Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.
A/N: Two chapters this time, mainly because this one is from the point of view of a character I created, 85 of it…so yeah…enjoy.
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The Tenth Day
August 19, 2005 Friday
Vince Connors nearly jammed the carousel's door cylinder as he passed through it, to the Shadow Waters lobby, the building he spent his teenage years growing up in.
The twenty-three year old stormed passed the doorman he'd know since he was twelve, ignoring pleasantries and condolences.
He noted patrol officers; he didn't even pause for them, just rushed to the elevator.
It was two a.m., he had just heard, his father had been murdered. Vince had been asleep in his marital bed with his new wife, Sofia, when the news reached him.
They had, had such a nice evening.
Then the cordless on Sofia's nightstand split the bliss of sleep. She fumbled with it till she finally maneuvered it to her ear.
"Hurmm….Hello," Sofia muttered in pleasant exhaustion.
"Sophie?"
It was Fabiana, her young sister-in-law.
She sounded sacred and had been crying, Sofia said up bolt upright in the plush bed.
"Fabi, where are you? What's happened? Are you hurt?" Sofia said in a flush of fear and confusion.
By now Vince had awoken from his own slumber at the mention of his kid-sister name.
"What is it?" He demanded.
Fabiana's voice was frantic and sob filled, Sofia couldn't understand anything.
"Fabi, calm down and tell me what's happened?" Sofia said soothingly into the phone, she had stood up now, starting to pace back and forth as if it would help, on the soft carpet, nude.
Vince watched her intently and very concerned, holding back his own fear as he bit his lip.
Fabiana finally calmed down enough and spoke clearly through the cordless, Sofia's expression and demeanor changed from fear to sadness. Then they hung up.
Sofia's eyes welled with tears as she allowed the phone to slip from her hand and plummet quietly on the carpet, the dial tone drummed on.
She mouthed and flexed her lips, but couldn't form the words.
Vince couldn't take it anymore; he flung the sheets off, equally nude, moved and gripped her by the shoulders. He could feel his own tears form in his eyes, he didn't want to know, but he had too.
"Tell me," he said barley above a whisper.
"He's dead…Your father's been murdered." She sobbed.
Dead? Murdered?
The words registered but had no definition for a brief moment in his mind.
He carefully placed her on their bed and began to gather his clothing, dressed then left without telling her where he was going.
She knew where though, and she'd be with him soon.
He stood in the Shadow Waters elevator, breathing hard.
Dead? Murdered?
Names began to flood into his mind, names of all the enemies and rival individuals his father and family had.
Which one had done this? Which one wanted to die?
He stepped out of the elevator coming face to face with several police officers, he moved hostilely. A uniform stopped him and placed a hand against Vince's chest, he nearly reacted by taking it off at the shoulder socket.
"Who are you?" The uniformed asked sternly.
"Vince Connors. Where is my mother?" He demanded, the uniform stepped back and showed him down the hall to his younger sisters' bedroom.
Fabiana saw him first and tackled him in an enormous hug.
He held and consoled his younger sister as she mourned loudly into his neck. Then gently un-entwined her arms from his neck and scanned the room for his mother.
There she was, holding his youngest siblings, the twin girls Odelia and Ophelia in her maternal arms, rocking back and fourth as if a breeze was pushing her.
Odelia and Ophelia had long since fallen asleep, but Josephine remained awake, she looked over to her oldest child, deep redness in her eyes.
He approached and collapsed at the foot of the twins' bed, his anger and mourning emotions welling in his body. He finally looked up to her.
"Vince, your father…My husband…Is dead." She started in a whisper so the officers couldn't hear her, "You know what this means…Don't you?" Josephine's voice was dry and unforgiving.
He nodded.
"You are in charge of everything. You have to avenge his death, you know that." She murmured as he slowly reduced to a child before her very eyes, that thick lump in his chest and throat steadily growing.
"Who…Who was it? Jones? The Roses? Basso? Natalie and her bitches?" He questioned, holding back his brimming tears.
Josephine shook her head, "We have honor amongst ourselves and our counterparts. They are not this low. This was someone else. I don't know who." She answered.
Her words resonated in his mind; he slowly stood and turned to leave. Sofia had arrived and was now embraced with Fabiana; he passed them and said nothing.
"Who's the officer in charge?" Vince asked to a swarm of uniforms and suits in the living room of the Connors floor.
"That'd be me." A balding man answered in a suit and approached him, offering his condolences and introduction. Vince only half heard him.
"Where's my father?" He questioned with a resolve in his voice.
"I don't think—"
He didn't want to hear this, "Look, just let me see him. I have to know what happened."
Captain Donald Cragen held his breath and nodded.
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A white sheet had been draped over Bensyn Connors broken and bloodied shell. It had started to absorb his father's blood in various places.
Vince was glad that, that sheet was there, he didn't want to remember his father as a severed and lacerated corpse.
He focused again on the bloodstained shower door.
"ITS JUST BUSINESS"
Written in his father's blood.
"ITS JUST BUSINESS"
Written in his father's home.
"ITS JUST BUSINESS"
It screamed at him.
His mother was right, none of their rivals or enemies would go this far. This was new player in the chess game of organized crime.
"Is there—do you have any idea who did this?" Vince asked quietly, his eyes still locked with the bloody statement.
"We believe so."
"Who is he?"
"She. Have you ever heard the name Cate Monty? Or heard your father mention her?"
"She? A woman did this?" Vince said in more repulsion than shock as he turned to the older man, he nodded.
"No, never."
Vince paused and then glanced back at the words on the shower door.
"She's killed others hasn't she?"
Cragen nodded again.
Vince looked at his dead father again, tucked beneath that sheet and clenched his fists.
"Thank you for allowing me to see my father. And as for your officers, I know they will perform to the best of their ability, in apprehending this monster. Please let me know if I can do anything to assist."
Cragen said his thanks and nodded as Vince exited.
Vince had to make a dire phone call, the most important in his adult life, most likely.
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It was six a.m; the police had finally exited Shadow Waters, taking the body of Bensyn Connors with them. Tapped off the areas of the Connor's home and returned to their station to continue their investigation.
Vince and Sophia insisted that Josephine, Fabiana and the twins return to their apartment in the Fallon building, packing a few clothes and other necessities, the mourning and tried clan piled into their black SUV and headed to Fallon.
Where as Vince had an important meeting to attend too; he walked the twelve blocks to Jen's Café, refusing the thought of a cab, he had to think.
He passed all sorts of people on the street that sad morning. Tired working girls, hanging it up for the night, shop owners lifting the security gates to their shop fronts. Patrol officers, business men and women off to start a new day in shirts and skirts, then those students still finding themselves in life.
People just being ordinary people; living, fighting, coexisting and surviving.
Where did he fall in those categories?
He was so distraught and angry.
God, I need smoke.
Vince quit smoking nearly two years ago, at the timid request of his Sophia. He did too, cold turkey. He'd do anything for her, anything. But he'd also do anything for his family and their name. Sofia knew that too, she knew what kind of family they where. She came from the same kind of family.
He spotted a newly opened bodega; he'd forgotten that there was one so near to Jen's Café. He couldn't help the craving; he stepped in and bought a pack of Harts and a cheap lighter. Gave the cashier a new twenty and told him to keep the change.
The cashier was delighted and asked him to take a lottery ticket someone had forgotten that morning at the register.
"Good luck is dropped by others." The vendor lectured and stuffed the ticket into his hand.
Vince didn't need the money and didn't believe in luck, but he grudgingly took it and bid the vendor good day and left, the itch for a cigarette getting stronger.
Once outside he tore off the plastic wrapper and deposited in a pubic waste bin and lit up.
Oh, that's good…
Vince inhaled and slowly exhaled as he crossed the busy street, absorbing the sounds and smells of New York City in the morning; cat-calls, steam vents, car horns, fresh pastries, mindless chatter, car pollution, engines, etc. That daily grind that you don't really notice once you've lived most of your life in the city or all of it. You really have to look and listen for it.
He finished the fag and extinguished it in a sand tray before opening the glass door to Jen's Café; she wouldn't have allowed him to smoke in her place, not anymore, never wanted him too either and he wouldn't start that again.
The customer bell chimed above the door and a middle-aged woman with some extra weight on her body that made her look healthy, glanced up from the other side of the freshly disinfected counter.
Jen.
Sadness pinched at her features as she quickly rounded the counter and embraced him.
The strong smell of honeysuckle that always clung to her entered his nostrils taking him back to his teenage years when his father would conduct his more private meetings in and on the café's loading port.
There was a massive honeysuckle vine she cultured and tamed upon a trellis in the small, private garden behind her café, it was especially strong in the morning. The seemingly-ever present scent lingered in the alleyway and loading port, even in the winter when the blooms had died; you would swear you could smell the stray and phantom aroma; which was impossible.
"I just heard. Oh, Vinnie. I'm so, so sorry." Jen whispered in her raspy chain-cigarette voice in the crook of his neck.
He fought the choking urge to cry and collapse into her arms, like he did when he was seventeen that horrible night, that terrible, wretched summer evening; that he still hadn't forgiven himself for.
"If there's anything I can do? Just call me and I'll be there. I owe so much to your mother and father. Josie…I'm going to see her later today. She's not at the house is she?" Jen asked pulling back from him; his hands loosely cupped her elbows.
"No, she's at Fallon with Sofia. She'd like to see you." He bit back his tears.
"Is Damien here?" Vince questioned, he had to get it together. Find that bitch who killed his father and then…then he could mourn. But not yet, take care of business, just like Bensyn would have said to him.
"Always take care of business and then you can relax; completely and totally."
It was just Bensyn's work ethic and Vince would never forget it, ever.
Jen nodded, "Back booth. Can I fix anything for you?"
He shook his head, he didn't have much of an appetite, doubted he ever would again.
Not after viewing that bathroom turned slaughter-house.
"Some coffee would be nice." Vince added, a jump other than cigarettes to start this awful day.
"Irish?"
Vince shook his head, "I already picked up a bad habit on the walk here." He padded the pack of Harts in his trench breast pocket.
Jen knew that, she smelted the familiar smell on him that took her back to 1995, when she first caught Vince smoking one of her Harts in the back kitchen. She scolded him for it, sternly saying if he ever did it again she'd beat him blue.
Secretly, Jen knew his father would be enraged if he found out that he picked up the habit from her. She didn't want Bensyn angry at her; she knew his wrath all to well.
Jen quit the same year Vince was married, one of her wedding gifts to him. She'd been clean ever since, but it wasn't quick enough to stop the lung cancer, she hadn't told anyone yet and now most certainly wasn't the right time.
"Black then." She corrected herself; Vince nodded as she returned to the other side of counter to put on the first pot of the day.
Vince walked to the far end of the Café to the last booth near the back exit, next to some decaying pay phones. Slipped onto the flexible bench, creating a soft friction, he noted the sleeping form of Damien Burroughs on the other bench. His black beanie head cradled on his blue leather jacketed arms upon the clean table.
Vince leaned back on the bench seat and rubbed his temples, the stress causing a headache.
Come on, time to get this over with.
He reached over and lightly shook Damien's bent arms, rousing him immediately.
Damien didn't stretch in that morning manner as most people did, instead reclined and wiped the dried tears and crust from his eyes, Bensyn had meant a lot to him.
Bensyn had essentiality saved Damien Burroughs from certain death by addiction or drug dealer in a would be back alley somewhere. He saw the potential in the young Oregon runaway and high school dropout.
Bensyn took him from that lowly, grimy, delinquent who became a drudgery street fighter, who stole and propositioned his body in unsavory manners to support his crack addiction, and made something of him. Damien had no goals in life, was deserted of all hope and held dead dreams.
Damien Burroughs had nothing, he had become nothing.
He took him from that terrible life and made him something. Bensyn cleaned him up, finished his education, and gave him a greater purpose during the year 1981.
Working for the Connors family doing various tasks; he forever felt indebted to Bensyn Connors and would do anything to help his family in this time of mourning and need.
Anything.
After he said his condolences and his promised renewed allegiance to Vince and his family; Vince started their meeting.
"Cate Monty. Ever heard of her?"
"No, never. Who is she?"
"According to the NYPD she's the one who killed…No slaughtered my father." Vince brought his fist to his mouth as he saw a forced flash of that bloody bathroom in his mind's eye.
Jen arrived just then with two steaming cups of black coffee, set them down, as the two murmured thanks and quietly retuned to her kitchen. Her regulars where slowly filtering in.
"I want you find out everything about her. I want to know where she was born, any affiliations, who she working for, if she has any family, who's she fucked, where she been, everything." Vince emphasized each request by pointing unconsciously at the table, Damien jotted down her name on a tattered gas receipt he produced from his billfold.
"And any photo's too, most currant." He added.
"Are you going to employ Terrance's services?" Damien asked with a slight menace in his throat.
Vince shook his head and drank from the etched ceramic cup.
"No, I want the city to kill her." He replied, placing the cup down.
Damien looked at him thoughtfully, "Explain."
"Terrance is fantastic at what he does, but I don't want a hitman for this. I'm going to hold a conference with the press soon, I'm sure they've already heard that my father is dead. Then I'm going to use it to place a one million dollar bounty on her head; dead or alive to anyone who brings her to me. Give the NYPD a hand."
Damien sneered, "Playing dirty. I don't blame you, but I don't see how the boys in blue are going to let you do that?"
"Simple, I'm not going to tell them."
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As it turned out Cate Monty did indeed jump from 604 Hutchison, a building containing various offices and business, too Shadow Waters Apartments, then repeated the task vice versa.
She also left plenty of evidence, which was all still, at the moment useless. Her first jump to Shadow Waters had been an excellent one or successful compared to the second jump.
On the Shadow Waters building top there was blood droplets here and there, splatters from her running jump on the white gravel and even a heavy partial smear of Bensyn's blood on the concrete ledge, it came from her trouser leg.
Upon her landing on 604 Hutchison, things must have gotten hairy for her. CSU found her landing point in a tossed area of grit, debris, blood and a small thatch of torn skin, with glove fibers in the mesh of tissue and blood. Cate ripped her hand opened when she skidded on the roof top.
Something spooked her, it was theorized that she was nearly caught by Josephine Connors. Left in a rush, leaving stray blood streaks here and there, made a quick jump and screwed up on the landing.
Then discarded most of her clothing soiled by Bensyn's blood; leather gloves, a dark hoody and the quiet shoes, she risked the obviously blood drench trousers on her escape back down 604 Hutchison.
She was either teasing them or didn't care by leaving her clothing.
The 604 Hutchison had forty floors, it was two a.m and no one saw her enter or leave.
The buildings security detail that consisted of twelve night men that never heard or saw a thing, because unfortunately for the NYPD, it was poker night in 604 Hutchison and they where otherwise distracted, but the many security cameras caught her.
Cate entered and exited out of the buildings cafeteria on the ground level, out the kitchen, down the alleyway and into the night. Leaving a faint trail that dissipated into a nearby street, she faded into darkness again.
The various camera images of her before and after her task, had been printed, blown up and tacked next to the hand drawn sketch by Mickey Blue on the board at the SVU station.
It was now one p.m the same day, Nadia and Andrew had just returned from the various stores that carried the same type of clothing Cate Monty had discarded. The first six had been a bust, where as the seventh provided insight.
"Oh yeah, she came in hear about two months ago. The store owner/manger answered pointing at the sketch, "Real nice too."
"How so?" A curious Andrew questioned with notepad in hand.
"Just polite, made a little small talk, paid for her stuff and left."
"What did you two talk about?" Nadia picked up cue from Andrew.
"General stuff, the weather, the city, she said it hadn't changed much."
Nadia nodded, "Did she say where she was coming from?"
He shook his head.
"What'd she buy?" Andrew prompted.
"Two hoody's."
"How'd she pay?" Nadia leered.
"Cash, she in some kind of trouble?" He asked as the two detectives said thanks and started to leave.
"We're all in some kind of trouble." Andrew replied over his shoulder.
They later tracked down the store that sold her the specially made shoes and leather gloves in a specialty item shop in Chinatown. The owner wasn't to much help either, but also said she was very polite and respectful.
Great. Where tacking a 'nice' killer. Nadia thought gloomily.
The two detectives reported back to Cragen, drearily wandered into the lunchroom and drudged out two cups of lukewarm coffee, before returning two their own desks to seep through the stacked paper work.
Three days passed, full of dead leads, look-a-likes and press silence, until Vince Connors shattered it.
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Damien Burroughs delivered.
He had gotten everything attainable about Cate Monty.
She was born Catherine Ballenger, the at Christopher Mercury's Hospital, in Brash, New Mexico, on November the eleventh, 1967.
Grew up an army brat, moved from base to base, both overseas and domestic.
Has two sisters, both married with children, one in Louisiana, the other in California.
Briefly modeled, then had a very short lived career in the military, as a field medic.
Was dishonorably discharged under classified reasons.
Went back to school after her discharge in '91, graduated from NYU with a teaching degree in advanced Mathematics four years later.
Started teaching at Johnson High in Queens in '95. Married the young Judge Franklin Monty six months later, then had a twin boy and girl; Michael and Michelle.
Then in '99 she snapped, as the police report stated, murdering both her children then mutilating herself and setting their home on fire, with her in it.
But she lived.
She was found criminally sane and sentenced to life in prison without parole.
On the prison transport she escaped, jumped off a bridge and was presumed dead.
She obviously wasn't.
Then there was the story she told the police, the court and press; a group of people did this to her and her children.
It was bullshit, had to be.
Then the names of the people she had already slaughtered other than his father; Jack Kershaw, Mark Garston and Christopher Harris.
A rapist, a child molester and a drug dealer.
Trash.
They meant nothing to Vince Connors, he had never even heard of them. They where shit to begin with. He applauded Cate for killing the fucks, especially the baby rapper and rapist.
But how where they connected to his father?
Shit, how do they fit?
Vince knew what his father was capable of, but if this bitch, thought for a minute that his father would ever kill a child or its mother….
…shit she's crazier then I thought. She's really fucked-up in the head.
Bensyn Connors was no saint, a gun runner and massive drug lord, but he never went after families, Connors's policy.
Then there was her widower husband, Frankie Monty. He really was no saint, shifty and buyable judge, forced to resign after the trial and disappeared into reclusion.
He remarried rather quickly, apparently to his last secretary.
Has a wandering dick. Vince realized, he didn't care much if you cheated on a girlfriend, but a wife. He took marriage very seriously, those vows just weren't said, they had a purpose and meaning behind them.
So, Cate disappears for six years then magically returns.
Where did she go? And why return now?
Vince needed more answers and the only place to look for them now was at the Frankie Monty residence.
Have nice little chat.
They arrived nearly ten minutes ago at Chase Apartments Penthouse level, room 24C.
Vince Connors, Damien Burroughs, Manuel Montero and Jina Farlane didn't bother knocking on the penthouse door, hardly, Jina picked the lock and in they slipped.
It was two a.m and Monty's like most of the city, where asleep.
Jina found the child Terry, Lily Horne-Monty's son from another relationship, nestled into his bed, a small bear clutched in his small hand. No need to wake him in the matter they where here for, but they needed to know where he was.
Jina slipped away from his bedroom and nodded to her employer and to her other two co-workers.
They conducted themselves in silence as they moved about the apartment, searching for the master bedroom; Manuel found it and glanced to the others.
Both Jina and Manuel clamped gloved hands over each mouth of the sleeping couple and edged a Glock at each of their temples.
The swift stirring subsided almost immediately due to the cold barrels, but a soft whimper was emitted from Lily, it was stanched when Manuel pressed the barrel harder to her skull.
Nothing occurred for at least sixty seconds; Vince wanted them to stew some. Then he quietly walked over to Lily's side of the bed and clicked the lamp on her nightstand on.
The pale yellow light dimly lit the room and he clasped his gloved hands together at his waist and stared down at Lily, her face flushed with fear at his eye contact.
Constant thoughts of Terry flooded her mind and panic gripped at her insides.
"I'm sure your wondering about your son, Terry isn't it?" Her eyes lit up even brighter when he mentioned her son's name.
"He's fine, Jina checked on him not," he spread his hands to emphasize, "five minutes ago. He won't be harmed I assure you. But I can't say the same thing about you or your husband." Vince said in intimidating tone, with no bluff.
"Your both going to corporate though, aren't you? Because I believe neither one of you wants Terry to be the one to find you with bullet in each of your skulls tomorrow morning do you?" They both respectively shook their heads, Lily was crying in silent sobs.
"Right after his morning cartoons…He could come bounding in here and be greeted by the smells of blood, gun smoke and shit."
Now he was being cruel, "Hop on to your bed and find rigor mortis instead of his mother and stepfather. Wind-up being raised by the state, be educated by therapy and live in orphanages until he was eighteen and then maybe commit suicide because of the scene he could possibly see here. No, you don't want that do you? Neither of you do, right?"
They both shook their heads in unison again.
Vince nodded, "Good. That's very good, we're all on the same page. Great. Now here's what's going to happen now. We are all going to go into your living room, quietly, I don't want to wake little Terry up, and we are going to have a nice talk." Vince clasped his hands together again.
"Manuel and Jina are going to remove their hands from your mouths and if either of you scream or speak at all, I will not hesitate to drill your fuckin' skulls. Understand me?"
They both nodded again.
"Good. Then you're both going to march slowly into the living room, each of you escorted by Jina and Manuel. If you try anything I will drill your fuckin' skull. Still understand me?"
Lily felt another rush tears, Frankie was having trouble breathing, he tried to keep calm, then they nodded again.
Vince smiled wickedly and gestured to both Jina and Manuel to remove their hands.
Everything went just as Vince wanted it, neither one spoke or whimpered or attempted to run or fight back as they moved to the living room.
Smart couple. Vince observed.
Now they where all in the living room, Lily and Frankie seated separately on the couch, Jina stood in the hallway leading to Terry's room in case he woke up, Manuel stood behind the couch to watch the couple and Vince was seated comfortably on a plush arm chair crossed legged, Damien at his side.
"I'm going to ask the questions and you're going to answer Mr. Monty. Don't lie to me either, because I'll know if you are." Vince pointed at him, Frankie nodded understanding.
"You're going to tell me about Cate Monty, your so called dead wife."
Frankie's eyes widen with fear, First those cops now this…
"What do your want to know?"
"Was she insane when she killed your children?"
"I believe so, she wouldn't have done that otherwise."
"Did you ever even suspect she'd do something like that?"
"No. Never."
"Postpartum?"
"No, I don't believe so. She was fine and just snapped."
Vince nodded intently; staring hard into Frankie's terrified eyes.
"Do you know Jack Kershaw, also known as Jack Olen?"
"No."
"James Gibson aka Christopher Harris?"
"No."
"Mark Garston?"
"No."
"Bensyn Connors?"
Frankie looked visibly shaken now at the mention of his fathers' name.
"Not personally, no."
Vince nodded.
"Have you seen Cate alive lately?"
"No, she's dead."
"Sorry, Mr. Monty, Cate's not dead. She's killed four people."
Frankie shook his head, "No. She's dead. Some cops where here a few days ago asking about her, I told them the same thing, she's dead."
Vince was getting pissed now over his denial, stood, pulling his own Glock out and pointed it to Frankie's forehead. Lily stifled a near scream and clutched her chest as Frankie pissed himself on the couch, staring up the cold, hard, unforgiving barrel.
"I'm starting to lose my patience, Mr. Monty." Vince hissed as the dark urine pattered softly onto the white carpet.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Frankie begged quietly.
"Those cops, what did they want?"
"In-information about Cate. I cou-couldn't help them!"
"Are you lying to me?"
"No."
"What about her story?"
"What story?"
"Mother-fucker, do not pull my dick!"
"I'm not!"
"Cate's statement."
"What about it?"
"Did you believe it?"
"No—I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? Do you mean that you don't think she was capable of murdering your children?"
"I don't know."
"Earlier you said she wouldn't have done that in less she was insane."
"Yes!"
"So do you still believe she did it?"
"Yes!"
"So you don't believe her story about a group of people binding and torturing them, then burning them alive?"
"No. I wanted too, but couldn't!" Frankie was crying now.
Vince nodded allowing his hackles to drop, he didn't know anything, either that or he was too stupid to know the truth or perhaps was an impeccable actor or liar.
"All right." Vince murmured, holstering his Glock then patted the sobbing Frankie on the shoulder.
"I believe you, for now. But if you're lying to me I'll find out. I suggest you take your wife and her son and leave the city till this blows over. Go wherever you want, hide wherever you want, even if you're lying. Doesn't matter, I'll find you. Understand me?"
Frankie nodded.
"Good. Have a nice evening. Oh yes, I forgot to introduce myself, Vince Connors." He stuck his right hand out in a formal handshake.
Tear streaked and terrified Frankie took it, shaking as well as he could.
"This probably goes without saying, but just so were clear, we where never here. We never had this chat and you've never seen us before. Understand?"
They both nodded.
"Excellent. Again have a nice evening and a safe trip." Vince said with impeccable manners, then he and his group left without saying anything else. Jina even re-locked the door for them from the other side.
Within twenty minutes the Monty's where packed and fleeing the city, Terry wailing in the back seat because he didn't know why.
Frankie Monty's conscience was full of guilt and fear that night, did lie to Vince Connors, he knew that Cate didn't kill their children; he knew she could never do that.
He knew the truth; his family was attacked by a group of people as his punishment for a court related blackmail that went wrong.
He had to live with that for the rest of his life.
But he hadn't know Cate was alive, he sincerely thought she was dead.
Now they drove dangerously, away from Vince, away from Cate and from the city that threaten to shallow them whole.
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A hospital discharged Petra Ramirez softly knocked on ADA Casey Novak's office door late Friday evening.
"It's open." Casey called with the soft rasp always in her voice.
Petra timidly opened her door and closed it behind her quietly.
Casey did a double take, then abruptly stood at her desk, pushing her chair back roughly.
She had kept up with Petra's status ever since she left the hospital, some eight days ago, but didn't dare intervene when the US Embassy finally located her parents in Japan, where they soon rushed back to the States to be with their daughter.
Petra would be fine then, she had her family and that emotional support to help her cope.
Casey knew that and prayed she would be, she took her quiet leave but monitored Petra's status from afar.
Petra's honey glow had fully returned to her soft skin, a light bruise remained at her temple, Casey didn't remember that injury. She couldn't see her wrists; Petra was enveloped in a blue mesh hoody. Her hair was soft and bright to match her personality that filled her office and Casey could feel it, Petra didn't radiate rage, but a sense of peace, although it was cracked, Casey felt that imbalance.
"When I woke up, the nurses and doctors told me about this woman who kept vigil for me. This lawyer." Petra began with no introduction.
"That she was at the elevator in some building I've never heard of and helped me to a couch that I have no memory of. She checked on me constantly while I was in insensitive care and later in recovery." Casey felt a tightness in her throat as she listened; it matched the waiver in Petra's voice.
"That she talked to me and held my hand…" Petra looked down briefly and quickly wiped a tear way, then locked her eyes with Casey again, "She—she whispered to me that I was safe now, that he—that—that fuck," Petra added at her own accord, "could never hurt me or anyone else ever again…"
Petra sobbed heavily at her last statement, and then continued.
"I heard everything she said to me…Like she was guiding me back from..." Casey couldn't take it any more, she sprinted around her desk and embraced Petra who was now in tears, as was Casey.
Casey recalled that wretched night, when the paramedics had pulled her away she was still speaking calmly to Petra, hoping to help, to effect, to cause an impact.
Casey realized she had.
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The Thirtieth Day
August 22, 2005 Monday
Cragen uttered a swift 'shit' and harshly returned the cord phone to its cradle, rushed out of his office and snatched the remote on the copier counter to turn on the television hoisted in the corner of the squad room.
Flipped to channel six and launched the volume.
"…I want to thank the people of this great city for their overwhelming support and the many vigils held for myself and my family in this time of personal tragedy."
It was Vince Connors.
Yesterday it was announced that Bensyn Connors had been murdered. It was huge news in New York City, front page headlines, the topic of morning radio shows and the subject of numerous average citizens' conversations.
This was a well known, very powerful, rumored drug and crime lord; murdered.
He had the city in his pocket, at most times.
He was charitable and had won the hearts of many citizens.
But he was two-sided, most people knew that also.
Various people had attempted to destroy him over the years and failed every time.
Now the most common question in pubic was; "Who dun it?"
Who's destroyed this so called untouchable juggernaut?
Who had the balls?
"I have recently learned by my own sources in the NYPD, that my father was murdered by an allegedly deceased woman,"
"Oh shit." Fin and Olivia said at the same time, the entire room had stopped functioning and watched the screen.
"Her name is Cate Monty. She not only murdered her own children, but three other individuals before she killed my father." He held up that police sketch of Monty.
Cragen felt strained and rubbed his temples, How'd he get that? Who's the leak?
"The NYPD have yet to apprehend this woman. At this time I want to announce the one million dollar bounty I am placing on Cate Monty's head; she's wanted dead or alive."
The room was in uproar. Everyone started to talk very quickly and franticly. This would only make matters worse.
"Anyone with a pocket knife is going to be looking for her." Fin hissed as Cragen shut the television off, Vince couldn't say anything worse than that.
That bounty was illegal, the NYPD would retract it soon, but didn't matter now, it was already out there and with the economy today….
…people can't get that desperate, hell, people are that desperate…Cragen thought to himself.
"Fuck! This is just fuckin' beautiful!" Elliot cursed heavily, snapping the pen in his hand spraying he lower half of his shirt and dyeing his palms in an odd pattern. He cursed again; lower this time at his own stupidity.
"A mill….." Munch thought aloud Fin shot him a 'yeah, right' look.
"This is insane, how can he do that?" Andrew questioned to anyone who cared to answer.
"It doesn't matter. It's happened." Cragen said mournfully, just then his desk phone started to ring, slightly louder than usual. He knew that was impossible though, the Brass upstairs, he knew that for certain was on the opposite end of the line.
Cragen sighed and went to face the heat.
(End F-7 Chapter Six)
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