[Tribeca Apartments, Upper East Side, NYC, Wednesday December 4]
An NYPD squad car pulled up to the curb. ADA Serena Southerlyn exited from the passenger seat. Detective Stabler and Captain Cragen popped the car trunk to retrieve their Kevlar body armour.
A dozen heavily armed Emergency Task Force officers - bristling with batons, semi-automatic weapons and helmets - assembled outside the building. An elderly couple peered from behind their curtains. Someone's dog barked in a nearby alley.
Detective Briscoe motioned to the couple to get away from the window. "Everyone wants a front-row seat to the show," he grumbled.
Southerlyn pulled out a sheet of paper. "A signed warrant for Sgt. Wallace Johnson," she began, ". as a material witness to the murder of Chelsea Saunders."
Briscoe snorted in disgust. "Well, that's better than nothing. I take it McCoy thinks Lex ordered the killing?"
Southerlyn watched the ETF company quietly file into the building. Atop the surrounding buildings were some uniformed officers. "Jack is planning to have Johnson testify that the Lex sanctioned the killing. We have a pretty good case against Lex - as it stands now. With Clark Kent's testimony and, hopefully, Johnson's ."
". Lex gets Sing Sing or a lethal injection ." Briscoe replied, ". and 'Hang 'em High' McCoy gets visions of the Albany governor's mansion dancing in his head"
Southerlyn grinned. "You sound like those talking heads on CNN!"
"He's not as dumb as he looks, Ms. Southerlyn," Green laughed.
Cragen returned with a bulletproof vest. "Serena, you better put this on. Things could get toasty in Tribeca in a few minutes."
Briscoe held the warrant in his fist. "McCoy wants Johnson alive and intact, Captain."
Cragen strapped on his holster. "Well, that depends if this Johnson wants to go quietly - or go down in a blaze of glory." He stooped under the yellow 'Police Do Not Cross' tape that wrapped around the entire block.
"Lennie, are you sure you're up for this?" Cragen remarked to Briscoe. "Detective Green's a big boy. I think he can execute the warrant. We've got enough firepower bearing down on this guy ."
Green glanced over to his more senior partner. Lennie Briscoe was one of the best detectives in the Homicide Division. Fiercely loyal to his fellow officers. If there's one thing he learned about Lennie, it's that once he starts something . he intends to see it through. Lennie had nothing to prove to anyone. Still, Green thought, Lennie shouldn't have to put his life on the line for what seemed to be a simple arrest.
He knew, however, that Lennie Briscoe never backed down from a fight.
"Hey, I was there when the CSU had to scrape off Chelsea's blood from the floor!" Briscoe declared. "I broke the news to poor Mrs. Saunders. If anyone's gonna take down Rambo up there, it's gonna be me and Green!"
Cragen relented. "Of course. Absolutely."
He handed Briscoe a radio. "Van Buren's running the operation from the dispatcher's command. I'll be online, too. If anything comes up ."
"We call in the cavalry, gotcha," Green replied.
The radio crackled. It was Van Buren "Cragen? I've got our shrink, George Huang online."
"Any last minute advice, doc?" Cragen asked.
"Wallace Johson was a US Army Ranger," Huang answered. "Trained to kill. The usual moral checks and balances that keep you and I from acting on our darker impulses ... have been switched off in his mind. He knows the army's on to him. He's got nothing to lose. This guy's seen action in the jungles of South America, the sands of Kuwait . If he feels he's backed into a corner, he'll attack. Without remorse."
Cragen pulled Green aside. "Well you know who we're up against. We want him alive, alright? Lex Luthor's entire case could rise or fall on this ex- soldier. And keep an eye on Lennie, will ya?"
"Always, Captain," Green nodded. "It's a piece of cake, right?"
Briscoe, Lennie and a dozen ETF officers streamed up the wooden staircase. They stopped at apartment 405. A pair of ETF officers flanked either side of the door, while their colleagues covered the hallways.
Briscoe pounded on the door loudly. "Wallace Johnson! Open up, it's the police. We have a warrant for your arrest! Come out nicely. I won't ask again!" He pounded on the door again.
Green shrugged. "Time for plan two." The detectives stepped aside as one of the officers swung a large black, battering ram against the door. The wooden doorframe splintered, as the door gave way.
Green was first into the breach. He took cover behind a wall. He could see the living room: a TV set, radio, couch. "All clear, here."
Briscoe clutched his revolver as he slowly approached the bedroom. The door was closed. He nodded at Green to come over.
"I'll just do this the old-fashioned way," Green mumbled. He kicked open the door. The room was empty. The sheets were crumpled. Johnson was here today.
The entire ETF company was now in the apartment. Briscoe clicked on his radio. "Van Buren? His apartment is secure. No sign of our AWOL soldier boy."
Briscoe walked into the kitchen. The kitchen window was open. On the table was a half-empty cup of coffee. He placed his hand just above the rim. It was still warm.
"Call in the CSU to dust the place," Briscoe announced. "I think we better search every building in this area. He can't be far."
Suddenly, they heard a rattling of steel. Green leaped atop the counter, pulled back the curtains and peered out the window. Two flights above him, a man was struggling to climb the rusted fire escape.
"You were right, Lennie," Green smiled. "Johnson's making a break for the roof!" Green pulled open the window as wide as he could. "I'm going after him."
"I'll leave you to do the Spiderman thing," Briscoe joked. "I'll head for the stairwell, in case he tries to double back."
Atop the building, a rookie cop named Mike scanned the horizon. It was partly cloudy. The first sprinkles of snow had already begun. He had been on this roof for over an hour. Haven't they already caught the guy, he complained to himself.
He heard a screech of metal. He only caught a brief glimpse of his attacker. A thirty-something man. Well-built, with a crew-cut and flecks of grey on his hair. Mike fumbled with his holster, but it was too late.
The struggle was brief. Mike felt a burning sensation in his chest. The attacker has impaled a kitchen knife deep within his chest. He couldn't scream because a pair of big hands had muffled his mouth. His will to live slipped away with each painful breath.
Wallace Johnson took the gun from the officer's holster. Another screech of metal disturbed his thoughts.
Green gasped at the sight of the fallen officer. As the renegade Ranger spun around, the detective aimed his gun. "Hands in the air! Now!"
Johnson could hear the clamping of several footsteps on the fire escape. In moments, this rooftop would be crawling with cops.
"No," Johnson replied. He fired several shots. Green hit the ground to avoid the bullets. When he looked up, Johnson was already running towards the edge of the building. He can't go anywhere now, he thought.
But Johnson kept running. Then he jumped. Green slowed down as he approached the edge. It was several stories to the busy street below.
"Ya gotta be kidding me!" he yelled.
If he didn't act now, Johnson would slip away forever in New York's concrete maze. He glanced back. Shouts of "Officer down! Officer down!" echoed across the rooftops.
"Don't lose him, Ed!" Briscoe hollered, as he clutched the hand of the bleeding cop.
Green backed up several feet. He sprinted across the roof to build momentum, then jumped from the ledge.
"I hate this Matrix crap!" Green grumbled as he landed atop the roof of another building. He grimaced. The clumsy landing knocked the wind out of him, but he was okay. Johnson was already at the edge of another building.
Green reached the edge of the second building. Johnson had found another fire escape and was quickly climbing down to the street level.
"Freeze!" Green hollered, with his gun pointed at Johnson's head. Johnson fired first, but the bullet deflected off a metal bar. Then Green fired. He believed he had shot the man, but Johnson got up and continued to descend the metal stairs. The ex-Ranger dropped from the ladder and raced towards a subway station.
"Suspect is on foot heading west towards the subway line," Green announced on his radio.
Atop the Tribeca apartment complex, Briscoe tried to comfort the dying officer. There were no parting words. No prayers to God. The rookie, Mike, died in a pool of blood without a sound. Briscoe closed the cop's eyelids: a final act of dignity. A swarm of officers arrived, stunned and angered at the slaying.
"He's going to try to make a break for Florida, Ed," Briscoe replied on his radio. "We found a flight itinerary in the bedroom. Stay on his tail - no matter what! I'll meet you at the subway station."
A few minutes later, sirens wailed throughout the neighbourhood. It was in vain, Briscoe knew, because the rookie cop Mike had died of massive bleeding.
"Looks like you now got yourself a cop-killer, Serena," Briscoe growled, as he left the apartment complex. He grabbed another gun and several rounds of ammunition from the ETF truck. "His ass is mine! We'll take him alive if possible. But dead, if necessary." He jogged westward towards the subway station.
"I'll notify the U.S. Marshals' office," Southerlyn offered.
Stabler pounded the squad car's roof in frustration. "Damn it all to hell! Johnson's gonna jump the country . Lex'll walk. That's just friggin' great!"
"That's not how it's going to end, detective!" Southerlyn protested.
"Oh really, counselor?" Stabler snarled. "Your boss is getting his butt handed to him in court, thanks to Lex's well-funded legal team. Heck, even the mayor's office seems to think Luthor's innocent. We've got a dead cop on that roof, Serena, and you have the nerve to tell me things are still going your way?"
"Stabler, back off!" Cragen snapped. He glanced at both Elliot and Serena. "We're all on the same team, right?"
"Thank you, captain," Southerlyn replied. "Now that Johnson's loose, I don't think we can keep the army out of this for much longer. Once the media gets hold of this ."
"Then we nail him before any of that happens," Cragen stated. "Stabler, you're riding shotgun with me. The itinerary says he's going to catch a flight out of JFK airport. We'll head him off there."
Stabler's mind, however, was somewhere else. Lex Luthor had managed to keep his hands clean, it seemed, by ordering a lackey to kill Chelsea Saunders. Surely, this Johnson fella knew he would be the fall guy if things went sour. Well, they were sour now. He's got the entire NYPD out for blood.
The only way Wallace Johnson could avoid the lethal injection was to cut a deal. More bloody lawyers.
Johnson with life in prison. Luthor with a reserved seat on death row. Stabler wondered if he could live with that possible outcome. The attorneys and the politicians always muddied up the justice system with their inadequate laws and posturing. The truth is, he didn't know what true justice was at this point.
A cop was killed. They would catch his killer. That's all that mattered now, Stabler mused.
"Elliot," Cragen interrupted. "I need you focused. We gotta get Johnson before he boards that flight. If he gets out of the U.S., he'll disappear for good!"
Stabler blinked away his disorientation. "I am focused. JFK. Stop him from boarding. Gotcha." Their squad car screamed out of the Upper East Side. The streets of New York rang with sirens as an endless stream of squad cars dashed in search of Wallace Johnson.
The hunt for a killer had begun.
[McDonald's, Smallville]
Chloe stirred the chocolate sundae. Yippee, ice milk and artificial chocolate, she groaned. She wasn't that upset with her lunch. Although that McChicken sandwich was a little heavy on the sauce.
"I realize that fries are awful for my arteries," Munch interrupted, with a Big Mac combo on his tray, "but they taste pretty darn good." He snacked on a fry. "How's that for living on the edge?"
Munch's remarks momentarily brightened Chloe's mood. "Well, I'm young so I'm immortal."
Munch settled on a stool beside her. "Ah, yes. Youth. You know what they say about that?"
"That it's wasted on the young?" Chloe replied.
"Bingo." Munch sipped on his coke. "You're not your usual Pulitzer Prize- seeking, chipper self, Sullivan." Then he looked outside the window. Clark Kent was having a lively conversation with Lana Lang.
Betty was clearly flirting with Archie, he mused.
"Oh." Munch stated. He and Tutuola had been here long enough to notice the potentially divisive love triangle that would one day tug Clark, Lana and Chloe into a sordid tangle of scorned feelings and betrayal. At least, that was his "SVU detective's" conclusion.
As a man who had survived the carnage of divorce - barely - he could sympathize with the innocence of a schoolgirl's lament for true love.
"Tutuola's right," Munch offered. "You're not registering loud enough on Clark's radar."
"We're just friends," Chloe insisted, "and I'd rather not talk about it."
"Denial, in your case, is not a river in Egypt, Miss Sullivan," Munch replied - in between Big Mac bites. "I'd bet Clark is more nervous about being 'just friends' with you than you realize."
Chloe observed her two friends across the street. Clark's easy-going smile. Lana non-chalantly touching Clark's arm in consolation.
It was the ease of their attraction that made her nervous. That made her scared.
Chloe ate another spoonful of half-melted sundae. "I have a good relationship with Clark. To toss that aside ... to even entertain something other than friendship would be ..."
"... the most exhilarating thing to happen." Munch concluded her sentence. "I'm not saying you should interfere in that courtship ritual Clark and Lana are going through now. All I'm saying is you should leave doors open. Stop sitting on the bench, Sullivan. Take that chance - that one chance that could change your life. Who knows? Maybe you and Clark are meant for each other."
"... or I'll end up filing for 'irreconcilable differences' on our divorce papers 10 years from now ..." Chloe smirked.
Munch shrugged. "Risk is what makes life worth living." He chewed on another fry. "Which brings me back to these fries. Care for a few? You're immortal, so you can afford a few blood-clotting fries."
Chloe grinned as she nibbled on a fry. "I'll do my best to prolong your cardiovascular health, detective."
Tutuola burst through the doors. "John! You're still eating lunch! Man, you're slow. I gotta call from the D.A. We're going back home! With Clark Kent."
"And so rings the death knell for Luthor Corp.," Munch deadpanned. "I'm itching to get back to Manhattan. Clark better not have cold feet." He put on his sunglasses.
"Well, if he does, he can warm himself on Riker's Island," Tutuola replied. "It's about time McCoy moved in for the kill!"
Munch and Tutuola approached Lana and Clark. "Forgive us, Ms. Lang," Munch said, "but might we have a word with Clark?"
Lana glanced nervously at the detectives. "Umm, sure!" She gave Clark's arm a supportive squeeze, then retreated to the McDonalds across the street.
"I think you know what's up, Mr. Kent," Tutuola replied. "But we gotta make this official: Clark Kent, we're executing a subpoena ordering you to testify in the murder trial of Lex Luthor."
Clark frowned as he studied the document, embossed with the seal of the Attorneys General of Kansas and New York State. "I'm not going to sell out my friend. Lex didn't do it!"
"Well that's not your call. It's for the jury to decide," Tutuola replied. "It's a simple choice: the witness stand. Or a contempt of court charge. If you wanna be Lex's cellmate in Riker's, that's your decision."
"I gather you're already packed?" Munch inquired.
Clark sighed. "Yeah. We can pass by the farm and pick up my things." He sat in the back seat of their car.
Tutuola fumbled with the radio dial. "Hmmph. Nothin' but country and 'edge' music. Don't you guys have an urban music channel out here?"
Clark shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. Maybe when we get close to Metropolis?"
Munch studied their flight details. D.A. Southerlyn would meet them at JFK. From there, Clark would be sequestered in a hotel. Kent must have known Lex Luthor's frame of mind during the two weeks prior to the Saunders killing.
Far from the comforting fields of Smallville, Clark Kent would face a personal ordeal. His words could set Lex free.
Or condemn him to death.
[Office of Executive D.A. Jack McCoy, Manhattan NYC]
Goldstein shook his head. McCoy had conscripted this Clark Kent to appear before the jury. As Lex's best friend, he was a pivotal character witness for the prosecution. Clark may not have been at the murder scene, but he knew - better than anyone - what Lex may or may not have said or thought prior to the Saunders murder.
"I'm not going to let you railroad my client with some high school hick who's probably never seen rush hour traffic in his entire life!" Goldstein barked.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. McCoy," Lex added, "I never discussed my business affairs in detail with Clark. He's got nothing to do with this."
McCoy leaned back in his leather chair. He grinned. Both Lex and his attorney knew that the momentum was shifting in favour of the prosecution.
Earlier in the week, Goldstein had tried to throw out the testimony of condo superintendent Joe Solensky. The seizure of the security camera tapes was inappropriate, the defense had argued, and violated Lex Luthor's privacy rights. McCoy smiled as he recalled his own rebuttal: Lex Luthor had no more expectation of privacy in a condo garage than he did in a bank, a mall or hospital waiting room. The tape - depicting Lex entering the condo minutes before the Saunders killing - was fair game.
Let them squirm, he chuckled to himself.
"So you're prepared to testify - under oath - that you never discussed any of your business and travel plans in New York with Clark Kent?" McCoy demanded.
"My client will not take the stand and subject himself to your unfounded allegations," Goldstein reiterated.
McCoy leaned towards Lex. "Is that what Richard has been advising you? I'm going to lean hard on your buddy, Mr. Kent. He's going to tell me exactly what the jury needs to hear. I'm just waiting on Interpol's report on your Greek warehouses. We'll have evidence of Luthor Corp.'s involvement in bio- weapons, exchanges of funds to parties unknown. You know what that adds up to, Mr. Luthor?"
Lex held his temper in check. He would not permit Jack McCoy to see any sign of weakness, any shaking of resolve. "Please, enlighten me, Mr. McCoy. What do these ridiculous claims add up to?"
"They're motive for Murder One, Lex," McCoy replied. "And once I have you under lock and key, my friend D.A. Carver will bring up conspiracy charges against Luthor Corp. The feds will take away everything that you would have rightfully inherited. You'll be lucky to hang onto that quaint little castle you have in Smallville!"
"Idle threats, Jack," Goldstein scoffed. "Judge Fitzwater may have ok'd your 'star' witness. That doesn't mean I won't find holes in his testimony. Did you ask us here for a reason, or just to gloat?"
"This can end today," McCoy announced, as he strolled to his bookcase. "The media scrutiny, the looming federal investigation into Lex's business transactions. All of it. I take the death penalty off the table. I'll even remove the conspiracy charges. Let Lionel Luthor knot his own noose. Lex pleads guilty to murder. He serves 15 to 20 behind bars."
Goldstein shook his head again vigorously. "Absolutely not. Lex would have better odds in Vegas. You've got a case built on circumstantial evidence, at best. The only conspiracy I see is the one between the D.A.'s office, Albany and the NYPD - in a bid to discredit the Luthor family." He packed his briefcase. "I think the jury will see things our way. Lex, we're leaving."
Lex straightened his blazer as he stood up. "I wouldn't be too hard on Clark Kent, if I were you," he cautioned.
"Clark Kent means nothing to me," McCoy sneered. He knew Clark was precisely the leverage he needed to chip away at Lex's defences. "If I sense that he's lying to me at trial, I'll charge him with perjury and toss him in prison. If he's prepared to lie to protect you, he'll leave me with no choice. I doubt Lana Lang would want to go to the spring formal with him - if he's sitting behind bars at Riker's! I don't think he'd want to be your pal after that, Lex."
Lex bit his lip. McCoy was trying to get under his skin.
He was doing a pretty good job.
Lex wanted to shout at the D.A. He wanted to wrap the old fart's tie around his self-righteous, legal-eagle neck. He had become a pawn in his father's battles with his enemies (and there were many) in Albany. He was now a pawn in Jack McCoy's personal ambitions. The conviction of a Luthor would send shockwaves throughout the state - and the country. McCoy would likely use the victory to launch a run at Arthur Branch's job, or a seat in the Albany statehouse. The family's allies on Wall Street and Capitol Hill would scatter like spilled marbles. The foes of Luthor Corp. would exploit that opportunity to rip apart the corporation.
And thus, destroy Lex's own aspiration for greatness.
Lex cleared his throat. "It would be in your best interests to bring this trial to a quick conclusion."
McCoy glared at the insolent young man. "Are those words to live by, Mr. Luthor?"
"Well that depends on you, Mr. McCoy," Lex replied, "How badly do you want Arthur Branch's job? He may be one of my father's acolytes. To me, he's nothing of consequence. Choose your allies well: you don't know who you might pass on the road to Albany."
"Goodbye, Mr. Luthor!" McCoy snapped.
As Lex closed the office door, he smiled. McCoy was letting his ambitions cloud his common sense. That may bode well for his defense.
Unfortunately, McCoy had the sense to subpoena his best friend. Lex believed he could count on his friend's loyalty.
Faith in Clark's honesty was all he could count on.
It was all that separated him from future success. Or an abrupt and bitter defeat.
An NYPD squad car pulled up to the curb. ADA Serena Southerlyn exited from the passenger seat. Detective Stabler and Captain Cragen popped the car trunk to retrieve their Kevlar body armour.
A dozen heavily armed Emergency Task Force officers - bristling with batons, semi-automatic weapons and helmets - assembled outside the building. An elderly couple peered from behind their curtains. Someone's dog barked in a nearby alley.
Detective Briscoe motioned to the couple to get away from the window. "Everyone wants a front-row seat to the show," he grumbled.
Southerlyn pulled out a sheet of paper. "A signed warrant for Sgt. Wallace Johnson," she began, ". as a material witness to the murder of Chelsea Saunders."
Briscoe snorted in disgust. "Well, that's better than nothing. I take it McCoy thinks Lex ordered the killing?"
Southerlyn watched the ETF company quietly file into the building. Atop the surrounding buildings were some uniformed officers. "Jack is planning to have Johnson testify that the Lex sanctioned the killing. We have a pretty good case against Lex - as it stands now. With Clark Kent's testimony and, hopefully, Johnson's ."
". Lex gets Sing Sing or a lethal injection ." Briscoe replied, ". and 'Hang 'em High' McCoy gets visions of the Albany governor's mansion dancing in his head"
Southerlyn grinned. "You sound like those talking heads on CNN!"
"He's not as dumb as he looks, Ms. Southerlyn," Green laughed.
Cragen returned with a bulletproof vest. "Serena, you better put this on. Things could get toasty in Tribeca in a few minutes."
Briscoe held the warrant in his fist. "McCoy wants Johnson alive and intact, Captain."
Cragen strapped on his holster. "Well, that depends if this Johnson wants to go quietly - or go down in a blaze of glory." He stooped under the yellow 'Police Do Not Cross' tape that wrapped around the entire block.
"Lennie, are you sure you're up for this?" Cragen remarked to Briscoe. "Detective Green's a big boy. I think he can execute the warrant. We've got enough firepower bearing down on this guy ."
Green glanced over to his more senior partner. Lennie Briscoe was one of the best detectives in the Homicide Division. Fiercely loyal to his fellow officers. If there's one thing he learned about Lennie, it's that once he starts something . he intends to see it through. Lennie had nothing to prove to anyone. Still, Green thought, Lennie shouldn't have to put his life on the line for what seemed to be a simple arrest.
He knew, however, that Lennie Briscoe never backed down from a fight.
"Hey, I was there when the CSU had to scrape off Chelsea's blood from the floor!" Briscoe declared. "I broke the news to poor Mrs. Saunders. If anyone's gonna take down Rambo up there, it's gonna be me and Green!"
Cragen relented. "Of course. Absolutely."
He handed Briscoe a radio. "Van Buren's running the operation from the dispatcher's command. I'll be online, too. If anything comes up ."
"We call in the cavalry, gotcha," Green replied.
The radio crackled. It was Van Buren "Cragen? I've got our shrink, George Huang online."
"Any last minute advice, doc?" Cragen asked.
"Wallace Johson was a US Army Ranger," Huang answered. "Trained to kill. The usual moral checks and balances that keep you and I from acting on our darker impulses ... have been switched off in his mind. He knows the army's on to him. He's got nothing to lose. This guy's seen action in the jungles of South America, the sands of Kuwait . If he feels he's backed into a corner, he'll attack. Without remorse."
Cragen pulled Green aside. "Well you know who we're up against. We want him alive, alright? Lex Luthor's entire case could rise or fall on this ex- soldier. And keep an eye on Lennie, will ya?"
"Always, Captain," Green nodded. "It's a piece of cake, right?"
Briscoe, Lennie and a dozen ETF officers streamed up the wooden staircase. They stopped at apartment 405. A pair of ETF officers flanked either side of the door, while their colleagues covered the hallways.
Briscoe pounded on the door loudly. "Wallace Johnson! Open up, it's the police. We have a warrant for your arrest! Come out nicely. I won't ask again!" He pounded on the door again.
Green shrugged. "Time for plan two." The detectives stepped aside as one of the officers swung a large black, battering ram against the door. The wooden doorframe splintered, as the door gave way.
Green was first into the breach. He took cover behind a wall. He could see the living room: a TV set, radio, couch. "All clear, here."
Briscoe clutched his revolver as he slowly approached the bedroom. The door was closed. He nodded at Green to come over.
"I'll just do this the old-fashioned way," Green mumbled. He kicked open the door. The room was empty. The sheets were crumpled. Johnson was here today.
The entire ETF company was now in the apartment. Briscoe clicked on his radio. "Van Buren? His apartment is secure. No sign of our AWOL soldier boy."
Briscoe walked into the kitchen. The kitchen window was open. On the table was a half-empty cup of coffee. He placed his hand just above the rim. It was still warm.
"Call in the CSU to dust the place," Briscoe announced. "I think we better search every building in this area. He can't be far."
Suddenly, they heard a rattling of steel. Green leaped atop the counter, pulled back the curtains and peered out the window. Two flights above him, a man was struggling to climb the rusted fire escape.
"You were right, Lennie," Green smiled. "Johnson's making a break for the roof!" Green pulled open the window as wide as he could. "I'm going after him."
"I'll leave you to do the Spiderman thing," Briscoe joked. "I'll head for the stairwell, in case he tries to double back."
Atop the building, a rookie cop named Mike scanned the horizon. It was partly cloudy. The first sprinkles of snow had already begun. He had been on this roof for over an hour. Haven't they already caught the guy, he complained to himself.
He heard a screech of metal. He only caught a brief glimpse of his attacker. A thirty-something man. Well-built, with a crew-cut and flecks of grey on his hair. Mike fumbled with his holster, but it was too late.
The struggle was brief. Mike felt a burning sensation in his chest. The attacker has impaled a kitchen knife deep within his chest. He couldn't scream because a pair of big hands had muffled his mouth. His will to live slipped away with each painful breath.
Wallace Johnson took the gun from the officer's holster. Another screech of metal disturbed his thoughts.
Green gasped at the sight of the fallen officer. As the renegade Ranger spun around, the detective aimed his gun. "Hands in the air! Now!"
Johnson could hear the clamping of several footsteps on the fire escape. In moments, this rooftop would be crawling with cops.
"No," Johnson replied. He fired several shots. Green hit the ground to avoid the bullets. When he looked up, Johnson was already running towards the edge of the building. He can't go anywhere now, he thought.
But Johnson kept running. Then he jumped. Green slowed down as he approached the edge. It was several stories to the busy street below.
"Ya gotta be kidding me!" he yelled.
If he didn't act now, Johnson would slip away forever in New York's concrete maze. He glanced back. Shouts of "Officer down! Officer down!" echoed across the rooftops.
"Don't lose him, Ed!" Briscoe hollered, as he clutched the hand of the bleeding cop.
Green backed up several feet. He sprinted across the roof to build momentum, then jumped from the ledge.
"I hate this Matrix crap!" Green grumbled as he landed atop the roof of another building. He grimaced. The clumsy landing knocked the wind out of him, but he was okay. Johnson was already at the edge of another building.
Green reached the edge of the second building. Johnson had found another fire escape and was quickly climbing down to the street level.
"Freeze!" Green hollered, with his gun pointed at Johnson's head. Johnson fired first, but the bullet deflected off a metal bar. Then Green fired. He believed he had shot the man, but Johnson got up and continued to descend the metal stairs. The ex-Ranger dropped from the ladder and raced towards a subway station.
"Suspect is on foot heading west towards the subway line," Green announced on his radio.
Atop the Tribeca apartment complex, Briscoe tried to comfort the dying officer. There were no parting words. No prayers to God. The rookie, Mike, died in a pool of blood without a sound. Briscoe closed the cop's eyelids: a final act of dignity. A swarm of officers arrived, stunned and angered at the slaying.
"He's going to try to make a break for Florida, Ed," Briscoe replied on his radio. "We found a flight itinerary in the bedroom. Stay on his tail - no matter what! I'll meet you at the subway station."
A few minutes later, sirens wailed throughout the neighbourhood. It was in vain, Briscoe knew, because the rookie cop Mike had died of massive bleeding.
"Looks like you now got yourself a cop-killer, Serena," Briscoe growled, as he left the apartment complex. He grabbed another gun and several rounds of ammunition from the ETF truck. "His ass is mine! We'll take him alive if possible. But dead, if necessary." He jogged westward towards the subway station.
"I'll notify the U.S. Marshals' office," Southerlyn offered.
Stabler pounded the squad car's roof in frustration. "Damn it all to hell! Johnson's gonna jump the country . Lex'll walk. That's just friggin' great!"
"That's not how it's going to end, detective!" Southerlyn protested.
"Oh really, counselor?" Stabler snarled. "Your boss is getting his butt handed to him in court, thanks to Lex's well-funded legal team. Heck, even the mayor's office seems to think Luthor's innocent. We've got a dead cop on that roof, Serena, and you have the nerve to tell me things are still going your way?"
"Stabler, back off!" Cragen snapped. He glanced at both Elliot and Serena. "We're all on the same team, right?"
"Thank you, captain," Southerlyn replied. "Now that Johnson's loose, I don't think we can keep the army out of this for much longer. Once the media gets hold of this ."
"Then we nail him before any of that happens," Cragen stated. "Stabler, you're riding shotgun with me. The itinerary says he's going to catch a flight out of JFK airport. We'll head him off there."
Stabler's mind, however, was somewhere else. Lex Luthor had managed to keep his hands clean, it seemed, by ordering a lackey to kill Chelsea Saunders. Surely, this Johnson fella knew he would be the fall guy if things went sour. Well, they were sour now. He's got the entire NYPD out for blood.
The only way Wallace Johnson could avoid the lethal injection was to cut a deal. More bloody lawyers.
Johnson with life in prison. Luthor with a reserved seat on death row. Stabler wondered if he could live with that possible outcome. The attorneys and the politicians always muddied up the justice system with their inadequate laws and posturing. The truth is, he didn't know what true justice was at this point.
A cop was killed. They would catch his killer. That's all that mattered now, Stabler mused.
"Elliot," Cragen interrupted. "I need you focused. We gotta get Johnson before he boards that flight. If he gets out of the U.S., he'll disappear for good!"
Stabler blinked away his disorientation. "I am focused. JFK. Stop him from boarding. Gotcha." Their squad car screamed out of the Upper East Side. The streets of New York rang with sirens as an endless stream of squad cars dashed in search of Wallace Johnson.
The hunt for a killer had begun.
[McDonald's, Smallville]
Chloe stirred the chocolate sundae. Yippee, ice milk and artificial chocolate, she groaned. She wasn't that upset with her lunch. Although that McChicken sandwich was a little heavy on the sauce.
"I realize that fries are awful for my arteries," Munch interrupted, with a Big Mac combo on his tray, "but they taste pretty darn good." He snacked on a fry. "How's that for living on the edge?"
Munch's remarks momentarily brightened Chloe's mood. "Well, I'm young so I'm immortal."
Munch settled on a stool beside her. "Ah, yes. Youth. You know what they say about that?"
"That it's wasted on the young?" Chloe replied.
"Bingo." Munch sipped on his coke. "You're not your usual Pulitzer Prize- seeking, chipper self, Sullivan." Then he looked outside the window. Clark Kent was having a lively conversation with Lana Lang.
Betty was clearly flirting with Archie, he mused.
"Oh." Munch stated. He and Tutuola had been here long enough to notice the potentially divisive love triangle that would one day tug Clark, Lana and Chloe into a sordid tangle of scorned feelings and betrayal. At least, that was his "SVU detective's" conclusion.
As a man who had survived the carnage of divorce - barely - he could sympathize with the innocence of a schoolgirl's lament for true love.
"Tutuola's right," Munch offered. "You're not registering loud enough on Clark's radar."
"We're just friends," Chloe insisted, "and I'd rather not talk about it."
"Denial, in your case, is not a river in Egypt, Miss Sullivan," Munch replied - in between Big Mac bites. "I'd bet Clark is more nervous about being 'just friends' with you than you realize."
Chloe observed her two friends across the street. Clark's easy-going smile. Lana non-chalantly touching Clark's arm in consolation.
It was the ease of their attraction that made her nervous. That made her scared.
Chloe ate another spoonful of half-melted sundae. "I have a good relationship with Clark. To toss that aside ... to even entertain something other than friendship would be ..."
"... the most exhilarating thing to happen." Munch concluded her sentence. "I'm not saying you should interfere in that courtship ritual Clark and Lana are going through now. All I'm saying is you should leave doors open. Stop sitting on the bench, Sullivan. Take that chance - that one chance that could change your life. Who knows? Maybe you and Clark are meant for each other."
"... or I'll end up filing for 'irreconcilable differences' on our divorce papers 10 years from now ..." Chloe smirked.
Munch shrugged. "Risk is what makes life worth living." He chewed on another fry. "Which brings me back to these fries. Care for a few? You're immortal, so you can afford a few blood-clotting fries."
Chloe grinned as she nibbled on a fry. "I'll do my best to prolong your cardiovascular health, detective."
Tutuola burst through the doors. "John! You're still eating lunch! Man, you're slow. I gotta call from the D.A. We're going back home! With Clark Kent."
"And so rings the death knell for Luthor Corp.," Munch deadpanned. "I'm itching to get back to Manhattan. Clark better not have cold feet." He put on his sunglasses.
"Well, if he does, he can warm himself on Riker's Island," Tutuola replied. "It's about time McCoy moved in for the kill!"
Munch and Tutuola approached Lana and Clark. "Forgive us, Ms. Lang," Munch said, "but might we have a word with Clark?"
Lana glanced nervously at the detectives. "Umm, sure!" She gave Clark's arm a supportive squeeze, then retreated to the McDonalds across the street.
"I think you know what's up, Mr. Kent," Tutuola replied. "But we gotta make this official: Clark Kent, we're executing a subpoena ordering you to testify in the murder trial of Lex Luthor."
Clark frowned as he studied the document, embossed with the seal of the Attorneys General of Kansas and New York State. "I'm not going to sell out my friend. Lex didn't do it!"
"Well that's not your call. It's for the jury to decide," Tutuola replied. "It's a simple choice: the witness stand. Or a contempt of court charge. If you wanna be Lex's cellmate in Riker's, that's your decision."
"I gather you're already packed?" Munch inquired.
Clark sighed. "Yeah. We can pass by the farm and pick up my things." He sat in the back seat of their car.
Tutuola fumbled with the radio dial. "Hmmph. Nothin' but country and 'edge' music. Don't you guys have an urban music channel out here?"
Clark shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. Maybe when we get close to Metropolis?"
Munch studied their flight details. D.A. Southerlyn would meet them at JFK. From there, Clark would be sequestered in a hotel. Kent must have known Lex Luthor's frame of mind during the two weeks prior to the Saunders killing.
Far from the comforting fields of Smallville, Clark Kent would face a personal ordeal. His words could set Lex free.
Or condemn him to death.
[Office of Executive D.A. Jack McCoy, Manhattan NYC]
Goldstein shook his head. McCoy had conscripted this Clark Kent to appear before the jury. As Lex's best friend, he was a pivotal character witness for the prosecution. Clark may not have been at the murder scene, but he knew - better than anyone - what Lex may or may not have said or thought prior to the Saunders murder.
"I'm not going to let you railroad my client with some high school hick who's probably never seen rush hour traffic in his entire life!" Goldstein barked.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. McCoy," Lex added, "I never discussed my business affairs in detail with Clark. He's got nothing to do with this."
McCoy leaned back in his leather chair. He grinned. Both Lex and his attorney knew that the momentum was shifting in favour of the prosecution.
Earlier in the week, Goldstein had tried to throw out the testimony of condo superintendent Joe Solensky. The seizure of the security camera tapes was inappropriate, the defense had argued, and violated Lex Luthor's privacy rights. McCoy smiled as he recalled his own rebuttal: Lex Luthor had no more expectation of privacy in a condo garage than he did in a bank, a mall or hospital waiting room. The tape - depicting Lex entering the condo minutes before the Saunders killing - was fair game.
Let them squirm, he chuckled to himself.
"So you're prepared to testify - under oath - that you never discussed any of your business and travel plans in New York with Clark Kent?" McCoy demanded.
"My client will not take the stand and subject himself to your unfounded allegations," Goldstein reiterated.
McCoy leaned towards Lex. "Is that what Richard has been advising you? I'm going to lean hard on your buddy, Mr. Kent. He's going to tell me exactly what the jury needs to hear. I'm just waiting on Interpol's report on your Greek warehouses. We'll have evidence of Luthor Corp.'s involvement in bio- weapons, exchanges of funds to parties unknown. You know what that adds up to, Mr. Luthor?"
Lex held his temper in check. He would not permit Jack McCoy to see any sign of weakness, any shaking of resolve. "Please, enlighten me, Mr. McCoy. What do these ridiculous claims add up to?"
"They're motive for Murder One, Lex," McCoy replied. "And once I have you under lock and key, my friend D.A. Carver will bring up conspiracy charges against Luthor Corp. The feds will take away everything that you would have rightfully inherited. You'll be lucky to hang onto that quaint little castle you have in Smallville!"
"Idle threats, Jack," Goldstein scoffed. "Judge Fitzwater may have ok'd your 'star' witness. That doesn't mean I won't find holes in his testimony. Did you ask us here for a reason, or just to gloat?"
"This can end today," McCoy announced, as he strolled to his bookcase. "The media scrutiny, the looming federal investigation into Lex's business transactions. All of it. I take the death penalty off the table. I'll even remove the conspiracy charges. Let Lionel Luthor knot his own noose. Lex pleads guilty to murder. He serves 15 to 20 behind bars."
Goldstein shook his head again vigorously. "Absolutely not. Lex would have better odds in Vegas. You've got a case built on circumstantial evidence, at best. The only conspiracy I see is the one between the D.A.'s office, Albany and the NYPD - in a bid to discredit the Luthor family." He packed his briefcase. "I think the jury will see things our way. Lex, we're leaving."
Lex straightened his blazer as he stood up. "I wouldn't be too hard on Clark Kent, if I were you," he cautioned.
"Clark Kent means nothing to me," McCoy sneered. He knew Clark was precisely the leverage he needed to chip away at Lex's defences. "If I sense that he's lying to me at trial, I'll charge him with perjury and toss him in prison. If he's prepared to lie to protect you, he'll leave me with no choice. I doubt Lana Lang would want to go to the spring formal with him - if he's sitting behind bars at Riker's! I don't think he'd want to be your pal after that, Lex."
Lex bit his lip. McCoy was trying to get under his skin.
He was doing a pretty good job.
Lex wanted to shout at the D.A. He wanted to wrap the old fart's tie around his self-righteous, legal-eagle neck. He had become a pawn in his father's battles with his enemies (and there were many) in Albany. He was now a pawn in Jack McCoy's personal ambitions. The conviction of a Luthor would send shockwaves throughout the state - and the country. McCoy would likely use the victory to launch a run at Arthur Branch's job, or a seat in the Albany statehouse. The family's allies on Wall Street and Capitol Hill would scatter like spilled marbles. The foes of Luthor Corp. would exploit that opportunity to rip apart the corporation.
And thus, destroy Lex's own aspiration for greatness.
Lex cleared his throat. "It would be in your best interests to bring this trial to a quick conclusion."
McCoy glared at the insolent young man. "Are those words to live by, Mr. Luthor?"
"Well that depends on you, Mr. McCoy," Lex replied, "How badly do you want Arthur Branch's job? He may be one of my father's acolytes. To me, he's nothing of consequence. Choose your allies well: you don't know who you might pass on the road to Albany."
"Goodbye, Mr. Luthor!" McCoy snapped.
As Lex closed the office door, he smiled. McCoy was letting his ambitions cloud his common sense. That may bode well for his defense.
Unfortunately, McCoy had the sense to subpoena his best friend. Lex believed he could count on his friend's loyalty.
Faith in Clark's honesty was all he could count on.
It was all that separated him from future success. Or an abrupt and bitter defeat.