Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Marvel, Respawn Entertianment, etc.
I can confirm that Amazon's Reacher kicks ass. Meanwhile, the Halo show sucks and blows simultaneously.
To get it out of the way, this title is from another of Thrash Metals 'Big Four,' in particular, the most famous band of the bunch: Metallica. Off the so called 'Black Album' that came out in 1991, and is a ballad, which is somewhat unusual for the band. Unlike the last song, this is slower, a bit more melodic, and has more of the character of this chapter. It's a good tune, but I mainly picked it because it almost shares a title with a Clint Eastwood movie.
Justice Without Compromise – Chapter 2: The Unforgiven
New blood joins this Earth
And quickly he's subdued
Through constant pained disgrace
The young boy learns their rules
With time the child draws in
This whipping boy done wrong
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on, he's known
Ooh, a vow unto his own
That never from this day
His will they'll take away
With the first rays of morning sunlight flooding the streets of New York City, and shining right in her face, Commissioner Jean DeWolff donned a pair of sunglasses as she got out of her car. DeWolff had just celebrated her 41st birthday the previous month, and while the blonde woman's athletic build and ritualistic workouts helped her look younger, but her position as head of one of the nation's largest Police Departments did show. After the prior year's string of terrorist actions killed Commissioner Benitez, resulting in Jean's promotion, she had taken to applying more crease-hiding makeup.
And DeWolff had the feeling she would need a little bit more tomorrow.
Striding forwards, Jean saw that the crime scene was already quite crowded. A half dozen patrol officers stood around the yellow tape cordoning off the alleyway, keeping onlookers away. Crime Scene Investigation was already present, and its personnel were already at work photographing the scene and marking every bit of evidence. Normally, Jean wouldn't have concerned herself with one investigation, but as soon as she received the call the Commissioner decided to see it for herself.
She was well aware of how tenuous her department's position was, having barely recovered from the number of officers lost after the last nine months, with two major gang wars, a bio-terror attack, and a small invasion taking their toll. The political situation still plagued her now, with the new Mayor keeping a tight leash on funds, it made recruiting new officers needlessly difficult. A few high-profile news stories didn't paint the NYPD in the best light, and with a fresh one having broken yesterday, DeWolff could feel a headache coming on as the news cycle began anew, and she was certain that the crime scene before her wouldn't help matters.
Not long after three o'clock in the morning, the NYPD had received reports of shots fired in the proximity of Ludlow and Hester. An officer had been duly dispatched and reported that he found nothing amiss in the area. For a few hours, that had been that, until people started going to work and the owner of a pizza shop called in a car illegally parked in the alleyway nearby, and the tow truck sent to remove the vehicle had discovered the grisly state of the passengers inside. When it had been discovered that one of the dead was the recently released mobster Carmine Ricca, the newly opened murder investigation had found its way into the purview of the Commissioner.
Striding up to the yellow tape, Jean showed her badge to the patrolman there, the young officer promptly lifting the tape to let the Commissioner through. "Who's in charge here?" asked DeWolff while tucking her credentials back into her jacket pocket.
"Detective Early Smith," answered the patrolman. Thinking back, DeWolff remembered where she heard that name, Earlington Smith was one of the replacements recently brought in from San Francisco. While Jean could admit that their hiring standards weren't the most stringent, Smith was still someone she was pleased to have on her Force, but having such a new detective on this case didn't sit well with her. The patrolman seemed to notice Jean's unease and added, "He's in charge of the investigation that is. Captain Carter's around here somewhere, supervising the scene."
That was reassuring to hear, Captain Stanley Carter was a man in his mid-forties, having long worked in an administrative role in personnel and records until the number of vacancies at higher positions prompted him into his current role. Peering through the activity, DeWolff spied the current Captain of the Chinatown precinct and began making her way over to the man. With his greying hair and slight paunch, the man was quite the unassuming sight, but Jean knew he had a keen mind for administration. The downside was that he mostly kept to that, preferring to run things from an office and was known to come off as distant.
He was very different from the woman he was replacing at the Chinatown precinct, Captain Yuri Watanabe, a tenacious and personable woman who worked her way through the ranks by racking up an impressive arrest record, even if she did skirt the lines of legality more than once. Moving her into a role as a Captain had been done as much for political reasons as to get her off the streets and out of trouble, but it had worked brilliantly, for a time. Yuri cared about her people, and when Maggia Don Hammerhead launched an attack on the Chinatown Precinct that killed a dozen officers, Yuri reverted to type, acting out on her own in a way that couldn't be swept under the rug. When faced with the prospect of Administrative Leave and an investigation, Yuri had turned in her badge and, unbeknownst to most, taken up vigilantism. Watanabe was merely still on administrative leave, her paperwork in limbo while her other persona was a person of interest in several cases.
Even if Jean had done her best to ensure the case of the Wraith remained a low priority.
Shaking those thoughts from her head, Jean arrived at the CSI truck and grabbed a pair of gloves to avoid contaminating the scene "Stan, what's the situation?" she asked as she pulled the gloves on.
Carter looked up from the paperwork he was filling out, "Oh, Commissioner," he replied, blinking in surprise, "Well the CSI team is canvasing the scene, and the coroner's on the way. I'm filling out the requests for ballistic lab time and plan to call the FBI lab too." With that, he went back down to the documents on his clipboard.
Jean crossed her arms, "I mean with the investigation. What do we know?"
Stanley looked back up, "Detective Smith would be the person to ask about that Jean, he's leading this investigation."
"Little young for that, don't you think Stan?" asked DeWolff, raising an eyebrow. "You have some good people in your bullpen. What about Montez?"
That elicited a sigh from the captain. "Jean, look, yeah, he's young, but he's the only detective I have who doesn't have a backlog going up to his ears because of the last six months. Montez is working on a dozen cases as is. It's more efficient just to give this one to Smith."
Holding her tongue, DeWolff made a mental note to see if she could find someone to help the young Detective with this case, it was simply too important for one rookie to handle alone. She didn't want to undermine Captain Carter publicly, however, having to replace him would be another headache that couldn't be afforded. "Got it, thanks Stan. Be sure to let me know if you need anything, I want this case to go by the book."
When she didn't get an answer, Jean looked to see that Carter was already back to his paperwork and turned to leave, weaving through the workers and cops as she made her way up to the black Mercedes sedan. Making her way to the driver's side, Jean leaned over to look inside, taking in the gruesome sight, four bodies all covered in blood, the one in the driver's seat missing most of his head, which had been blown onto the man in the passenger seat. That one fared no better, shot in the chest, blood soaking his shirt and suit jacket. The back seat was worse, Ricca had been shot multiple times, including one that blasted off part of his jaw, the other half barely hanging on to his skull. Next to him was a woman, a hole the size of Jean's thumb in her neck and a prodigious amount of blood pooling on the seat next to her. Worse than any of that was the smell, the bodies had been there for some time, and reeked horrifically, so as soon as Jean saw the scene she pulled back with haste.
In doing so, the Commissioner bumped into someone and spun around to see an African American man in his late twenties with a short head of neatly trimmed, tightly curled hair, somewhat ill-fitting sport coat, and his NYPD Detective's badge. "You must be Detective Smith," surmised Jean as she extended her hand, "Commissioner Jean DeWolff."
"Commissioner," replied the young man, mustering up what poise he could. "What can I do for you ma'am?"
"I want a preliminary report, tell me what you got so far," returned the blonde, leading the detective further down the alley as a pair of CSI techs arrived to set up lasers to replicate the bullet paths. When there was a moment of pause, DeWolff turned back and saw the hesitance in Smith's eyes. "Detective, you know damn well who that is in the back seat and that he makes this case complicated. It won't be long before we got press hounding the department about this and I want to get out ahead of them. I don't want you to worry about the press, I'll keep 'em off your back, but I want to know what you can tell me at this point. No speculation, no bullshit, just the facts." Looking at the slightly shorter man, DeWolff got a nod back. "Good, and call me Jean, I'm not your mother, Detective."
That elicited a small smile from the nervous cop, "Okay Jean, and you can call me Early, everyone else does." DeWolff nodded, prompting Smith to take a breath, pull a small notepad out, and begin. "Okay, well, we have four vics, three male, one female. We have fingerprint IDs for all of them. Three are directly connected to the Maggia, Carmine Ricca, his driver, Enrico Sansonetti, and a bodyguard named Bruno Legnani. All have prior arrests, but only Legnani did jail time. The woman is Tiffany Mackenzie, she's been arrested for prostitution twice, as well as for possession. All were shot at close range, Sansonetti in particular has burns on his head that suggest the muzzle was pressed right up against his temple when the gun fired."
"What kind of gun?" inquired Jean.
"Can't say for sure, but it was a large caliber handgun. The fact that six shots were fired, and we've found no brass suggests it was a revolver, probably a magnum," replied Smith honestly. "The captain suggested it could be the Wraith."
Jean's jaw clenched imperceptibly, and she had to fight to keep her voice even. "Noted, what else?"
"Whoever did this was very good, they were able to get the Ricco's car into this alley and bring it to a stop before coming up right next to it and killing everyone inside before Legnani drew his own pistol," reported the detective. "There are no skid marks in the street, and the car was found still running and in park according to the truck driver I interviewed. As for leads? I got officers checking businesses for security cameras, but these four blocks here are a gap in the crime monitoring system you people got from Oscorp."
Resisting the urge to punch something, Jean let out a sigh. When Norman Osborn had been Mayor, he successfully got Oscorp surveillance towers installed at police stations around the city, monitoring public areas for crime. Time had revealed that there were gaps in the system dotted all over the city, that, and the fact that the towers monitored wireless electronic signals meant that it was possible to evade detection, something criminals were learning about too. Weather this was just a bad break or this murder had been specifically taken place here for that reason was something that remained to be seen, but Jean had a nagging suspicion it was the latter.
"Anything else Early?" asked Jean. Getting a shake of the head in reply, DeWolff said, "Okay, I want you on this case full time. You need anything, you go to Captain Carter, and if he can't get it for you then he'll tell me, and I will. Got it?" this time, the detective nodded, "Good. I'll leave you to it." Jean made to leave before coming to a sudden stop, "I want to be kept in the loop on this one. Shoot me an email when you file your reports," instructed the Commissioner as she gave the rookie detective her card and left without another word.
Retracing her steps, DeWolff strode through the crime scene and back under the yellow tape before trashing her gloves and returning to her car. Settling back in, the blonde closed the door and let out a deep breath before pulling out a phone and dialing a number. Putting the cell to her ear, she had to wait a few rings before her call was answered. "Hey, it's me. Listen, we need to meet, tonight, say eight o'clock?" The person on the other side replied, not bothered by Jeans sharp tone, and the blonde scribbled on a sticky note before yanking it off and pressing it onto the dashboard. "The Last Call bar, eight o clock. See you there."
Returning to his small, sparse desk, Detective Earlington 'Early' Smith set down a cup of coffee next to his Cal Tech diploma and booted up the desktop. He was planning on skipping lunch, because he didn't think he would be able to hold anything down after the gruesome crime scene, so he decided to get to work, motivated by the fact that the Commissioner was interested in this case, and Early was eager to prove himself.
He'd only been a cop for four years, having returned to his home of San Francisco after graduating with his degree in Criminal Justice. But while he would need three more years to make Detective in the SFPD, the lure of being promoted straight away if he joined the NYPD had convinced him to apply. When he landed the job and moved across the country, Early had very quickly learned just how different New York was.
Thankfully, there hadn't been any supervillain attacks since he had moved, something his mother was very happy to hear, but the city's resident Wallcrawler, Spider-Man, had been spotted numerous times. The fact that he lived in the same city as a superpowered man in red and blue spandex who could shoot webs, climb up walls, and lift cars with his bare hands was still surreal. More shocking had been learning more about the other people who worked outside the law in the city, the ones who weren't as well known as the Webslinger.
The Marauder was one who was quite popular it seemed, a soldier from the distant future who would often work with Spider-Man, even at one point going so far as to agree to work directly with the Police. That agreement came to an end and he had left, having last been seen in Europe, but more than a few officers Smith met had seen the Marauder, and often held him in high regard. Opinions varied, but most agreed that his work with Police put him above most vigilantes.
There had been others that the rookie detective had learned about, the Daredevil, Punisher, and Iron Fist had all been around at some point or another, but while debates about these were commonplace, there had been one other who was almost never spoken of: the Wraith. She had only recently appeared, striking from the shadows and vanishing just as quickly, the vigilante was known for her use of a sniper rifle, revolver, and the unusual adhesive elastic she used to get around.
His mind dwelling on what Carter had said, Early opened the file the NYPD had on the Wraith and found it surprisingly sparse, as if few resources had been put towards the case. The fact that the vigilante lived up to her name didn't help, with there being no pictures and frustratingly little evidence left behind. It was clear that the Wraith knew all the ways the NYPD might try to build a case against her and sought to prevent that.
"Hey Early, you're already back from lunch? You sure do live up to your name son," remarked an older, mustached man with thinning brown hair as he placed a box of Chinese takeout on his own desk. 'Early' was a nickname that Smith had picked up in College, just as much due to a shortening of his first name as his reputation for promptness.
Detective Sergeant Jack Connors was the stereotype gruff police officer Smith had thought was a creation of Hollywood until he met the man. But the veteran had taken Smith under his wing upon his arrival and been a boon as the cross-country transplant got his footing. "Oh, I skipped lunch, didn't feel like eating after visiting that scene I was called out to."
"Bad?" asked Connors, and Smith nodded. "I've had days like that," admitted the older man, forking some fried rice into his mouth. "I remember this one case I worked back about... oh twenty-two years ago, I got a case of an honest to goodness axe murderer."
"Really?" replied Early, leaning forwards in his chair.
"Really," replied the Detective Sergeant as he continued to eat. "Two vics, pair of girls ages twelve and fifteen. The psycho had hacked all their limbs off and left them to bleed to death." Early's mouth dropped a bit as he felt bile rise in his throat. He zoned out for a moment, staring into nothing. Connors interpreted the look a different way. "Hey son, if you want some, I got a soup I don't want. Wonton I think."
The older man began to reach into the bag, but Smith waved him off and turned back around to go over his notes. "What're you looking at there, Early? Something for that case o yours?"
"Possible suspect, the Wraith," replied Smith, happy to redirect the conversation. "Got a car with three dead Maggia and a prostitute, fits the MO."
"No it don't," said Connors, his tone harsh. "The Wraith wouldn't shoot a prostitute."
Raising an eyebrow, Smith turned back to the Detective Sergeant. "How do you know that?" he asked, but all Connors answered with was a shrug. "Any other advice you want to impart?"
"Yeah, forget about the Wraith, focus on your case, especially around here."
Stepping out of the lecture hall, Jean DeWolff checked her phone and saw she still had time before she had to go to The Last Call. She was at the Academy, having just spoken to a class nearing graduation in what was her last official appointment as Commissioner. With no other messages demanding her attention, DeWolff began heading for the exit, intending to hail a cab and get dinner before her meeting.
On her way out, the Commissioner passed by the shooting range and could hear the sounds of gunfire inside. Curious as to who would be practicing at this hour, DeWolff opened the door and grabbed a set of ear and eye protection before going towards the source of the noise. She passed by the usual shooting stalls and to an open space, seeing several bits of plywood set up to make the range resemble a sport shooting set up, with multiple targets downrange and various positions for a shooter to move through. Three men in police uniforms were watching as a fourth man went through the course, slamming a new magazine into his Sig Sauer P226 and racking the slide before moving through the course. Despite the heavy trigger put into the gun, the officer loosed four rounds in quick succession, putting all four inside the inner most ring of the silhouette target. With precise but violent motions, the cop transitioned to the next spot, crouching down to fire through a small gap as he fired three more bullets, then dropping to the ground and rolling into the third position, where he emptied the rest of the magazine. Standing, he then rushed forwards to 'arrest' the suspect, hand coming down on a button that stopped the ticking timer that had been running.
"Cease fire!" bellowed one of the observing cops, "Check clear."
"Clear," returned the one who had been shooting, locking the slide back and releasing the magazine from the handgun. The others then removed their eye and ear protection, so Jean did the same as she approached them.
"You guys are new, right? I remember seeing you at the last graduation," said Jean, seeing how all four turned to face her. "Where'd you get assigned?"
The closest cop, a blonde who gave a friendly smile, answered, "That's right. We're all in Traffic. I'm John Davis," he introduced, then pointing at the three others. "This is Phil Sweet, that's Red Astrachan, and mister slow over there is Mike Grimes."
DeWolff raised an eyebrow, "Didn't look all that slow to me."
Grimes chuckled, "I've always been the slow shooter of the group, I'm faster on a bike."
Unable to help herself, Jean let out a low whistle at that when Davis spoke again. "Hey, you're the Commissioner, right? DeWolff?"
"That's right," affirmed Jean as she surveyed the group again, "I know the range is open but why are you here at this hour?"
"It's one of the few times none of us are on shift," replied Sweet, "And we figure that we shouldn't be out on the streets if we can't shoot well, not with everything that's happened. Killers don't make allowances."
"Then you're in trouble Grimes," quipped Astrachan, eliciting a round of chuckles from the others.
Jean allowed herself a smile as she eyed them again, seeing the way they held themselves, rigid and alert, and the way they presented themselves, matching short haircuts and cleanly shaven. There was one thing that stood out even more, and that was what Jean aske about. "Tell me," began the Commissioner, "Where'd you boys learn to shoot? Our training is good but… it's not that good," she said, nodding towards the perforated targets at the far end of the range.
Sweet let out a laugh, "Oh no ma'am, Airborne Rangers, Army Special Forces."
DeWolff had to fight to contain her surprise upon hearing that, but looked at the four men again. Now their rigidity made sense, not just because she had intruded upon their training, but because of a military background. Similarly, all were in the mid to late twenties, probably had just finished their enlistment and decided to join the police. It also explained their shooting ability, but she had to be sure, "All of you?" asked Jean, and all four nodded. "And you're all that good?"
Sweet seemed to be the chattiest of the group, and answered again. "I'm a bit faster than Grimes, but he's got a steady hand. Red's a little better, on a good day," amended the cop quickly. Astrachan flipped his friend off with a smile, and Sweet returned the gesture. "But Davis? He's nuts, he's a lot better. Was one of the best shooters in our Company."
Nodding appreciatively, Jean eyed the four men, wondering how the hell they had been assigned to Traffic. "I'm happy to have veterans in my department, you four definitely have some skills. I'm going to look into getting you four transferred to SWAT, if that's okay."
The other three turned to Davis, who bobbed his head, "We just want to do our duty as best we can, ma'am." Sweet, Astrachan, and Grimes all nodded their agreement to that.
"Good, good," replied DeWolff as she felt her phone buzz. "I need to get going, it was good to meet you. Have a good night." With that, the Commissioner turned and made for the door, replacing the ear and eye protection as she took her phone out and saw that an email alert from Detective Smith. It was his first report, including a lot of crime scene pictures, and the initial ballistics results from the slugs they had found.
Jean was skimming through this as she made her way outside and didn't notice the lone figure approaching for an ambush. "Commissioner," said a feminine voice, taking DeWolff by surprise so much that the blonde nearly jumped and instinctively reached for her pistol as she spun to see who had startled her. Jean was met with a 5' 8" redheaded woman in her early twenties with a spattering of freckles on her cheeks and inquisitive green eyes. The casually dressed woman was holding a recorder in one hand and an ID badge in the other, "Mary Jane Watson, Associate Editor, Daily Bugle. Do you have anything to say on the murder of Carmine Ricca, Commissioner?"
DeWolff put on a serious expression, knowing that Watson, who gained notoriety covering the events of the last year or so, and even more for her work covering a Civil War in Symkaria, would only be deterred with a firm response. "Ms. Watson, it is the policy of the department not to comment on ongoing investigations, I am not exempt from this," replied DeWolff, her voice stern.
Seemingly undeterred by this answer, Watson smiled, "Of course Commissioner," she replied as she fell into step alongside DeWolff, foiling her attempt to leave the reporter behind. "What about the supervillains from last year? The 'Sinister Six' that were captured by Spider-Man?"
"Octavius, Li, Gargan, Sytsevich, Dillion, and Toomes are all currently being held in federal maximum security detention centers pending their respective trials for last years events," answered DeWolff smoothly, it had been a well practiced answer she had already given several times before, but she could recognize the question for what it was, a probe to see what Watson could coax out of her. "I can't give any more details, but they are in no position to harm the city," she assured without breaking stride.
The Associate Editor kept pressing, and this time she did strike a nerve. "Could you give your perspective on the proposal being discussed by the City Council regarding criminal justice reform? Or about the Mayor's claims that the NYPD isn't doing enough to deter vigilantism?"
"No comment."
"Should people be worried that the vigilantes who successfully stopped Hammerhead, Doctor Octopus, and Mister Negative might be forced off the streets?" pestered the reporter. Jean clenched her jaw, wishing all her detectives were as persistent as this reporter. "The murder rate is up more than 15% compared to last year, people are worried and fear this reform will only make things worse."
"The fact of the matter, Ms. Watson," bit out DeWolff, "Is that the Department has a finite number of resources. I will continue to allocate resources to apprehend those who pose the greatest threat to public safety."
The redhead's smile grew, "Thank you for your time, Commissioner, have a good evening" Watson clicked a button on her recorder and pocketed the device, turning a corner and disappearing into the night.
Opening the door of The Last Call, Yuri Watanabe was immediately met with a foul-smelling cloud of smoke that stung her nostrils as she stepped inside the dimly lit bar. With her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket to keep it closed and concealing the Python she had in a shoulder holster, Watanabe moved through the modest crowd. The Last Call wasn't exceptional in any respect; its rough aesthetic attracted an equally rough clientele to worn pool tables and pinball machines. At this time of night the tables had patrons milling about them, but not as crowded as it would be later. The bar was worn and adorned with license plates from various states and vehicles, and two female bartenders served drinks from behind it. One turned to look at Yuri, but the Asian woman held up two fingers and pressed on.
Finally reaching the farthest corner of the bar, Watanabe found a dimly lit booth and a single figure sitting in it. The oriental woman slid into the booth across from the shadowy individual and smiled at the blonde woman. "Good to see you Jean, sorry to keep you waiting."
The Commissioner of the NYPD snorted as she surveyed The Last Call, "Didn't take you to frequent a place like this," snarked Jean as the bartender, a Latin woman wearing a midriff barring top and daisy dukes to flaunt her ample curves, arrived with a pair of beers, setting them on the table. Yuri picked up one of the bottles as Jean did the same, the glass clinking together before both women took a sip. "Strikes me more like the kind of place you'd kick down the doors of."
Yuri chuckled lowly at that, "You're not wrong," admitted the Wraith, "But I'm meeting another contact here later. I'll let you know if that leads anywhere," she assured before narrowing her eyes, "I can guess why you're here though."
"Ricca," confirmed DeWolff, setting her beer aside and leaning forwards, elbows on the table as she folded her hands, blue eyes boring into the former NYPD Captain. "Did you do it?"
Yuri shook her head, "That one wasn't me, his number 2, Cantina, over in Brooklyn, was. They brought in Colombian cocaine on that tramp steamer that came into Manhattan, bribed the customs people probably. I haven't figured out that part yet," admitted the Wraith. "I mopped up all Riccas guys and burned the drugs."
"Where was this?" asked Jean, eyebrow raised in suspicion.
Wary, Yuri answered precisely, "Greenpoint, by the water treatment plant."
"Huh, we haven't found that one yet," the blonde Commissioner drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I'm sure the mayor would be happy to thank you for getting those drugs off our streets."
"I didn't do it for that damned bitch, Jean," snapped Yuri, downing more of her beverage in an effort to cool her nerves. "I wanted to see if I could get a lead on your rodent problem."
"Well I haven't been having much luck on my end," admitted the Commissioner grimly, "We checked everyone who might have been able to leak your file Yuri, got nothing solid, hell, not even anything suspicious. I know it's important to you but…."
"That sonofabitch is the reason Hammerhead came after my people," hissed Watanabe, venom coursing through her words. "I lost two dozen officers because Hammerhead knew he could use them to get to me and it fucking worked. That's not something I've forgotten."
When Yuri finally got a hold of herself, she saw Jean's eyes had turned to ice, not deterred by Watanabe's outburst. "I haven't either Yuri, but I can't afford to dwell on it now, not when something else might be brewing, something I might need your help with. Will you help me or not?"
Sobering up, Yuri took a sip of the beer as she slumped back against the worn pleather and nodded, "I'll help Jean, but I won't give up on this either."
"Didn't ask you to forget completely," replied DeWolff as she slid her phone across the table, "The initial report of the Ricca case, gimme your take."
While Yuri picked up the phone, Jean idly sipped on her drink, watching the former Captain as she scrolled through the pages. "Earlington Smith? Who's he? I don't remember him being at Chinatown."
"He's a new hire, young but sharp, graduated from Cal Tech two years ago, too young to be detective but," Jean shrugged and took another drink, "I don't have a lot of options right now."
"You can't get someone else? What about Montez? He's got a good eye," returned Yuri.
Crossing her arms, Jean's expression turned to annoyance, "I had to put Stanley Carter up as Captain at Chinatown. He's good but… rigid."
"Stick up his ass more like," muttered Watanabe under her breath. "He used to be in Personnel and Records, right?" Jean nodded, "Remember what we used to say about Personnel?"
"It's for assholes," recalled Jean, smiling at their old joke before going back to her beer. Sighing, the woman explained her position, "Carter thinks swapping cases around is bad for efficiency or something, and I can't overrule him without undermining his authority."
"And you wonder why I never wanted to get promoted," deadpanned Yuri before going back to the report, looking at the pictures, sketches, and diagrams of the crime scene. Her mind slowly started to piece together what must have happened. "Whoever did this was good, damn good," she commented, "They were able to get Ricca's driver to pull over in one of our blind spots and approach the car without being fired upon."
"That was our read too," confirmed DeWolff with a nod, taking another sip. "Question is how? Inside job maybe?"
"Maybe," conceded Watanabe as she arrived at the photos of the interior of the car before shaking her head, "Maybe not, this shooting is good. The assailant didn't hesitate and these three shots into Ricca are pretty neat, must've been a big one too."
"Ballistics says it's a .44 Magnum, 270 grain slugs," supplied Jean.
"Really big one," corrected Yuri. Her .357 Magnum had been considered somewhat of a hand cannon back when she had been on the force, and the .44 Magnum was a step above that. "It wasn't some random Maggia enforcer who did this, it was a pro, and there aren't any of those left in the Maggia, I killed most of them," reminded Yuri before going back to her bottle.
"That you did," agreed Jean, sipping on her own beer, eyebrows furrowed, "Hired gun then?"
"Probably," answered the Wraith, reading on, "But how did he manage to get so close to Ricca? Almost like the mobster trusted him not to do anything wrong despite forcing him off the road. It doesn't make any sense…" mused Yuri, reaching for her beer when she saw the edge of Jean's badge peek out from her sport coat and it hit her, "Unless he was impersonating a cop."
The Commissioner's jaw dropped. "You're shitting me."
Shaking her head, Yuir explained her reasoning, "Look, guy comes up behind him in a police car, flashes the lights and gets the driver to pull over. Ricca probably thinks he can pay the cop off or something, so they let him approach, and then the 'cop' shoots them all through the window." Scrolling down further, Yuri found another picture that supported her theory, "See, the driver had his wallet out, maybe the shooter asked the driver for his license to distract him before opening fire."
"Damn, you might have a point," responded DeWolff, snatching her phone back to look through the photos again, shocked expression illuminated by the screen. "And it was dark too, so it just had to be close enough to fool them probably." Yuri nodded, going back to her beer as Jean tapped away furiously on her phone, "I'm going to have our people check for any lost or stolen gear in the morning that could have been used."
"Good a place as any to start," agreed Watanabe, going back to her own bottle, "This does raise another question though. If a hired gun did this, then who hired him?"
That elicited a hum from DeWolff, "Not sure, I'll have our organized crime guys run a check, might be any of the other players in the Maggia game these days. Or just someone with a personal vendetta against Ricca. Hell, maybe even the prostitute, this Tiffany Mackenzie, had a scorned lover."
"I doubt that last one, easier ways to set that up than like this," dismissed Jean before seeing the look Yuri was giving her. "I'll have my guys check anyways, can't leave any stone unturned. My only problem is having enough people to go around kicking rocks, would you care to help with that?"
Her lips pursing, Yuri hesitated as she thought of the best way to word her response. "I'll shake some trees and see what falls out," she promised, "But I'm not coming off finding out who the mole in the department is Jean. And I don't think you want me anywhere near a hot button case like this either, not with the pressure coming down from City Hall."
DeWolff begrudgingly grunted an agreement, "The insider is a hot button case too Yuri. We haven't had a corruption case like this since… since…."
Yuri scowled, "I know," she acknowledged curtly. "Which is another reason why I want to handle it."
"It won't change what your father did," consoled Jean, her voice low and gentle. All Yuri answered with was a hard glare. Holding up her hands in a mock surrender gesture, DeWolff finished off her beer, "I'll send you any updates on that Ricca case, let me know if you find anything, preferably in a way that won't have reporters hounding me for comment."
Watanabe only answered with a single nod, "Good night, Jean. It was good seeing you again."
"It was," agreed DeWolff with a small smile, "Good night, Yuri." And with that, the Commissioner slipped out of the booth and made for the door.
With that, Watanabe was left alone with her thoughts and what was left of her drink for a few minutes, her mind drifting aimlessly until someone else slipped into the booth. Looking up, Yuri saw it was the bartender from earlier, the Latina woman smiling broadly at her. "Who was that?" asked the bartender, "Is she someone else like me?"
Rolling her eyes, Yuri went back to her drink, nearing the end of it, "No, just an old friend who wanted to catch up on some stuff for work."
"And you're always working Ms. P.I.," replied the bartender with pursed lips. Shrugging, Yuri finished off the last of her beer. "You're not in trouble, are you?" asked bartender, prompting Yuri to raise an eyebrow, "Because that was a cop if I've ever seen one, am I wrong?" Watanabe shook her head, though the ex-Captain still shifted uncomfortably. "What'd she want with you then?"
"Interested in my case is all," answered Watanabe, "The same one you're helping me with Lola, the one you said you had something for me," reminded the vigilante.
Lola sighed deeply, "All work, no play with you, still?" she asked, and Yuri gave a noncommittal shrug, drawing a chortle from the bartender. "If you're so insistent, I'd rather go somewhere private, don't want anyone to hear what I need to say. And you owe me for the beers."
"Fair enough," replied Watanabe. "My cars up the street, I know a place close by."
Lola's smile grew, "I know one too, and I'd bet it's closer."
Closing Notes: Hope everyone enjoyed meeting the rest of the cast, there will be a few more additions later on, but these are the main recurring characters. If you're worried about the implications at the end of the chapter, don't be, there won't be anything explicit or impactful to the story. Otherwise, there isn't much for me to say, but if you want to say something, there's a button down there for just that purpose.
Coming up will be another day in the Madhouse.
Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta Out.