A/N: Same disclaimers, too lazy to type them. There are some unrealistic legal elements in this chapter, please excuse them and write them off as creative license. :) It's all about the D/L... what else matters!
Chapter
12
Danny:
Stripped
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Ed roared.
Danny was seated on a chair in middle of the room as the enraged guard paced back and forth in front of him.
"Do you realize what could have happened?" Ed inquired, fury dripping from his voice.
Danny considered for a moment that this was what it must be like to be on the other side of the interrogation table. Like many of the killers he had faced in his career, he had no remorse for the choice he had made.
Ed moved within inches of Danny's face, and pointed his index finger at him. "If your girl's phone was bugged, they could be finding out where you are. Right. This. Minute." The last three words came with forceful jabs of his finger, almost poking Danny's eye.
Before more heated words could be exchanged, the door opened quietly, and Joe stepped in. Danny had never been so relieved to see him; though he looked grim and solemn, at least he wasn't spewing venom like Ed.
"Why don't you go take a break," Joe suggested to Ed. "I'll finish this shift."
"Fine," Ed huffed. "You take the little rat." He turned to Danny with one last glare. "You should be ashamed of yourself," he chastised.
"You don't understand," Danny protested weakly, standing up and walking to his bed. He was feeling woozy, and yearned to lie down.
Ed laughed acerbically. "Oh I understand, completely. You risked this whole operation, just for a piece of ass."
Like a rubber band that had reached its stretch capacity, Danny sprung across the room, his fist intent on meeting Ed's nose. Before he could make contact, Joe dove in and caught him, holding him back as he thrashed wildly with rage.
"Get out of here!" shouted Danny. "You don't know her! You don't know a thing about her, or a thing about us," he snarled at Ed's retreating figure.
"Easy, easy!" Joe cried, trying desperately to retain his grip despite Danny's struggling.
Ed disappeared out the door, and Danny's body went limp. He was still trembling with anger when Joe released him. "Son of a bitch," he whispered, feeling as though his skin had been peeled off, leaving him raw and brutally exposed.
"You want to tell me what that was all about?" asked Joe.
"I stole his phone," Danny said simply. "I called Lindsay."
Joe rubbed his forehead, and groaned softly. "I'm going to spare you the scolding, because I think you must know how dangerous that was. How… stupid." Joe took a deep breath. "How completely understandable."
Having someone grasp his reasoning made all the difference to Danny. He slumped down into his bed, not even bothering to slide under the covers.
"I'd do it all over again," he said, his voice muffled from the pillow in which he had buried his face, "if I had the chance."
"Go to sleep," was Joe's response.
"Will you be here in the morning?" Danny asked, hopeful.
"I will."
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Danny slept a hard, dreamless sleep. When he was awakened by Joe gently shaking his shoulder, he moaned in protest. It seemed as if he had drifted off only seconds ago, trying to block the sound of Lindsay crying from his memory. He wanted to spend all day like this, blissfully anesthetized and unaware, until he could be released and return to her.
"What?" Danny asked groggily.
"Sorry, Son," Joe said quietly. "The District Attorney's on his way here – you've got to give your deposition in forty-five minutes."
Danny sat up quickly, his stomach starting to form knots. Joe was holding a sports jacket, dress shirt, and tie.
"They'll only see you from the waist up," he smiled. "I think you and I are about the same size."
"Thanks," Danny nodded numbly, accepting the clothes. He wasn't prepared for this – especially after last night. He was wound up and anxious enough as it was.
He showered and dressed, though passed on breakfast because he was too uneasy to eat. Precisely on time, D.A. Darren Johnson entered the room, along with two legal clerks, a videographer, and a technical assistant. Along with Danny and Joe, the seven people crowded into the small windowless room made the air stifling. Joe left, resuming his position outside the door, and Danny sat in a chair that was pushed against the wall specifically for this moment.
Johnson had a most confident air about him. As the technician prepared the equipment which would broadcast the deposition directly to the courtroom, Johnson filled Danny in on the case thus far.
"Sassone is sweating bullets," he said smoothly, leaning over to slip a microphone on Danny's lapel. "The evidence is stacking up solidly. With your testimony, he'll never see the light of day again." He patted Danny's shoulder reassuringly. "I'm just going to ask you about what happened that night in '91, and about your knowledge of Sonny through your brother. Relax, this will be quick and painless."
Danny nodded, staring warily at the video camera that was pointed straight at him. He wanted to get this over with.
"We're ready," announced the technician, hooking up one last cable and stepping back with an appraising nod.
Johnson pulled out his notebook and a pen. "Let's do it," he said. The videographer held up three fingers, then two, then one; Johnson began speaking.
Danny answered questions for the next thirty minutes, laying out every bit of information he knew about the Tanglewood Boys. It came to him easily, and he felt that each revelation was like stripping off a heavy piece of clothing – he was now completely rid of this burden.
He knew, in a logical sense, that he was speaking to the jury, the press, the judge, plus Sassone himself. But those weren't the faces he saw. Through it all, he only saw one face. Lindsay's.
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After the group from the D.A.'s office had left, Danny returned to his bed. Given the lack of sleep involved with his job, he realized that he had spent more time in bed in the past several days than he had in a whole year's worth of nights. When it came down to sleeping, or lying awake and worrying about Lindsay resenting or leaving him, the choice was simple.
A light tapping was heard from the door, and Joe poked his head in. "I have a special surprise for you," he said, toting a brown paper bag. "After last night, and your deposition, I thought you could use this."
Danny sat up and greedily accepted the bag. Inside was a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. He looked at it for a moment, shocked, but also very pleased. Just what I need, he thought. "Thanks. How did you manage-?" he started.
Joe winked, and held up his hand. "Don't mention it," he said.
Both men sat down at the table, and Danny eagerly twisted off the bottle cap. He poured himself a shot, tossed it back, then went for another. "Want some?" he asked Joe.
Joe grinned and shook his head. "No, you go right ahead."
"Come on, Joe," Danny teased. "Just one shot – no one will ever know."
Joe shook his head, attempting to be serious but for the twinkle in his eye. "Sorry, I'm on duty. That would be unethical."
Danny snorted, downing another shot himself. "Oh, so providing me with the booze wasn't unethical?" He held out the bottle towards Joe. "Come on, you've already broken the rules."
Joe shook his head again.
"Just one," Danny repeated, taking another swig himself, then another. He was up to six. "You'd better hurry, before it's all gone."
Despite his prodding, Danny was surprised when Joe reached over, took the bottle, poured himself a splash into an empty coffee mug. He swallowed it down, then said, "I could be fired for this."
Danny wagged his finger at Joe, the alcohol beginning to make him giddy. "Your secret face is me," he slurred. "I mean, my safe is a secret…" He wrinkled his brow in confusion at the words that were not coming out right.
Joe laughed. "I get it, I get it! You won't tell a soul." He took another swig, then capped the bottle and put it back in the bag. "I think you've had enough too, pal."
Danny's brain was foggy, but the alcohol burning through his system gave him a sense of elation. He studied his new friend carefully. "Tell me why you left patrol, to do a boring job like this."
Joe frowned, contemplating a response. He picked at the hem of his shirt as he began speaking. "Nine years ago, when my brother Grant was thirty-two, he went to the bank," he began, rocking his chair slightly. "He was going in to withdrawal twenty bucks. Twenty bucks, that's it. There were only four other people in the bank. One turned out to be a mob hit man, who took out the owner of the bank with his shotgun, then turned it on everyone else. My brother lost a kidney from that bullet, but he survived."
Danny nodded, listening intently. Something, perhaps his own experience, told him this wasn't going to be a happy ending.
"He was supposed to testify when the hit man went on trial six months later. The guy was facing the death penalty, for three murders." He swallowed. "Grant never got to testify."
Danny's breath caught sharply. "They took him out?" he asked, making more of a statement than a question.
Joe nodded, pain etched across the face that was usually so relaxed and gentle. "And that day, I decided I would never allow that to happen to another family. Not under my watch." He reached down and retrieved the bottle of tequila from the bag with a shaky hand, and poured himself another shot.
"I'm sorry," Danny said hoarsely, the facts sobering him. "I'm sorry about your brother, but I'm not sorry for what I did last night." He remember the rush of indescribable joy he felt when he first heard Lindsay's voice; a sound normally familiar to him, and now so missed and so craved.
Joe nodded. "I know, Son. It's funny how missing someone so bad can make a person do crazy things."
