That Day

No Rest For The Wicked

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of your reviews - every single one made my day! I know I promised angst, but the really super-angsty stuff is later on in the story. Trust me.

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I adjust my gun belt and slip back behind the wheel of the cruiser. Home sweet home.

We spent the last hour or so waiting on the ballistics guys to process my weapon. Faith and I wrote up the paperwork for the earlier domestic and got halfway through the shootout report before they were done. Lieu brought me my gun back, loaded and ready, and then told us to "Get back out there". Boy, was I more then happy to leave my desk.

Faith gets in on her side and slams the door noisily, an unhappy expression on her face.

"You mad about somthin'?" I ask her half-interested as I key the ignition. If she's going to be pissy all day I at least want to know why.

"No," she says quietly and leans her head against the window. "I'm just tired of losin' people on the job, that's all."

I know what she means. I still can't get the sick image of the shooting out of my head. The sight of the guy's brains splattering up against the window, all thick and lumpy and gooey... well, let's just say that I really could use a beer right now.

"Yeah, I know," I mumble. I can't really say anything else because there's really nothing to say. We see this kind of stuff all the time. They say you get used to it, but I guess there's something wrong with us because we never do. We just go home at the end of the day and try to forget about it - and believe me, it ain't easy.

I rake my fingers through my hair and frown. I'm starting to feel really guilty about losing those two people. My mind reels, asking questions that I don't want to think. If I had ran out earlier, would they still be alive? If I hadn't hesitated, if I hadn't waited... maybe we could have saved them too.... Damn, I just sat there and watched. I just sat there...

Wait. I need to stop second-guessing myself. I did what I did. God, there are way too many "what ifs" in this job... I could spend my whole life feeling guilty. I didn't kill those people. It's not my fault. I tell myself, trying to talk myself out of the guilt.

Unfortunately it doesn't work at all. I still feel really crappy and responsible.

This day really sucked before, and now I have guilt. Great.

I glance at the dashboard clock. 5:32 pm. Maybe a break will help. We usually eat lunch around this time and I'm starting to get hungry. "Hey, you wanna stop for a bite?" I ask.

I don't care what Faith says because I'll stop anyway, but if she does want to stop, she'll want a say at where we go.

"Sure," Faith shrugs apathetically. "What do ya feel like?"

I see our favorite diner up ahead. "How about Angel's?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

I pull into the tiny parking lot, my mouth watering at the thought of a nice, juicy burger. I guess I'm hungrier than I thought.

Inside, the smells of the diner are almost overpoweringly good and I don't hesitate to slide into one of the barstools that line the counter. Faith grabs the one next to me and pulls a menu out of the stack to the side.

I love this place; it's so retro - straight from the 60's. The owner, Angel, is a good man. If we have to leave mid-meal for a call he doesn't make us pay up. Says it's the least he can do for the people that keep his family safe. We don't take advantage of the offer too often, though - we like his food and want to keep him in business.

"Hey Angel!" I call him over, "How's it goin', man?"

Angel smiles and motions to the hordes of people filling booths that line the walls. "How's it look?"

I grin at him, "Looks like you're keepin' busy."

"Yessuree," he grins. "Now what can I get you, Officers?"

I order my usual burger and fries, and Faith gets a salad of some sort. I have no idea how she can choose a salad over a burger - a burger from Angel's, no less. Salads are like eating weeds and grass with dressing, if you ask me. Bunny food. I never understood what the whole big deal is about them. I guess they have less calories then real food. Maybe Faith is on a diet.

I inconspicuously take a good look at her uniformed body. She's always been in okay shape and doesn't look any fatter to me.

Faith notices me sizing her up. "What?" she asks smartly as she scowls at me disapprovingly. Pissy, pissy, pissy...

I shake my head, "Nothin'."

Geez, she's in a bad mood today. Maybe she's having problems with Fred again. Whatever, I don't need to worry about her personal life. I have my own problems.

"Hey guys." Davis slides into the seat to my right. "Crazy day today, huh?" he comments with a wicked smile.

"Yeah, and it isn't even half over," Faith remarks dryly with a smirk.

Sully sits down next to her and unzips his coat. "Lucky us..." he mutters. He would be complaining. Sully's old and doesn't appreciate the action like me and Davis. I think he'd be content to write tickets and break up bar brawls for the rest of his life. Me? I'm the kind of guy that looks forward to the intense shootouts and high-speed car chases. Don't ask me why, but love I hunting down and nailing the bad guys. The more they run or put up a fight, the better - I like a good fight before I throw their sorry asses in jail. Makes it so much more satisfying when I see their sniveling faces behind bars.

Davis turns towards me, "Nice shot you got in today, Bos. You really took those guys by surprise."

Faith rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Yeah, Bosco, they were like, "Oh, look! Target practice!"" she says sarcastically in a mimicked man's-voice.

Good grief, she's still ticked about that? Why? Is she jealous? After all, it was a nice shot...

"What?" I spit back, irritated. She should be complimenting me, not making fun of me. Her negative comments are making the guilt come back again, full force. My chest is begging to feel tight and my stomach uneasy. Shit, Faith, why'd you have to go and do that? "Look, someone needed to do somethin' and I wasn't about to stand around and wait to see what would happen if I didn't. So just drop it!"

"Whatever," she shrugs. "Just next time you think about making yourself a movin' target, take a second to let your testosterone level drop a bit."

Sully chuckles at this and shakes his head, as if it's funny or something. Faith shoots him a knowing look. I recognize that look - it's the "I-know-how-it-is" look that they give each other when they refer to me and Davis. Mostly comes after we do something really risky or dangerous. Last time they 'shared' that look was after Davis took a chance and ran into a burning building after a kid. Personally, that was a little on the crazy side, even for my standards, but the kid that he saved lived and I respect Ty for what he did. I think Faith and Sully do too, they just don't know how to deal with us risk-takers.

"Hey, he got the job done, right?" Ty sticks up for me. "Nobody else got hurt and we got the shooters, that's all that matters."

"Damn right," I mutter angrily and take a big bite of my hamburger. Usually Ty's peacemaking and sucking-up bother me, but today he's sticking up for me. Smart move, Davis, I think silently. You don't want to be on my bad side. Not today, at least.

"Central to 55-David, we have reports of a vandalism at 4501 Beggs," my portable radio blares right in my ear. My left ear rings again for a few seconds, even after the dispatcher shuts up.

Damn, I forgot to lower the volume after the whole bank fiasco when I had to turn it up to hear over all of the shooting. The shrill ringing in my ear is kind of making me worried. I hope that gunshot earlier didn't do permanent damage to it...

"Awww, com'on," I moan. "Just when I get to eat my damn lunch..." We officially took our break only fifteen minutes ago. I really want to finish my hamburger, so I snatch it up and wrap it in a paper napkin.

Sully looks happy. He should be - he gets to stay and finish his meal. He's really starting to get on my nerves...

Faith sighs and takes the call, "10-4, Central. 4501 Beggs, 55-David." She grabs a piece of chicken off her salad and takes a big bite, "Let's go, Bosco."

**********

"Oh great."

The store that had been vandalized is a mess. The windows are all busted apart, red and black paint is sloshed up the walls and all over the floor, and the store's electric sign ripped to shreds.

That isn't the worst part and what I'm complaining about, though.

No, some jag-off idiot had the bright idea to dump a shitload of manure all over the place. I mean, there's gotta be a half a ton here - easy. It's all over the sidewalk, all over the floor inside, all in the gutter...

I think whoever did this must have set fire to some of it or something because there's a bunch of thick, black smoke wafting off. The place reeks like a... well, I can't even describe it. Worse then anything I've smelled in a while, that's for sure. It's revolting. Disgusting. Gross. Any other adjective you can think of, it's it.

I cover my mouth and nose with my sleeve in an effort to block the smell. It doesn't help much at all. "Ugh, geez, what the hell is this?" I mumble.

I glance over at Faith. Under her hands that are covering her mouth, I can tell that her face is screwed up in a scowl - she's obviously as revolted as I am. Her blue eyes are watering freely from the horrible, pungent odor. She bravely uncovers her mouth for a second. "Uh, Bos, do you see the owner anywhere?" she chokes out, nearly gagging.

She might be brave, but I'm no fool. I don't bother to take my sleeve away from my face and instead muffle through the fabric, "No. He must have high-tailed it outta here. I would too if I had a choice. Ten more seconds in this place and I'm gonna hurl." I'm completely serious, the smell is that bad.

Faith, wishing only to get out of here as soon as possible, I'm sure, walks around the cow doo to the side of the building. The sun has set beyond the tall skyscrapers and it's beginning to get pretty dark out, so she flips her flashlight on and points it down the alley. "Hey!" she calls out. I guess someone is down there. "You the owner of this place?"

A few seconds later, a skinny guy about fifty emerges with his mouth shielded in a similar fashion as Faith and I. "Yeah, yeah, I'm the owner. Sorry, I went back there to get away from...that." he points at the load of poop.

I roll my eyes at his idiotically obvious statement and pace back and forth restlessly, eager to get out of here ASAP. Faith takes down his name and address then asks, "You got any idea who might have done this?"

"My son is..." He sighs, raking his fingers through his thinning gray hair, "...well, he's into drugs."

Yep, I should have known. Everything is about drugs nowadays. Drugs and/or money. I always say: "If there's problem, you can always trace it back to drugs or money." And it's very true - see it all the time out here.

"So, you think this is about drugs?" Faith reiterates and scribbles something down on her memo pad. We have a deal going on: whoever drives doesn't have to write out the street paperwork. It's my day to drive, so I just stand to the side and try not to gag.

"Yeah, I do. I don't have anything ta' do with it, but Michael used ta' sell and buy 'round here and maybe they found out where I work. I don't know. All I know is I came to get some keys from my shop and I find this."

The mere mention of his son's name sends my heart beating fast. Michael... Mikey. I haven't seen my brother Mikey in weeks. I wonder if he's dead somewhere in some crack house of a heroin overdose. It's entirely possible.

See, my brother chose the other road, the easy way out - chose to live the life of a druggie, a junkie. Yeah, imagine that: I'm the cop and he's the bad guy - what a whacked out world we live in. I'm supposed to rid the city of people like him and I can't even keep my own little brother clean. I had to arrest him once; he was dim-witted enough to be selling in my precinct. Half of me didn't want to take him in, but the other half was really pissed-off that he could just ruin his life like that. I guess I wistfully thought that maybe jail time would straighten him out.

Not a chance.

Ma still hasn't completely gotten over my intervention - she still gets all worked up when we talk about him. I don't want to have to think about him, because I have no control on the matter and it scares me. I don't want him to overdose. That would crush Ma and eat at me for the rest of my life. It's my fault. I should have protected him more when we were younger...

"Okay, sir. We'll write up a report and see what we can do about this," Faith tells the store guy and unhappy new owner of a hundred pounds of cow crap. Merry Christmas. I hope his Santa doesn't visit me any time soon...

He looks hopeful, but Faith and I know that there's not much we can do in a situation like this, just write out a report and hope we stumble across the offender. That almost never happens.

I kind of feel sorry for the guy, he has to pay for someone to go clean up that mess and fix his store back to normal. Then he has to live with the fact that his son is a druggie and is endangering him and his business. No parent should have to live with that. I learned that from watching my Ma struggle with the whole Mikey mess.

Faith moves towards the cruiser, ready to leave. I am so glad we are getting out of this place. If you ask me, the ten minutes we spent here was ten minutes too long. The odor is so horribly strong that I can actually taste it, all grainy and thick on my tongue. I spit some of it out, but it's still there. Disgusting.

Faith offers the storeowner a grim smile and a nod, and then gets back into the RMP. I don't hesitate a second and I open my door hastily, drop into my seat, and slam the door - like the Devil is after me. Suddenly, I am very aware of how nice the cruiser now smells to me.

I buckle up and see the remainder of my dinner resting on the dashboard, all folded up nicely and ready for me to eat. Uh, very tempting, but I don't want the rest of that burger anymore. What, with the nice flavor I have in my mouth right now, it would taste more like a shitburger than an edible dinner.

"Ugh, God, if we ever catch the creeps who did this I'm gonna make them eat a mouthful of that crap." I mutter angrily. I will, too.

"That was a little bizarre," Faith muses. "Can't remember ever dealin' with somethin' like that." She taps her pen against her notebook and stares out at the unusual sight.

"It was nasty, that's what," I say as I shift the RMP out of 'Park'. "Where the hell can you get the stuff in the dead of winter? With all of the snow and ice it's gonna be wicked fun to clean up,"

Faith just shakes her head and radios back to Central that we are free for another call.

I guess they must be pretty swamped down at dispatch because no more then five seconds later they call back. "55-David, apartment fire at 1485 Arthur. Suspected arsonist seen fleeing the scene northbound."

"What the heck?!" I slam my palm against the steering wheel emphatically. "What is this? National Commit a Crime Day? Did I not get a memo?"

"You know what they say, Bos. There's no rest for the wicked." Faith chirps, amused at my aggravation. She would be...

"Yeah, whatever. Who's the all-knowing "they" anyway?" I mutter back, annoyed.

"They" were always making up silly quotes that Faith likes to recite. I think "they" should get a life.

The apartment fire is a few blocks up, but I can see the ugly, black smoke billowing against the cloudy sky as I pull onto the south end of Arthur

Faith smirks, ignores my comment, and radios back, "Central, show 55-David en route." She flips the sirens on and settles back in her seat.

"I'm goin' for the arsonist," I inform her, but I'm sure she already knows that. I always go for the criminal, especially if they are fleeing. I love a good chase. Plus, if I don't go after the perp, we have to direct traffic for the firemen. Boring. "The bucket boys can handle the fire."

Faith sighs and unbuckles her seatbelt, ready to switch to the driver's seat when I find that running coward and chase him down. I gun the engine of the RMP and take off down the street.

Another siren mingles with ours and I can see 55-Charlie in my rearview mirror turning onto Arthur a few streets back. Davis must be driving because they quickly pick up speed. Sully drives like a pansy.

We pass one more block before the building in question comes into full view. The apartment complex, one I've passed many times before, is entirely engulfed in flames.

"Damn..." I mumble under my breath as I lean forward and crane my neck for a better look.

The five-floor building has been transformed from a nice middle-class residence into a blazing, fiery inferno. The roof has caved in at places, windows are shattered and large pieces of the plastic siding are peeling back from the heat and falling to the pavement below. The fire inside is licking upwards, out the windows and towards the gray sky, billowing soot and ash with every puff of thick, dark smoke.

Wow, that has to be the biggest fire I've seen in a while.

The bucket boys are already in position with their bright red fire engines. I can see Jimmy Doherty and Walsh hooking up a hose to the nearby hydrant. For the most part, the rest of the firefighters are crowded in a small huddle, taking orders from their Captain and peering up at their roaring adversary.

Faith rolls down her window as I pull up to the curb. "Hey! Which way did he head?" she hollers to no one in particular.

Walsh jogs up to the cruiser, his heavy equipment clanging against him. "Took off up the street thataways," he points north. "Young guy, wearing a blue jacket and black pants."

"Thanks!" Faith waves at him and he takes off back to his truck.

Davis pulls 55-Charlie up to my side. He leans forward and raises his brow in question. "Blue jacket, black pants! North!" I yell at him as I pull out. Sully flashes us the 'thumb-up', indicating that they understand and they follow us down the street.

I grip the steering wheel tightly while Faith recites off what we know into her CB, "Central, 55-David in pursuit of suspect heading northbound on Arthur. Suspect is reportedly a young male, wearing a blue jacket and black pants. No further information."

"55-David, copy that," the radio bleeps back.

"Ok... where are you...?" I murmur as we tear down the street, scanning quickly through all of the pedestrians for a blue jacket - or anyone running for that matter. The sidewalks look normal, people walking calmly up and down, nothing out of order.

Faith leans forward, squinting. "There!" she points ahead. My eyes follow her extended finger up the road a few blocks. There he is, the stupid asshole. He isn't even smart enough to step into an alley or anything, just keeps trucking up Arthur as if we wouldn't see him. He hears our sirens and takes off running fast. What an idiot...

Okay, you stupid jag-off. I'm in a car - you're on foot. I win. Game over loser.

"I see him... I got him," I say as I fly through a red light. The RMP quickly makes up the couple of blocks, and our sirens and flashing lights startle the guy into a full sprint. I pull up beside him and get a good look at his sweating, panicked face. Well, now I can say that I know what a complete moron looks like.

The cruiser lurches as I step on the brake and throw the cruiser into 'Park'. I unbuckle and quickly, get out, and start after him on foot. "Go, Faith! I got him!" I yell back to my partner as she switches seats. The suspect is about a good fifty-yards up ahead of me now, but I'm not worried. He's been going for at least five minutes and I haven't even gotten started.

I can hear Faith over the CB, "Central, 55-David has the suspect in sight and are pursuing on foot."

I fall into a good rhythmic sprint after the bright blue jacket. The guy keeps up his sprinting for a couple of minutes and I match his pace and then push myself to go faster. I weave in and out between the people walking along the sidewalk, trying not to hit anyone but end up shouldering a guy and nearly colliding with a baby stroller. The woman pushing the stroller shrieks at me, but by the time I hear her, I'm halfway down the block.

My attention turns again to the suspect and I can tell that he's slowing slightly. His pace has changed to a fast run instead of the full sprint. I was wondering how long he could keep it up - must be out of shape. He should try Yoga.

My lungs are constricting with every intake of the frigid afternoon air, no doubt a contributing factor in the perp's slowed pace. I ignore the sharp, cold pain of every breath, instead focusing on closing the distance between us.

"Bosco!" I hear Sully yell from his cruiser as it coasts beside me. I turn my head slightly, but keep running. "We'll cut him off at Robinson!"

"Ok!" I yell back, hoping I can catch up with the running fool before the next intersection. I look back ahead, noticing I have nearly done so. Blue-jacket has reduced his speed even more. Oh, I so have this guy!

Man, the cold air is really starting to bother me - it's cutting into my cheeks like needles and every lungful of air feels like a knife through my chest. Shit, it hurts. Don't think about it, I tell myself. Just...go. You almost got him...

I continue to race after him and I'm now within ten feet of the perp. I can hear his feet slapping the pavement, his own sharp breaths, the swishing of his nylon pants. He's almost to Robinson where Sully and Davis will cut him off, but I won't let that happen. No way, this asshole is mine. I pump my arms and legs harder, forcing them to go even faster.

I can see Faith drive quickly by me out of the corner of my eye. She's probably heading to Robinson with 55-Charlie. Com'on... I egg myself on. Com'on, gotta catch this guy...

Suddenly, the guy rears to the right and disappears down a dark side street. Finally he turns off the main road - geez, I thought he'd never act smart. I guess either the idiot realized he had a few brain cells left and used them or he must have heard me, 'cause I was nearly on his heels. If I was being chased I would have been weaving in and out of alleys a long while ago. This sucker ain't the brightest bulb on the porch.

I slow down a bit and make the turn in to follow him, my burning lungs appreciating the slight change in pace.

I jog down the street after him for a couple of yards before I remember that I need to alert Faith and Sully. I grab my mike off my shoulder and bark, "Suspect has changed direction and is heading east on...uh..." Great, I don't know what street I'm on.

I keep running as I look up and around for a landmark of some sort. Nothing. Well, I know I'm on the street before Robinson, wherever the hell that is. Where the hell am I? Dammit.

The perp has crossed the street and is now on the opposite sidewalk. He is definitely tiring, his shoulders are slouching a bit and his feet are slapping even louder against the ground. This only strengthens my resolve and I keep up my own pace as I frantically search for a sign or something that could tell me what street I'm on. I pass a few interested pedestrians before I see a green street sign. Greenwich.

"...East on Greenwich," I finish, half out of breath. My side is starting to cramp painfully from exertion. Com'on you stupid cramp, work with me here...

"Okay, Bosco. We'll cut him off." I hear Faith call back, her voice scratchy over the frequency.

I reach down with my right hand, unsnap my gun holster, and pull out my 9 as I close the last few yards between us. "Stop!" I gasp, forcing myself to talk around my labored breathing. My side is killing me now, a burning ball of cramped muscles.

"Stop... Police!" I huff again, louder this time. The guy hesitates for a moment, contemplating if he should keep going or give in. Give it up, fool! I mentally scream at him.

I can hear sirens getting louder - either Faith or Sully and Ty are nearly to the end of the street. Now he has no way out. "Give it up, jag-off!" I holler.

I pull my gun out in front of me and purposely cock it noisily. The guy hears it, I can tell. He slows down to a slow walk and slowly raises his hands above his head.

"Don't shoot!" he wheezes, gasping for air. "Don't shoot me!"

"Shut up! Turn around now," I snap at him, keeping my gun trained on his back.

Runner-boy slows to a crawl, still moving forward. Did I not make myself clear?

"I said now, jag-off!"

He stops walking and turns slowly, his hands still raised. "Don't move," I command as I reach for my CB and try to catch my breath. The frigid air is making my chest ache and my side is still splitting painfully. "Central," I huff. "Suspect has been apprehended. Requesting my backup."

I take a moment to catch my breath and bend over a bit, my left hand resting on my bent knee for support. My gun is still leveled on the gasping perp and I swallow back the urge to cough as I start to book him. "Get down on your knees," I breathe heavily, still winded.

I can see an RMP coming towards us with its lights flashing, but sirens off. I straighten back up as the guy half-falls into a kneeling position, placing his hands on his head. From the way he knows how to do everything, I can tell he's done this a few times before...

I give the perp a once-over, looking at his pockets for any bulges that might be a weapon. He looks clean but I still move to pat him down. "You got anything on you?" I ask him.

He shakes his head 'no', sliding his hands down a bit. Oh no you don't...

"Keep your hands on your head," I bark at him and replace my gun into its holster.

I unclip my handcuffs from my belt and fix them on his trembling hands. "I didn't do anything," he whines.

Oh yeah, sure - like I haven't heard that one before. Please, someone needs to get these guys a new line...

"Yeah, yeah, yeah - that's what they all say," I spit back as I pat him down and start reading him his rights, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you, and believe me, I will make sure you get the stupidest, most idiotic, unintelligent rookie I can find... you understand?"

The RMP that I saw before pulls up right behind us, and Sullivan and Davis get out. I continue to pat down runner-boy here, and finding nothing down his left side, move to feel his right-side pockets. My gloved hands make a swishing sound against the nylon fabric of his pant pockets. Clean. I go for the jacket pocket, not fully noticing the way he shifted his weight.

The soft clinking of the handcuffs should have alerted me, but I'm still out of breath a bit and breathing heavily. The next sound I hear is Davis' voice as he yells out a warning, "Bosco! Look out!"

**********

TBC... You guys still like it? Want more? I have it all done, just tell me if I should continue... :)