SO HAPPY TO BE BACK WITH YOU WITH A NEW CHAPTER! ENJOY! AND AS ALWAYS, I ONLY OWN THE STORY IDEA AND THE OCS!
"Crawling through the sewers…", Jean grumbled, his face twisted with disgust at the knowledge that part of what he was crawling through had surely slipped beneath his clothes. "Of all the craziest, stupidest ideas to get past the entrance guards - "
"You said 'let's do it!', so shut up", Marco huffed in irritation. "You agreed to it - "
"I agree with everything remotely dumb or dangerous", Jean cut his tirade short. "Doesn't mean you should let me do it."
"I'm your partner, not your mother!", the freckled man snapped, effectively shutting the other cop up.
His plan had been the only one they had agreed on – at the moment – to get them behind the guard posts, inside the property, mostly undetected. Jean's suggestions were too risky, while Marco often approached matters from a safer perspective, but with great chances of failure. Thus, they had opted for door number three, so to speak.
Still, that didn't make things any better. Jean suspected the stench would forever be imprinted on him – shit, Colleen would have an aneurysm should she smell them both.
A tap on his foot alerted him to a small opening above their crawling place. He glanced up, and motioned for Marco to crawl backwards, so that he could have some space to maneuver and climb up out of this cramped, stinky place. Hopefully somewhere hidden, and with no guns pointing at him, ready to blow his brains out.
Grunting, he squeezed through the hole that presented him with an exit, grateful that he didn't have to push away any metal door – which would have resulted in potential noise. Once out, he squatted down to help his partner, and together they took a quick look around.
It was a room that was filled with cleaning supplies and tools. No wonder there was no door or lid to cover the hole on the floor – it must have been used to throw out trash, so why bother covering it in the first place?
"We're in", Marco let out a sigh of relief. He checked his Kevlar and then proceeded to take his gun out. Clicking the safety off, he noticed that Jean was already in position, armed and ready to go. They exchanged smirks and, with a nod to each other, exited the room.
The hallways were eerily silent. For a moment they both thought it was a trap, but footsteps in the distance made them change their mind. It seemed Delgado wasn't taking any risks with his private lodgings. The guards were even instructed to keep quiet so as to detect any foreign sounds.
Feeling exposed despite their presence still unknown to the estate's occupants, they crept further into the building, their progress slow and steady because of their current predicament. Checking each room was also a task on its own, since they didn't know what would await them behind every door – or if said door would creak and give them away.
After what they felt was hours in moving and breathing slow, they both came to a halt. The hallway was divided, and they would have trouble choosing which way to go if a slap hadn't echoed from the path on their right.
"Ungrateful, useless bitch", a male voice snarled from the same direction, followed by a female whimper.
They both stiffened at the heart-wrenching sound. Marco, because it brought back painful memories – ones of cinnamon curls and green eyes. And Jean, because he remembered – Delgado had a wife. If the report was true, she was an accomplice. But then why was his gut telling him she might be a victim, too?
It's your damn absence from sex, he mentally scolded himself. It's clouding your judgment and making you see damsels in distress everywhere!
He exchanged a stern nod with his partner and they both turned right. At the end of the hallway was a door, not completely closed, and the sound of people talking and shuffling spilled from its opening.
Jean kept moving, while Marco stopped halfway there, turning his back on his partner, and raised his gun, aiming in front of him, ready to take out anyone who might come. He suspected it would be soon, since Jean would surely have to shoot any bodyguard in the room.
Just as he expected, a couple of minutes later, gunshots were rousing the place from its eerie silence, followed by a female scream. He didn't pay much attention to any of it, though, as he focused on the narrow one-person hallway and started shooting down the guards, one by one. He emptied his magazine and instantly reached towards another, knowing he had less than a minute before the rest of the men got a good look at him over the small pile of dead bodies. That soon proved to be unnecessary, though, as the hallway remained strangely empty from reinforcements.
He blinked, not letting his guard down, but seriously confused. Sure they had seemed unprepared and panicked, as they had thought no one would break in thanks to being so thoroughly organized, but even so… That ended way too quickly, he thought. What the hell? Isn't Delgado worried about his safety – or that of his wife's? This kind of security system is lousy at best!
Frowning, he turned his earpiece on . He knew it was stupid and against the basic rules of survival and mission success to keep it turned off, but he always had trouble concentrating if he had someone constantly talking in his ear – he left Jean to deal with that crap, and took on Captain Ackerman's shit like a pro for continuously doing so.
Speaking of Jean and Ackerman, his ear picked up the convo they were having – and something seemed completely off.
"Uh… sir? Can I ask a stupid question?"
"Better than anyone I know, Kirstein", came the caustic reply, which was as usual ignored by the detective.
"Suppose we… I don't know… kill the wrong bastard and promise the wife protection… what would you say is the expected…um… repercussions?"
Ackerman didn't answer for a while, and both partners held their breath, with Marco choking on his own spit. What the hell did Jean mean by 'wrong bastard'?!
"Let me get this straight, Kirstein", the Captain's voice finally growled menacingly. "Are you saying that the fucker we're after has a double, one that could potentially know where the real Delgado is, and you… killed him?"
"Technically, it's had, sir, and… it was an accident!"
"…"
"…"
"YOU MOTHERFUCKING MORON!"
Jean always prided himself on making the right choices in critical situations. Well, most of the times… OK, fine, at least more often than Jagger!
Still, this particular mission had been screwing with them from the get-go, so he shouldn't have been surprised when he kicked the door open, raising his gun and shouting "Police! Get your hands in the air, where I can see them!" to witness the scene he did. A muscular yet somewhat bulky man, with a bald head and beady eyes, was facing a mahogany desk, speaking to a phone device. The minute Jean entered, he gave a startled grunt, and dove for the desk's surface, grabbing the gun resting there and pointing it at the detective.
Jean snorted "Seriously? What about the safety, smartass?"
Delgado smirked "Who said I need to click it off?"
The detective raised an eyebrow "No safety on? Color me impressed, baldy, you seem very confident for someone wanted on every State and half of Europe, leaving your gun free for anyone to shoot you and all that. Well, it's your funeral anyway, so let's cut to the chase, shall we? Don Delgado, you're under arrest for multiple reasons that I'm too pissed off and disgusted to list right now. You have the right to remain silent – though do go ahead and run that ugly pie hole of yours, I dare you. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the - "
"You have a loaded gun, you fool", a voice from the phone growled, cutting him mid-sentence. He frowned. He really enjoyed giving criminals his own version of the Miranda warning, and whoever was on speaker had just interrupted his fun. "Act like it!"
Acting on instinct, Jean grabbed the nearest person and held it in front of him as a shield, just as the baldy replied with a "Yes, Boss!". He blinked at the plethora of confusing facts that his mind was just now registering, and cursed his rush to get the job done for missing them.
One, there were no bodyguards in the room, which should have been the first thing to look for. The only other individual, aside from Delgado, was the one he was currently holding – someone whose hair was a blonde mass of fragrant waves, assaulting his nose with expensive perfume. And two…
"Wait… BOSS?!"
Michelle Delgado bit her lip to avoid making any noises. So this was it, then. She was going to die as collateral damage for her husband to get arrested – without the blasted man being even in the same room!
God, this was one more thing gone wrong to add to the list – all because she had once been young and impressionable and married the worst guy life could "gift" her with! Oh, she regretted it – had been doing so since her honeymoon with the scum – but there wasn't much she could do about it. There wasn't a cop on Earth brave enough to help her, or smart enough to believe her stories of abuse. He had made sure of that.
"What's your name, sweetheart?", the man holding her captive murmured mockingly in her ear. She felt him press her closer to his body, but there was no… twitching "down there", no motive other than what he openly showed – using her as a shield. She would have felt relief that he differed from the other men that frequented her married life, had it not been for the fact that the bulky man in front of her wouldn't bat an eyelash before shooting them both.
"Michelle", she replied quietly.
"Ah, the wife", he nodded against her head. Then he leaned back and said in a louder tone "Look here, buster, no funny business or your precious Michelle will not be the only one to drop dead. Our orders are 'alive or dead', see, so I won't lose a single moment of sleep over your death if it happens."
"Erminio", the voice from the phone drawled in a bored manner, stretching the "r" in the single word, "why is he still alive and talking?"
"You shut up", Jean ordered. "Hang up and never call back. Your buddy here needs to focus on me – otherwise his lovely wife Michelle will be shot right in front of his eyes."
The phone was silent for a heartbeat, then the voice rumbled, sounding quite amused "Michelle? Erminio's wife?". A booming laughter grated his ears, and alarmed him. Something was wrong…
The laughter ceased, and only then did he notice how the man he was looking at was smirking, and the woman trembled like a scared child. Finally, the mystery faceless guy said "I assume you are a detective, no? I like your guts, but, as always, you people at the police have no brains. So, as a reward for making me laugh, here's a little something to take with you to the grave: Erminio isn't Michelle's husband – I am."
"Delgado", the detective growled, now getting the whole picture. The baldy was an impostor – once again, their target wasn't found. Said target barked an order in Italian and then hung up. Instantly, Erminio raised his gun, taking advantage of Jean's thoughtful state.
At that moment, two things happened one after the other in almost perfect sync. Michelle kicked her leg to her front, sending her loose heel towards the impostor. The show didn't hurt him, but it distracted him enough for Jean to shoot at him. His gun fell as he toppled backwards, blood blooming in a crimson flower upon his chest.
"Shit!", the detective tossed the woman aside, rushing to the fallen man. He kept her on sight to avoid any further surprises, but his main concern was Erminio. Damn, they needed him alive!
The rapidly bleeding man chortled a triumphant laugh "You… lose… You bastardos… will never get… Boss… Only his doubles… know…"
"Fuck!", Jean swore as Erminio's bloody cackle faded. His chest sopped moving, and the impostor finally shut up. "Great! Awesome! Now what do we do?!"
"Ummm… excuse me…", a timid voice made him look up. Michelle was fidgeting nervously "I know we didn't meet under the best conditions. I'm sorry. For what my husband has put you through."
He shrugged, trying not to lose all his dignity in front of the mafioso's wife "I don't suppose you know where said husband really is…?"
The woman paled. Her stance curled slightly in fear, and shivers visibly wracked her form. "You don't want that!", she cautioned almost at the verge of hysteria.
He narrowed his eyes. He'd seen his fair share of abused spouses to notice the hints when he came upon one. "You're scared", he finally said.
"N-No", she tried denying it, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
His protective instincts kicked in, and he found himself steadying her by the shoulders. "OK, lady, deep breaths. That's it… Good girl. Now, tell me. Has he ever hurt you?"
Her head fell to her front in shame, long, golden tendrils hiding her tearful eyes from his sight. Weakly, she gave a single nod.
"Physically or mentally?", he asked the next question, somehow dreading the answer.
"There's a difference…?"
He felt his ears popping, and his chest tightening inside. A single answer – more like a question, really – and he was floored. He quickly sobered up, though. This was Krista's field – he would have to let her take care of it. "Will he do it again? If he finds you…"
"No, please!", her head snapped up again, her fear now openly shown. "Please, I can't go back to him, please!"
Jean sighed. Damn, Marco and his softy ways were rubbing off on him.
He motioned for her to stay put, and talked to his earpiece. She didn't pay any attention to his hushed words – figured if he wanted to tell her, he would. Plus, being a good, obedient woman was now second nature, so vital to her survival. In any case, he had gotten rid of Erminio, and that was good enough for her – for the time being.
Finally, the detective winced from a loud voice cussing at him through the device, and approached her. "Look", he appeared nervous and almost apologetic, "I can't give you much, but I can promise this: you will be protected. There's a safehouse, we… we'll take care of things, OK?"
She sniffled and gave a hesitant nod. Just then, a man with black hair and a freckled face entered the room, murmuring something to his earpiece and then taking it off. His gaze fell on her, and they both froze. He had the warmest set of brown eyes she had ever seen. And he was staring at her… in a way she had never been stared at. In a way she only prayed and hoped for in her wildest dreams. Like she was something precious and rare, something to be cherished. She found herself blushing at the thought.
"Well", Jean's voice made them both flinch and they turned away from each other, like they had been burned, choosing to look at him instead. "That did not go as I expected, or according to the plan, but at least nobody important died."
"Uh…", the freckled man gave a nervous glance at Erminio's body, waving his hand at him. "Jean?"
The detective did a double-take, as if just remembering the corpse lying a foot away from him, and blushed "That doesn't count!"
"Nice get-up, Captain. All... black and formal and shit. Whose funeral is it?"
"...Haven't decided yet."
