A/N: Credit to Beenie Man and Chevelle Franklin.
As always, enjoy.
A week later, Monday 17th November, 11.07am, Finch's Townhouse, Greenwich Village
Bringing Bear home gave Finch the feeling most people had bringing their firstborn from the hospital. Despite the muscle damage with some rest and daily physio he was set to make a full recovery, which was a relief because it wasn't the same without him. Even Shaw thought so as she complained about how he looked thinner and needed a fine cut of steak to get over his time in lockup.
"I'm touched that you care, Ms Shaw."
She ignored him and stared at the man behind the gate. "What are we gonna do with him?"
"Mr Tao is looking for a new property for us not to mention he's of some help in the field."
"What kind of place?" She asked, planning her room. Although she liked the loft, a swanky new place wouldn't go amiss either.
"10000 square feet, high ceilings, centrally located and discreet. We've outgrown this place."
The cogs were turning. "Hmmm, interesting."
11.40am, 8th Precinct
After Captain Cameron's resignation due to accusations of his squad's excessive use of force, a permanent replacement was finally appointed. Joss felt there was something familiar about Capt. Vincent Miller but she had other things on her mind. Namely Lucas De Melle, criminal attorney to the wealthy, whose brand new dark grey Maserati Gran Turismo was parked across the street. So far he had spent an hour in discussions with Araceli Fuentes, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why he was representing her pro bono when she had $28 in her bank account and $35000 in a mattress. Elias had bought her silence by posting bail.
"Even though some would consider it a setback, we have Araceli Fuentes, a body and a murder weapon, thanks to your exceptional work."
"Actually, it was Detective Fusco's awareness of gang activity in the area that led us to it."
"Don't be humble, Detective Carter, after all you phoned in the murder of Cruz Valverde. It's being treated as a related incident to an ongoing case at the 103rd Precinct." She smiled pleasantly, because she knew she had to get her eyes on that autopsy and ensure the body couldn't be linked to John. There was a way to access any file at the 103rd Precinct but she'd need back up to do it.
Tuesday 18th November, 4.25pm, Downtown Manhattan
Taylor thought a number of things when he met with John; one, how did he get in and out of the house without making a sound?, two, what was up with the cut on his lip?, and three, why was he loading the gun with real and wax bullets?
"So how'd dinner go with her folks?" John asked, readjusting his hat.
"It was pretty good. The food was great. You ever had a medianoche?"
"Can't say I have. And her parents?"
"Her mom's nice, uncle's pretty cool, she said her dad's grouchy but I don't think he was that bad." John's half-smile revealed he enjoyed borrowing Joss' son more than he imagined. "Was the ankle bracelet thing true?"
He shook his head. "They weren't out when I was your age. Lucky for me."
"So how come you loaded real and wax bullets?"
"You noticed?"
"I have peripheral vision." Taylor replied, sounding like the heir apparent to Detective Joss Carter.
"That you do. I want you to feel the difference. It'll help you focus and quiet your mind of all that chatter."
He raised an eyebrow. "Like college stuff?"
"Do you wanna go?"
"Yeah, it's just the apps that suck. And what Ma wants. And what Dad wants."
"What do you want?"
"Honestly? I want everyone to shut up."
"Ready?"
Taylor took a long, considered breath. "Yeah. You think I could get as good as you?"
"How about you aim high and get as good as Shaw?"
11.04pm, Riddims Club, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn
"Hey-ey-ey-ow-owwwwww…"
When Carter called, Shaw zipped up her studded boots, dusted off her old Nano and drove across town to meet her. The music thumped through the wall and red, yellow and green lights rotated around the bashment party. The words daggering and soursop meant nothing to Shaw who was sipping on a rum double when she caught Scarface in the middle of a Jamaican girl sandwich and slapped him for good measure in her role as the angry girlfriend.
"…She's a dancehall queen for life, gonna explode like dynamite. And she's movin' outta sight, and she go mash up da place like dynamite…"
Scarface massaged his face at the bar. "Good to see you again, Carter. And your friend, the astronaut." He sneered.
"She's a surgeon." She corrected him while Shaw scowled. "I need something from you."
"We're always here to help, after all, Christmas came early for us. We might take a nice cruz to the islands to celebrate."
Joss leaned into his ear. "I'll need the files. All of them. Tell him to enjoy the Cruz. I heard the seas are calm this time of year. No stormy weather."
11.27pm, Last Drop Coffee Shop, Lenox Hill, Upper East Side
John struggled to remember the last time he saw Zoe, back when he was John Harrow, and he had since forgotten the facts and figures from Surrealism for Dummies. The reason he was with her was the man she was dating; a man whose number came up on The Machine that evening. The problem was, she mistook his line of questioning for interest.
"The last time we spoke you said you were with someone. How's it working out?" She asked, sipping her skinny latte with cynicism.
"It's good, I'm with Joss."
The news went down the wrong way. "Carter? Aren't you two on opposite sides of the law?" She looked away. "And the spectrum?"
He knew better than to ask what spectrum she was referring to, Joss' kink factor wasn't up for debate or comparison. "We're working it out."
"Good luck, John. Considering,"
"Considering what?"
"Your tendency to run. It's like a game of poker, fun while it lasts then on to the next thing."
He never knew she felt that way, in his mind they were just using each other for fun. The truth was there wasn't a chance for anything real to develop because it had always been so shallow. "I'll remember to call you."
"When?"
"When I need relationship advice."
She realised she'd given away more than she intended. "I didn't mean it like that. Anyway, if Hendrik's in trouble, it's nothing he did."
"We don't know that." The cappuccino was cold. "The du Toit family have origins in France, but they relocated to Kimberley, South Africa, in the 1890s and made a fortune in diamonds. Did he tell you that?"
"He's 6th generation, John. I don't care about his money."
Wednesday 18th November, 6.40am, Paul's House, Elmhurst
The spare room had five different-coloured strokes of paint against the beige wall; three shades of peach, and two shades of yellow. Since she had been reading a book about PTSD and relationships, Paul thought it would be a good idea to get a start on their baby's nursery. "Peach, Coral, Crepe, Pineapple and Honey. The guy at the store said they're pretty popular and people are going for the whole gender-neutral thing."
Monique thought it was a sign that things were getting better even if she hated each shade worse than the last. Because he was trying. And if he was trying, that meant they were getting somewhere, right? Right. "I like sea green." She hinted. "And dolphins on the wall."
Friday 20th November, 8.13pm, The Lotus Restaurant, Midtown
If John was just her driver, the ride to the restaurant opening would've gone a lot smoother, but Zoe was still annoyed he thought her boyfriend was up to no good.
"We're late." She stated, as if he was on her pay roll.
"Let's just focus on whether your boyfriend's trading blood diamonds or not."
"John, Hendrik is a good man. Shouldn't you guys be looking for whoever's trying to get him instead of assuming-"
"He's a rich man and most rich people don't make their money trading candy. No offence, Finch."
"None taken." Finch replied over the Bluetooth. "Apologies for interrupting your riveting conversation, Mr Reese but there's an important new development at the entrance. 200ft from your current location." The car was gridlocked in traffic so John had no reason not to get out and run towards the entrance. Paparazzi cameras swarmed around Hendrik du Toit who was covered in red paint, and the protestor squirming on the floor from the sucker punch he landed in revenge. Even a half-naked socialite couldn't compete with the attention, especially when it became apparent the protester was a woman.
10.37pm, Finch's Townhouse, Greenwich Village
It was an atypical Friday night between friends, instead of movies and pizza, Finch was hacking the Department of Forensic Biology's DNA records while Joss and Shaw cross referenced the 103rd Precinct's case records with murderers with similar M.O.s to John's who were still walking the street. Until then, Joss hadn't known he shot Cruz Valverde in the head or that they had a shootout involving 22 shell casings. One of the bullets was still lodged in a local car door. She hoped there weren't any witnesses, even though the surveillance tape had gone missing a few hours after she last saw Anthony. The issue was a hair found on her coat, assuming it was John's, and they needed a suspect to switch the sample with and to pin it on. Preferably a substance abuser whose testimony couldn't be trusted in court.
"Got it." Shaw said, pulling up a larger picture of their fall guy. "He's pretty hot for a hitman, don't you think?"
"They always are." Joss replied sarcastically, thinking deep down she never knew these were the lengths she'd go to to protect the one she loved.
11.46pm, Zoe's apartment, Lenox Hill, Upper East Side
The video had already gone viral, set to theme music. Since Zoe had no luck getting Hendrik out of a holding cell until Monday morning, John took her home. "That's a nice pick you made there."
She drank straight from the wine bottle. "It's not funny John, how could he have known she was a woman with her hair slicked back and those broad shoulders?"
"Distinct lack of stubble." John replied, relishing in the satisfaction of being right.
"Hendrik does not beat women. Even manly women who throw paint at people instead of getting a real job like the rest of us."
"And Oscar was just scared, he didn't kill his girlfriend."
"Get out, John."
