Hello and welcome to one of the final chapters of 'Blimey, it's a baby!'. We're not quite at the end of the yellow brick road just yet but we're getting there. A huge thank you goes out to everyone who read chapter 16, especially to JudasFm and losttimelady for reviewing - it's so helpful when I get feedback to know where I'm going wrong or possibly right and it is very much appreciated!
Sorry if this chapter is a bit too long. In the end, I didn't know where to cut it so that you got a dose of all of the characters. Stick with it, I hope you like it!
Hearing his footsteps echo around him, DI Norton, one hand casually held in his trouser pocket, stepped inside the near empty CID office, his face barely moving. He wasn't surprised that no one was there to greet him bright and early that morning. Not after the frosty reception he received yesterday.
Not that he was too bothered; at least without dead weights clogging up the place, he should be able to get on with some proper detective work!
He made his way into his temporary office, laying his briefcase down on the desk. As he removed his black, woollen jacket, he realised that he was only wearing it to be pretentious. It was hardly needed at this time of year.
He turned around and spied the office most suspiciously; he swore that he'd left the chair facing the door. He always had and possibly always would do; it made every office (including one as un-kept as DCI Hunt's) look neater and certainly more professional.
Suddenly, it spun around. He jumped back a little, expecting no one else to be present. "DI Norton."
"An- I mean, DC Cartwright, what are you doing here, at this unearthly time?" he questioned, taking a quick glance at his gold watch.
Annie, stretching as she stood, pulled her skirt down a little, her movements slow and taunting yet very alluring. Standing in front of him, she smirked warmly. "Didn't you see the rotor? I'm here early to make sure all of the paperwork is set up for today."
"What kind of paper work?" Norton spoke twitchily, Annie's closeness making him anxious.
She purred with delight, grabbing his tie as she curled the silky fabric between her slender fingers. He gradually spied down to her hands, well moistured with her rounded nails decorated in a very smart yet attractive peachy pink colour. "You know - paperwork, about cases. There's that nice, small form that I need you to sign for me."
Annie's voice became lower, more breathless, her grasp on the tie becoming tighter as she slid her other hand downwards, further and further from Norton's neck, all the way down his chest and stomach. "Wow, you have a great body - do you work out much?"
Her lips, so close to his ear he could feel her breath taunting the finest hairs on the back of his neck, Norton stepped away, thankful that the Constable let go of his tie at the same time; he didn't fancy being strangled. "Uh, yeah, sometimes. Now, if you just get that form for me to sign I'll, uh, do it for you."
He straightened his tie and shirt out, taking in a sharp, confused breath. His eyes trailed behind her, watching her as she playfully left the room, finding her desk amongst the stacks of files, paperwork and even empty cans and food packaging. Norton shook his head; this place really needed a good clean up. How Manchester's A Division could even consider functioning in such a state was beyond him.
Annie bent over, her backside sticking up in the air; Norton could not help but look. After all, he was just as hot blooded and horny as the rest of the coppers. He just had a completely different way of showing it.
After moments of shifting folders, Annie beamed, finding the piece of paper she required. Making sure that she was decent, she headed back into the Governor's office, a frisky grin on her face.
"Sorry about that, Inspector Norton. I had a few problems finding it, that's all."
"That's quite alright." he replied, in a hasty, almost sulky manner; he knew he was being played for a fool but, at the same time, was kind of enjoying it.
He snatched the paper from her, taking out his reading glasses to inspect the words underneath his nose. Annie bent over him, her breasts beginning to show in the corner of his eye. He jiggled about a bit, crossing his legs underneath the table.
"Do you need a pen, Inspector?" she questioned, sickly sweetly like a Mississippi Mud Pie.
He swallowed. Hard. She rubbed herself up against him, finding a biro, her perfume stained arm allowing him a direct whiff.
He thought how nice it smelt, a rather soft, flowery fragrance. Deciding not to let his feelings known, he knew that she'd only flirt with him even more than she was doing. "Oh, uh, thank you DC Cartwright but I sign all of my documents with my gold fountain pen." he replied at long last, scurrying around in his briefcase in a desperate attempt to find his special instrument.
He found the pen after a few tense moments of searching. Annie bent over, making sure her most valuable assets (at least to the average male eye) were in better view, leaning across him to his left side. She avoided the idea Chris had last night about sucking the pen; she didn't want to push things too far.
He glanced over his shoulder for the slightest of split seconds. He analysed his work once again, taking the paper in his masculine hands. "Here you go, DC Cartwright." he spoke, handing her the document. "Is there anything else you need me to do at the moment?" he asked, taking another peep at his watch. It wasn't even quarter past five.
This wasn't a blessing for Norton; he was desperate to get into CID before anyone else did, find the files that he required and then leave. Simple. He was going to call in sick, saying that he'd eaten some dodgy food the night before (this would have been pretty easy to believe, he felt, looking at some of the establishments in Manchester). Simple. Or not.
She continued, slowly, methodically, running the tips of her fingers over his broad shoulders, her hands making swirling motions that massaged him uncomfortably.
"Uh, Annie, dear, can you leave me alone for a little while. There are a few things that I need to do - in private."
She smirked. "Like what?"
"Just a few secret files."
"Oh. Ok." Annie replied, looking rather rejected. She looked to her feet, dragging her heels as she made towards the door. Then, she turned back, a small yet warm smile on her lips. "Call me if you want me." she winked, returning to her desk with a sigh.
'I hope that's confused him.' she mused, collapsing behind her desk, checking to make sure he wasn't spying on her. Which he wasn't. 'Now Ray, Chris and that lot 'ad better keep to their end of the bargain.'
- - - - - - - - - -
DS Carling was enjoying his authority, at least for the moment. Now that they'd been able to devise a pretty good plan for the day ahead, he was confident of victory against Mike Smith. In fact, he was so confident, he would put money on them closing the job up by midnight.
He glanced down at his overalls. Perfect. He really looked the part, although the navy jumpsuit was a little tight around the middle. "One or two many beers." he tittered softly, patting his belly. In fact, even though he didn't want to admit it (especially not to himself), Ray was surprised he could get one leg inside. He'd worn the overalls nearly ten years ago, when he first moved into this very home. When he used to do odd painting and DIY jobs on the side, to earn a bit more money to pay for the semi-detached property.
It wasn't a bad place for a regular bachelor like Ray Carling; it was clean enough. Sure, it could do with a lick of paint in places and the furniture needed updating but other than that, it was a subtly good little property that he'd bought for a fairly good price.
At the time, however, it was unbeknownst to him that the reason he'd got it so cheap was because there had been a bloody, brutal murder there just a few months prior to him moving in. In fact, he wasn't aware of this until a couple of years ago, the Gov informing him on all of the gory details. Still, it didn't bother a real man's man like Ray at all; he didn't believe in ghosts or all that palaver. Actually, he was rather proud of where he lived. It showed a great amount of intestinal fortitude (or 'balls of steel') on his part, being able to stick it in such a place.
Now, all he was waiting for was that div Chris and the other recruit to get their sorry arses into gear.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door. "Bingo!" he muttered, striding over to the door, greeted by the young Constable. With a trail of butter slipping down his chin, Chris waved with his free hand, taking another large bite out of his bacon and egg butty, watching carelessly as the red and brown sauce splattered onto the off cream coloured carpet of Ray's home. "Oooppps, sorry 'bout that." he half apologised, half stated, moping himself up with the greasy paper bag. Ray rolled his eyes. What a moron.
"Well?"
"Well wha'?" Chris examined his current boss' face in suspicion. "Oh 'ere, they 'adn't got any sausage butty's left so I got you bacon, is that ok?"
"No, you div! Is 'e in the car?" Ray questioned; he began to feel his pulse rise already.
That was certainly not a good sign!
"Oh yeah, 'e wants you to 'urry so we can go over the plan again, just to make sure like."
"Good." Ray snarled, snatching the sandwich from Chris' eager hands, locking his door behind him. He couldn't wait to get back there later that day, sleeping soundly in his bed, knowing that he'd done a good deed for the city of Manchester.
The two men strolled out, the sun already beginning to show it's bright and oppressive presence. Carling came to a standstill, peering at Chris trundling over to a wrecked, dirty vehicle.
As the Constable opened the doors in the back, Ray crept in, unsure as to whether it was a good idea allowing so much weight to be in there. "Morning, Litton." he spoke vengefully; as much as he didn't like the enemy from within the ranks, he was grateful that he had agreed to this bizarre scenario. That Litton would help get the Gov back where he belonged; in CID and back in The Railway Arms.
Oh, and Tyler too.
"Guten Morgen, Sergeant Carling. And how are we today?" the DCI's question wad accompanied by the same nasal, absurdly arrogant tone.
"Just peachy." Ray replied, swallowing his pride as if it was grit and salt. That voice made him want to smack Litton straight in the chin.
'Must...stay...calm.'
"Great! Then, I think we all need to make sure we know what we are doing today, if that's all right by you two."
"Sure!" Chris responded eagerly, picking up another out of date packet of crisps.
Ray could have throttled the little prick; them things made him puke like mad yesterday - how inconsiderate of him!
Then again, this whole day was never designed to be convenient.
- - - - - - - - - -
He could feel the tube, snaked down his neck, making him want to choke, be violently sick until it uncoiled it's self from inside of him. He could feel his Mother's soft hands caress his arms, stroking the side of his face, making him feel loved; The only ounce of warmth in such an environment. The only warm thing in contact with his body right now.
"Right, Mrs. Tyler, today is the day! Sam must decide whether he should live or die!"
He heard her gulp, her distressed grip tightening on his hand. "A-are you sure?"
"Yes I'm perfectly sure!" the surgeon spoke, forever confident. Borderline irritating. Definitely over zealous.
"But, Dr. Morgan, I don't want to tur-"
"You may not have a choice Mrs. Tyler. Sam may give up comple-"
The door crashed open, Sam's head shooting up with lightening quickness. His eyes stung as bright yellow light flooded to his pupils. His body ached; sleeping on a cold, concrete floor was certainly not the best of tonics for a set of broken ribs.
He rubbed his eyes, propping himself up with one hand as the other massaged his forehead, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
"Bastard."
The gruff, unintentionally low mutterings came from a familiar person.
Suddenly, a body rushed past him, pounding on the door at full speed. His vision was still hazy with sleep, his mind just as clogged. "OPEN THIS DOOR AT ONCE! I'M NOT GOING TO BE LOCKED IN HERE FOREVER!"
Sam, finally managing to sit himself up, feeling traces of dust on the ends of his fingers, glanced over at his DCI who appeared less than amused; a trademark cigarette dangling from an upturned corner of his mouth.
"Oh shut up you bloody tart!"
Morgan, not feeling like arguing with someone as fierce as Gene Hunt, cleared his throat, making sure his top button was done up to the very spot under the chin, assuring himself that his suit - that he'd now been wearing for well over twenty-four hours - was as straight as possible; there is never an excuse for sloppiness.
Sam began to feel more awake. Especially after hearing his Governor throw an insult at someone! He sat up, exhaling loudly; partly through his tiredness, his aching body and his weary mind. He felt sick, annoyed at his rib pain and hunger bouts. He hadn't eaten anything since the other morning with Annie before...
Gene eyed his DI, trying to put himself in his position. His wife would often tell him to do it with her. Perhaps if he had done sooner, their marriage would have been happier, more enjoyable for the both of them. No one could ever accuse him of being overly thoughtful.
Yet, he looked at Sam and just felt pain on his behalf. He looked so sad, so ill. Especially after yesterday. Gene hated hearing what Sam had to say, although he was strangely intrigued by his DI's revelations. He knew he'd pushed him too far; Sam hated it, revealing it all to Gene.
But Gene was hurt by Sam's reaction. He was hurt that his Inspector felt so little of him, at times, thinking that he'd actually go out and blab to everyone about his troubled past.
In fact, most of them at the station had already guess that Sam had had a pretty rough ride in his life; you could just see it in his eyes, when he was working on a case (especially involving families torn apart through one reason or another).
That's probably why he was such a picky pain in the arse, Gene guessed; he didn't want to see more lives ruined.
Before Sam, Gene had never trusted anyone enough with his past. Not even Ray who had been his closest mate in the station for several years. Sure, Carling was a good drinking buddy, always up for a laugh but he was hardly someone you could bare your heart and soul to.
Sam was just so different; he wanted to listen, to try and understand a bit more, to help make other people better themselves. To help.
"Sam, I think you should eat something." Gene stated, shuffling around in the small carrier bag that Mike Smith had just thrown into the room.
"Food?"
"Yeah - that Smith moron throws summat in every morning. It has to last the whole day. If I'd known you were comin' yesterday, I would 'ave saved you some."
Tyler didn't appear too hopeful. In fact, Gene had seen funeral processions more rosy! "Can I go back to bed first?"
"No, you fairy! You need to get yer tablets!" Gene demanded, like a bossy Mother ordering their child about. Yet, it was for his own good. At least that's how the Gov saw it.
Gene threw Sam a packet of something, neither of whom knew exactly what it was. Sam screwed his nose up after taking one bite. He felt even worse than before. The texture was once dry and brittle, but slowly turning soggy like cracker bread in the stages of going off.
Then again, Sam knew didn't try and force it down, Gene would do it for him, forcing him to chew at twice the speed with triple the amount in his gob. It would save them both time and effort just for Sam to do it.
DCI Hunt needed Sam to be perky; today was the day he was determined to break out of this hell hole. Today was the day that Morgan was going to confess everything. Sam was just the person Gene needed to make this all happen.
Lighting a candle that he found in the bag (wondering why Smith had put them in there), he watched as his DI tossed a couple of pain pills pack with ill feeling; they tasted nasty and really needed something to help swallow them down with.
Gene Hunt then diverted his attention to Morgan, slumped proudly and ignorantly inconsolable against the wall. He looked deflated, as if he'd just been punched in the gut by one of the Gene Genie's right fists.
"This shouldn't be happening." Morgan muttered to himself. He couldn't crack. Not now.
"So, Morgan, are you gonna tell us what this whole thing's about?"
At first, Frank didn't want to reply. Gene knew how stubborn Sam could be; he had to live with the picky git practically 24/7 (literally at the minute). He didn't realise it was a trait bred commonly in Hyde. Or supposedly.
"Look, I want at least a justification as to why so many young women have been killed." DI Tyler piped up, licking his lips to try and rid himself of the taste of the antibiotics. He collected his leather jacket from the ground, wrapping it around himself as he delved in his pockets for mints, chewing gum. Anything to dispose of the horrid tang in his mouth.
There came a light snigger from across the room, a reaction neither man expected.
"What tickled you, Morgan? One of those white feathers up your jacksey?"
"No, no, Gene. I've always known you to have the intelligence of a Neanderthal, but I expected much better of you, DI Williams."
"DI Tyler."
"You see, by killing all of those poor, defenceless little women, you showed your greatest weaknesses to the world."
"Oh yeah, what's that?" Gene boldly interjected.
"Your inabilities as Policemen were exposed, so prominently, you were the only ones that now look like fools."
"So you admit that you're the perverted sod who made this all happen?" Gene muttered, ready to pounce.
"Yes." Morgan replied, without a speck of defeat or ignominy in his voice.
"You left no clues. You obviously had a very detailed, formulated plan," Sam said, remaining dignified yet moot. "No weapons have been found. We were at a loss."
"Of course! My officers in Hyde made you look incompetent. We grabbed your attention, made you scared. That's the only way we do it in Hyde. Not that you know about that anymore, Williams. You're too busy playing Gene Hunt's lapdog!"
Sam, trying to stay calm, just coughed a little. He wasn't going to go and prove Morgan's point by giving him a good slap - he'd leave that for the Gov instead! "Well, let's just say that perhaps Hyde isn't right, all of the time."
Sam's voice, clear and confident with perhaps an ounce too much of egotism, made Morgan loose it. Stomping over, he grabbed Sam by the scruff of the neck, hoisting him into the air, snickering as Sam didn't even try and defend himself, his arms laying stiffly against his body. Possibly to protect his already injured ribs?
Gene stood to his feet just as Morgan slammed Sam straight into the wall, punching him in the face. Tyler, although dazed, wheezing at the sudden impact, fought back, punching Morgan so hard that he flew backwards, Sam dropping to his knees, checking to make sure that he wasn't bleeding too badly. He was hunched over, trying to get his breath back.
Hunt wouldn't tolerate that, Sam was sure of it. He kicked Morgan to the ground, watching as the other DCI squirmed, trying to protect himself with his hands, his legs curling up into a tight ball like a hedgehog, scared for his life. And rightfully so.
Sam, trying to regain his faculties, got to his feet, trying to hold his Governor back; he knew that beating the shit out of Morgan would do nothing other than make matters worse than they absolutely needed to be. They'd just been given the confession of the year; they couldn't afford to loose their criminal now.
"I WARNED YOU MORGAN! DON'T YOU DARE MESS WITH ANY OF MY OFFICERS OR YOU'LL NEVER MAKE IT OUTTA 'ERE, YOU UNDERSTAND?!"
Gene yelled, louder than Sam had heard before. His face was crimson, his hands shaking in pure anger, as if rage had completely taken over his whole body.
Then, there came yells from outside as the door swung open with an enormous crash making them all come to a standstill.
To be continued...