TITLE: THE REPLACEMENT
AUTHOR: MINN
DISCLAIMER: I don't own nothin' - mores the pity - just playing. No character was really harmed during the typing of this nonsense. The creators of Third Watch are, of course, gods. (But if you ever do get stuck for ideas, guys, gimme a call...HAH!)
CHEERS! to all the kind folks who said such nice things about my maiden outing "Grace". Just remember, if you encourage me, you'll NEVER get rid of me...
EXPLAINATION: This wasn't HALF as much fun to write as Grace was, so don't feel too bad if you find yourself not liking it. Consider this as back-story - the journey to Grace, if you like. But be patient. Nothing in the Minn-verse ever happens quickly...
*********
PART THREE
If only.
God, a man could get to hate that phrase.
He sat in his car and stared moodily at the scene before him. Decrepit neglected buildings. Dark alleys. Waste ground. The river.
If only he'd listened to Faith and let units closer to the action deal with it. But there were those magic words: suspects wanted for questioning - on an incident he and Faith had 'handled' earlier in the day.
He got out of the car. There, by the shabby doorway. That's where she lay...
If only they'd waited for backup.
"They're a couple of kids," he recalled saying.
"Bos, nowadays they're just as dangerous as any other kind."
Funny how he always thought he knew better but it was Faith who actually did.
He walked forward, cramming his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The wind was chilling and damp. He continued walking until he stood beside the river. It was the same icy iron grey of the clouds crowding low over the city skyline.
If only they hadn't let their guard down, assumed the teens had fled.
If only he'd realised someone was ghosting up behind him ready to strike.
If only.
If only she were with him now.
"It's a bitter old day."
Bosco turned to face the owner of the voice, an elderly man swathed in a battered old coat that once may have been a quality item. His face seemed familiar.
"You live around here old man?"
"Here and there," was the soft reply. "Are you looking for something?"
Bosco glanced at the river. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about what happened here about the middle of last week?"
"You mean, about the police officer who was killed?"
Bosco flinched.
"Apparently there was a witness."
The old man shrugged. "And what may I ask is your interest in it?"
"She...the officer...was my partner."
Recognition lit the old man's face. "Ohh, of course. Yes, you're the mouthy one who considered the world would not miss "some crazy old bag lady" had she been run down by that drunk in the car."
Bosco averted his eyes to the ground as he finally realised why the old man seemed familiar. Earlier in the day, the day they had been attacked, he and Faith had witnessed a car run up on the sidewalk and nearly collect the old man's ditzy friend. Faith had been all concern and compassion for the woman. Typically, too typically, he had not.
"You know, it's a real shame," the old man murmured. "I think those thugs threw the wrong officer into the river."
Bosco felt himself nodding. "For what it's worth, I agree."
The old man wasn't quite prepared for that. He scrutinised Bosco carefully, and noted he seemed to be in a great deal of emotional pain.
"Did she..."
"Faith. Her name was...Faith."
"Did Faith have a family?"
"Husband and two kids."
"Were they happy?"
Bosco shrugged. "For the most part I guess. You know how it is."
The old man nodded. "I don't know that there's a lot more I can tell you Officer...?"
"Boscorelli. Maurice Boscorelli."
"Not a lot more I can tell you that I haven't already told your colleagues."
Bosco's eyes suddenly clamped their gaze upon him.
"You were the witness?"
"Was passing just as they were bundling her into the car. I had to stay hidden - they would likely have taken to me too." He sounded ashamed. "I wish I could have done something for your partner. She seemed a decent woman."
"She was. The best."
The old man regarded Bosco knowingly. "I'm sorry for your loss, son," he said, and shuffled away.
------
It was just a moment, a scrap of a memory. But unlike all the others that whirled around her mind, this one lingered.
She started awake. The pain in her head had reduced itself to a dull ache, but was still intense enough for her to prefer lying motionless with her eyes closed.
It was the strangest feeling, to caress a memory that was her own and yet not know a thing about it. But she did know him, that much was clear; knew him well. His name remained elusive but the feeling he was someone who had meaning in her life was undeniable.
A shuffling by her side announced Manny's approach.
"Something to eat," he said, helping her as she slowly eased herself into a sitting position and opened her eyes.
Manny handed her a bagel and a steaming cup of soup. "The soup is surprisingly good today."
She lifted it to her lips and discovered the truth in Manny's words.
"Better than yesterdays," she murmured. "They must've cleaned the pots this time."
Manny chuckled. "I'm sure the Sisters who run the shelter's kitchen would be thrilled to hear you approve."
She smiled. "Sisters huh? As in nuns?" She took a bite of the bagel and regarded the old man as he smiled quietly at her.
"You gonna tell me what happened to me?"
"If you would like me to Marti," he replied gently.
"Yeah. Just to see if it'll jog somethin', you know?" She waved the hand that held the bagel vaguely at her head.
Manny shifted around in the chair he sat in and cleared his throat.
"There's not a lot to tell," he began, fixing his gaze upon her. "I came around the corner and found you struggling with two thugs. Just as I am about to say something one of them hits you in the head with a pipe. When they see Bob and Lockey and me and they run. Fortunately for us."
"That's it?"
"That's all I saw."
"Why didn't you take me to the hospital?" she asked.
"Marti you hate hospitals," he replied.
She frowned. Looking about her she could see their place of refuge was an old basement. Scattered around were items of old furniture, a large table, chairs, a couch and more chairs. Small islands of possessions and bedding were neatly arranged along each of the walls dormitory fashion. Thin threads of light were doing their best to brighten the gloom through small grimy windows high in the wall to her right.
"I don't remember this place," she said.
"Do you remember anything?" Manny asked.
"I remember you. And Meredith. Sort of. It's a bit unclear..."
The image that had lingered earlier returned. "And a face. I think it's someone I'm close to." She looked pleadingly at Manny. "Can you tell me anything about my family? Do I have family?"
Manny fidgeted in the chair. "Honey, you've never said a word about any family for as long as I've known you," he said without a word of a lie. "I don't know any more than you do. I'm sorry."
She stared at him, sadness casting a troubled shadow over her expressive eyes.
"That can't be good," she murmured.
"Don't think the worst Marti."
"Kinda hard not to," she replied.
In her mind the boyish and cheeky face smiled at her, the warmth in his blue eyes heartbreaking in their intensity. The look that held her was clearly one of great affection.
Whoever he was, he loved her. Of that she had no doubt.
**********************
TBC
AUTHOR: MINN
DISCLAIMER: I don't own nothin' - mores the pity - just playing. No character was really harmed during the typing of this nonsense. The creators of Third Watch are, of course, gods. (But if you ever do get stuck for ideas, guys, gimme a call...HAH!)
CHEERS! to all the kind folks who said such nice things about my maiden outing "Grace". Just remember, if you encourage me, you'll NEVER get rid of me...
EXPLAINATION: This wasn't HALF as much fun to write as Grace was, so don't feel too bad if you find yourself not liking it. Consider this as back-story - the journey to Grace, if you like. But be patient. Nothing in the Minn-verse ever happens quickly...
*********
PART THREE
If only.
God, a man could get to hate that phrase.
He sat in his car and stared moodily at the scene before him. Decrepit neglected buildings. Dark alleys. Waste ground. The river.
If only he'd listened to Faith and let units closer to the action deal with it. But there were those magic words: suspects wanted for questioning - on an incident he and Faith had 'handled' earlier in the day.
He got out of the car. There, by the shabby doorway. That's where she lay...
If only they'd waited for backup.
"They're a couple of kids," he recalled saying.
"Bos, nowadays they're just as dangerous as any other kind."
Funny how he always thought he knew better but it was Faith who actually did.
He walked forward, cramming his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The wind was chilling and damp. He continued walking until he stood beside the river. It was the same icy iron grey of the clouds crowding low over the city skyline.
If only they hadn't let their guard down, assumed the teens had fled.
If only he'd realised someone was ghosting up behind him ready to strike.
If only.
If only she were with him now.
"It's a bitter old day."
Bosco turned to face the owner of the voice, an elderly man swathed in a battered old coat that once may have been a quality item. His face seemed familiar.
"You live around here old man?"
"Here and there," was the soft reply. "Are you looking for something?"
Bosco glanced at the river. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about what happened here about the middle of last week?"
"You mean, about the police officer who was killed?"
Bosco flinched.
"Apparently there was a witness."
The old man shrugged. "And what may I ask is your interest in it?"
"She...the officer...was my partner."
Recognition lit the old man's face. "Ohh, of course. Yes, you're the mouthy one who considered the world would not miss "some crazy old bag lady" had she been run down by that drunk in the car."
Bosco averted his eyes to the ground as he finally realised why the old man seemed familiar. Earlier in the day, the day they had been attacked, he and Faith had witnessed a car run up on the sidewalk and nearly collect the old man's ditzy friend. Faith had been all concern and compassion for the woman. Typically, too typically, he had not.
"You know, it's a real shame," the old man murmured. "I think those thugs threw the wrong officer into the river."
Bosco felt himself nodding. "For what it's worth, I agree."
The old man wasn't quite prepared for that. He scrutinised Bosco carefully, and noted he seemed to be in a great deal of emotional pain.
"Did she..."
"Faith. Her name was...Faith."
"Did Faith have a family?"
"Husband and two kids."
"Were they happy?"
Bosco shrugged. "For the most part I guess. You know how it is."
The old man nodded. "I don't know that there's a lot more I can tell you Officer...?"
"Boscorelli. Maurice Boscorelli."
"Not a lot more I can tell you that I haven't already told your colleagues."
Bosco's eyes suddenly clamped their gaze upon him.
"You were the witness?"
"Was passing just as they were bundling her into the car. I had to stay hidden - they would likely have taken to me too." He sounded ashamed. "I wish I could have done something for your partner. She seemed a decent woman."
"She was. The best."
The old man regarded Bosco knowingly. "I'm sorry for your loss, son," he said, and shuffled away.
------
It was just a moment, a scrap of a memory. But unlike all the others that whirled around her mind, this one lingered.
She started awake. The pain in her head had reduced itself to a dull ache, but was still intense enough for her to prefer lying motionless with her eyes closed.
It was the strangest feeling, to caress a memory that was her own and yet not know a thing about it. But she did know him, that much was clear; knew him well. His name remained elusive but the feeling he was someone who had meaning in her life was undeniable.
A shuffling by her side announced Manny's approach.
"Something to eat," he said, helping her as she slowly eased herself into a sitting position and opened her eyes.
Manny handed her a bagel and a steaming cup of soup. "The soup is surprisingly good today."
She lifted it to her lips and discovered the truth in Manny's words.
"Better than yesterdays," she murmured. "They must've cleaned the pots this time."
Manny chuckled. "I'm sure the Sisters who run the shelter's kitchen would be thrilled to hear you approve."
She smiled. "Sisters huh? As in nuns?" She took a bite of the bagel and regarded the old man as he smiled quietly at her.
"You gonna tell me what happened to me?"
"If you would like me to Marti," he replied gently.
"Yeah. Just to see if it'll jog somethin', you know?" She waved the hand that held the bagel vaguely at her head.
Manny shifted around in the chair he sat in and cleared his throat.
"There's not a lot to tell," he began, fixing his gaze upon her. "I came around the corner and found you struggling with two thugs. Just as I am about to say something one of them hits you in the head with a pipe. When they see Bob and Lockey and me and they run. Fortunately for us."
"That's it?"
"That's all I saw."
"Why didn't you take me to the hospital?" she asked.
"Marti you hate hospitals," he replied.
She frowned. Looking about her she could see their place of refuge was an old basement. Scattered around were items of old furniture, a large table, chairs, a couch and more chairs. Small islands of possessions and bedding were neatly arranged along each of the walls dormitory fashion. Thin threads of light were doing their best to brighten the gloom through small grimy windows high in the wall to her right.
"I don't remember this place," she said.
"Do you remember anything?" Manny asked.
"I remember you. And Meredith. Sort of. It's a bit unclear..."
The image that had lingered earlier returned. "And a face. I think it's someone I'm close to." She looked pleadingly at Manny. "Can you tell me anything about my family? Do I have family?"
Manny fidgeted in the chair. "Honey, you've never said a word about any family for as long as I've known you," he said without a word of a lie. "I don't know any more than you do. I'm sorry."
She stared at him, sadness casting a troubled shadow over her expressive eyes.
"That can't be good," she murmured.
"Don't think the worst Marti."
"Kinda hard not to," she replied.
In her mind the boyish and cheeky face smiled at her, the warmth in his blue eyes heartbreaking in their intensity. The look that held her was clearly one of great affection.
Whoever he was, he loved her. Of that she had no doubt.
**********************
TBC