A/N: Unlike my first fanfic, I'm gong to try and keep the chapters of this one shorter so that you don't have to spend a long time reading and I can update a little faster. Please note the 'Mature' rating on this one... there is plenty of bad language and there will also be some violence and adult situation later on. And as always, once you've read a chapter, please review it so I know how I'm doing. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Characters and events from "Die Hard", "Die Hard 2", and "Die Hard With A Vengeance" belong to Roderick Thorp, Walter Wager, 20th Century Fox, and all the writers and directors of the films. However, new characters, plots, and events are of my own; and any relation to a forthcoming fourth movie is purely coincidental.
Summery: Lieutenant McClane is haunted by a name from his past. People around him start dying. And worst of all, his daughter is kidnapped... but is there more to this than McClane realizes?
It was a cool, brisk fall morning in midtown Manhattan as a New York City cab pulled up in front of the 17th Precinct of the New York Police Department. The door behind the driver opened and out stepped a rather disheveled looking, middle-aged man.
"How much?" the man asked the driver as he shut the door.
"It's fifteen-forty," replied the cab driver.
The man took out his wallet and riffled through the bills inside. "Here's twenty," he said, tossing a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill through the driver's window, "keep the change."
As the cab pulled away, the man lit up a cigarette that he had pulled out of a pack in his coat pocket. He took a drag from the cigarette and exhaled as he looked up the side of the building. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he muttered.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to show the fuck up," came the voice of a man walking towards the door of the police station. The first man glanced down to the door, at the man who was speaking. "Forget to make a payment on the car McClane."
"Go to hell Horowitz," Lieutenant John McClane replied to his fellow lieutenant, Bryan Horowitz.
"Good morning to you too."
"My kid has the car. He's up in Buffalo looking at colleges."
"Damn, he must like you. When I was looking for colleges, I wanted to be as far away from the folks as possible."
"Yeah, well he says there's a great forensics program up there."
"Trying to go into law enforcement like his old man huh?"
"More like seeking a reason to follow his girlfriend."
"Ah, young love."
"Stick a sock in it and open the door."
"Jesus, don't get your panties in a twist."
Horowitz stepped aside as he opened the door and allowed McClane to walk by. The air inside the precinct was abuzz with the usual morning commotion of the department. Drunks now suffering from hangovers, prostitutes bitching about their treatment, young punks who tagged a deli on 45th.
As Lieutenant McClane hung his coat on the rack near his desk, a short, portly woman in a police uniform approached him. "Lieutenant," she began, "Inspector Cobb would like to see you in his office."
McClane looked over at her. "Thank you Colleen," he replied. As she walked away, he turned to look across the department towards Inspector Cobb's office. "What the hell do you want now Walter," he muttered under his breath. He then made his way over to the office of Inspector Walter Cobb.
"Nice of you to finally show up McClane," greeted Inspector Cobb as McClane entered the room.
"Had to take a cab," he replied, "what's this about Walter?"
"Sit down John."
"No, I'd rather stand."
"Your choice. How's the family?"
"Fine, now will you get to the point Walter or let me get back to sitting my ass in front of my desk."
"Alright… the O.C.I.D. got wind of something after that big narcotics bust last week."
"What does the Organized Crime Division have to do with me?"
"Nothing. That is until they begin interrogating the sleazebags they arrested in the sting." McClane gave Cobb a rather puzzled look when he heard this statement. "Around a dozen of those assholes where questioned about who the kingpin of the drug ring was."
Inspector Cobb sat back in his chair and sighed deeply. "You sure you don't want to sit John?" he asked.
"No Walter, now will you please finish," McClane replied, now getting a little aggravated over how long the inspector was taking to get to the point of this conversation.
"Alright then. Each and every one of them said the exact same name." He looked McClane right in his eyes and emphasized each part of the name, "Simon Peter Gruber."
McClane's jaw dropped upon hearing this name… the name of a man who McClane thought to be dead. After all, he had brought down the helicopter that Simon had been in several years ago after he and his cronies attempted, almost successfully, to swipe the contents of the Federal Reserve in New York. Surely he must be dead.
"I think I'll take that seat now," McClane admitted as he fell into the empty chair in front of Inspector Cobb's desk. "How is that possible? Isn't he…"
"Dead," the inspector completed McClane's sentence, "I thought so too. But from what the O.C.I.D. intelligence came up with, that son of a bitch you cooked back when may have been a double, following the orders of the real Simon."
"A double? You mean to tell me that idiot was nothing more than a carbon copy?"
"In a nut-shell, yes. He apparently has been doing this for years to cover his tracks, much like Saddam Hussein. One original, and dozens of stand-ins."
"Do they have any idea to his whereabouts?"
"Not a clue. Even the dealers they caught don't know."
There was a knock on the door to the office as Colleen walked in. "Inspector Cobb," she started out, "Detective Harold Phelps is here to see you."
"Thank you Colleen," Cobb responded, "send him in."
Colleen nodded and briefly exited the office. Moments later, she returned with Detective Harold Phelps and lead him into the office. After which, she let herself out to return to her desk.
"Good morning detective. Allow me to introduce Lieutenant John McClane. McClane, this is Detective Harold Phelps," Inspector Cobb introduced them to each other.
"Detective," McClane greeted Phelps as he stood up to shake his hand.
"No introduction needed," beamed Phelps, "your reputation precedes you lieutenant. Nakatomi. Dulles. I mean, you're a living legend back in L.A."
McClane gave him a puzzled look. "You from L.A.?" he asked him.
"Was. Spent several years as L.A.P.D., started soon after the incident at Nakatomi. I came out here after my wife took a job as a talent buyer for the Garden."
"Detective, I have a few things to finish up here with McClane, and then I'll show you around. Until then, Colleen will help you get situated," Cobb interjected.
"No problem inspector. Again, it's been a pleasure to meet you McClane," Phelps smiled as he left the office.
McClane slowly looked over to Inspector Cobb as the office door shut. "Get him situated," croaked McClane.
"Harold Phelps was recommended to us after he left Los Angeles," admitted Cobb, "your buddy out there, Lieutenant Powell, said that you two would get along well."
"Powell said that? Great," he said sarcastically, "Christ Walter, you've hired the president of my fan club."
"Then I guess you two will really get along. Now if you don't mind John, I've got a lot to catch-up on today. But I'll keep you abreast of the situation if anything should pop-up."
McClane sighed and rolled his eyes, "Thanks Walter." And with that, he walked out the door and headed back to his desk. When he got there, he once again ran into Lieutenant Horowitz.
"Can you believe that new guy? Never shuts up about you," Horowitz informed McClane while stirring his cup of coffee.
"Yeah I know. How about getting me a cup of coffee?" McClane asked.
"Do I look like a fucking waitress?"
"Just get the damn coffee, I've got a call I need to make."
Horowitz mumbled under his breath as he turned to head back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Meanwhile, McClane sat down at his desk and looked up Al Powell's number out in L.A. Back when they met, Powell was just a sergeant within the L.A.P.D., but was promoted to lieutenant just a year ago after years of dedicated service and being a key individual in the capture of a serial rapist who had evaded capture for close to six years. McClane picked up the phone, and dialed the number he had.
"L.A.P.D. this is Lieutenant Powell," came a voice over the phone after a couple rings.
"Al, how are things out west," spoke McClane.
"Ah John, nice to hear from you again."
"Likewise. Now tell me, what's the deal with this Phelps guy?"
"I take it Harold made it out there alright," Powell snickered.
"Funny, very funny Al."
"Look, Phelps may be a bit… fixated on your legacy…"
"Legacy? I call it coincidences."
"Whatever. He may be overjoyed to be around you, but he's good at what he does. Damn good. Personally, I consider it a loss for us now that he's out east with you."
"I'm honored," McClane said very sarcastically, "so, how's the retirement planning coming along?"
"It's coming along nicely. My wife and I have decided to move away from the city and enjoy the quiet life in some place like Montana or Vermont."
"Well you're ahead of me."
"John. I'm also eight years older than you."
"Yeah, yeah… I know. Well I've got some stuff that I need to get to over here, so I'll let you get back to your Twinkies Al."
Powell chuckled warmly. "Alright John. Take care, and take it easy on Phelps."
"I make no promises. See you later Al."
"See you John."
And with that, John McClane ended his conversation with Lieutenant Powell. As he hung up the phone, Horowitz returned with McClane's coffee. McClane took the cup and began to drink from the steaming cup.
"You know," started Horowitz, "next time you do that, I might just piss in it."
McClane looked up from the cup at Horowitz. "Hmm… it might give it a better taste. Who made this sludge?" McClane inquired.
"That would be why mine is mainly cream and sugar instead of coffee."
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