New York City Blues Chapter 4: Nausea and Busted Lips, a nypd blue fanfic

You know which characters belong to Steven Bochco and which belong to yours truly. Don't abuse them.

Any derogatory terms are the expressed and bigoted thoughts of the characters who utter them and in no way represent the author. Be forewarned of their existence in this fic.

Previously on NYPD Blue:

[Andy Sipowicz and Noelle Camden in the cafeteria of the New York City Department of Child Services.]

"Are you sure?" [Andy] asked. The girl she was pointing toward was the same girl he had collided with before. "There's got to be some kind of mistake," he explained. A big mistake – that girl's black.

"No mistake," the social worker clarified. "Jasmyn is biracial."

"I can see that," Andy shot back. "She doesn't have any family on her mother's side?" I can't be taking care of no black girl. God knows what type of trouble them people get into.

"Ms. Wilder's family lives in Jamaica," she said. "She was estranged from them. It was her expressed wishes that Jasmyn be placed with her paternal family."

"And if I don't take her?"

"She'll most likely end up spending the next nine years in foster care," she replied. "Children her age are impossible to find permanent homes for."

"Alright, I'll take her," he answered. Ms. Camden's face seemed to brighten. "Do I need to fill out any paperwork or anything?" Andy, Jr., what the hell did you get yourself into?

[John Clark, Jr. and Dr. Garrett at the NYU Medical Center.]

"I'm a little concerned with your test results," Dr. Garrett told him. The detective swallowed and waited for the doctor to continue. "The CBC showed a high amount of immature white blood cells and a low amount of red blood cells."

"You think I might be anemic?"

"That's one possibility," the doctor said. "Leukemia is another."

"You saying I have leukemia?"

Chapter Four: Nausea and Busted Lips

15th Precinct Detective Squad

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

11:07 am

Detective John Clark rubbed his eyes and attempted to stay focused on the rap sheet in front of him. Chase Larson, born August 15, 1976. Six collars, two arrests. Served a five-year sentence for possession. The rest of the words were blurring into one another. He shoved their collar's history to the other end of his desk and rested his head in his hands

"What do you got?" his partner inquired. Clark shoved the rap sheet onto Sipowicz's desk. "Well, this guy's familiar with the system," he grunted.

Clark rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, looks that way." He followed his partner into Interview Two.

"Thanks, Henry," Sipowicz said, temporarily relieving the guard of his duties. He nodded at Larson.

"Look man, I didn't do nothing," Larson protested. "I swear!"

"Where were you this morning?" Clark asked.

"With my girlfriend."

"Doing what?"

Larson rolled his eyes. "What do you think?" He licked his lips. "Best fuck I gotten all week."

"That what your girlfriend is to you? A 'best fuck'?" Sipowicz asked.

"No, damnit! That's not what I meant."

Clark blinked back the sea of nausea that threatened to overtake him and attempted to focus on the collar at hand. "Do you know why you're here?"

Larson shook his head. "No fuckin' clue, man." He paused. "Wait a minute – the dude I bought coke from last night was an undercover cop, right?"

"If he was, you'd have been brought in last night," Sipowicz explained.

"I've done time, I'll admit that," Larson said. "I got a drug problem."

"Do you know a 'Meredith Crandall'?" Clark asked.

Larson scrunched his face up trying to conjure up an image to go with the name Clark mentioned. "That don't sound fam … wait, you mean Merry, don't you?"

" 'Merry'?" Clark pressed.

"There's this whore hangs out on my block goes by the name 'Merry'," Larson told the detectives. "What that bitch been saying about me?"

Sipowicz spilled the news. "Merry was found dead across from your apartment building two weeks ago."

Larson shrugged. "I got nothing to do with it."

"He's real broken up," Sipowicz told Clark sarcastically.

"Look, man, I hardly know the bitch. You want me to cry or something?"

The senior detective leaned forward and grabbed Larson by the scruff of his t-shirt. "Quit with the attitude or you get belted," he hissed.

"Did you have a beef with her recently?" Clark inquired. "She piss you off?"

Larson edged away from Sipowicz. "No, man. That ain't my thing."

"You know if she's been having a problem with anybody?"

"I don't know and I don't care," the man mumbled. John had difficulty hearing him over the ringing in his ears, but his partner heard him loud and clear.

Andy shoved him. "You want to try that again?"

Chase Larson recanted. "There's this other whore – Wanda – they always fight over turf."

Andy slammed a yellow pad and pencil down on the table. "Name and where she can be reached."

The room was spinning and Sipowicz' gruff threats were ringing in his ears. "I gotta … I'll be back," he gasped as he knocked over a chair and hastily exited the room. He ignored his partner's comments and other onlookers' curious stares and made his way to the men's room. And I thought this morning was bad. Hugging the toilet bowl was not supposed to be on his agenda today – or any day. He debated skipping his chemo treatment this afternoon. Probably should get around to reading those brochures Dr. Kiyoto gave me.

* * *

Franklin Delano Roosevelt Elementary School

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

12:37 pm

Theo handed Vinnie del Rocco the X-Men comic.

"It's pretty good, ain't it?" his friend said. The second and third-graders were sitting near the base of the metal jungle gym.

"I like the classic X-Men better," Theo decided.

Vinnie shook his head. "No man, the new version is better. The old stuff sucks dick."

"Jerk boys arriving … four o'clock," Theo warned. Brian Clayton and Owen Davis were six-graders and mistakenly believed themselves to be the leaders of the playground. Matthew Clayton sat two seats behind Vinnie in class; the only reason he got in good with the upperclassmen was because he was Brian's kid brother. First through third-grade students ate lunch from noon until 12:30, followed by recess. Fourth, fifth, and sixth-graders had it in reverse order. Kindergarten kids had their own "baby" playground. The ten-minute transition period brought all grades in contact. This was the time of day Theo met with both excitement and apprehension. He enjoyed the few minutes saying hello to Jasmyn before she went into the cafeteria, but he hated the sixth-grade bullies. Here we go again, he thought grimly.

"Hey, fatso!" Owen shouted to Vinnie. The others puffed out their cheeks and snickered. The boy's face was turning crimson but he ignored the taunts. Can't you idiots think up something more original than that?

"What do you got there, punk?" Matthew asked in a mock-friendly tone. He ripped the comic book from Vinnie's hands.

"Give that back!" Vinnie yelled at him. Matthew ignored him and waved the book in the air. He and the other boys tossed it back and forth and tittered maniacally while Vinnie scrambled to retrieve his stolen property.

"That's not yours," Theo said.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Owen asked. "Have your daddy arrest us?" No, of course not … he'd be taking away our fun. He made sure Vinnie's eyes were focused on the X-Men comic before tearing the pages out. The second-grader blinked back tears. "Aw, look, guys. We made the baby sad," he pouted.

You are the biggest bunch of pricks I have ever met. One day, you're gonna get it – you're gonna get it real good. Vinnie was a favorite target for this group because he was overweight and oversensitive. Fifth-grader Emily Strauss was another target; they liked to throw spitballs at her pigtails, imitate her speech impediment and call her a "retard." Unfortunately, she thought they were doing these things because they were her "friends." Theo was as surprised as Owen when his fist made contact with the older boy's abdomen.

"What the …!" Owen panted.

Matthew grabbed Theo by the shoulders and pushed him to the ground. Theo curled his foot around the other boy's leg and brought him crashing down. He ignored the metallic taste of blood on his lower lip and tore at Matthew's hair before connected his fist with the older boy's nose. Theo, you've got to be nuts, he decided. A second-grader vs. a third-grader … who do you think's gonna win? You better stop before you get yourself pummeled. Another part of him told him to keep fighting. Only a chicken would back out now. Shouts of "Fight! Fight!" kept his adrenaline pumping.

"Theo?" a familiar voice called out. "What the hell!" His niece broke through the gathering crowd and attempted to separate him and Matthew. His brother spat and cursed at the girl.

"What did you just call me?" Jasmyn Wilder clenched her fist and waved it in front of the offending boy's face.

Brian Clayton drew himself up to full height and bore his eyes into hers. "A half-breed," he repeated sharply. "You're a half-breed and a nig..." His ranting was cut short by a left hook. He rubbed his cheek for a second, caught off guard by the fact that anybody – let alone a girl – would dare double cross the toughest boy in school. Jasmyn was two grades younger and she was at least half a foot shorter.

"Go ahead," she taunted. "Say it again, you dumb prick!" He responded by shoving her against the fence. She used the opportunity to kick him in the groin and duck under his arm. That's one tough kid, Theo thought proudly. He'd congratulate her later … assuming they were still alive and in one piece, that is.

"Break it up!" Mrs. Torrance shouted. The fight ceased at the sound of the fourth-grade teacher and this week's recess monitor's voice. "All of you, report to the principal's office immediately!"

"Why don't you talk to these sons-of-bitches here?" Jasmyn seethed. "They got it in their thick heads they own this damn school." C'mon, Jazzy, don't get us into more trouble.

"You'll have to excuse my niece," Theo informed the recess monitor. "She was dropped on her head as a baby."

The others snickered, but she was not amused. "Sipowicz, is it?" He nodded. "I'm sure you don't want me to report back to your father that you sassed a teacher, am I right?"

He shook his head and followed the others to Principal Wallace's office. Dr. Wallace was of medium stocky build, but seemed like a towering giant to the young children in his jurisdiction. He was balding, the hair on his head transferred to the bushy gray eyebrows and equally thick handlebar mustache. Theo had passed by him in the hall but had never given him a second thought. The only kids who talked to the principal were goody-two-shoes and troublemakers.

"You three, sit here," Mrs. Torrance commanded. Theo, Jasmyn, and a cowering Vinnie took their places upon the bench adjacent to the trophy case. "The rest of you boys, over there." Brian, Owen, and Matthew plopped down in the chairs on the opposite side of the room. She took her place in the center of the room, keeping a close watch on the offenders.

The room outside the principal's office seemed enormous and overwhelming to the perception of a second-grader, but Jasmyn didn't appear to be fazed in the slightest.

"You were defending a friend," Jasmyn told Theo. "And if it's your first fight, they can't go to hard on you."

"We got them good, ha?" Theo said triumphantly.

"Yeah, you sure were tough," she complimented him. "Got your lip busted up pretty bad, though."

He grinned. "It'll heal." He pointed to the purplish bruise forming on her cheek. "They did a nasty job on you, too."

A woman poked her head out the door. "Theo Sipowicz?" He stood up and gave a quick glance in Jasmyn's direction before shuffling into the foreboding room to learn his fate.