Title: Shall We Play A Game?
Author: FraidyCat
Disclaimer: remains in effect
My Name is FraidyCat, and I'm a whump-a-holic.
A/N: The geography of L.A. is a mixture of fact and fantasy.
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Chapter Thirty: Ka-Boom
Taking into consideration the 'day off' he was having, Lieutenant Gary Walker considered himself a very lucky man. At first he had been disappointed when the higher-ups informed him that he would not be needed at the target site of the Planet Green bombing. Most of his unit was there, and he had volunteered along with the rest of them. However – no doubt after a six-hour conflab conducted over day-old donuts and bad coffee – administration had decided LAPD needed a few experienced officers available to respond to the other calls that were sure to come in. The safety of the L.A. streets could not be left in the hands of inexperienced rookies and bitter T.O.s; nor could the safety of those patrolmen be ignored. So Walker was culled from his unit and given the temporary and pointless designation of Transition Liaison.
To his credit, Walker may have complained to his wife – but he sucked it up and reported for duty bright-and-early at 6 on his day off, ready to do his part. When he was called to the scene of the officer-involved shooting and the discovery was made that one of Planet Green's most wanted leaders was down, he figured that was his Karma for the day. How cool was it that he was yanked from the bombing detail only to end up with the first PG casualty?
Then, he got the call about at least two more wanted members parked outside of the Westlake/MacArthur Park Metro station, and it got even sweeter. Two uniforms were keeping an eye on the suspects. Luckily, one was Mac Reese, a 20-year-plus veteran who had apparently decided to stop advancing toward retirement on cruise control and actually teach his rookie something.
Walker was nothing if not a glutton, though, and he wanted more of the rich success fate was sending his way. He might have been able to take the van on his own – but the uniforms couldn't get too close without being spotted, so there was no good intel on possible weaponry. LAPD coverage on the streets was thin – and concentrated in the area of the downtown Y. More pleased with himself than he probably should be, Walker contacted the Assistant Director of the Los Angeles Bureau of the F.B.I., and offered to take Wright under his wing for a little old-fashioned street justice.
The feds were feeling the personnel crunch as well, so he really wasn't too surprised when Wright agreed. After all, the man was still required to qualify physically and on the firing range, exactly for opportunities such as this.
Walker grinned as he swaggered to the unmarked vehicle. He and Wright would meet at the Wilshire/Vermont Metro station and ride the Red Line right to S. Alvarado St. No way could the alleged perps in the van make their unmarked if they didn't bring it anywhere near the final destination.
Potential bombings aside – and surely Eppes would handle that threat with his usual finesse – life could be sweet.
Very sweet indeed.
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Liz looked up from her perch on the child-sized chair, at the child-sized table, as the daycare's entrance door was pushed open. She laid aside her paperwork and stood in one fluid motion, smiling and approaching the young couple with her hand extended. "Good afternoon! Welcome to the YMCA's downtown Infant and Preschool Program!" She shook Cracker's hand – careful to present a weak rendition of her usual grip – and moved on to Dawn, still smiling. "My name is Miss Liz. How can I help you today?"
Cracker glanced at Dawn and then let his eyes dart around the suspiciously-empty playroom. "Where are all the kids?"
Liz backed more deeply into the room, leading them in whether they knew it or not. She laughed, and looked around. "Yes, I suppose this is unusual for a childcare center! Mrs. Marilyn, our director, and several of the other teachers, took them through the back over to the gym for some exercise." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "We haven't been able to take them outside all day because of the workmen, and they were getting antsy – to say the least!" Liz lifted her wrist and glanced at her watch. "We want to try to keep things as close to normal throughout this process, and nap time is at 2:30." She smiled at Cracker brightly. "Gotta tire the little things out somehow!" Cracker allowed a slight chuckle, and Dawn turned her head to glare at him.
Liz backed farther into the room, almost all of the way to the kitchen, where Don waited, his Glock at the ready. "Would you like some juice?" she asked, and then giggled like a lovestruck teenager. "Oh, dear. We have coffee also – it's just that I'm used to serving the little ones!"
Dawn moved so that she was effectively separating Liz and Cracker, glaring at him again as she passed. This was serious business, and they'd all be damned if their fearless leader couldn't rip his eyes off the little tart long enough to get with the program. "We have a kid," she blurted out, then stopped speaking as she felt Cracker's hand at her back.
He smiled disarmingly at Liz, looking for all the world, in his chinos and button-down, like a freshly-minted college graduate eager to take on success. "A child," he said, poking Dawn so hard she took half-a-step forward. "Two years old, now – Gretta. She's in another daycare, but we're unhappy with what she's learning there." He snorted. "Or not learning. All they do all day is play, and Gretta's very smart. She's ready to be challenged."
Dawn remembered her lines. "We've heard such good things about the Y's program," she said, forcing out another smile, "but we understand there's usually a waiting list?"
Liz nodded, glancing at the papers she had left on the table. "That's usually true," she agreed, "but I was just processing out of our toddlers. We'll miss him so much, but the family is moving. Are you sure I can't get you something to drink?"
Dawn shook her head and seemed to blush slightly. "Actually, I already need to use the ladies' room. I had a lot of water with my lunch – is there somewhere…?"
Liz's gentle smile was genuine. "Our adult-size restroom is down the hall, first door on the left," she said, indicating the general direction. "It's clearly marked." And there's a six-foot, 180-lb. hunk of manhood waiting there for you, she concluded silently, thinking of Colby hiding in one of the stalls.
Cracker rejoined the conversation. "Hurry back, sweetie," he crooned, watching Dawn walk away and then turning to wink at Liz. "I'll just look around a little while we wait." He approached the East wall, where several finger-paintings were displayed. "What age group did these?" he wondered.
"Our toddlers," Liz answered quickly, making a judgment call. If she stalled Cracker in the playroom, Don might be able to get the drop on him from the kitchen, especially if she led Cracker a little more to the left. However, it would be difficult for her to stand completely out of the line of fire without things appearing off, and the Planet Green leader was pretty much a perfect match for Eppes, when it came to body mass. A physical wrestling match, while she dove for the tiny back-up piece strapped to her ankle, was a distinct possibility. The noise alone would alert Dawn in the bathroom, maybe before she was finished with the C-4. Granger's orders were to wait until she was as dirty as possible before he took her down, and he could be caught out. The scenarios raced through her mind at warp-speed; it was only seconds before she decided to go with Plan B.
She moved around the small table again, stooping to push in some chairs and stepping on the alert button hidden under an area rug. Time to wake up the army. "Would you like to see their classroom?", she asked Cracker as she straightened. "It's opposite the restroom, so your wife can join us there."
Cracker let his eyes linger on Liz's silk blouse, which was clinging in all the right places. A few minutes alone in a back-room with the friendly young teacher? "Why not?" he answered, smiling. He let Liz pass him to lead the way. He followed politely, admiring the view.
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Norman Wright staggered sideways into Gary Walker, and the two of them nearly veered off the sidewalk. The A.D. laughed loudly and slapped Walker so hard on the back that his teeth rattled. "Shoulda had one more martini!" he yodeled.
Walker rolled his eyes and stepped away from the cloying grip. "I'm not taking you back to the office as it is. You've got to find somewhere to sleep it off."
Wright's face fell in dejected disappointment and he tried to latch onto Walker again, tripping over something unseen and probably nonexistent on the concrete. "Aw, come on, Mikey!"
Walker took a jog-step to the left, nearly hitting the young woman standing at the back of a cargo van, its rear doors open. Two men sat inside, a deck of cards on the floorboard between them, and all three had looked up at the approaching noise. Gary skidded to a stop and smiled at the young girl. "Sorry. Sorry, miss." He looked at the men in the back of the van. "Sorry, didn't mean any harm to the lady." He shot forward and bumped her again as A.D. Wright careened into his back.
Walker grunted. "Oh, good Lord. I never should have taken him out to lunch on his birthday!" He turned, so that his back was to the trio at the van. He placed one hand on Wright's shoulder. With the other, he reached cautiously under his jacket. "Dammit, Roy, you apologize to these fine folks!" he huffed.
Wright seemed to be trying to climb right over the top of Walker, hanging onto his lapel and appealing to the group at the van. "They're okay, Mikey," he crowed, grinning like a Jack-O-Lantern. "You – hic – ain't mad, righ?"
Patty met Marcus' eyes and rolled her own, and Aaron waved an impatient hand at the two drunks. "Just move on," he ordered.
Wright eased Walker aside a few inches. "One – hic – lash thing," he insisted, and Aaron sighed.
"What is it, you drunken fool?"
Wright stepped around Walker completely then, and raised his right hand so that the semi-automatic 9mm was close enough to blow Marcus' head into next year. At the same time, Gary pirrouetted like a ballet dancer, spinning to place the muzzle of his Beretta directly against Patty's ear. "Spread-eagle on the sidewalk, missy, or I'll just go ahead and spread you all over it myself," he growled.
Wright grinned at the gaping Aaron and Marcus. "You, too," he ordered. "And be careful who you call a 'drunken fool', asshole."
Officers Reese and Santos, in full uniform, had approached from the front of the sidelined van, staying low and negotiating between parked cars to avoid Patty's view. Now they stood ramrod straight: Santos was covering Patty and Reese had circled the van on the street side to back-up Wright. The three police officers and one F.B.I. agent kept their weapons trained steadily as Planet Green became one with Mother Earth.
Once they were down, hands interlaced behind their heads, Reese holstered his weapon and set about handcuffing the suspects. He knelt and made quick work of the men, then glanced at his rookie when he straightened to move to the woman. Richie's eyes were huge, wide and dilated, and Reese was glad Walker had his weapon trained on the female too. He winked at Santos. "This is not," he deadpanned, "a 1971 Dodge Colt. It's your bust, Rook – read 'em their rights."
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Liz stumbled over the threshold of the door as she opened it. She cried out, made a move as if to latch onto the frame, and then let herself pitch forward. Cracker automatically reached for her, missing. By the time Agent Warner had executed a full round-off somersault, liberating her back-up piece from her ankle holster on the way, Cracker found himself facing an ever-increasing number of assault rifles, semi-automatic pistols, even a few shotguns. Body-armor-clad police officers were appearing like smoke from behind flannel boards and partitions; some were even lying under the small tables, their weapons aimed directly at him.
He tried to take a step back, but felt Don's Glock in his back. "On your knees," Eppes commanded. Cracker did as he was told, his mind frantically searching for some way to make this right. "On your stomach – keep your hands over your head," Don continued. Cracker moved as slowly as he dared, trying to give Dawn time to apply all of the C-4. The remote was in the front pocket of his chinos; he could easily twist when he lay down, until the button was depressed. If Dawn was almost finished, the explosion would kill them all – but Cracker was ready to die for his cause. At the very least, even a small amount of C-4 would kill Dawn, who would be right in front of the explosion. In the ensuing panic, Cracker would escape. Dawn would forever be revered in Planet Green; he would make sure of it.
The pig behind him growled something else, and Cracker tried not to smile as he lowered himself to the floor.
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Colby heard the woman enter the restroom. He was perched on top of the toilet in the handicapped stall, holding the door slightly open so that it looked unoccupied. He gripped his service weapon tightly in case she screwed everything up by deciding to use the handicapped. He grinned and barely suppressed a laugh; if she did, at least he could bust her for that, since it was illegal.
He barely breathed as her footsteps began to approach. There was a pause, and he heard her set something on the tile floor. Then he detected the sound of pee echoing in a toilet bowl, and grimaced. Apparently she was using the facilities before she blew them up. A few seconds passed, and the toilet flushed. He heard rustling as she rearranged her clothing.
Suddenly, she began to whisper to herself. "Take the C-4 and roll it between your palms until it's like Play-Doh®," she narrated, and Colby couldn't believe his luck. He had intended to exit his hiding place as soon as he heard her wrestling with the ceramic toilet, but now he could wait until she summoned him!
He heard the sound of skin rubbing again skin – or something more ominous – and then a series of grunts, punctuated by the occasional scrape of porcelain-against-porcelain. "Wrap it around the back," she whispered; then, "attach the detonator, and move on to the second block…"
When Colby caught 'detonator', he decided that he had enough to take her. Quietly, all stealth, he lowered himself from the seat of the toilet.
And then Cracker twisted his hip just so, depressing the remote against the carpeted floor of the toddler classroom.
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Charlie had just picked up his Knight. He seemed to be contemplating a move when a sudden shiver ran through him and his grip convulsed. The chess piece fell from his hand and bounced off Ian's bed, rolling several feet across the floor.
Ian grinned. "That won't work, Doc – I'm not going to let you throw away the pieces." He reached for the nurse's call button. "I'll get someone in here to pick that up – because I am so winning this game!" His finger paused as he took a good look at Charlie, who was suddenly pale, his respirations increasing. Edgarton frowned. "Eppes? You ok?"
Charlie didn't seem to hear him, but started pushing up feebly on the arms of the chair. "Something bad…" he whispered.
Ian jabbed at the call button. "Hey, slow down," he implored, as Charlie began to stagger in hunched, short steps in the direction of his bed. "The nurse is coming, Charlie – wait!"
Charlie continued to ignore him, finally reaching the safety of his bed and crawling onto the bottom half, which was not elevated. He lay on his side, in as close to a fetal position as he could get, considering the drainage tube and bag. He struggled to pull the sheet over his head. "It's really bad," he whispered again, and then began to moan. The sound was constant, plaintive, a heart-breaking and frightening cry that chilled Ian to the bone.
He jabbed at the call button again.
Something bad, indeed.
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Oh, no! How big is the blast? Where are Amita and Alan? Will everyone in the daycare center be blown to smithereens? Will Santos make detective while he is still a rookie? Oh, woe!