This story is moving faster than my other right now, so I hope I am forgiven for being so nasty to the guys.

The More Things Stay the Same

Chapter 4

Marty leaned back in his chair to watch Karen walk through the squad room and head straight into Fisk's office. "Mission accomplished," Marty shook his head. It didn't matter that he was really beginning to like Dunbar, every time one of these unexplained 'extras' were done he just couldn't let it rest.

"Hey," Tom shot a rubber band at Marty's head, "you don't even know what's going on."

"All I know is; I don't get door to door service from the boss over every little thing. Ow!" Marty grabbed the back of his head. He hadn't realized Karen had walked up behind him until she had smacked him.

"You are a real pain in the ass," Karen glowered and stomped to her desk. "Don't make me wanna do that again today."

"Well, I wanna know what's happened," Selway tried to defuse the tension in the air by asking. "Is Jim gonna need any help cause he sure ain't gonna ask for it."

"There was a little accident and Christie is in the hospital. Jim's gonna be on crutches for a few days."

"Now, I'd pay to see that," Russo crowed as he streaked into the locker room in an attempt to avoid bitch slaps and rubber bands. Once there, however, he pulled out his cell phone and hit number 4 on his speed dial. "Hey, Dunbar, I hear you're off your feet. How's about I grab a pizza and feed ya tonight… sure, I'll take ya to see the wife tonight… as long as ya got beer in the fridge, and not that light shit. Okay, later." Marty ended the call and looked up to see Selway standing in the doorway, smirking at him and making back scrubbing motions.

It was like working a crime scene; walking the grid to carefully cover the entire area. Crutch under his left side, mop pushed from his right side Jim Dunbar cleaned the spilled coffee off the kitchen floor.

"Mission accomplished, Hank. What's the next job?" The rattle of his tags and the feel of wet nose told Jim that his dog was here. "I know; its give Hank a treat time." He reached toward the refrigerator, wobbled a bit and put down his left foot to steady himself. Pain lanced up through his stitches and he tried to get raise his foot to relieve the agony and nearly unbalanced again. "Shit, shit, shit," using the sponge mop like a cane Jim hobbled round the breakfast bar and sat heavily down on one of the chairs there.

Of course, this was when the phone started to ring. Jim closed his eyes and tried to remember where the second crutch was when the call went to voice mail. Flipping his watch crystal open to check the time Jim groaned to find it was barely noon; just another perfect fucking thing to add an already perfect fucking day. As much as he wanted to ignore the call he knew he had to pick up.

"Hello, Officer Dunbar, this is Nurse Bagshendani from Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. Could you get here as soon as possible?"

"What's the matter?" his words were clipped and sharp.

"The doctor's are about to take your wife into surgery."

"Who authorized this?"

"Detective, you wife has signed all the papers and asked you get here as soon as possible. I am so sorry, but the doctors believed they could not wait for you."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Jim ended this call to start another. "Cara; its Jim, I need someone to walk Hank… yes, I have to get back to hospital. No, things don't look good. No, I'm calling a cab; I just… need someone to walk Hank."

"Halt, police," the words carried over the sounds of breaking doors, dropping tools and running feet. John Clark and Baldwin Jones waved their guns back and forth with the precision of long practice as uniformed officers covered all the secondary exits of the warehouse. This was the biggest chop shop in the 27th Precinct and they were finally closing it down. The raid was all over in less than twenty minutes, followed by the process of getting the suspects cuffed, Mirandized and shoved into an armored bus for quick transport to central booking. The squad leader, Andy Sipowicz, joined Jones and Baldwin and together they walked through the piles of fenders, hoods, alternators and all the other bits and pieces that made car thief so profitable.

"Hey," Baldwin's face lit up as he spotted the large, yellow car that had yet to face a cutting torch. "I haven't seen one of these things in years."

"Yeah, a Checker Marathon," Sipowicz ran his hand over the bulbous fender. "My pop used to say one of these things was big enough to hold a family of fifteen."

"What's in the back seat?" Clark reached past his former partner and opened the heavy door. Inside was a sleek, black wheelchair; a pair of elbow crutches jammed between it and the front seat. "Whoever needed this stuff wasn't here, was he?"

"Nope, I would have noticed," Baldwin said as he opened the glove box to see if the registration and insurance were there. They were, neat in they're plastic folder. "I think we had better start looking for one Francis X. Daniels, 'cause I bet he wouldn't willingly leave that stuff behind."

Fisk had barely finished his lunch when the phone rang. It was Sergeant Sipowicz from the 27th Precinct asking questions about Betancourt. Her name and cell number were scrawled on the back of a receipt found during an ongoing investigation. Andy knew it was the name of one of Gary's officers he had made the call. Damn, there had been too much drama here today. Besides, Karen was out to lunch with Russo and Selway and this little bomb was just going to have to wait until they got back.

His phone rang again, "Fisk."

"Boss," Dunbar's voice sounded haggard and thin, "why are you answering Selway's ring. Where is everybody? Did I miss a case?"

"Nyah, they're all out to lunch… as usual."

"I need to know who the human resources rep is? I don't have the number with me."

"No problem, I've got the number right here. Can I ask what's going on? It's not your foot?"

An exasperated sigh came through the receiver. "My wife just got out of surgery and I left home without all the insurance information I need."

"I'll fax everything from this end over ASAP."

"Good, Christie's boss is doing the same thing. Thanks."

"Jim… not trying to be too nosey, but…" Fisk didn't get a chance to finish his question.

"Ectopic pregnancy," was the short, sad answer.

The lieutenant dropped his chin to his chest, "I take care of everything on this end." Fisk wasn't surprised when Dunbar hung up the phone. Outside his office he could hear his detectives laughter as they returned from lunch. He straightened his shoulders and stood up to be the official bearer of bad news. Well, his mother always said that bad things happened in threes, so hopefully no more shit would hit the fan today. Then, the first person he say when he opened his office door was Karen Betancourt. She smiled and then raised her eyebrows when he fixed her with his tired eyes. Damn, maybe the shit still wasn't finished hitting the fan.

tbc