Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All the Cause of Death canonical characters used in this fan fic are the property of Electronic Arts and/or other designated copyright and/or trademark holders.
Chapter 4: Another Door Opens
It had been such an ordinary night to start with.
Mal had shown up at ten minutes before eleven. He was making small talk with the evening shift security guys when he saw Evan walk in. He seemed a little preoccupied as he set his coffee cup on the long table that ran the length of the banks of TV screens.
Mal decided to wrap things up. "Any incidents we need to follow up on?"
The heavyset swing shift security man, whose name tag read TRAVIS GREEN, shrugged and looked at his partner, a wiry man named Francis Wilder. Francis pursed his lips. "There's someone working late in the import-export office a floor below the hotel. I think they've left by now, but just double-check nobody's left any doors unlocked. That's pretty much it."
Mal nodded, as did Evan. The swing shift guys left, saying their goodbyes. Mal grabbed the binder with the incident reports, and quickly flipped through the pages. Nothing leaped out at him, so without further ado, he nodded at Evan, then left the command HQ room and started his patrol.
As he was walking the third floor, out of force of habit, he tested his ear bud, only to realize he'd left the bud in its box back in the HQ room. "Shit!" he growled.
He turned around and walked briskly back down the long corridor to the fire exit, slammed the door open, and clattered down the stairs to the main floor. He dashed to the security wing and swiped into the HQ room, blurting, "Evan, I forgot—"
Evan was not in the room. Mal frowned, then shrugged. Probably just in the bathroom, he thought. However, as he made his way to the far corner, where he'd left his coffee thermos and sandwich bag (and the earbud box), he noticed one of the TV screens was blank.
Suspicion rose within him as he realized it was for the bank of cameras that covered the loading bays around the back, where he knew trucks often parked to deliver large items or pallets too bulky to easily deliver by personal courier. He tried toggling the switch to OFF then back to ON. No go. He rapped the screen, then it dawned on him that it might be the connection to the TV. Remembering his first day of training, he barged through the door in the back of the room, which opened into the banks of patch panels that were intended to give a simultaneous feed to the TV screens in the other room as well as to recorders which, if you toggled a switch on a specific TV, would capture footage for review.
In theory, Mal knew, the security people were supposed to have all the cameras recording all the time, but this just wasn't practical. Therefore, policy dictated that security personnel use their discretion for the interior, but the exterior of the building was supposed to be constantly monitored, and recorded, twenty-four hours a day. No exceptions.
Mal began casting his eye over the maze of cables, and noticed that the ones which connected cameras 14, 15, 16 and 17 (which all covered different angles of the large loading area) were absent. He knew that meant the videos would be totally blank as long as Evan had them disconnected. He couldn't spot any loose cables, so he knew Evan had secreted them somewhere.
"Damn it!" Mal yelled.
There was no question Evan was up to something. The only question was, did he really want to get involved? Career preservation warred with his instinct to find out what was going on. Mal chewed his lip and clenched his fist, softly thumping it against his leg as he left the back room and paced in the security nerve center.
"Goddamn it, Evan's going to get my ass kicked. I'm not letting him drag me down with him!" Mal ground out. He had to find out what was up, and quickly.
He reached for his thermos and unscrewed the false bottom. Inside it was a small, snub-nosed revolver that could easily be hidden in his pocket or between the waistband of his pants, or for that matter, in his shoe. He'd never told anyone on the Force about his extra gun, and he'd never needed it, anyway.
It was just a .38 – no real stopping power, but better to have it than be totally defenceless. He shoved it into his suit pocket and stealthily made his way through the back corridors, making his way to the back of the hotel and trying to keep out of sight as much as possible.
As he pushed through a door that led to a hallway to the loading area, he began hearing voices echoing down from somewhere. He reached into his pocket and yanked out his .38, checking that he had bullets in the gun. He knew that there was a door to the right at the very end which exited to the loading area. Someone had apparently propped that door open, else Mal knew he wouldn't hear anyone outside. He kept his back against one wall of the hallway as he tiptoed to the end of the corridor, then turned right and came to the double doors which, he knew, exited out to the loading bay.
The reason for the door being propped open became horribly clear: Evan's leg had caught in the door! Mal tried to peek around the partly-open door, but couldn't get a clear line of sight except to see a black van parked in the middle of the loading area, its rear doors facing the hotel's large sliding ingress door for large deliveries. He did manage to get enough of a view of Eric to spot the large bruise on his head, indicating he'd been punched or hit by a blunt object.
He crouched by the door, keeping an ear out. Better to wait and see what they might do than burst in and provoke a firefight.
The men's voices echoed too much for Mal to get a directional sense of where anyone was, but what they were saying proved to be very interesting.
"You've got another think coming if you think you can rip us off, Jackson!" That belonged to a menacing low voice, probably the leader.
Gary's voice, trembling slightly, answered, "I-I have no idea what happened here! You've got the jewels, for God's sake. Your guys searched Evan for them and both of us for any weapons already!"
"Yeah, and George, Yuri, and me, we're about to decide if you're still useful." The ringleader's voice paused, then seemed to go in a different direction. "Anton? What's your verdict?"
A thin, carefully controlled voice announced firmly, "Most of these are legitimate. But you have another fake bracelet here. See? They look like diamonds, but under high power, they're just highly-polished glass. Just like last time."
"God damn you, Jackson! You thought you could outsmart us, huh? You figured I wouldn't make sure these were all the real deal? Think again, asshole!" Mal thought he heard a hammer being cocked.
Mal's mind quickly ran through the situation. It sounded like there was a ringleader, two armed escorts – one of them probably the driver – and the jewel inspector. Chances were the jewel guy didn't have a gun, but the other three would.
"Wait, wait!" Gary cried. "Look, whatever you owe me, just don't pay me for the fakes! I swear this isn't my fault, okay? Somebody up the chain is trying to screw us all over, okay?!"
"Ha!" the ringleader laughed. "How's that my problem? I'll just find another hotel with a security cop who'll run a little operation like this. You, I'll just shoot and throw into the ocean, and ex-football guy over there with the lump on his head – well, he'll probably get fired for having his boss mysteriously disappearing on his watch, and if not that, well, company'll need a scapegoat, won't it?"
Mal knew it was now or never. Evan had already been searched, so he assumed any weapons had been taken off of him already. But maybe there was something Mal could do with Evan himself…
He tapped Evan's leg, the one bracing the door. The man shifted a bit, stirring awake. He lifted his head, and his eyes went wide at seeing Mal crouched near him. Mal lifted his finger to his mouth, shushing Evan. Evan began carefully looking around, apparently trying not to attract attention from anyone in the loading dock.
Mal looked around and spotted a red firefighting station just down the hall. He shoved the pistol back in his pocket, then cautiously opened the glass cabinet and removed the axe. He then tiptoed back to where Evan was lying. He had to take a risk and hope Evan wouldn't turn on him.
He hissed, "Surprise 'em somehow. Get one of them in here. I'll get 'im when his back's turned!"
Evan nodded warily, then groaned loudly and began to try and shuffle to his feet; his leg seemed to be caught by the door. Mal shifted so he was on the other side of the double doors, gripping the axe with both hands. He heard footsteps approach Evan. "Get up. Keep your hands where I can see 'em."
Evan said to the unseen man, "My leg's stuck. You're not gonna be able to do much 'till you get that door open – just saying."
"Okay, fine," an exasperated voice said.
The door holding Evan's leg swung wide open, and Mal tensed up and hefted the axe. He heard Evan stand up, then he grunted, and Mal heard a startled yell. After that, he saw two bodies fly back through the open door! He reached out, yanked the door shut (hoping it locked automatically when he did that), then slammed the flat of the axe against the stranger's back, causing him to cry out. Evan lunged for the man, peppering him with punches as his gun flew out of his hand. Mal dropped his axe and lunged for the gun, snatching it up off the floor. He quickly checked that the safety was off, then barked, "Stop or I'll fire!"
Muted thumps and yells on the other side of the doors told Mal that they had indeed locked automatically, like he'd hoped.
He quickly shifted so his back was against the hallway corner, letting him cover the double doors and the now-sullen minion, who jerked away from Evan and adjusted his suit. "Hands where I can see 'em, buddy. Now open those doors! Evan, grab that axe. This guy makes one false move, you make sure he's not gonna move again."
Just then, the double doors were wrenched open, and a tall, swarthy man in a dark suit holding a gun stood across the threshold, shoving Gary away; his keychain went flying into the air. The security chief scrambled to grab up his building keys and shoved them back in his pocket. Far back by the van was prim man holding a briefcase, while next to the tall man was a slightly shorter blond-haired man, also holding a gun.
Mal saw that Gary was now standing a few feet away from the two men, whipping out a handkerchief and wiping his forehead. From the way the man seemed unafraid of Gary, he suspected Gary had gone unarmed to this meeting, or had been relieved of his weapon. Either way, that also meant Gary might not try to overpower anyone.
Mal barked, "Stand down now, or I give your guy here some lead and Evan'll help with your other guy. Even a .38"—he waggled the pistol, then tossed it to Evan—"will do some damage if it's close enough. 'Course, your guy's nine-millimeter here'd outclass that, except I've got it and not him. Plus, my buddy Evan here's got an axe. He swings it, someone loses a body part."
He pushed his gun against the brown-haired stranger's back to make his point. Evan gripped the axe menacingly and held the .38 up, as he gazed steadily at the backup henchman.
The swarthy man smirked. "You must be the other security guy. So, what is it you want? You want to bust us all, Boy Scout? I win no matter what I decide. You call this in and get us arrested, I make bail and I'm back in business minus Gary in a couple weeks. Oh, and he'll probably shitcan you for losing him his money." He paused, tapping his chin. "Or I could just knock you three all off, cut my losses, and you're gone. Gary assured me the cameras would never be on."
Mal grinned. "Are you so sure about that? The cameras?"
Uncertainty crossed the man's face. "What the hell's this? You're bluffing."
"Keep telling yourself that," retorted Mal. "I hooked the cameras back up before I came out here. They're recording everything. And the tape room's in a vault. You'll never be able to get rid of the evidence in time."
Evan shot Mal a sharp glance. Mal frowned back, then glared at the swarthy guy. "So let's be practical. You take your guy here, you drive off. Nobody gets hurt. Evan, me, and Gary'll forget about your little manhandling session and we'll wipe the tapes. Speaking of which, do you normally give all your business partners this kind of welcoming party?"
The ringleader faux-lightly said, "You might say we were a little exercised and wanted to make our point rather forcefully."
"I'll say!" Evan groused as he adjusted his grip on the .38.
"That's great," said Mal mockingly. "Now why don't you forcefully drive on outta here? And before you ask, I'm not gonna let you see the tapes. You're just gonna have to take my word for it that they'll be erased."
"Suppose we do this. What's stopping you from double-crossing us later?" The ringleader waved his gun menacingly.
Mal suddenly realized that for all the lines he'd crossed as a cop, he'd never once contemplated crossing the one big black line every cop had: you never went for the wrong side. That had always rankled when he thought of his father, but now…
Now he realized he was considering it.
Seriously considering it.
Overlooking a hooker and her john was one thing. Overlooking a well-oiled smuggling operation was a whole other story.
Especially if it meant becoming a part of that operation.
But Mal Fallon had no choice.
Mal snorted. "You think this'd make me look good? For starters, that .38's not legal. So there's being busted for an unregistered firearm. Then the cops'd be real interested in how I managed to miss your little get-togethers for two straight months on the job. They might even think I was in on it and just trying to throw 'em off by pretending to be the big hero.
"So yeah, I'm in it up to my neck, just like you guys," Mal said with an air of finality. "So take your briefcase and your guys, give Gary his money, and drive away."
"Sure, and he gives me another goddamn fake next week," the ringleader growled. "I'm a businessman. If I'm losing money, I gotta stop losing money."
Mal sensed he was losing the advantage. "Look, you know Gary's right about who's behind it. D'you think he'd seriously screw up what he's got here? He's got a good thing going; he works here for the next twenty-five years, collects your cash and his pension, and then sails off to Bermuda. It's his supplier. It's gotta be."
The ringleader looked over at Gary, who kept his hands spread. He said, "Mal's right. Look, I haven't attacked you, okay? Dying in a firefight – that's for cops, not me or my guys. We all walk away from here, that's a win in my book. We've got a good thing going, yeah?"
Mal continued. "And you're probably in touch with the supplier, aren't you? You wouldn't've needed to bring Gary in on it unless you needed the security guys to look the other way while your smuggler uses this place as a dead drop. And that means you know who the smuggler is, and you can tell us so we can put the hurt on them."
The swarthy man seemed to be pondering for a minute. Finally, he sighed and shoved his gun back into the waistband of his pants. "Let go of George. You – your name's Mal?"
Mal nodded warily as he stepped back, lowering his gun as George stepped past his boss. He looked at Evan, who was carefully putting down his axe, letting it clatter on the floor. He kept the .38 out, but let his arm fall to his side.
"George, step on out here. No sudden moves. Yuri, Anton, get in the van." The prim man nodded, as did the apparently Russian guy. They walked to the van, and the prim man yanked the handle and let both men inside.
Mal and Evan warily stepped out into the loading bay, making a semicircle with the ringleader, Gary and George all glancing at each other. The loading bay, luckily, was covered and opened into a back alley, so unless someone was morbidly curious, the entire contretemps had passed by unnoticed by anyone.
"You may call me Andrew," said the ringleader. "I suppose now that you, Mal, are in the picture, disposing of a dead body becomes less attractive. You are, after all, a witness. So, the price of your silence would seem to be negotiable with Gary. As for me, you have a week. Bring me the smuggler with proof that Gary has not been near the jewels, and I'll consider this incident forgotten.
"My smuggler uses the hotel men's restroom as a dead drop; Gary has his men secure the jewelry and then brings the package personally to me. The smuggler never sees what's on the American end of this little operation." Andrew smirked. "Do you want this cushy little thing to continue, or do I need to think about going back to eliminating some inconvenient people?"
Gary nodded. Mal grudgingly acquiesced, and Evan just rubbed his temple.
"Fine. One week. If you haven't resolved matters to my satisfaction, I'm terminating this little operation one way or another." Andrew turned on his heel, gesturing George to follow. Gary, in his turn, got the doors unlocked and gestured Mal and Evan back inside the building.
Author Notes: The beginning of Mal's criminal career begins. And how will Natara Williams get her start? That's next chapter. :D
Again, acknowledgements to Ayala for helping with this chapter. :)