The Shield and Buffy the Vampire Slayer

in a crossover FanFiction

Antwon's Fangs

by LancerFourSeven

AKA STFarnham

See Chapter One for Disclaimer

Chapter Five

"Hi, I'm Detective Wagenbach, call me Dutch. And this is Detective Claudette Wyms. What can we do for you Agent Lehane?"

"You were the first on the scene I understand?"

"No, Officers Lowe and Sofer were first on the scene. We were a block away when we heard a gunshot and then, incredibly, the shooter fell out of his tree right in front of us."

"Really?" Faith laughed, "he fell right in front of you?"

"Yep, plopped right down on the sidewalk, pretty much in front of our car. Since guys up in trees with guns are rarely up to any good – not in Farmington anyway – we stopped to arrest him. Of course it turned out he was already deceased seeing as he landed on his head, but we didn't know that yet when another guy stepped out of the bushes and tried to take the rifle, and we shot him after he tried to shoot us – he lived and is under arrest in the hospital while he recovers."

"Hmm, the plot thickens. Did you identify either of them yet?"

"Yeah, the shooter is one Gordon 'Slimy' Demers. He's a, I mean was, a homeless man who lived under the fifty-eighth street bridge with a fairly large group of homeless. He used a cardboard refrigerator box as his bedroom."

"Do I want to know why he's called 'Slimy'?

"No, you really don't."

"Okay, moving along, what about the other man?"

"Yeah, well, he appears to be a tourist from Minnesota."

"Appears?"

"Yeah, his identification is suspicious as hell. We're trying to identify him through fingerprints or DNA, but so far, no go."

"So that's it?" exclaimed Faith, "you think you got it solved, case closed?"

"We caught the guy red handed, with the weapon – this weapon here on my desk. We found the bullet and matched it to the gun, we got his partner, and the shooter is dead. His partner is charged with attempted homicide and second degree homicide since a man was killed during a crime. So yeah, case closed – we don't see any other way for it to have gone down – and we're turning it over to the DA."

"Tell me about the rifle, detective," asked Faith.

"Well, this weapon," Dutch said, picking it up from his desk, "is an Accuracy International Arctic Warfare military sniper rifle."

"So it isn't just some hunting rifle swiped from a careless homeowner's garage," said Faith.

"Well, no." Wagenbach took a moment to remember where he was. "Its got a Schmidt and Bender PM II variable magnification scope mounted on a custom stainless steel black anodized barrel." He paused to aim at the balcony and took a look through the scope for a moment before setting it back down on the desk. "This rifle is so good it is capable of extreme range first shot hits even when the barrel is cold.

"Now this particular weapon is chambered for the .338 Lapua Magnum, so it's no wonder the shooter fell out of his tree after one shot – it's got some serious kick to it and if he wasn't ready for it, well..."

Faith scowled.

Dutch tapped and pointed to various features on the rifle while he spoke, "It has adjustable everything, and I don't see anything that is still on the factory setting. That means a real expert sighted it in and adjusted it until it fires perfectly."

Faith asked, "So how much did it cost?"

"Well, the basic rifle is is about three thousand dollars, not including accessories or custom barrel. With this scope, and the professional set-up, it probably went for at least six thou, maybe more."

Detective Wyms, frowning heavily, said, "So we got our bad guys and closed the case. Why are the Feds nosing around?"

Faith said, "Do you expect me to believe that some drunk who lives under a bridge in a cardboard box, somehow acquired a six thousand dollar rifle to assassinate a martial arts instructor? How? Did he walk to the nearest gun store and order it on his NRA Homeless Persons American Express Card? Or maybe he went down to the container yards and stole it? Since expensive military sniper rifles just like this one are are easily found lying around waiting to be picked up by random trespassers." She paused and stared with cold eyes at the detectives. "Here's one fact: I don't fucking believe it. And that's a fact you can take to the bank."

"All right, the case might be a little thin..." said Dutch.

"A little thin? Have you even tried to trace the gun? And who is this guy? Why did he go to all this trouble to shoot an unarmed combat instructor? Did he suddenly get a hard-on for her? Is this some guy who really hates independent women and saw Kennedy as a threat to his lifestyle? Or maybe he just doesn't like lesbians? Did he actually shoot this gun? Did you do a GSR? You're tellin' me he's been a drunk for ten years or more, so I'm having a hard time seeing the picture here."

Wyms scowled some more. Wagenbach mumbled something unintelligible.

Faith continued, "The other guy looks far more interesting. Did you find anything on him, at all?"

Wyms spoke up, "No, he's a blank. Everything on him is faked: identity, license, Library card, credit cards; all fake. His clothes are brand new, right off the rack from a Wal-Mart, and untraceable. We've run his fingerprints prints on AFIS, no joy. We're running them now against military, prison, and international databases. Nothing yet, but the program's still running. We've sent a sample for DNA testing, but our lab's backed up at least four months, maybe longer. And he's not said one single word to anyone, other than to ask for a bedpan from time to time."

Faith said, "Send copies of everything to Justice, they're the ones all antsy and bothered over this. And if you send the gun to ATF you'll probably give those guys stiffies to brag about, and they may be able to trace it, eventually."

"Okay.'

Faith continued, "All right, this un-ID'd dead guy probably set it up. The drunk was supposed to be a cut-out, but your good fortune caught both guys. I'll bet ya dollars to doughnuts the unsub is a hitman or a heavy-duty arranger of some kind. And I want whoever hired him, are we clear? This case is not closed, or do I hafta go over your heads?"

Wyms agreed with an unhappy sigh, "No, it's not closed."

"So what were you guys doing when this shooter fell out of his tree?" asked Faith.

"Doing?"

"Yeah, where were you headed?"

"We were going back to a crime scene for follow-up. Why, don't you believe in coincidence?"

"Of course I don't, although I'm having a hard time seeing this as anything but."

"Hmm. Still, one odd thing, at the time we were looking for 'Gunny' Washington. He's called Gunny because he supplies guns to drug gangs. Or any 'gangstas' at all, I suppose."

Faith raised her eyebrows. "Guns, huh? You think he could supply something like this?" she asked, lifting up the sniper rifle.

"Well, we don't know for certain. Gunny is slippery – if it wasn't for those pesky things known as 'evidence' and 'trials', we'd have him in prison, but we just don't have any solid proof, although that may change with this case."

Faith picked up the case file on the Washington murder and started flipping through the pictures. She asked, "This the case you were workin' on?"

"Yeah, some kinda animal attack on Gunny Washington's mother. If she was murdered to send a message to Gunny, it was from someone with a very cold heart."

Faith continued flipping through the file. When she came to a closeup of the victim's neck, she barely managed to not visibly react. She thought to herself, Fuck! Fuckin' vampires! She asked, "So, uh, what's the official cause of death?"

"Exsanguination. You can see the bite marks on her throat."

"You're certain she was bitten by something?"

"Yeah. We know what you're thinkin, but it's not worth the aggravation to say," his voice dropped to a soft whisper, "vampire." His voice back to normal, he continued, "It's gotta be an animal attack. We just don't know what kind of animal yet."

"Okay, didja ever interview this 'Gunny' Washington?"

"No, we're gonna try again in the morning."

"Mind if I ride along?"

Dutch and Wyms glanced at each other. 'Yes', Faith could see in their expressions, they would mind. But Wyms said out loud, "No no, not at all. Come back tomorrow before nine, and we'll go talk to him."

"Okay."

"Is there any coffee around here?"

"Yes, the breakroom's over there." Dutch pointed. Faith smiled at him at turned away.

A few minutes later Detective Wagenbach slipped into the breakroom where Faith was struggling with the coffee maker.

"Can I help you Detective?" she asked.

"Yeah, uh, about that, back there?"

Faith nodded.

"You see, Claudette is in disrepute with the DA's office because she wouldn't look the other way on an ADA who we caught chipping last year."

"Chipping?"

"Yeah, LA street slang for an occasional drug user. The trouble with chippers is that over time, they rarely stay 'occasional', so one day we saw that she was high while in court trying a case, and Claudette absolutely would not sweep it under the rug. It's put a bunch of old cases in jeopardy, and Claudette refuses to apologize because she's right but the DA is deeply angry with Claudette and wishes nothing less than to humiliate her. Since this affects me too, I made a little deal with them, and we're supposed to do them a couple of favors, and well, if we're not going to do one even favor, then the DA will sabotage our case – or continue to sabotage our cases. It took me a long time to find one where she would budge enough to look the other way, and now you've shot us down, but it might screw up this very case. Probably count on it, I'd say."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so."

Faith thought about it for a few moments, then asked, "So why does the District Attorney want to let this case slide?"

"I doubt it's anything underhanded, I think they just see a chance to put this in the win column without doing much work and this one is paired with another case about a marijuana dealer they'd like to put away. Anyway, the DA's office, like every department in this city, is seriously overextended and underfunded."

"Okay, let's work the case properly and let the DA do what they fucking want. Make sure all the paperwork is tight, if the DA doesn't work the case properly, I'll move it over to the United States Attorney. With a little luck, that'll embarrass the DA so much they may apologize to you, and you'll be back in clover."

"Either that, or the DA will complain so loudly to the Chief of Detectives that we'll end up transferred to the Trash and Garbage Regulation Detail."

Faith laughed, "That's always possible. But I have some pull, I think it'll work out."

"I certainly hope so."

That evening Vic and Lem parked their car in one of Farmington's slightly upscale but still crappy residential areas. They pulled their guns and stalked quietly down an alley. Finally, at a detached garage, Vic cat-footed to the side door and signaled Lem to cover him. He raised his foot and kicked the door in. "POLICE! POLICE! POLICE!" they both shouted as they rushed through, guns tracking back and forth for whatever might be a danger. "DOWN! DOWN! GET DOWN!" they shouted. But there was only one person in the garage, seated calmly at a workbench, working on a tiny object with a very fine brush. His only reaction was to place the doll-house secretary desk he was working on down on the bench. He deliberately put his brush in a glass jar, whisked it clean, and asked, "What the fuck you want Mackey? I ain't got time for this buuull-shit. An' why'd you hafta go an' kick my damn door in? Who's gonna fix it, huh? You? Don't make me laugh."

Vic put his gun away and smiled at Lem. He turned back and said, "That's just for the neighbors, keep your street cred up to date." Lem tried to put the door back in place, finally just jammed it into the frame. Vic gently picked up the tiny walnut desk and inspected it carefully. "Damn Theo, but you do good work. My daughter would love a dollhouse stocked with your shit." Mackey put the desk down and made a show of admiring Theo's toolbox of very small tools all neatly laid out in interlocking sliding trays.

"You can't afford my work, Mackey. Not with your city paycheck anyways. Now why the fuck you here?"

"Yeah, look, whattya know about 'Gunny' Washington? Looks like wild animals killed his ma, was that nature runnin' its course here in the middle of Farmington? Or did someone lowlife shithead fix it up somehow?"

The CI snorted, "Hah! You wouldn't believe me if I tol' you."

"Try me! And don't you dare hold out on me or I'll pass the word that you're a rat."

"Thas whut I get for trustin' a fuckin' po-po. I'll tell you what I know, but not only will you not believe me, but you'll prolly fuck me up cuz your gonna think I'm fuckin' wit ya."

"Go ahead." Vic and Mackey found boxes to sit on.

"See, the thing is ole 'Gunny' got his ass in a sling wit' Antwon cuz a delivery got fucked up; some shit wasn't delivered as promised. Story on the street is Gunny tried to mend fences by giving Antwon a couple of crates of AK's but Antwon had his heart set on hand grenades so they had words and that shit Antwon didn't take it well so he sent..."

"Fuck! Wait, hold on! Hand grenades!? Are you fuckin' shittin' me?" said Vic, getting angry just thinking about Mitchell with hand grenades.

"It's no shit Mackey, I guess Antwon figures grenades would scare people pretty good, so he's really tryin' hard to git some."

Vic exchanged looks with Lemansky, then asked, "So who did Mitchel send?" asked Vic.

"You believe in vampires?"

"What? You mean Dracula and shit? Pull the other one!" said Lem.

"Well, I tol' ya you wouldn't believe me."

Vic said, "Don't be too quick to condemn the man, Lem. A couple times I seen some things I don't believe myself. Still, it's a far more complicated explanation than necessary to fit the facts, I mean, seriously, which is more likely in the middle of Farmington: vampires or coyotes?"

"I feel ya, but this time it's vampire. That fuckwad Antwon Mitchell has got himself some tame vampires that do his bidding. Don't know how, he just does."

"Do you think Antwon is a vampire?"

"No, not Antwon, just a couple of his soldiers, and I think, maybe, one of his daughters or sister or somethin'. And watch out for that big guy, too, the one thas big enough to be a mountain. He might not be completely human."

Lem shook his head and laughed. "Come on Vic, you don't believe this whack shit, do ya? Lil' fucker's sandbaggin' us."

"I don't want to, but like I said, over the years I have seen some things I can't easily explain..." He trailed off as if remembering something unpleasant, then continued, "So, if Antwon has a couple of vampires on his payroll, what's in it for them? I mean, if this is for real, why would creatures of the night pay any attention to Antwon?"

"Beats the shit outta me, thas outta my league and no way am I gonna ask questions 'bout it. I'm jus' warning you."

"Okay. Here's twenty." He peeled two tens off a roll of bills and dropped them on the bench.

"Twenty! That ain't hardly enough for a decent cup of coffee! The fuck Vic! My door alone gonna cost mor'n that to fix! I'm your CI, I's sposed to git paid!"

"Not 'till we check this out. If your warning is on, then you'll get more, a whole lot more. But if it ain't, you'll owe me and Lem dinner."

"You're on!"

"Where we gonna find the walking mountain?" asked Lem.

"Try a warehouse over off Louis street and a hunnerd and six. It's red brick and the only building in ten blocks that ain't got broke windows and not much graffiti. It's one of Antwon's storage places, so you'll find a pile of good shit there, and I damn well want to get paid for lettin' you know!"

"If the raid succeeds, we'll take care of your bank account, trust me."

Theo frowned, "Yeah, I'm all about trustin' the fuckin' po-po these days. I wish to fuck I'd never got my ass in this fix."

"Them's the breaks Theo, you only got yourself to blame."

"Oh no, I gots you to blame."

"It won't be long, if this is as big as you say, this could be the last time."

" 'Bout damn time, too."

TBC