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.
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Reviews: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
SVU Lover4ever: Thanks dude, that would be my dyslexia rearing its ugly, gnarled head.
Point Of Impact: Thanks for the confidence and reinforcement…and I kind of found out with some help why I don't have very many reviews…but I remedied it. YEAH! I sort of rock!
OrionandSilver: You made my day, dude! Left me a nice, fat, juicy review that I really needed. Monday was a real shitty day for me. You've noticed lots of things, sweet! No, Elliot and Olivia are a no go. The whole 'shred of jealousy' thing, that's just a sort of over protective partner thing. Also the superhuman powers w/ Monty, that's not so true. She normal, not quite average, just really strong and can jump tall buildings and other stuff, she's multitalented. Thanks again!
Wolfwood11: Bless you! Thank you so much for pointing that out to me. I felt like an idiot! I didn't even know the anonymous reviews weren't enabled. Here I am wondering 'What the hell I have over 350 hits and no one is reviewing!' Thanks again, anonymous reviewers feel free to chew me out about it.
Kiki: Thanks!
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A/N: Whoa, this is a long one. Something really important in this chapter, there is a combat scene. I would really appreciate it if ya'll would tell me how clear it is to read.
I mean can you envision the fight, at all. Scale of one to ten should work; one can't see it at all, five I got the idea, ten totally saw it.
Really appreciate it and on with the show!
Also: Remember when I mentioned in the first chapter that this story had some adult themes and really gory stuff? Recall that? Yeah, anyway, you'll get the first small taste of what I meant. Please govern yourselves accordingly. M rating is here for a reason.
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Chastity Cherri Chambers did indeed have a photographic memory or so it appeared that she did. Her description was clear and perfect. Hopefully she was being accurate about Lengsfield Philips appearance. Her memory of him was very aged, nearly eight years old.
Once the rendering was complete Chastity took her leave with Elliot's promise of an entire case of Kilroy's Apple Brandy on her doorstep before Halloween.
Maybe, depends if it pays off. Elliot sulked.
Elliot and Olivia where now headed down to the dingy and dry level of the precinct packed with hard copies of every criminal in the Tri-State.
The two split in the large room lit by several fluorescents, one fluttered from white to black, there where file cabinets and case boxes stacked everywhere.
Olivia pulled the cabinet drawer marked 'Pan through Phi' and leafed over the dog-eared manila tabs, while Elliot searched the cabinet drawer next to her 'Ran through Rus'.
Olivia skimmed over the files, then did it again and then once more her frustration fueling.
"It's gone. Yours?"
Elliot leafed once more to make sure, then nodded, "Yeah, someone's been here. Someone's on the inside or we're getting to close."
"Shit." Olivia hissed slamming the file drawer shut, the metallic handle vibrating in her grip, "First we have leak to the press and now this." The stress was bending hard on her.
Elliot nodded closing his drawer quietly, "Chastity did say he has some cops in his back pocket."
Olivia shrugged, "I'll be so glad when this is over." She turned and pressed her back against the unconformable cabinet; it shifted slightly under her weight. Her eyes lingered up at the flickering fluorescent, then down when something shinny caught her eye.
She peered at the small square, a photo caught beneath another file cabinet; Olivia pushed off the cabinet, couching to pick up the photo.
"What you find?" Elliot questioned as she stood, dusting the floor particles and a dust bunny off the slick photo's image.
She stared at the image; shock in her eyes then flipped it over reading the label pasted on the backside:
'Lengsfield Philips 4-16-1992'
"I hope you connections with Quincy are real good." She smiled; the photo was a spiting image of what Chastity described.
"What?" Elliot took the photo and allowed the image to fill his eyes; She really does have a photographic memory.
"Well, whoever was here…they left in a real hurry." Elliot murmured.
The photo must have been slung out of Lengsfield Philips's file. Elliot thought to himself.
"How do you think he's connected to all of this?" Elliot wondered aloud.
Olivia shrugged, "I don't like to speculate."
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The rest of the day consisted of contacting the individuals of the forty-six edited files and interviewing them about Lengsfield Philips and Jon Rice. The ones that allowed the interviews played dumb, saying they didn't know why either one was listed on their files. Others ignored the officer's request; they didn't have probable cause. Why should they even talk to them?
What was worse, Cragen had to report to his superiors about the deletion and editing of certain files, an internal investigation would be conducted soon.
As for now, they continued their investigation about Cate Monty, cross-referencing, running down more leads and learning whatever they could about Lengsfield Philips and Jon Rice.
One dead end after another and Cate Monty went quiet again, Braddock at the moment her last victim.
"Ugh, Lord." Nadia moaned quietly as she pulled her fringe leather jacket on, her shoulder still ached immensely.
It was a little after midnight and she was throwing the towel in, at least for the day.
She desperately needed some painkillers for her shoulder too, the little kit of pharmaceutical medicines in her in desk just wasn't cutting it; Advil and Ibuprofen just to name a few and that flask filled with her father's homemade moonshine (that could strip primer off a car) wouldn't help her much in this situation. Those prescription painkillers she managed to leave on her bathroom sink would though.
Fin went home nearly twenty minutes ago, just like everyone else, he was totally exhausted.
Cragen was on his way out too but not for a while, he was still dealing with the Chief of Detectives in his office.
Elliot and Olivia walked out of the precinct around the same time Fin did, Nadia couldn't help but think back to earlier in the day when she walked in on Olivia vomiting in the ladies room.
When she asked if there was anything she could do, for example bring her something to settle her stomach Olivia brushed her off, on the verge of snapping at her, Nadia could see it.
Nadia had a fairly stable theory on what was ailing Olivia, but she was going to keep the theory to herself till the appropriate time, like when Olivia came clean about it to the entire squad.
When is that's going to happen? She's more stubborn than you are.
Then Andrew left not five minutes ago, now he'd had been acting odd all day. She hadn't known him for a long time, four or five weeks now. They had only worked a few cases together, she felt they had a good thing going, but at the same time she didn't fully trust him.
He acted even odder when he got a text message on his personal cell phone; he excused himself for the evening and took off rather quickly.
That left her and John who was coming out of one of the interrogation rooms; he looked exhausted and was carrying several manila folders in the crook of his arm.
Nadia pulled her hair out from under the nape of her jacket, packed up her cell and badge about to leave herself.
"John, I'm headed home. Wanna share a cab?" Nadia called to him readjusting her shoulder holster in the process.
John glanced up at the nearest clock and rubbed his eyes, "Yeah, I can't do much of anything else here." He yawned, clicking his desk light off and slipped his jacket on.
Nadia nodded knowing there was nothing else that could be done this evening, as he followed her to the large elevator.
Nadia pressed the lobby button and stretched some while John leaned against the back elevator wall.
She smiled privately and reached into her back pocket producing a worn billfold. John eyed the billfold tiredly; it seemed oddly familiar then recognized it as his own.
He huffed, "When did you do it?" He asked recalling their conversation on the way to her coffee shop, while she opened the worn wallet.
"A thief never reveals her tactics." She smiled eyeing his driver's license.
"Ok, give it back." John reached for it as she started to rifle through its contents.
She moved to the side some keeping it from his grasp, "I always get to look at what I've stolen. I'll give it back, promise…You're very photogenic." She commented on his various photo ids.
John rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, "Do you always flirt with your co-workers?"
"No, just you." She played back and pulled out the lottery ticket given to him by Vince Connors a few days ago.
"Lotto? I would have never pegged you for a lottery player." She eyed the number then her mouth dropped some.
"I'm not, it's a long story." He didn't want to go into details about his conversation with Vince Connors.
"What's with your jaw?" He questioned as she read the inked number on the paper ticket.
42772.
"Did you pick these numbers?"
"No."
"Seriously?"
"No, I didn't…It was given to me."
She shrugged and slipped the ticket back into its compartment and handed the busting wallet back to him.
"What's so special about the numbers?" He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as he replaced his wallet, this time in his front pocket.
"It's my birth date." Just then the elevator stopped, it had reached its destination.
"Are you for real?" John asked as the two headed out into the darken lobby.
"Yep, scouts honor." She lifted her hand as proof.
"You were in the scouts?" He questioned in total doubt.
"No." She smirked.
He was about to retort when she called out to the night guard seated behind the entrance lobby desk, "Hey, Marley."
"Naidee." He night guard replied looking up from his crossword, she ran over to his large podium desk, wrapped her hands underneath the upper lip of the desk and lifted her legs off the floor in a rush of hyper energy.
"What are you doing!" She called unprofessionally, John come to a stop next to her.
"My dead end job." Marley replied un-frazzled by her burst of energy.
"No. You're going to be moving up soon. I know, it's in the cards, baby."
He shrugged and John watched the playful banter back and fourth.
"So, do you have tonight's lotto numbers?" She purred, John looked over at her hesitant, she ignored his stare.
"Yeah, lost again." He filtered his fingers through a nearby pile of papers; sticky notes, Eugene's Mint Gum wrappers, business cards and other small scraps of paper, until he found the desired rectangle of paper with newly written numbers on it and handed it to her.
Nadia who had already placed both of her feet on the floor again, scanned the rectangle; she refused to let the numbers shock her.
42772.
It was match, John had the winning ticket.
She showed it John who faded from his regular pale to an even whiter shade.
"What is the jackpot tonight?" She asked nonchalantly handing the ticket back to Marley.
"A mill. Some lucky bastard won out there." He muttered dropping the ticket back in the pile of abstract scraps.
"Yeah," Nadia held the back quiver in her voice. "Some lucky bastard."
Who is standing right next to me.
John stopped talking, but then again he never started.
"Well, night Marley." She purred taking the dumbstruck John Munch by the arm and herded him toward the lobby exit.
"Night, Naidee." He replied going back to his crossword.
John still hadn't spoken even as Nadia was ranting about how lucky he was and how he had to tell her how he came to possess that ticket.
She tried to hail another cab with her good shoulder and it passed her by again.
"Ass!" She screamed at the taxi's fading taillights.
"One million…" John murmured for the first time since seeing the numbers written on Marley's sterile ticket.
Nadia looked back at the stupefied Detective who was ranting at his own pace on the dark street.
"John." She grabbed him by both wrists to pull him out of his own world, "John!" She said more firmly, he continued to babble, "John Munch!" She nearly screamed shaking his wrists.
"What? What?" He cried at her forcefulness.
"You done?" She asked at his abrupt cease of ranting.
He paused the last few minutes running through his mind, "Why did your friend write down the winning numbers? And is he accurate?"
"It's a habit for him, he's done that the entire time I've known him. Trust me dude, he wrote down the right numbers." She tried to wave down another cab, it passed her again.
"Oh come on!" She yelled at the taxi.
John became very quiet again causing Nadia to look his way, with concern.
"Nadia, don't tell anyone about this." He said very seriously.
She nodded understanding, "I won't, don't worry. Just don't spread around the word around that I was an art thief, 'k."
"I hardly believe that myself. Why would I tell anyone that?" He said before he could stop.
Nadia rolled her eyes and sighed in annoyance, "I did pick your pocket. Shit, you can't even figure out when I did it."
"Sorry." John muttered detecting her annoyance; she hailed a cab once more this time it stopped.
"John, we still have to focus on this case, you know that. I suggest you confirm the numbers for your own curiosity and stick that ticket in a safety deposit box. You have like a week or so to claim the reward." She instructed as she opened the cab door and took her seat on the smooth vinyl.
John followed taking her words seriously; it was the best course of action for his situation.
Everything felt so surreal to him at the moment.
"Where too?"
"Parker Apartments and…." She looked at John expectantly.
"Oh and Brush Apartments." He added.
After a few minutes of silence John decided to tease her again just for the hell of it.
"Is—I mean are those numbers really your birth date?" He questioned.
"Yeah."
He did the math quickly in his mind, "Your thirty-three, then."
"You can count." She said sarcastically, smiling in the darkness.
"You look at a lot older than that." He lied in the dark seat, wanting to get a rise out of her.
"Oh, screw you!" She hissed playfully knowing he was kidding and shoved him some.
"Really?" He replied in fake hope.
She rolled her eyes in the darkness, "Don't let all that wealth go to your head, now."
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The same night.
'Alfreda's, 12:30 tonight. Do not be late.'
Oh shit.
Andrew Gage shut his personal flip phone after reading the text message.
He could almost feel Lengsfield Philips rage from emitting from the message.
He's knows about the sketch and photo.
"I'm gonna call it a night, Nadd." Andrew lied to his partner, Nadia shifted at her desk in the process of filling out her last report; she noticed the slight frailty in his voice.
She nodded covering her mouth to hide the yawn, "'K. Take it easy, partner. See you tomorrow."
If I live though the night.
"Yeah, night." He called heading toward the elevator, he pressed the button for the garage contemplating his possible death tonight at Lengsfield Philips hands as the floor numbers fluttered by on the elevator control panel.
He was in a haze when he reached the garage level; he didn't know how long he had stood there in the cage, wasting precious time before the elevator doors closed jarring him back to the present.
He glanced at his watch, 12:12, he was going to have to run some red lights and roll through some stop signs if he wanted to make to Alfreda's on time.
Andrew made a mad dash to his vehicle, an 'eighty-six Dodge Charger, complete with all options for that year and a few surprises under the hood, not quite street legal.
But who's going to pull me over?
He exited the garage as quickly as he could, trying to speed up his check out time with the gate guard and managed to drag the back bumper of the Charger on the exit curb, and he wasn't going to stop to check the damage.
The little black Charger tore down busy and empty streets, rolling through stops signs, cutting off other vehicles, passing erratically and tearing by red lights.
He cursed himself for not installing a police light and siren in this vehicle when he took on Lengsfield's latest mission, to infiltrate the Special Victims Unit.
12:24, the digital clock glowed on the vehicles' dash.
Only a block away…come on!
He stomped the gas pedal passing through another red light narrowly clipping another vehicle. The other driver leaned on her horn but Andrew didn't look back.
The Charger passed over a high rise in the road and the neon sign for Alfreda's Fine Italian Dinning came into view, some of the letters where fading and others flickered weakly.
He skipped flipping his turn signal on and instead cut off another on-coming car; he earned a disgruntled horn and the screech of the other car's brakes.
Andrew ignored them too.
He parked in the back of the quiet parking lot, rushed from his vehicle, not bothering to lock it and entered through the restaurants' back kitchen door.
The smells of sweet and spicily foods of Italian origin filled his nostrils and caused his mouth to water, it caused him to remember that he and Nadia had skipped lunch, trading it for another bust lead.
"Ah, Jonny-boy! Who hit you?" One of the cooks called to him pointing at his own nose.
Andrew recalled the car accident last night, "Oh, this is nothing. You should have seen the other guy." He lied.
The cook laughed whole heartedly and turned back to the dish he was preparing.
Andrew said his various hellos to other kitchen employees, quickly, trying to gain entry to the private dining room, where he knew Lengsfield Philips was waiting for him.
"Hey, Jonny." A sultry soaked and strong husky voice called to Andrew.
He turned to see Elettra Acardi, Alfreda's head waitress and Andrew's occasional friend with benefits.
She seductively winked at him as she clipped another dinning order to the clean carousel.
"Hey." He replied lost in her natural scent and eyes for a moment.
"Do you want an escort to the back room?" She purred.
For a spilt second he thought about saying yes, escort meant a slight detour to the storage room and fucking (quickly) against the hinge damaged door and Elettra always wound up throttling something, probably be the nearest shelf of dried food stuffs next to them, thoroughly shaking the items off the shelves onto the floor, but he didn't have time for that right now.
No matter how enticing the offer.
"I think I know my way."
"Suit yourself and don't be a stranger." She purposely brushed her hand over his crotch while passing out the kitchen doors. He tried his best to stifle the moan that escaped his lips and his body from reacting.
He shoved his libido aside with all the energy he would allow and exited out the side kitchen doors down the lovely lit corridor to the private dinning room.
"Jon." Paris Hart, Lengsfield Philips's bodyguard greeted him outside the private dinning room door.
"Paris." Andrew replied removing his shoulder holstered .three fifty-seven police issue Glock, then his own ankle holstered nine millimeter Beretta, handing them both to Pairs.
He placed them on the short foyer table next to him, Andrew looked at him expectantly.
"What, you're not going to frisk me?" Andrew questioned.
Paris waved his leather gloved hand at him and opened the private dinning room door, "Just go in."
Andrew did as he was instructed and entered the small, one table dinning room.
"Take it my, dear."
"Oh, Lengs, it's too much, I can't."
"Please, you're going to hurt my feelings if you don't." Lengsfield Philips's wrapped his fingers over the ample envelope of what Andrew was certain contained several Benjamin's and pressed it into Alfreda Zunino's palm.
Alfreda nodded, "Thank you so much for this gift. Angela will love it, she'll want to repay you for it, you know that, right."
Lengsfield laughed and nodded, "Yes, I know. She can paint me something, I would love to have one of her paintings."
Alfreda smiled, "I'll see to it that she does." She leaned in and kissed him gingerly on the cheek knowing it was time to take her leave.
"Hello, Jon." She smiled at Andrew and slipped out of the private dinning room, now chatting with Paris quietly on the other side of the door.
Lengsfield Philips leaned back slightly in his chair, eyeing Andrew Gage's broken nose in particular, like an animal about to attack.
Andrew felt naked and vulnerable, especially without his weapons.
Finally Lengsfield gestured for him to have seat at the table.
Once he was seated Lengsfield lifted his chair some and moved it right next to Andrew, he felt edgy as a result.
His superior tugged a briefcase out from under the table and produced a manila folder, laying it on the table still close; the edges touched the half-full bread basket and various spices placed in the middle of the table.
Lengsfield pushed the briefcase back to its original spot and opened the folder.
Andrew felt his heart drop, just as he feared; he eyed the folder's contents, a copy of the photograph Olivia had recovered in the filing room and a copy of Mickey Blue's police sketch.
"Jon…Jon…Jon. Place your hands on top of the table and leave them there…flat."
Andrew felt his throat constrict in fear and a heat in his eyes as he laid his hands flat on the table.
"Do you want to tell me why another one of my police implants had to have an emergency meeting with me a few hours ago and tell me my photo was circulating throughout the NYPD precincts?" Lengsfield asked quickly, grabbing Andrew's crotch in a death grip.
Andrew jerked and nearly kicked the table over, "Keep your hands flat!" Lengsfield hissed squeezing harder.
Andrew did as he ordered, his eyes welling with tears from the excruciating agony.
"I thought you took care of this, Jon."
"I did!" He whispered high.
"Then why is the NYPD looking for me?"
"I don't know!"
"No, I think you do. You had a simple job, get close to the hit, ruin his family and life then kill him, a simple task." He gripped Andrew's crotch harder to emphasize.
Andrew nodded knowing, he was on the verge of begging for mercy.
"I know your situation has changed because Cate Monty is back in the picture and I too am surprised she is still alive," he touched his free hand to his chest, "I expected that Bensyn would have killed her the same with Bale, but no, she killed them both."
Lengsfield tapped the table cloth gingerly with his empty hand.
"I really don't want to bring Anita into this. And I don't think I have too, at least not yet. But when you get Cate Monty in your sights I want you to take her out. And if you have the opportunity to make her suffer, do it slowly. Understand me?"
Andrew nodded his eyes where glazing over and he was about to pass out. Lengsfield released his grip and Andrew sighed massively turning his chair over onto the tile; he curled up on the floor holding his throbbing crotch and floated through skull splitting pain.
"I don't want to have this conversation with you again. If the NYPD finds me I will end you. I want the target ruined and dead and I want Monty dead. Still understand me?"
Andrew could feel the torrent of vomit threatening to expel itself from his body.
"Yes." Andrew replied his vocal chords straining.
"Good. Now get the fuck out of here and carry on with your hits."
Andrew let his harsh words stumble over him as he arched face down on the floor, still holding his crotch. His knees buckled under him as he attempted to stand, he steadied himself on the overturned chair, still cupping his stinging member.
He finally stood awkwardly, limping toward the exit to collect his firearms and to ice his crotch when would finally make it home.
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The Seventeen Day
August 26, 2005 Friday
1:14 am.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Dickie. Why are you up so late?" Elliot asked genuinely over the phone line.
"Well hello to you too. Its still summer. What's going on up there?"
"What do you mean?"
"I heard on the news there's some vigilante or something running around the city."
Elliot closed his eyes tiredly; he hadn't realized the news of Cate Monty had reached Baltimore. Kathy had taken the kids to visit her parent's summer home for a few weeks while he, continued working.
The divorce counseling had created a shaky, somewhat stable, civil relationship between the divorcees. It was similar to the weather, sometimes clear and breezy, other time's torrent and vicious. But there was progress, sickly and weak, but progress nonetheless.
Right now the relationship was civil and clear at the moment, Elliot was content with that and felt Kathy was too. But he wondered how long it would last.
"Yeah, Dickie. It's a big mess, say is your Mom awake?"
"Yeah, just a minute…Mom! It's Dad. He wants to talk to you!"
Elliot could hear his son walk though various parts of the house, he overheard a television, some talking and the voices he recognized as his ex-in-laws and the sound of dishes being clattered around.
It sounded like a party, one he wasn't apart of, he felt a pang of jealously and resentment.
Here he was in the city, in his quiet apartment, alone and missing his children, while searching for a dead woman.
The phone clicked as it was passed around, "Hello."
"Hi, Kathy."
"Elliot, what's wrong? You're ok, right?" She could sense imbalance in her ex-husband.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just checking in on you and the kids. Everything going smooth down there?"
"Yeah, everything's great you know. Lizzie and Dickie found a puppy yesterday and are convinced their going to get to keep it."
Elliot chuckled at that, "Are you going to let them?"
"What? Take that little mongrel back to the city where they'll lose interest, then I'll be stuck walking the pup in the middle night scooping up his special brown. I don't think so, so I'm going to talk my Mom and Dad into taking the little mangy mutt in. So they can visit the sucker whenever."
Elliot nodded, "Sounds like a plan."
"Elliot, what's wrong? I heard about that Monty woman in the city. What's going on?"
Elliot was leaning against his apartment wall staring out the window at the light pollution hovering over the city on the bright evening.
"She's…She's really screwed up, Kathy. She's a vigilante or murder I don't know what to call her. But she's taking out people that I have to deal with everyday, rapists to child molesters and even drug dealers. The city is pretty torn about her too, some agree with her others are against her."
Kathy paused, moving a sliding glass door and stepping out on her parent's porch deck, to get some privacy from their kids and her parents.
"And what do you think? About her I mean."
Elliot allowed her words to mull over him; he rubbed at his temples with his free hand while watching an airplane's lights fade over the city.
"I don't know, Kathy. I mean I don't know the real situation about her. She claims that her two children where murdered by a group of people and now she's picking their killers off one by one. And I'm trying so hard not to look at this like a father, I don't even know if what she claims it's true."
"Well, when you catch her you should ask her."
Elliot had a quick flash to the small conversation he had with Monty back at her apartment and chose no to tell Kathy about it.
"I will."
Kathy nodded to the darken sky over Baltimore, eyeing the only star she could see, "Are you really ok, Elliot?" Sensing there was more to his late night phone call.
"Yeah, yeah. Could you put one of the kids on? I want a report from all of them about your mother's tofu cooking."
Kathy huffed at his comment and allowed him to evade the question, "It tastes just the same as when you had to eat it."
Elliot smiled into the receiver, "Thanks, Kathy."
She felt a smile of her own while she slid the glass door back open, "Maureen, phone call!"
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1:46 a.m, the same morning.
Cate Monty stretched her back while focusing on the seven-foot tall chain link fence, popping her fingers in the flexible leather gloves and turned her neck both ways.
No turning back now, get this done right.
She was alone in the dark alleyway preceding the 647 Richardson building, save for the speckled tabby on a nearby garbage can, the uncountable alley rats and other various night creatures.
She had studied the 647 Richardson blueprints days prior, she saw to it that she knew every nook and cranny of the building.
It was another apartment building, sixty stories high, including basement level and parking garage.
Six levels where being renovated, two where shut down for water maintenance, while the rest where open for business.
Her goal was to reach the penthouse.
What is with these guys and penthouses?
She walked up to the seven-foot tall obstacle, took a deep breath and intertwined her fingers around the galvanized steel, shaking the fence thoroughly. The tabby took off at the movement and Cate forced her comfortably bound feet in-between the chain links and started to scale the fence.
She climbed quickly, flipping over the slacked barb-wire strung at the top; someone had scaled this fence before, damaging the sharp wire once stretched taut over the galvanized steel.
Cate released her grip on the wire when she reached a safe dropping distance on the opposite side of the fence. She landed softly on the stained concrete, crouched her knees to absorb the impact.
Her fingers and knuckles hurt from the scale causing her to wonder if she was doing this too soon.
She had sustained several injuries from her encounter with Bale Braddock nearly two days ago; she had several lacerations that had taken most of what dissolvable stitching thread she had left.
Cate shook off the thoughts of turning back so she could heal and recover to one-hundred percent, before going after her next target.
No, she couldn't, she was running out of time, those two detectives had gotten way to close for her comfort.
I wonder how it will take them to find me again.
She had to move fast if she was going to take out the other six who killed her children and destroyed her, well, it would be five after tonight.
Cate started jogging down the dark alleyway, moving lightly and stealthily, passed more stray animals that dissipated quickly at her presence. The smells of the alleyway changed with every step from common garbage to vegetation rot.
She kept to the shadows when she finally reached the bottom backside of the 647 Richardson; she knelt at the side doors that lead to a large janitorial closet, produced the small, durable lock pick and went to work on the door lock.
The lock finally clicked and she wrapped her hand around the knob, turning it quietly and slipping in the sterile smelling closet.
It was dark but she knew where to walk, thanks to the blueprints committed to memory, she walked straight and slowly, finally exiting the room.
Next she found herself in a dimly corridor which would route to a stairwell leading up.
She took the steps two at time, quiet and lightly, listening for any other movement other than hers in the stairwell.
The first level turned to the fifth, the fifth to the fifth-tenth, the fifth-tenth to the twentieth; she steadied her breathing as she took the stairs at a quick pace, not wanting to be exhausted when she would confront Kim Ong and kill him.
She paused at the thirty-sixth floor, inhaling the thin smell of tobacco, she looked upward while leaning over the stair railing and noted the pale white haze a few floors up.
Someone was grabbing a quick smoke in the stairwell.
Cate waited for what seemed like forever for the smoker to finish, she heard a rattled and gargled cough, the sound of the cigarette being stomped out on the naked stair step, then landing door being opened and closed forcefully.
She waved the odor way from her nostrils; she could feel her own cough coming on from the assaulting aroma.
Cate walked slowly up the stairs now to avoid the possible gag, then quicken her pace when she found her way out of the manufactured smog.
Her journey up the stairwell continued without incident or other obstacle once she reached the top level, the penthouse.
It would be her and Kim Ong's death arena.
Cate paused outside the penthouse door, listening hard through the door for any movement, he was in there, she knew it. Cate had spent the entire day tailing him, stalking him and sizing him up.
Kim hadn't changed much since that horrible night in her home some six years ago, he hadn't changed his ways either, but had cut his hair though, that was it.
When she was satisfied with what she heard; silence, she produced the lock pick again, trudging against the lock.
It clicked loudly and she froze, listening for any change in the penthouse.
Cate strained her ears, not moving for nearly a minute, nothing changed.
She turned the knob slowly, entering the dark living room erect, closing the door behind her quietly.
Cate waited for her eyes to adjust to her new surroundings, the only light coming from the massive double windows, the soft and dim light pollution spilled into the living room from the city.
She crept through the living room, headed for the bedroom. The silence was deafening in her ears, she could feel the tingle and pump of adrenaline course through her body.
Her heart started beating harder in her ribcage as she approached the already ajar master bedroom door; Cate stepped lightly and pushed the feather hinged door, softly.
The hinges moaned and creaked causing the hair on the back of Cate's neck to stand.
She eyed the dimly lit bedroom; her eyes traveled to the dented pillow, then shifted to the cover strewn bed.
It was empty.
Cate felt a terrible feeling all of the sudden.
I did this too soon.
A sharp floor creak caught her attention, she turned quickly seeing a pissed Kim Ong advance her with an aluminum baseball bat in his grip.
"I've been waiting for you, bitch!" He screamed swinging the bat, creating a cruel hiss in the air.
Cate ducked just in the nick of time, but felt the aluminum graze her spine, causing her back to arch some.
Kim succeed in smashing a lamp on the nearest nightstand into smithereens, the sound shattered the quiet world around Cate.
Still crouched she dove at his mid-section, causing him to lose his grip on the bat, he gasped for air as the two fell on the wooden floor.
Cate forced her body to straddle his waist, pinning him somewhat, she used the temporary advantage to deliver blow upon blow to his unguarded face.
She felt some of the stitches split between her knuckles and heard one the joints in her fist snap.
Kim fought back, attempting to guard his own face with one hand and delivered a well placed ham fist to her lower abdomen. She felt all the air leave her body in a rush and nearly fainted as her legs lost their grip over his waist.
Kim wriggled out from under Cate's collapsed from, reaching for the discarded bat; he moved to a better height and brought the bat down on Cate's unguarded back.
She screamed in agony.
He was readying another swing with the bat when Cate found the strength to roll over and catch the bat in her shaky grip.
Her eyes had filled with hot tears and she wanted to vomit as she wrestled for control of the blunt weapon. The two hissed and cursed each other loudly waking up the lower floor tenants, several of them phoned the police about the disturbance.
Cate knew she was running out of time.
She finally reacted without thinking, placing a strong foot against Kim's crotch; he sobbed for air, buckled at his knees and released the bat.
Kim fell to the floor as Cate withered backwards on the wooden floor, still in excruciating pain from the blow to her back.
Her counterpart cursed her as he held his crotch and Cate forced her back against the king size bed, trying to stand, she finally did, still in blinding pain, the bat in her grasp.
"You bastard!" She screamed bringing the bat down on his fetal curled body.
Kim felt a rib snap under the crushing blow, then shifted quickly guarding his body with his forearms, the agony in his crotch forgotten.
He grasped the bat finally with one hand, the two jerked back and fourth for weapon superiority.
Kim fumbled at his ankle, trying to reach the concealed knife with one hand while he still fought for the bat, a monetary distraction for his enemy.
He finally reached the blade; swiftly removing it from its sheath, then jerked the bat hard again forcing Cate to take a step forward while he thrust the knife toward her stomach.
Cate evaded, seeing the shining, unforgiving steel at the last minute and the blade sunk into her inner thigh, piercing the hidden artery.
Cate screamed releasing the bat and grabbed at her leg, dark blood spurted from the wound; she collapsed backward and slid down the side of the king size bed.
Kim knowing she was incapacitated for the moment, pushed up and onto his feet, the bat still in his fist.
"Stay down," he pointed the bat at her harshly as she tried to stanch the bleeding with her hands. "Just you wait here. I got something for you." He exited out of the bedroom, mumbling things and cursing her name, taking the bat with him.
Cate wept as she held her leg, then started to search for a tourniquet around the room.
A belt, a rope, a tie…Anything!
She knew this was it, that she wasn't going to survive, but she wasn't going to give up either.
Cate shifted her weight dragging her body over to the armoire at the opposite end of the bed. She tore the bottom drawer out, finding it full of rolled socks, she grasped two or three of the rolls, knowing Kim would be back at any minute.
She wrenched the next drawer out and cried out in joy.
Ties!
Silk ties, just what she was searching for.
Cate grasped several with her sticky blood covered, gloved fingers and started to wind them about her leg, just above the knife wound.
Once she tied three of the expensive silk ties, she went to work on the protruding blade, still immersed in her strong, muscled flesh.
"This damn bitch!" She could hear Kim storm about the penthouse, Cate tried to ignore him and focused on the wound.
Cate tenured the rubber gripped hilt and pulled as hard as she could, the knife wound created a sick, sucking sound; she bit hard on her lower lip, nearly screaming, instead moaning in pain very loudly.
"This whore! This bitch killing everyone I know! Shoulda just stayed dead!" Kim called as someone beat on his door; he yelled something at the person knocking then Cate heard him pull the dead bolt.
The knife-wound didn't gush as bad with the tourniquets in place; she tore the trouser pant-leg around the wound to get a better look at what she was dealing with. The room was still dimly lit, the only light spilling into the room from the hallway where Kim turned the wall light on.
Cate felt faint from the blood loss and saw haze in her eyes.
Focus! Come on, you can do this!
Her field medic instincts where still in control as she numbingly pushed the rolls of sock into the wound, gritting her teeth as the foreign objects entered her body. Once she had two in place she wrapped two more ties to hold the socks.
Ok, let's do this.
She felt a new found energy and rage not to give up; she gripped the sticky knife and forced herself to stand. Balancing on the armoire, she tore at the hood used to hide face so she could breathe.
Her sinuses had shut down.
Cate steadied herself then stepped through the sweltering pain of her leg, more adrenaline coursing throughout her body.
She stepped hard through the hallway, searching for her target, ignoring the shear agony she felt with every step.
Kim had retreated to his concealed armory of illegal weapons he had in a back room of the penthouse, he was going to make her suffer, slowly. Not just for Jack, Bensyn and Bale. No, he was going to make her suffer in mind consuming misery for Christopher Harris, one of his dearest and now dead friends.
He palmed the already loaded dual .three fifty-seven's, then thought better off it, dumping them both, he reached for his assault-rifle, an AK forty-seven.
"I'm gonna turn you into Swiss cheese, bitch."
He shoved an extra clip into the back of his jeans waistband and turned out of the armory.
"Is everything ok in there?" It was one of the lower tenants on the opposite side of his door.
"Get lost! This don't concern you!" Kim yelled kicking the door.
Cate moved quietly in the living room as she advanced Kim from behind and sunk the blade into his back
He screamed as she sadistically twisted the knife in his back then pulled it out; he fired the AK prematurely in surprise.
The deadly weapons' force pushed them both back as it fired half a clip into the penthouse door and connecting wall.
Two people were shot in the outside hallway, neither fatally.
Cate wrenched her wounded leg in its socket while she turned away from Kim's falling body. He hit the ground firing six more rounds in rapid succession, each projectile was embed in the ceiling above them, sheet rock and glass rained down on both of the wounded counterparts.
Cate tried to shield her eyes from the failing debris and Kim saw his chance. He pointed the AK at her unguarded body, about to fire when Cate saw his deadly aim.
With her good leg she attempted to kick the illegally civilian owned weapon from his grasp.
She wasn't fast enough; he managed to fire two bullets, one entered her already wounded lower leg and the other nailed her upper abdomen, she lost balance and fell to the ground, the AK clattering to her right.
Cate ignored the discarded weapon and the two new wounds; instead she focused on Kim reaching for the AK.
A miracle, somehow though all the chaos, Cate managed to hold on to Kim's knife. He struggled to reach his gun and Cate brought the knife down on his hand, pinning it to the floor.
He screamed as he felt the precious joints in his hand sever and snap.
Cate tore the knife out of his hand at electrocuting speed and crawled to his battered body, she straddled him once again, feeling one of the silk tourniquets rip as she bent her knee.
Kim grasped her throat with his only functioning hand and squeezed.
Cate felt the exhausting asphyxiation cloud behind her eyes and fought at his grasp with one hand.
He wouldn't release.
With no other option she turned the blade still in her other hand and forced it into his upper forearm.
His grasp faltered some but he refused to let go, an 'I will not give in'look in his eye.
Cate brought the knife down on his chest twice forcing him to let go. She exhaled and inhaled strong stabbing him again once in his chest another in his arm.
He cried out both his arms unless now. Cate sensing he was at his end leaned in to whisper, "Don't worry Ong, its just business."
Kim's eyes clouded over at her statement and Cate shoved the blade into his lower throat severing his spinal cord, ending his retched life. He exhaled while entering death once last time, it sounded wet and blood gargled.
Cate gasped tiredly over the corpse, then reached and started to write her bloody statement on the carpeted floor from the red pool gathering around his head and neck, it was shaky and loose this time. Not steady and precise as all the times before.
I have to get out here.
She released her grip on the weapon, knowing the brass was on its way.
Cate stood warily and stumbled toward the penthouse door, clutching her stomach, she fumbled for locks knowing other concerned tenants where crouching in the hallway from the gunshots.
She hesitantly opened the door and saw the faces of the other tenants, they gasped at her appearance.
Bloody and bruised.
One whispered her name.
She ignored them and stumbled down the hallway, her wounded leg starting to go numb; she held her gushing stomach, while tying to reach the stairwell.
She wasn't going to make it and she knew it.
The elevator at the end of the hall chimed as she grasped at the stairwell doorknob, she didn't see the occupants but knew who it was.
The NYPD.
Cate wrenched the knob and stepped into the dim stairwell; she lost her footing and fell down several of the steps.
She had lost so much blood.
"She went that way!" Cate heard one of the tenants' shout to the officers.
Come on, get up. Now!
She gathered herself onto tried knees reaching for the stairwell railing and stood shakily.
One blood slicked gloved wrapped around the railing the other held the wound oozing at her stomach.
The stairwell door was forced opened and several officers stormed the landing.
"Freeze! NYPD!" One shouted at her, she now had several police issue Glocks pointed at her.
Cate gripped the railing, tear shaped blood drops ran off her glove and fell toward the darkness as she looked down…
…I could…just…let go…
She felt woozy and swift vertigo as she looked sixty stories down to most certain death.
"Cate, just back away." One of the officers called to her calmly, he approached very slowly down the steps.
Cate started to feel cold as her body entered into shock, the world around her faded to black and she felt her sticky grip on the railing loosen, gravity would take care of the rest.
She slipped into unconsciousness and the officer dove at her body to prevent her from falling over the handrail to a quick oblivion.
"Penn, call a bus!" The officer screamed to his partner as he pressed his hand against the stomach wound as Cate's skin started turn a paler shade of white before his very eyes.
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3:54 a.m, the same morning.
Captain Donald Cragen's head had just hit his pillow when his cell rang.
I should have shut that off.
"Cragen," he murmured after he fumbled for the phone in his dark bedroom.
"Donny, this is Mitch."
Cragen's mind processed the voice and name monetarily, he was still in a dim sleep haze.
Mitch Calhoun, Cragen went to the police academy with him, they kept in touch at various times over the years, but they both had hectic careers now. Mitch was a Homicide Captain with the twenty-third precinct.
"Oh, yeah, Mitch. What time is it?"
"3:55, I can't believe you're asleep."
"Well, it is over three in the morning, that's when like to sleep. Mitch, I know this isn't a social call. What's up?"
Mitch paused on the opposite end of the line, "We got her."
Cragen noted his emphasized tone, "Who?"
"What do you mean who, you stupid bastard! Cate Monty! She's at St. Marks as speak, they've been sewing her guts back together. Chief of Detectives said your still in charge of this investigation so I'm just delivering the message and will fill you in when you get here."
Cragen was dumbstruck, She's at the hospital. She's in some form of custody. It's over…
"Don? Donny-boy?" Mitch asked at his stunned silence.
"Mitch, thanks. I gotta call my Squad." Cragen replied coming out of his haze and slinging the bed covers off in a rush to change into some clothing.
"Hey, buy me a drink sometime and well call it even."
"You got it." Cragen answered not giving him a chance to reply, instead hung up.
Cragen fumbled for his clothing as he phoned Olivia who sounded hoarse, then Elliot, he was in a dead to the world sleep, John sounded like he was already awake, Fin was sluggish, Nadia seemed annoyed but excited and Andrew sounded strained but promised to be in soon.
Cragen didn't bother taking his vehicle and instead managed to hail a cab around 4:10 a.m. After an eventless cab ride and the passage of turbulent hospital corridors, he was finally routed to the appropriate level where the elusive Cate Monty was recovering, the intensive care unit.
Captain Mitch Calhoun was there to greet him outside of the intensive care unit, they shook hands formally.
"What happened?" Cragen questioned.
"Monty murdered another person, a Kim Ong," Mitch answered reading the name of his newly produced memo. "He must have known she was coming, they had a firefight."
"Anyone else injured?"
Mitch nodded, "Two neighbors in the building, neither seriously."
"How bad is she injured?"
"I'm not sure yet. The chief surgeon that operated on her is still in with her. She'll be out any minute."
Cragen nodded, just then Olivia, Elliot and Andrew arrived.
"What happened?" Olivia and Elliot asked in unison after Cragen introduced Captain Calhoun, Andrew stayed quiet and seemed to have a slight limp.
"Monty took out another a guy, they had a firefight in the process." Cragen summarized in a slight exhausted haze.
"Who? Where?" Olivia questioned.
"Kim Ong, at the 647 Richardson Apartments." Mitch filled in, "Doctor," Mitch called to the chief surgeon exiting Cate Monty's ICU room.
Olivia racked her brain recognizing the name as one of the affiliations she had been researching.
The chief surgeon nodded heading their way; she rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her back some, obviously fatigued from the long, frantic surgery.
"Captain," she murmured nodding to Mitch, after introductions where made, Chief Surgeon Sara Heffner started the medical report of her patient, Cate Monty.
"Any later and the AK to her stomach would have killed her, but she will recover fully, we managed to save her leg and repair the damage to her stomach and lower abdomen. Does she have a medical background?" Sara asked to satisfy her own curiosity about the fantastic tourniquets, along with various stitching and cauterized patches of flesh all over her body.
"She was an Army field medic. Why do you ask?" Cragen inquired.
Sara tilted her head some, "She had some excellent tourniquets in place on her leg and several dissolvable stitches threaded in various parts of her body; fists, legs, some in her upper stomach. She also had a broken rib and some snapped joints in her hands, we took care of those too and she has some cauterization on her body. And she has also been shot recently, it was a .thirty-eight, most likely. I'm assuming she removed it, also."
The officers couldn't hide their surprise.
Self stitching.
Cauterization.
The self removal of a .thirty-eight lodged in her body; she's either tough or insane.
"She also is anemic. We're working on that problem too. There's something else also," she said wearily with a slight disturbance in her tone.
"What?" Cragen asked at the enigma that obviously bothered her.
"It's probably nothing to help your case, but this is just something your never see in the US, it's more suited to third world countries. When my nurse went to insert the catheter she noticed something very, well, not quite right." She said in timid preparation for the detectives and captains.
Sara intertwined her fingers before continuing, "She noticed her sex had been mutilated, female circumcision had taken place," she didn't stop, but the horror was obvious on their faces, especially on Olivia's.
"Unfortunately, I know what a proper circumcision looks like from my time in Africa. This one was very…crude…like whoever did it didn't know how to do it, but it was just effective in its purpose."
"I pulled her file and read that her mutilations where all self inflicted, this was not. It couldn't be and it wasn't recent either, someone did this to her. It wasn't listed in her file, but the inflection is very old. If I had to guess when this happened I would say nearly five or six years ago."
"When will she wake up?" Elliot asked shifting the conversation after a few awkward seconds.
Sara fidgeted her glove chapped fingers, "Seventy-two hours, tops. We have restrained her as a precaution, arms and legs…I'm assuming your going to have officers posted outside her door."
"Yes, we have a warrant for her arrest and will put in affect when she's is able to be taken into custody. Do you have any idea when that can happen?" Cragen asked keeping up with professionalism.
Sara shrugged, "A day or two after she wakes up. But I want to make sure she's well enough to leave. I won't release her prematurely," Sara said morphing into the non-biased doctor she was taught to be in medical school, "I know she's a murder, but I won't let her leave until she has recovered to my fullest satisfaction." She finished sternly, in an untrusting tone toward the officers.
Sara had seen the evidence of corrupt and sadistic law enforcement officers before.
How many inmates had she patched up in that Nevada prison ward before she came to St. Marks?
More than I want to remember.
Cragen spread his hands in defeat, "I wouldn't have it any other way. I want to be contacted immediately when she wakes up."
Sara nodded, "Of course, I can't guarantee I'll be here when she does, but I will be keeping close watch on her."
"Thank you, Doctor." Cragen added, Sara offered her hand and Cragen shook it in thanks before she took her leave, she desperately wanted out of her bloodied scrubs.
"Well, I've got reports to fill out about this, and then I'm off to bed." Mitch said tiredly in Cragen's direction.
"Yeah, we'll be heading over to the crime scene. Thanks for the heads up, Mitch." Cragen answered in slight jealously that Mitch would be getting rest this morning and he wouldn't.
Mitch nodded knowing he was jealous and shook his hand, "I'm gonna hold you to that drink, Donny-Boy," Mitch replied, "Detectives." He said in turning to the rest of the Special Victims officers, they nodded as he left.
A few minutes later John, Fin and Nadia arrived, all in various moods. After Cragen's update, the group started their descent toward 647 Richardson Apartments, the penthouse level.
To view the wreckage and the body of Kim Ong, the man that nearly killed Cate Monty.
(End Chapter Nine)
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So…one to ten? Sorta saw, sorta didn't? Thanks.