts.
"So, are we going to do this or stand around with our thumbs in our asses?"
The voice came from Seamus' backup for the evening. Carlo Napoli was a fellow police officer. They'd been paired up in the academy and remained friends after graduation. Carlo worked in the Cambridge District and had all the co-eds drooling with his good looks and immaculate uniform. He was not happy to be spending a night off in the Zone.
"Hold yer horses ya impatient guinea. We'll be in there soon enough."
"Fuck you mick. I could be cuddling up to a nice co-ed about now, rather than getting' ready to risk life and limb."
The banter was automatic and meaningless. Seamus rolled his shoulders.
Well, no time like the present.
Seamus moved across the street followed by Carlo. They were attired similarly. Jeans, work boots, blue sweatshirts and watch caps. Each man was wearing black leather 'sap' gloves, the knuckles of which contained an ounce of powdered lead. They also carried four cell Kel-lite flashlights made of aircraft grade aluminum. Pushing their way through the front door they were assaulted by the smell of rotting garbage, urine, feces and unwashed bodies.
Carlo grimaced.
"Ah, the sweet smell of success."
"Shut up Nappy."
They proceeded through the first floor and basement, stepping carefully around holes in the floor and nodding junkies. The junkies wouldn't be the problem. It was the 'owner' they were hoping to avoid. Usually there was a guy collecting 'rent' from the occupants. Dolan and Napoli stood by the stairs leading to the upper floors. If she was here, Maggie would be somewhere above. Napoli gestured up the stairs.
"Lay on McDuff and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold enough'."
Seamus laughed softly.
"Ya always was a show off Nappy."
The two cops climbed the stairs looking carefully for missing treads. They finally found Maggie in a room on the third floor. She was curled up on a filthy mattress. Her clothes were dirty and her hair was matted. Seamus shook his head sadly.
"Ah, Maggie darlin', what have ya done?"
Seamus reached down and shook the shoulder of his friend.
"Mags. Mags, wake up we gotta be goin'."
The girl swatted at Seamus' hand.
"Go 'way. Leave me alone."
"Maggie, it's me Seamus. Come on, get up."
"Seamus? Go away. Leave me alone. I'm fine here."
Seamus could see Maggie's eyes were pinpointed and her speech was slurred. She was using a small duffle as a pillow. Instead of arguing with her, Seamus just picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She started shrieking immediately.
"PUT ME DOWN. Put me down ya shanty Irish son of a bitch!"
Carlo picked up her duffle.
"Nice mouth girlie."
"Fuck you, you wop bastard."
"Hey, I resemble that remark!"
They moved into the hallway and down to the first floor. Maggie went back on the nod. They made it outside and crossed the street to the unmarked car that Seamus' unit used. Dolan gave the keys to Carlo and climbed in the back with Maggie. He held her in his arms all the way to Charlestown.
Charlie's Bar
McGee looked at Dolan and was clearly confused.
"So you brought her home and she got help and cleaned up. So?"
Dolan nodded and looked grim.
"Aye, she did all those things. And eight months later she was beaten to death by her ex-dealer over a hundred dollars she owed him."
McGee's mouth dropped open.
"Ya see McGee? Sure I pulled Maggie out of that hole. But eight months later, even though she cleaned up her act she was dead anyway. But I couldn't be there twenty four/seven, I just couldn't."
Tim looked down at the untouched drink in front of him. Then he looked up at Dolan. His eyes were wet.
"Do you still think about her?"
"Every day."
McGee pushed the drink away and stood up.
"Thanks Dolan."
"T'was nothing lad. You should go home and try to get some sleep. You look like crap."
"Maybe I will."
The younger man turned and headed out the door. Seamus looked at the clock behind the bar. 12:35.
Still time to get 'em down.
Dolan walked to the bar phone to call his bookie.
A/N: I've got work coming up the end of the week so hopefully I'll be able to get the Vietnam story written. Before I go, I have a question for those of you who like the Seamus/Ziva pairing. Where would you like me to go with it? You can leave your ideas in the review for this story or just drop an idea. I'll consider all comers. Whether I write 'em or not is a totally different story.