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: This is one of my favorite chappies! I also forgot to mention in the Chapter One Author Note, that this story is going to have a supernatural taste sort of, just a tad, little tinge, hardly even noticeable. Just a weird stuff, an odd sort feel to it…yeah.
Well, we are finally going to jump into that action/adventure, first bit of it.
Anyway, on with the show!
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Precisely thirty-six minutes after Vince Connors announced the one million dollar bounty he placed upon Cate Monty's head; dead or alive, the Chief of Detectives held a public conference with the press.
She renounced and did not recognize the bounty and anyone who attempted to partake in the illegal activity would be arrested immediately and charged to the fullest.
In place of the bounty, a NYPD reward was offered to anyone who had information that would lead to Cate Monty's arrest, ten thousand dollars.
The Chief of Detectives also in a less than polite manner, asked Vince Connors to retract his bounty, publicly.
He refused; she had him arrested on site.
He was arrested for public endangerment and the possibility to insight a riot. She knew it wouldn't last; her real desire was to make an example.
Sofia who had been watching the entire time, immediately called their best lawyer.
He was too be released within the hour. He had a private car waiting out back the precinct and was escorted out by four uniforms and Detective John Munch.
Vince Connors stepped over the gritty threshold of the back exit into a side alley, inhaled un-fresh but free air and smiled to himself.
John rolled his eyes.
The passenger side door of the black Crown Vic opened and a behemoth in a tailored suit opened the back passenger door for Vince.
Vince gestured for his lawyer to be seated before him, while he reached into the breast pocket of his trench to the pack of Harts, produced the last fag, the cheap lighter and the forgotten lottery ticket.
He lit up and fingered the ticket.
"Tell me Detective, do you believe in luck?"
John nearly scoffed, but crossed his arms and decided to play his game.
"I won a few games of chance, but no, not really. I believe in karma."
Vince glanced at him when he said 'karma', the fag poised between his index and middle.
"Karma? You think it was karma that killed my father?"
"You said it, I didn't." Was John's cynical response.
Vince felt his throat constrict and the hair-like hackles on the back of his neck rise in a flush of anger.
But he held back and exhaled another plume of smoke that hung like an aura around him in the quiet alley.
Vince had reached his objective for the day; entice the city into doing his work, he didn't want a physical confrontation at the moment either so chose to let John's comment slide, but he would be watching him.
All of them.
"Right now I think you need all the luck you can get," he offered the ticket to John, he didn't know why but he took it, "see you in the funny papers."
He finished the fag, dropped it and stomped it, knowing fully well he broke the littering law.
Vince didn't care, he owned this city now.
He slipped into the Crown Vic and slowly drove away.
John glared at the flat butt on the stained concrete near a blackened splotch of gum.
What ever Monty was, what ever she was after, what ever she wanted to prove…It was big, she was moving up to the hitters of crime…
…What are you playing at?
She wasn't done yet either, he knew that.
Monty was going to keep killing and even the most elite couldn't find her, he seriously doubted average citizens could.
Just what this city needs, everyday Joe's and Jane's mutating overnight into bounty hunters and vigilantes.
As if the city wasn't dangerous enough without the gun-toting rouges with greed in their eyes.
Greed…
He glanced at the ticket again.
42772.
Lottery announcement was Thursday, today was Monday.
John shrugged and slipped it into his worn billfold.
Greed consumes…
Greed destroys…
Where does Cate fall in those categories…Consuming? Or destroying?
Does she even care about money?
What did she want?
What drove her?
Insanity or revenge?
Did he really care?
Or did he just want to find her?
He didn't know anymore.
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It was 10:06 pm.
"Do you want a bag for that?" The Maxine Convenience Store cashier asked the short haired bleach blonde woman with the blue ring of bruise around her left eye and scratches at her temple, as he gestured to the bag of green apples and raw rice on the counter.
"No, I'll just put them in my bag." She replied and stepped aside so the next customer could be helped.
She unzipped the dark sling backpack and carefully loaded her apples and rice; she moved the scarf around her neck so it wouldn't get caught in the strap and head toward the front exit.
Then lingered a moment at the news rack next to the exit, reading headlines about the Bensyn Connors murder and his killer Cate Monty, she shrugged at the police sketch.
The customer behind her finished paying and walked out the exit, the door chimed quietly, then quietly chimed again as a new customer walked in and observed the store.
It was a young teenager, fifteen maybe, with messed-up brown hair and wore an unzipped hoody.
The blonde watched him sharply, she knew what was about to happen. When the young man seemed satisfied with what he saw; a lone cashier, and two other customers he stated his purpose of why he was there.
He tore the .thirty-eight from its concealment in his hoody, "You know what this. Everybody down, now! But you!" He pointed at cashier who had his hands up.
"Load up that bag," he pointed the .thirty-eight at a dirty tote hanging behind the cashier, "with everything you've got from the register, now!"
The other customer, another woman with dark red hair, dropped to her knees sobbing for her life.
The bleach blonde did not.
The robber turned to her, "You fuckin' deaf? I said get on the floor!" He turned the .thirty-eight sideways, as if to emphasize his point.
The bleach blonde held her hands up, narrowed her eyes at the gun and realized he left the safety on.
That was stupid, she thought calmly.
She knew she had a shot; she moved faster then anyone the young man had seen. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and yanked his body hard. He pulled the trigger in reaction and earned nothing but a click. She brought her left knee up and connected it with his crotch.
He screamed.
He fell to his knees releasing the .thirty-eight into her welcoming grasp.
She hadn't even broken a sweat as she stood over him, clicked the safety off and chambered a new round in case and caught the ejected bullet in her free hand, gripping the virgin shell, tightly.
One of stitches woven into the knuckled flesh of her right hand had split as gripped the .thirty-eight's hilt. Soft crimson streaks ran down her fist and along the inside her slender coat covered arm.
"Call the cops." She murmured over her shoulder to the cashier who was slowly coming out of his shock, the other customer had scooted up against a display, watching the entire scene play out.
"For future reference, that you should never use, always make sure the safety is off when you hold a place up." She started calmly; the young robber still clutched his throbbing crotch and looked at her in utter fear.
What's she gonna do…
"But you're never going to hold a place up ever again, are you?"
He shook his head and the cashier finished the call.
"How old are you?"
"Six—six-teen." He quivered.
"Six-teen. That's a good age. The final defining age between childhood and adulthood, where you start your final stage of maturing into a young-adult. Are you in school?"
He nodded again.
"What are your grades like? And don't lie to me."
"C's and D's…" He whispered.
She nodded then her eyes lingered down to his colored shoes laces, an obvious sign of gang affiliation.
"You know what today is?" She leveled his gun at him.
He shook his head.
"Today is the day you finally take control of your life and take responsibility for what you've done. You're going to be arrested and face the charges and serve whatever sanction the city bestows upon you. Most likely community service and your going to do it, understand?"
She spoke so calm and it scared it him, he nodded again.
"Then you're going to clean up. Drop out of your gang and focus on school, you should be making A's and applying yourself. Then schedule permitting, you're going to get yourself a job, part-time so you can still focus on your studies. Still with me?"
He nodded again, the pain in his groin numbed now due of fear.
"Good, do you have a wallet on you?"
Another nod.
"Give it to me, slowly."
Carefully he lifted his hips slowly and reached into his back pocket, producing a white embroidered black wallet and offered it to her.
The blonde took it with two fingers, the others palming the bullet, flipped it open with fluid digits searching for his identification card.
'Edward Sauls', it read on a Johnson High School id card.
"Johnson High," her eyes lingered to Edward's face, "I used to teach there. Is Jeremiah Sauls your older brother?"
Edward turned even more terrified, She knows Jeremiah…What kind of shit did I get myself into?
He nodded again and ignored the tear running down his face.
"Well, I know who you are, I know your family and I will be checking in on you to make sure you've done what I've asked. Understand me?"
Edward nodded again and the police sirens wailed down the street.
She smiled softly, took a step back and clicked the safety back on the .thirty-eight, then carefully laid it on the cashier counter leaving small traces of her blood, along with discharged bullet.
"Where's your back door?"
The cashier placidly pointed to the side hall down the counter.
"Mind if I use it?" She asked politely.
"No."
"Thanks." She turned and swiftly walked away, her scarf catching on a near by display and revealed her neck, exposing the massive burn tissue.
She gently un-hung it as the sirens became louder and replaced it, slipping out the back door just as the police cars came to a screech out side the Maxine Convenience Store.
"My God…" the cashier whispered as he connected the blondes' burn tissue in his mind's eye, then looked towards the news stand at the police sketch.
"That's Cate Monty."
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In every organization, in every business, in every family there are 'leaks'. You know the sort of people who tell the real story, who give away the ending, who gossip and rumor. And if you have enough money or possess something of terrific value, you can get the real story, before everyone else does.
In the NYPD there are leaks and two days after the announcement of the Connors bounty, then the taboo placed on it, more secrets where revealed to the press and public about Cate Monty.
That she killed a rapist and saved his last victim from further torment and violation, the young and vulnerable Petra Ramirez.
That disgusting breed of human, fleshy trash, disgusting bipeds, world hated and society spit upon…rapists…Who'd miss him?
Then she killed a child molester and rescued his last victim from further destruction and loss of innocence, the sweet child Nathan Thorne.
An even lower form of human, thieves of innocence, decaying scabs, deeper then filth, the shit on our shoes can gain more respect then they can…child molesters…one less predator to our future…
That she killed a drug dealer, the twisted wraith that addicts our children and taints our society, carries his dirty needles, crack pipes, dime bags and abnormally grown grass and distributes them among our citizens.
One less tooth decaying in the mouth of New York City and everyone hates toothaches, don't they?
Then her most recent murder, the infamous drug lord and gun-runner, the untouchable juggernaut, less corruption, a plus.
The city had started to form mixed reviews about her, some named her a psychotic murder and others dubbed her an omen vigilante.
Next came the stories, everyone seemed to have a tale of this vigilante or murder it was really a matter of opinion of what to label her, of how she did this deed or that one.
How she stopped a rapist in an alleyway from taking another mind and body.
Then cut a man out of his jammed seatbelt in an over turned car that exploded only seconds after they stumbled away.
Been on the subways at all the right times.
Halted numerous convince shop robberies.
Saved various people form this fate or that one….
Only half of them where true, had to be. No one can always be there to save the day.
News of the vigilante/murder had spread all over the city, in to the greater Tri-State area and the adjoining states. It gave people a sense of hope. Someone was taking action. Someone was doing what a badge couldn't.
Who said that all the hero's are dead?
But did she want to be a hero?
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The Fifteenth Day
August 24, 2005 Wednesday
The days following the announcement of the Connors bounty, then retraction, was absolute hell for the detectives of SVU, who were still in charge of the whole Monty investigation.
There were hundreds of false tips and leads and several arrests of people attempting to participate in the bounty hunt.
Where as Cate Monty herself seemed to stop her murders, the last confirmed sighting of her at the attempted Maxine Convince Store robbery. She apparently changed her look some, cutting her long brown hair short to her shoulders and bleaching it a near white.
The new images of her spread among the patrol officers and adjoining precincts.
Still no avail, until the timid Guadalupe Diaz and the remorseful Jonathan Walker walked into the busy SUV station.
The station was in an insane state even at six am, people rushing here and there, storming down halls, answering phone calls on Monty tips, taking statements from so called witnesses and booking bounty hunters.
The two quietly approached the front desk, an obviously fatigued account officer stood at the high desk, his head propped up by his free hand while the other continued to etch on a forum.
"Can I help you?" He asked wearily, not focusing on them entirely.
"We believe we have some information leading to the capture of Cate Monty." Guadalupe Diaz whispered, it didn't frazzle the officer at all, he had heard the same time over and over the last few days.
He pulled a forum of a nearby rack, slipped it to a clipboard and handed her a pen.
"Fill this out and bring it back."
An hour nearly passed after she completed the task, the two where about to give up, they must have made a mistake, when a very attractive middle aged female detective called their number while stifling a yawn.
"I'm Detective Benson," she started as she led them through the busy station and mazes of various desks, where other everyday people where giving statements about Cate Monty.
"So, tell me your story." She murmured after stealing an unoccupied chair from a nearby desk for Jonathan Walker.
"Well, ok. Jonathan and I are neighbors in Harlem. Both our children are in high school and were failing algebra. I was at the end of my rope, my son had been suspended again. I have six children and it's difficult to monitor them all and juggle two jobs. Anyway, I met this woman on the subway, she had a these math papers and was grading them," Guadalupe twisted her fingers nervously.
"I never do this, but I asked her if she was a teacher, I don't know why. Because it's the subway, who talks to strangers? She kind of laughed and said she was at one time."
Olivia stiffened some, that matched so far with Cate Monty's history and Edward Sauls account or it could be a fluke, she swigged some of her lukewarm coffee.
"It was around two in the morning too, it was just me, her and someone creep at the end of the car. Then I mentioned my son was failing algebra and was most likely going to be held back, I never finished high school and my husband is working most of the time…" She trailed off, ashamed of her situation.
"She offered me her services, she said she was a math tutor, even offered to take payment in installments, gave me a number to be reached at if I wanted her help and left. After a few days of thought, I decided to call her and she started to tutor him. She had such a dramatic effect on him. He started passing, became more respectful to me and my husband, and just — just turned his life around."
Guadalupe paused to breath again.
"I recommend her to Jonathan, his daughter was struggling with her math too. She turned her around too. Soon enough she was tutoring most of the teenagers in our building in the down stairs lobby. Then she had to quit recently, she didn't say why. That was nearly ten days ago. Then I saw her photo, well everywhere. I just couldn't believe it. She seemed so normal and average. I hope I'm wrong and that I've made a mistake." She finished her account and looked expectantly at Olivia.
"What did she say her name was?" Olivia asked, a snip of hope building in her, perhaps this was the break they were looking for.
"Catie Ballenger."
Oh shit…oh shit…oh-holy-shit…Her real name. It was never released to the press, this may be the real McCoy.
Olivia tried to control her emotions and not give anything away.
"Do you have her address?" Olivia asked hopefully.
Guadalupe shook her head, "Just the phone number she gave me."
"I'm going to need that." Olivia readied her pen.
Guadalupe rattled it off, she had a look of remorse on her face; what had she done doing this?
Olivia noted it, "You both did the right thing coming to us. She shouldn't be doing this, don't feel any regret. If this leads to her arrest you both will receive the offered reward."
They both nodded, but the money didn't seem important to them, at least not the money in question, the two readied themselves to leave, then Jonathan turned to Olivia, "If it's any consolation or consideration…she's changed our lives and by God I hope we're wrong."
Olivia nodded, "For the sake of the rest of the city, I hope your not."
The two took their leave and Olivia bolted from her chair once they were out of sight, the number locked in her grasp, down the crowed hallway leading to her Captain's office, didn't even bother knocking and instead slung the door open.
"Please come in," Cragen said dryly at her outburst, thankfully his office was empty and it looked like he was about to pass out from the paperwork on his desk and needed the distraction.
"I've got her!" Olivia clutched the paper as if it was a trophy severed head and had an excited look in her eye.
"How's this lead different from all the others?" He asked depressingly.
"They gave me her name!"
"Everyone knows it now."
"No, Catie Ballenger."
He nodded understanding, but not fully convinced.
"What else?"
"Guadalupe Diaz and Jonathan Walker, Monty was tutoring their children. She was a math teacher—then—think about that kid's statement," she racked her brain for his name,
"Sauls, Edward Sauls. Have you ever seen a juvenile turn around that quickly? It matches, it has to be her." Olivia was passionate about her findings, dramatically so, she wanted to believe it so badly.
Cragen thoughtfully interlaced his hands together on propped elbows on his desk and looked out his office window to a nearby building.
"Do you have a location?"
"Just a phone number."
He nodded, "Run a trace and then head over to the location with Elliot. We don't have enough for an arrest warrant, because you know it may not even be her, if it is don't let her leave and I'll have a warrant made up for you. It may be nothing but wear vests."
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The phone trace led to the address forty-six twelve Berenger, in the lower south-west slums of the city.
An area deserted of most human life, several condemned buildings, graffiti laced walls, glittery train tracks, garbage fluttered around the walkways and few vehicles were parked along the sidewalk.
Elliot parked near the train-track intersection and the two stepped out of the unmarked, vests strapped beneath their jackets and surveyed the area.
There was so little human movement, it caused a chill to run up Olivia's spine, she thought about her two concealed firearms, some comfort.
"Guess this is the place," Elliot clipped his chin toward the iron gated walk that led to a meek and decaying apartment building.
Then they heard it, laughter, it was hoarse and rumbled and echoed from a chain-smoked throat.
Someone was laughing at them; the partners sought the larynx and found her.
An old woman was sitting on a stoop on the opposite side of the street, behind the train tracks, she had pale coarse hair that fluttered at its own desire, wrinkled ebony skin, slacked breasts underneath a faded dress and she gripped a fine white-boned and tarnished cane that was poised between her loose knees.
She continued to laugh at the two. Debris fluttered nearby.
"You find something funny?" Elliot called before he could stop himself.
"Yeah, you two! You ain't gonna stop her, don't you know that? She's sent by God to do what you can't, but what you dream of. " She laughed even more.
The two looked at each other warily.
"Excuse me?" Elliot called in hesitance, then approached her, the train came out of nowhere and screamed down the intersections' dividing tracks, forcing Elliot to take a step back.
What the fuck! Where'd that come from?
There had been no warning, no bell or horn. Even over the roar of the train they could hear that wicked laugh, then as quickly as the train came, it faded down the tracks.
The old woman was gone from the stoop, as if she had never been there.
She just went inside, yeah that's it. Olivia tried to comfort herself.
"This place gives me the creeps." She whispered to her partner.
"Tell me about it." He shook off the feeling and forced the wicked laugh to purge itself from his mind and turned back to forty-six twelve Berenger.
The two entered and passed the rusted and black paint-chipped iron gate that was sun warm, up the crumbling concrete steps, to the ajar door leading into the apartment building to find an empty lobby, thick with the smell of incense and the sound of a running television somewhere.
No one was at the front desk to greet them.
"Hello?" Elliot called, tapping the rusted and silver bell on the worn desk, nothing changed, the television continued to fade in and out of reception as they walked around the deserted lobby.
No manger or desk keeper or even a doorman greeted the bell or Elliot's call.
Olivia didn't like this at all, she could tell by Elliot's body language he felt the same way.
"Think they knew we were coming?" Olivia thought out loud.
Elliot shrugged and noted the damaged floor lift with an 'out of order' sign written on a cardboard box flap, "I don't know, unless their all vigilantes or murders?"
Olivia had enough, she stepped around the desk and noted a half eaten sandwich with dark lettuce edges, runny cheese, various condiments and chucked ham. Small flies darted around the feast; she wisped them away with her hand, natural human reaction. They only returned after she stopped moving her hand one was even caught in the watery mustard.
Then she noticed the aqua blue-colored ashtray with a partially smoked joint in, it was still burning next to a smoldering cone of incense.
Have to tell Narcotics about that…Shame on you…
She flipped around the stacked papers, junk mail, building requests, a parking ticket, a fade copy of The Times, a dog-eared porn magazine, then avail, the building register.
Olivia flipped through the yellowing pages searching for her name and room; Elliot scanned the row of building mailboxes, the ceiling fan slowly circulated overhead churning the strong incense and weak marijuana.
"She doesn't have a box or she's here under a different name." Elliot reported then walked over to her, the television reception continuing to change with his every step.
"Found her, its spelt differently though, Kathryne Ballingir." She indicated to the blue ink written name.
"Apartment five-B." She added as the two headed toward the dimly lit stairwell, they walked two flights in the slight humidly and musk to level B.
Down the long hallway, counting the room numbers as they went by, someone was cooking cabrito, a dog yapped at their steps in another room and a radio hummed somewhere else.
Five-B.
Elliot instinctively placed his hand on the butt of his Glock then pounded the door, Olivia felt herself reaching for her own weapon.
The soft patter of feet could be heard and the sound of a tea-kettle hissing, then it was stanched.
Now the foot falls changed in the direction of the door.
This is it, she was going to open that door. Can't breath…Olivia felt adrenaline course through her body, then the urge to vomit. She stifled it.
There was a soft click and rattling of chain locks before the door opened, politely.
Cate Monty.
Burn tissue exposed for all to see.
In the flesh, face to face, she didn't seem scared or flushed by them at all.
Soft facial features, except for the fading purple ring around her left eye and finger nail scratches at her temple, magnified by the recently bleached blonde hair.
Purple and blue knuckles, even some split flesh at her joints, crisscrossed shut with small dissolvable stitches.
She made them immediately.
"Do you have a warrant for my arrest or a warrant for anything?" She asked politely.
"No, but we can get one." Elliot hissed hackles up, fist clenched on the hilt of his holstered gun.
"Well, you can do that. But I won't be here when you get back." Cate replied, un-hostilely.
"We'll wait with you." Olivia grasped her cell phone and dialed for Cragen, reported the positive ID, requested back up and the warrant.
Cate nodded, "Want to wait inside, then?" She swung the door open as if they where guests, totally unafraid of them.
That made Elliot very edgy and Olivia nervous.
She knew we where coming…She's prepared…The voices of intuition and survival whispered in Olivia's mind.
Cate backed away from the door to create space for them to enter.
"I don't suppose either of you will take tea if I offer it?" She sided stepped to the opened kitchen.
Barefoot and tall she moved the dented kettle aside and carefully added the small ground leaves to the boiled water.
"No, we'd prefer that you would just come and sit in the living room." Elliot said sternly, she was going to run or pull something he knew it.
"This is my apartment you have no warrant, yet. So I can do whatever I want." She replied in a teacher like tone, her back still to them, mixing the kettle's contents.
"Just a request, we'd be all the more lenient if you corporate." Elliot added.
She huffed, "Just a request, I know that and you do know you can't arrest a dead woman, right?"
It happened, what the two partners feared most in this dangerous situation happened.
She was so quick Elliot managed to only pull his gun out halfway from its holster and fired prematurely into the sheet rocked wall in front of the kitchen, before the small dart pierced him at the soft hollow of his throat. He was immobilized, immediately and collapsed onto the finely swept floor, paralyzed.
She threw it with her hand. He couldn't believe it.
Olivia watched Elliot fall as she tore her own gun from its holster, leveled it at Cate who was readying another dart with her name on it, squeezed the trigger, only to hear a click that echoed throughout the room. It was loudest sound Olivia ever heard.
Her gun misfired.
Before she could pull the trigger again and discharge the sterile shell, she felt the dart drill into the flesh at the joint of her jaw and lower right ear. A tingling feeling spread up her face and down her body at electrocuting speed, her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the floor, useless.
Nothing happened for a moment as Cate stepped over the two, still conscious but paralyzed detectives and shut her apartment door.
Cate dragged the two officers to more comfortable positions and removed the darts.
They where both alert and could hear her, but had no control of their bodies; they were both sacred, she could see that.
Cate Monty's grotesque crime scenes started tearing through their minds.
Would they be flayed alive like Jack Kershaw?
Where their skulls going be gouged open like Mark Garston?
Where their stomachs going be pulverized like Christopher Harris?
Or maybe they would be lacerated beyond recognition like Bensyn Connors?
They didn't know and they where totally at Cate Monty's mercy.
"The agent on these darts is perfectly harmless. It will purge itself fully from your bodies the next time you pass waste. It will wear off in twenty minutes or so and cause no permanent damage, I assure you both. I have no intention of killing either of you so stop looking so scared." Now she was moving about the apartment loading up a black duffle with various items and slipped some shoes on.
She was at her door about to leave within minutes when Elliot started to regain control of his mouth and vocal cords.
"Wait," he called to her, it sounded muffled and distorted, but she knew what he said, Cate paused at the door and looked back at him.
"Why are you doing this?" He was getting stronger now and was able to flex some fingers.
"Exacting my vengeance?"
He nodded, awkwardly.
"They murdered my children, then destroyed me and so I'll kill them. Two wrongs do make a right."
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"Hey, Munch, I'm making a coffee run, wanna come with me?" The slightly tired Nadia Sands asked her seasoned counterpart.
"What's wrong with ours?" John said over a yawn and recapped his pen finishing another report on a bust Monty tip.
"Moretti finished the last of it, we have no singles or crystals left in the station. I thought about chewing the filter but then thought better of it."
"What, you're not going to make the run with Gage?"
"He went to meet a source."
"Fin?"
"He still interviewing."
"Elliot? Olivia?"
"What the hell, Munch! Their on a lead. Do you not want to be scene in public with me?" She asked sarcastically, clutching her average chest.
Munch rolled his eyes stood up and slipped his jacket back on from the back of his chair.
"Yeah, that's it. You take orders?"
"Yep, only a few though. I ain't waitressing for everybody, but I will grab some crystals on the way. But you know, I just needed some real coffee." She shrugged.
"Where'd you have in mind?"
"This lil'coffee shop on tenth and Harper, Benny's. Know it?"
He shook his head as the two walked out of the crowed and humming station toward the open street.
"Can we walk to this joint?" John questioned.
"Yeah, it's not too far." She replied as the two started to walk east.
After a few moments of silence John decided to tease her a bit.
"So, what's building jumping?" He asked still focusing on the course he was walking.
She huffed, "Stabler told ya, huh."
"Yep. What is it?"
"The name's kind of self-explanatory, jump from building top to building top."
"Ok. Why on earth would you be doing that?"
She shrugged her head to the side and stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets.
"Practice."
"Practice?" He was taken aback some, "Practice for what?"
"Hell, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Probably right, but try me anyway."
"I wasn't always a cop."
"Yeah, me neither."
She nodded, knowing he wasn't taking her to seriously, "I mean I use to be on the other side of the law, you know, the wrong side, but never in America. Except for the two cars I stole when I was sixteen."
"Ok, I'm still listening."
"I was an art thief, ok."
He paused, "An art thief?" He'd decided to play with this a bit more.
"Why'd you quit?"
"I was caught, after four major heists. My partner soled me out and I served the time. After I got out I decided to call it quits, but not till I got him back."
"You're serious." John said locking eyes with her.
Nadia looked back at him, they were both nearly at eye level, John an inch or so taller.
"Dead serious, I come from a family of thieves, all since retired."
"So, why are you with Special Victims? You seem more suited to Robbery."
She nodded, "That's where I've been trying to get reassigned. I left Narcotics on a bad note, a bust gone terribly wrong and I had been thinking about a transfer for a while. No spots where opened in Robbery, but one in SVU or Vice and I wasn't going to play hooker either."
John smiled, "But you'd be so good at it." He said it before he could stop himself.
Nice move. Do you want a sexual harassment suit slapped on you? She knows I was kidding, right?
Nadia smiled at his comment as they crossed the street, "I was never much of a call girl, even when I was playing thief."
John nodded, Good, not offended.
"So, an art thief and car thief. What else can you do?"
She shrugged some, "Hustle, count cards, pick locks, hotwire, rig most games and pick pockets. General thievery."
"Pick pocket?
"Yeah."
"Could you pick mine?"
"Is that a proposition?" She asked modestly, with fake innocence.
It wasn't, but he chose to play along.
John rolled his eyes again, Maybe she can't be offended.
"Oh yes. Big proposition." John waved both his hands sarcastically.
Nadia smirked, "Yeah, I'll pick your pocket and I really mean take your wallet," she emphasized, "the next day or so. Give you a chance to forget it."
"I look forward to it." He said politely as they reached their destination, he opened the small coffee shop glass door for her.
"Bet you do." She smirked walking in first.
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"My Gat-damned toaster oven! Who shot my Gat-damned toaster oven!"
The voice was muffled and pissed as it passed up though the floor.
Elliot slowly regained control his lower limbs as he noted where his bullet had gone.
There was medium sized blast in the sheet rock in front of the open kitchen leading to the man made projectile forced downward into the apartment below.
Countless days in the practice range and I kill a toaster oven, he thought depressingly.
"Olivia, how are…Can you feel anything yet?" Elliot asked wearily cupping her face and gripped shoulder with his what little coordination he had.
"Yeah, I can feel my face and some of my right arm." She flexed her fingers as proof, "What she hit us with?"
"I don't know, it's not lethal, at least not yet," he muttered as he pulled out his radio and called for ambulance, they could already hear the sirens of the back up they called earlier.
"I'm going to so kick her ass for this." Olivia said off the record, then she eyed her gun, lying discarded on the floor, she could see the safety was off, but it still misfired.
Elliot chuckled at her change of mood, "Yeah, get in line."
The situation was more embarrassing then anything.
Two professional police detectives with at least twenty years worth of law enforcement between them, they had seen things from the bizarre to the heinous, to the dangerous and intense. Then a whack-job vigilante with no shoes on paralyzes them both with darts she threw with her hand.
And they were armed.
Elliot moved both legs still sitting and then made the decision to try to stand; he gripped the edge of the couch then forced his feet beneath him and pushed hard.
Olivia watched intently as he found his footing, and awkwardly coordinated as he knelt and fumbled for his gun, clicked the safety back on then holstered it.
Olivia felt her own strength returning and decided to attempt to stand too, to be independent once more.
She struggled and could hear their back up storming up the stairwell, bit hard forcing herself up, a little too quickly, she lost her footing and Elliot caught her quickly.
"Careful." He pushed his statement, gripping her upper torso, gently.
"I got it." She placed a hand against his Kevlar protected chest, a signal for him to let go, he did just as the SWAT team battery-rammed the apartment door open and stormed in with assault rifles and full, black combat gear on into the small apartment.
"She's gone." They said in unison.
The few SWAT team members that could actually fit into the pathetically small apartment lowered their hackles and the leader called the place clear after a quick sweep.
Cragen entered, blazer removed with his own vest on.
Pissed too.
"What happened?"
"She…darted us." Elliot started, slightly embarrassed by his vocabulary choice for the immobilization.
"Darted? She did what?" Cragen's eyes bore into his two subordinates
"After I made the call, she invited us in. We both had our guard up while we watched her. I've never seen anyone move that fast in my life. She didn't have anything in her hand then she did, darts with some kind of paralyzing agent. She got us both. She said it was harmless and would wear off in twenty minutes and left." Olivia answered obviously embarrassed by the entire thing.
Cragen was dumbstruck.
He was about to snap, they could both see it, he took a deep breath to composed himself.
They had been so close.
"I want a full report from both of you, before you two clock out. Right now get down stairs, greet that bus and get checked out." He waved them off and clicked his own radio requesting a CSU team.
They nodded and about to start their walk of embarrassment.
Olivia finally managed to pick up her sidearm to investigate it as she and Elliot made their way out of the apartment.
She removed the clip and pulled the chamber to eject the faulty bullet.
She noticed the firing pin indentation in the bullet's primer, felt another chill run up her spine, it should have fired.
Why didn't it fire?
"You ain't gonna
stop her, don't you know that? She's sent by God to do what you
can't, but what you dream of."
The old woman's words echoed in her mind as she stared at the bullet's clearly indent primer.
Could be a dud, faulty primer. You've seen those before. One in every box…
"She's sent by God…"
Olivia tried to push the disturbing and confusing thoughts from her mind, palming the cold copper and lead, the bow to the violin of defense and death.
"… to do what you can't, but what you dream of."
(End Chapter Seven)
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A/N: Should I keep posting? 'Cause no one is reviewing and it's making me wonder…if you are reading please review and give me some reinforcement. I could really use some.