Chapter 8 – Oldies but not Goodies, part 1
Mary emerged from sleep, stiff from lying in the same position. Trying to stretch caused her 'blanket' to slide to the floor.
"What the hell?" she grumbled, one hand blindly reaching for the warmth of her cover. Her outstretched fingers closed on thin air. Irritated, she tried to roll over and her eyes popped open as she almost fell off the narrow couch. She put a foot down and managed to stay on the couch, mostly. Now wide awake, she looked around the small utilitarian break room. The smell of day old coffee and vending machine plastic crystallized her location - NJ Marshal's Annex.
Sitting back on the couch, Mary grabbed her blanket, not surprised to find Marshall's long winter coat. She thought about searching the pockets. She wondered what he usually carried there. Nyah. Probably get my fingers stuck in some electronic mouse trap, and have to fess up that I'd been snooping. Her devil of an angel said, 'he won't mind.'
Running her fingers through her hair, she went to the dimly lit bullpen to find Marshall. She walked softly. Didn't want to startle him. It was still late, or, Mary noticed, glancing at a clock, very early. Islands of light came from the desk lamps of the few marshals already at work. Looking at the desk they shared last night, she sees Marshall nose to the keyboard, softly snoring.
"Ah doofus." She gently moved his face off the keyboard, and sets his cheek down on his folded scarf. At least he won't be a marked man. She had a hard time not snickering at the impressions left on his lean face by the keys. "You must have been up all night," she croons softly, patting his hair, running her finger around the outside of the collar, careful not to touch and wake him. Realizing they are not alone, she removes her hand, and checks to see if anyone noticed. Feigning disinterest she sees few marshals watching them, coffee cups in hand.
Mary's not quite awake brain registered the sight and she murmured distractedly, "Coffee." Coffee and some Danish would do them both good. Breakfast of champions. She remembers a small shop around the corner. They had pretty good java. Let's see if it's up to Marshall's standards. Grabbing her jacket, she checked her badge, gets her Glock, and heads to the elevator. The same guard who greeted them yesterday afternoon is on duty.
The lobby has been stripped of vending machines, water dispenser, anything that a terrorist could use. The guard at the reception desk verified that anyone entering the building proper has a valid reason to be there. But the lobby is technically open to the public.
"Hey," Mary casually calls from the elevator. The elevator was quiet and she didn't want to sneak up on him. The guard looked up from setting out the day's visitor log. "Good morning, Inspector." He appraised her rumpled clothes and tousled hair signs of an over night stay.
Seeking to verify his conclusion, he quickly checked the visitor log. "I don't see your name on the log today. You stay all night?" he asks.
"Yup," she responds. Mary's not much on small talk, but volunteers that he needs to check yesterday afternoon to find her sign in.
"Ah yes, I see it now." The guard points to her name." I've had a few of those nights myself. But now it's morning. So good morning, Inspector Shannon." Manning the reception desk is important, but at this time of day there isn't much activity to occupy the guard.
"Hmph," she snorts, leaning on the bar high counter, "It might be good - if I had coffee." She scribbles her initials in the out column of the log, adding the date and time. "Is that little coffee place around the corner still going?"
"You mean Amy's, right? It's just down a block, on Franklin. Small shop, but fresh pastries, and coffee's not bad." If Marshall was doing this, he'd offer to bring the guard a Danish. Thoughtful idiot.
"Mmm," Mary murmurs, "That the one with the huge cheese Danish?" It had been a long time since dinner. Her stomach not only reminded her, it growled loud enough for the guard to hear.
"Time for breakfast huh?" the guard commented. "Yeah, that's the place, but I prefer their raspberry Danish," he hinted hopefully."
"I'll just have to check that out." She called back as she pushed through the door and is assaulted by the chilly Newark winter. The coffee shop is close. Her legs could use a stretch. Wrapping the scarf around her neck, she fastens her jacket, puts her hands in the pockets and ventures out to the salted sidewalk.
As more people reported to work the noise level in the marshal's bullpen rose. Marshall breathed in suddenly, lifted his head and brushed the hair out of his eyes. Why was he seeing green? Ah, his scarf. He was sleeping on his folded scarf. Leaving that little mystery for later, he checked the programs he left running last night. Hmm. But first - Mary.
The break room couch is empty but his coat is neatly folded over the back of a chair. Heading to the bathroom, he figures she'll turn up soon. The office isn't that big.
The coffee shop, was much as she remembered. Brightly lit, two glass cases of pastries and a multi spigot espresso machine. And sitting by itself, a commercial size brewer. The staff had changed. They get younger every year. At least it was too early for the corporate cadavers.
"One large half caff, triple capp, heavy foam, one large coffee and two of those and three of these," she added, pointing at the pastry behind the glass. She paid for the drinks secured in their cardboard carrier and grabbed the bakery bag, nestling it between the tall white cups. Turning to leave, she smirked and dropped the change into the tip glass. Marshall would be proud, if I ever tell him.
Shoving one hand into her jacket pocket, Mary strode out of the coffee shop. The freezing wind whistled down the street. Pausing to pull her scarf over her head, she almost lost the drinks, as the cardboard carrier flexed. The wind howled from an alley next to the shop.
Traffic was starting to pick up in the gray dawn. Dirty snow was piled between the sidewalk and the curb. Her scarf loosened, snatched by the wind. She watched it flap and skitter down the alley.
"Damn it." Without the scarf her hair became a hazard, whipping over her eyes. When she was able to see, she spotted the scarf caught on a dumpster about ten feet away in the alley. Balancing the coffee and bag of pastries she walked gingerly to the scarf. Her ears were freezing. As she bent down to retrieve her scarf, she heard a vaguely familiar voice.
"If it isn't Shitty Shannon." The insult was tossed out with a swaggering confidence that put Mary on alert. The voice sounded louder as the body it belonged to came out from behind a dumpster. "Just can't get enough of me, right, bitch?"
Paddy O'Connor had grown into a beefy man with a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp. Mary remembered the bully who took her sister's lunch money. Once. Mary ended up in the principal's office, but breaking his nose did wonders for her reputation.
Paddy never worked alone, she recalled. He preferred to have someone else do his dirty work. He must have real muscle along, somewhere. She heard a crunch on the ice behind her. Right on time, numnutz. Another voice, somewhere beyond Paddy, barely audible said "I can't believe she came right to us. You were right boss!"
What the hell? Suddenly Mary was warm, hot. Before she could respond, Paddy was in front of her holding a sharp shiny knife. She heard the crunch of another footstep somewhere behind her. Paddy had the knife pointed at her face. "Let me make you smile, Shannon," he threatened.
One of their shared dreams/nightmares flashed to mind. Two men, a hunk of cloth soaked in chloroform and a deserted alley. Her stomach quivered. Paddy had gotten too close. He feinted with the knife and connected with her cheek. She moved to the side, trying to get away from the guy behind her.
Two guys in the dream, but where did the other voice come from? Three guys this time. Piece of cake. Right.
She had inhaled before the cloth landed on her face. This time, she held her breath as she tossed the hot coffee into Paddy's face. The hot liquid also hit the small third man who was hiding behind Paddy. Paddy was spluttering, disoriented. He dropped the knife to he wipe his eyes.
Mary had no time to admire her accurate toss. As she launched the coffee attack, she backed into the guy who was had his arm around her waist. As his hold loosened, she kicked up and back, then straight down. She felt the satisfyingly crunch of bone as her boot heel connected. The smelly cloth was gone. She threw her head back and heard the crunch of his nose. Then she pulled her Glock.
With his hand still on her waist, he pushed Mary to the ground. Mary rolled, gun in hand, coming up to a crouch. Mr. Bloody Nose was whining and cursing, and limping. Paddy was backing away. Where is the third guy?.
She pointed the Glock at her would be assailants, keeping both of them in sight while scanning for any buddies. Broken Nose saw her eyes move down the alley and took the opportunity to head for the street. Mary let him go but closed on Paddy, still blinking the hot caffeine out of his eyes. Kicking the knife under a dumpster, she smiled.
"So, what is it Paddywancker? You miss me at the last Paramus High class reunion?" His eyes shifted right then left.
"Too bad the other guys left the party early. I really wanted to get their names," she taunted.
"You remember me Shitty Shannon?"he gloated, as if he was in control, despite his worried look. "Glad to know I made a lasting impression."
"I'll make a lasting impression on your ass, Paddy the Wanker. Put these on,"she commanded throwing the handcuffs to him. She heard footsteps, and tensed.
"Stand down, Mare. It's me." Marshall, long winter coat, Glock in hand, appraised Mary, frowning at the blood dripping from her cheek.
Marshall approached, grabbed the handcuffs and secured Paddy. Mary gave him the short version of recent events. "There's a guy with a bloody nose -should have gone past you. He's one of three. The third rat scuttled down the alley."
Keeping an eye on Paddy, Marshall called the PD, and described the second assailant.
"Newark PD on the way. They have a unit nearby." Finally looking at Mary, his heart sank as he saw that she now had two scratches marring the soft pinkness of her cheek. He hoped the blue gray color on her nose washed off.
"What?" she growled.
"Nothin'" he responded, working hard to keep his voice casual, although he was feeling edgy . "Just wondering if cuts and bruises are the newest fashion statement. Can't say it does much for you Mare."
Mary brought a hand to her face, surprised when it comes away wet with blood.
The whoop of a police siren heralds welcome company. Mary and Marshall still had their guns pointing at Paddy.
"US Marshals," Mary bellowed as Marshall flashed his badge at the approaching locals. The officer noted the matching star on Mary's hip. The officer's blue uniforms are bulky with cold weather gear and Kevlar.
"There's another party to this dance," she growled. "White male, five feet ten, he should be limping and have a bloody nose. I saw him head that way," she gestured with a nod of her head. Her attention and her gun were still focused on Paddy. Mary wasn't ready to let go of her gun. She wasn't sure she could. Between the cold and adrenaline she wasn't sure her fingers would unclench.
The officer spoke into his shoulder mike "Assault suspect gimpy white male, bloody nose, heading north on Franklin. Unit 24 copy."
Click, hiss. "Unit 24, copy. Hey, I see him. Officer in pursuit."
During the radio silence, Marshall handed the handcuffed Paddy to the officer's partner, and Mary finally holstered her Glock. Marshall tried to hide his relief. They hadn't been in a lot of fire fights and he wasn't sure what she needed to decompress. He knew the adrenaline wound him up tighter than a tick. Despite the cold, her jacket remained open, her hand on her Glock. The tension in her jaw hadn't eased with the arrival of back up.
The radio clicked and hissed. "Unit 24 reporting. We got him." Mary sighed in relief, and muttered. "Where in the hell is that third hump?"
"There's another guy?" Marshall queried.
"Yeah, I heard him, but didn't see much of him. He was hiding behind Paddy. He's the one who said 'I can't believe she came to us.'" He called Paddy 'boss.'
The coffee carrier and pastry were strewn across the dirty alley. Her scarf still hung on the bottom edge of the trash bin. Marshall alerted the uniforms that there was a third assailant. He followed her into the alley, retrieving her scarf, and checking for foot prints. The uniforms methodically combed the alley.
"Son of a bitch. Damn moron made me toss my Danish," she grumbled.
"They from Amy's?" the cop inquired. "We've got those at the station. Give your statement, and I'll make sure there's a Danish in your future."
"Make that two and you got a deal," she agreed. "My partner here hasn't had breakfast either."
"Sure, sure," the officer offered.
Marshall interrupted. "The marshal's service needs to interrogate the suspect." When the officer gave him a questioning look, Marshall affirmed, "In addition to this being an attack on a U.S. Marshal, it might connect to on ongoing case."
Mary looked surprised, but realized, Marshall was right. They needed to question Paddy. As much as she wanted to whack him, they needed to know what he knew. She needed to know why hump #3 had said Mary had 'come to them.' Way too much drama, way too early. She needed coffee and sugar to function at a minimal level. A real breakfast better follow soon.
Marshall looked anxiously at his partner. He knew she was running on fumes. He was fuming because she left the office not thinking of her own safety. Why? Did she forget she has a huge target on her back? Police station first, interrogation and then back to the Marshal's Annex. He sighed. It would be nighttime before he confronted her.
Paddy was thrust into a patrol car. The guy with the bloody nose had been caught a half block away. Mary and Marshall got a ride in a second police car. Laying her head on the seat back she stretched her still tender midriff. Wait a minute.
"Marshall?" Deep in his own worries about the comment that Mary came right to her assailants, he murmured "Hmm?"
"How did you know where to find me?"
"You know Mare, the title Inspector isn't just an honorific."
Not impressed, Mary prodded, "Yeah, go on."
"You signed out. The guard in the lobby told me where you went."
"Oh, yeah," she drew in a long breath. "That figures." She must be shakier than she realized if she hadn't been able to connect those dots. She could see the same concern registering on Marshall's face.
Bumping his shoulder in a friendly way she added, "Your timing's pretty good."
Much to her surprise, Marshall stiffened. Was this too much of a public display for the back of a police car? Was he trying to preserve propriety? His eyes and forehead bore lines of concern. She was the one assaulted, yet it was his hand quivering. When he saw her notice, he shoved his hands into his pockets muttering something about the cold.
What's up with that? What could be bothering Marshall? She'd seen him less agitated after a fire fight.
Putting her phone to her ear, Mary said "I'm calling Varney. Let him know what happened."
Marshall gave a perfunctory nod and was silent the rest of the drive to the police station.