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Chapter 1 – Flynn
The clink of the metal bat meeting the hide of the ball had Andy Flynn giving himself a mental point. He was up to thirty-five and had been there, at the batting cages, for just a little over forty-five minutes. Granted, he was supposed to be there with his son, but his ex-wife got wind of his suspension and cancelled dinner. Not that Andy was surprised.
Clink. The ball soared to the back of the cage and hit the net. He watched as it rolled down the dome and caught sight of another ball coming towards him. Clink.
He was working out his anger. Something his mandated therapist had him considering. He had to work out his anger and instead of shooting suspects, innocent victims, or bashing people's faces in, hitting a ball for an hour a week should help. It was. A little. Not like he could drink anymore.
Clink. Every hit was for the victim's he wasn't able to help the last month. Clink. Every hit was for the days he couldn't talk to his kids because they were put to bed early, or weren't home. Clink. Every hit was for the idiots at Internal Affairs who had him hand over his badge and gun and wait. Clink. Every hit was for the internal Affairs representative that had him waiting for an hour last week before anyone came into tell him they would call him.
A week ago he had gone up to his meeting. A week ago he had wrapped the idea around his head that he was getting fired. Yet, here he was a week later, no badge, no gun, no job, and he was still considered to be an LAPD officer; just on suspension.
The rep had a court case of their own. A personal day had been taken last minute and was non-negotiable. Whatever. Things happen. But – Clink- it was rude to make him wait. To have him stew. It wasn't professional. Clink.
The balls had stopped coming and Andy Flynn was turning around, ready to put more money in the machine when he caught sight of the woman watching him. Hair up into a ponytail, jeans, t-shirt; she looked relaxed. She looked good. And that smile that played on her lips had Andy smiling back. So in went the couple quarters and for her, for the woman watching him bat, he hit more balls.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Sure he was showing off. Sure he was making himself look good. When a woman who looked that good was watching him, she deserved a show.
The balls stopped coming and he leaned his bat up against the cage, stepping behind the white line and took off his helmet. The woman was approaching him.
"Like what you see?" He asked her.
"I thought we could talk," she said, lifting the t-shirt just enough for him to see her badge.
It caught him by surprise. He blinked at her, at her hip, and then narrowed his eyes.
"You're the IA rep," he stated.
She nodded and he swore under his breath. Of course this was the woman. Wait. He snapped up his head and looked at her again. This woman, the woman from a month ago, the mute woman; she was the IA rep?
Flynn took a deep, frustrated breath and shoved open the cage. He stomped over to the desk, handed over the bat, the helmet, and claimed his I.D. back. He shoved it into his back pocket and turned around to see the woman had followed him. Not closely, but still – she had followed him.
"There's a coffee shop across the street," he said, pointing to the blue roofed building. "I will be in there. If you want to talk, that's where I'll be."
With that Flynn stormed off and caught the green light as he jogged across the street. Blindsided was one thing. There was – someone could have called him to let him know that the rep was going to hunt him down at the cages. But that's not how it works when you're being looked at for a crime. The surprise is supposed to unsettle the suspect. It's supposed to make them run.
It's the light bulb moment that went off in his head as he handed over a five-dollar bill to the woman behind the counter.
Flynn had snapped at the IA Rep and the woman behind the counter because he was unsettled. He gave the rep an ultimatum, follow or leave, and ran – literally – ran across the street. He drew a hand over his face. He was acting like a guilty man.
It was no surprise that the woman had followed him in. It wasn't a surprise either that, in her hands, was a binder, which she balanced her tea on after purchasing it. Their eyes met across the room and she made her way towards him.
She sat across from him and she sat her tea cup off to the side. After opening the binder, took out a small stack of papers and then closed her binder. She presented them to Andy and spread them out for him to look at.
"This," she said, tapping the first page. "Is what we are going to be dealing with for the next however long this investigation takes."
She offered him a pen. His eyes scanned over it. He was to remain suspended for the duration of the investigation. He was not allowed to be part of any of the interviews. He was not allowed to go to work for any reason other than to be interviewed by another member of the investigative party. He is not allowed to talk to anyone involved or potentially involved with the case. At the bottom it required his signature.
With a flourish he signed it. She took it and slipped it into her binder.
"This is a copy of what you are being investigated for."
Excessive use of force. Conduct unbecoming. Improper use of his firearm. Witness intimidation. All resulting with a death of a victim, ballistics report pending.
He could be arrested for the death of the victim if the ballistics match. He could be fired for any of the other charges. He knew that. He understood that. He just had to sign his name at the bottom of the page.
She took that sheet and slipped it in with the other one. She tapped the last page which she moved in front of him.
"This details what happens in the event you are fired and in the event you are not."
In the event that he lost his job, he would be forced to hand over his badge and service weapon. He would be authorized to utilize the department for other job inquiry's. Benefits will be available to him for a duration deemed by the Human Resources department. His pension plan and other things would be dealt with at time of dismissal.
In the event that he was not fired he would be re-instated after mandatory psych-evaluation, requalification, and three months of desk duty. Signatures from various departments would be needed to qualify him for full reinstatement. He would not be paid for his suspension. He would be paid for the limited duty on the days he tested or sat at his desk.
He signed, clicked the pen and handed both the paper and the pen to her.
He expected her to leave. She didn't. She pulled out another piece of paper and clicked the pen, clasping her hands.
"I am not here to railroad you," the woman declared. "I am here to get your side of the story; to see what discrepancies I can find in the case."
"Everything that happened is in that report," Flynn said. "I answered the dispatch call, went to the location, pulled my weapon. I did not shoot at anyone, or anything. The victim was already down."
"Did you clear the call?"
"I called dispatch," Andy nodded. "They cleared the original call."
"Which was?"
"Possible dead female," Andy said. "Possible suicide."
The woman noted it down and looked up again.
"When did the shooting take place?"
That's what the trouble was. He couldn't tell them. He didn't know.
"Before I got there," Andy said. "No shots at the scene while I was there."
"Your weapon was fired," she pointed out. "How did that happen if you didn't shoot it?"
"The idiot," Andy started and then stopped, taking a deep breath. "The house hadn't been cleared and the idiot came at me with – he came at me. I had my gun already out and the guy lunged for it. The safety was off because –"
There was no reason for his safety to be off unless he felt like he was in danger. He couldn't blame it on muscle memory. Well he could, but he doubted it would stand on it's own two feet without a little bit of backup.
"We struggled, a singular shot went off. A gun dropped from his hand and I had mine." Flynn said. "I was told to stay put because of my gun."
"The not-knowing of it going off," Sharon clarified, writing the note down as Andy nodded.
It was a mess. Two guns, one shot, two dead bodies. One a victim, the other a suspect, and no one knows who shot the suspect. No one knows if the dead suspect was the one who shot the victim either. That's where it got murky.
The woman across from him clasped her hands and gave him a narrowed look before widening her eyes again. The man before her had a thick jacket. One she spent the last week with, going over every report, every record, anything that could hurt and help him. The list she made was leaning towards the latter instead of the former.
"Your anger issues deserve a suspension. Your disrespect of authority and distrust in the organization that you take so much pride in – you deserve to be fired for disrespecting it the way that you have."
He gnawed on the inside of his cheek to prevent him from lashing out. The organization that she was talking about had been a pain in the ass. But going into work every day dealing with dead body after dead body, houses that had been robbed – it paid the bills. It paid his child support. She was right when he said he took pride in his badge. He took pride in saying he worked for the LAPD and he would never do anything to jeopardize his career.
"Then why haven't you fired me?" Andy questioned, challenging her.
She gave the man a non-committal shrug. Her job wasn't to fire him. Not yet. Not ever she hoped. Sure his jacket was thick, but he was a good cop. The commendations and rewards that he did get proved that.
"It's not my job," she said. "You're going to need someone on your side in the event this goes south."
"You think it will?"
Another shrug. She was being careful. He appreciated that. It also meant that she knew him and his past, knowing certain job related things could potentially set him off.
He sighed and dropped his head in his hand, rubbing his face. He didn't – he couldn't afford to get fired. He also couldn't afford to sit on his ass all day.
"In the next few days' various members of Internal Affairs are going to get together with Pope and see if they, we, can save your job." She said. "Another group is going to find a way to get you fired. In the end it's up to Pope."
"Might as well just give you my badge now," Flynn remarked with a smirk. "He hates me."
That was something she hadn't heard about. But the differences that Pope and Flynn had were not a secret. If Pope wanted someone fired, he would do it himself. He wouldn't authorize half the IA Department to investigate a single officer on a single case. Not that Flynn needed to know that.
Instead Sharon looked at her notebook and grinned. She shrugged. Again. That shrug was going to bother him. Especially if she stayed around long enough and refused to say anything.
"After that you and I are going to need to meet to talk about what happens next."
Flynn nodded. He figured that much.
"You'll call me or do I call you?" He asked, not intending it to sound so blunt.
She shook her head and stood, gathering her notebook. Her tea had gone cold, half of it gone. He had been drinking his coffee while she did most of the talking.
He followed her out onto the street. Knee jerk reaction had him reaching to his hip when a car came flying down the street, blaring his horn. There was nothing there and he let out a frustrated sigh as he followed her to the corner. He stood next to her, quietly, side by side waiting for the light to turn.
He didn't shy away from her too far. He followed her to the car she stopped at an older car, but apparently still working. She slipped into her car, behind her wheel and reached over, pulling out a singular card from her dashboard. A look had him stepping back, far enough for her to close the door. He thought he was going to be left, ditched, but the car turned over and she rolled down the window.
The card was in between her fingers, presented to him. He took it. He propped and arm on the roof of her car and leaned in.
"Am I getting fired?" he asked her honestly. Taking note of the flash of color in her eyes.
"That's up to you."
With that she put her car into reverse, waved him off, and pulled out of her parking spot. He stood there, with her card in hand, and watched as she merged into the traffic of the street.
He looked down at the card and read it.
Sharon Raydor. Internal Affairs. LAPD.
He read it over a few more times and shook his head. The name registered soon after and he looked back at the card.
Sharon Raydor. Raydor.
He cursed and shoved the card into his back pocket and made his way to his car. He threw it in reverse and screeched out of the parking lot. He needed a drink. He wasn't going to get one. He wanted to work but he couldn't. So instead he drove up to Griffith Park. While he looked out over the city, he ate the sandwich he stopped to get. His last chance before he got swallowed hole in the mess that was LAPD vs. Flynn.
LAPD: 1 Flynn: 0
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