Wilhelmina Maddox
Toni Rosello had eyes like a shark. Will had decided she didn't like him as she quietly watched him from across the red and white checkered tablecloth. He sat with a stained handkerchief stuffed in the front of his shirt. A big suited man stood behind him, a gargoyle of a bodyguard that glared down at them as though he wished to eat them. Hoffman had his hand resting on the table, moving his digits fluidly as he calmly explained to the godfather why two Metropolitan Police detectives had decided to disturb his meal of baked ziti and salmon. She was impressed with how well he had been handling it. It was a first for her, seeing him speak smoothly with charisma.
"A couple of broads get capped and you guys think you can show your face?" The man had a slight Yankee accent, his vowels ending with a 'wuh' sound that Will crinkled her nose every time he sounded it. He noticed. "What's with you, Red? Allergies?"
Hoffman had gently nudged her with the side of his foot. "Yeah. Sorry." She needed to remember herself. It was out of place, being the one having to remember to stay in character. She gave him a small smile, blinking slowly, letting her face relax as though she was a ditzy space cadet. The shark eyes eyed her hungrily, wondering what type of fish she tasted like. "You need some Benadryl, honey?"
"If it's no trouble," she let herself keep the charade, running her hands through her hair, fluffing it out, and getting comfortable. Her collared shirt had the top button undone, so she pulled her shirt down as though to fix her outfit. Really, she just wanted to let the skin of her lower neck and chest begin to peak through.
Rosello snapped his fingers at his lackeys. They straightened in attention and went to the kitchen, disappearing behind the white swinging doors.
"Mr. Rosello," Hoffman's voice was patient and respectful, "the victims were found in trunks of cars registered to men who work for you. Now, we don't want to cause you any headache. I know you have better things to worry about than the killings of a couple of girls. We're just concerned that there were more involved than the man we apprehended."
"Who you got, Markie-boy?"
Will fought the urge to let her eye twitch or give Hoffman a look. Markie-boy? She wondered where that name came from. In fact, she was beginning to wonder about Hoffman's early career with MPD. He never spoke of it.
"Guy calls himself T-Rod. Some thug."
"Who's a rat."
"Well he's facing life in prison. He was hoping for some leverage. Or maybe he felt some regret."
Rosello's laugh was high and whiny, like a nasally mad scientist. "That's cute. Yeah, a quick death is probably better than life. So how many pounds of flesh you need?" The man's eyes darted from Hoffman to Will. "Lemme guess. You're new, aren't you, Red?"
"I've been working with Hoffman for a little over eight months."
Rosello whistled. "He kept you from me for that long? Markie-boy, she's stunning. I always have a thing for a woman with freckles." He licked his teeth, letting out another donkey giggle. "I bet you're pretty hurt about all those girls. You lady cops always get extra sensitive about 'em."
She let him bore into her, taking in the black beady irises, his long face, and the tomato sauce-stained teeth that grinned in bemusement at her. She had the urge to pull her gun out and shoot him point-blank. She never had felt that, in her life, and it scared her. This man was toxic. "Truthfully?"
"Of course, honey."
"I'm very upset about what happened to Effie. I'm sure her family's very upset too."
"I understand, Red. You're a family type. I respect that." He scratched his cheek, finally looking away from her. "You remind me of this dame I was attached to. She tried to talk me into retiring."
"She sounds lovely," Will folded her arms, as a hunk of ice grew in her stomach. "Why not listen to her?"
The gargoyle returned, placing a pill bottle in front of Will with a glass of ice water. The humidity had caused the glass to sweat, dripping down onto the tablecloth as she stared at it.
"She's in a barrel somewhere. She started getting a little too naggy. One day, I just had enough. Quicker than a divorce, eh, Markie-boy?" He let out another laugh, tossing his head back. Hoffman smirked back while Will smoldered at the two of them. After the fit was over, Rosello let out a low, "Hahhhhh. Well, I bet you're doing everything you can to stay civil, Red. I respect that. You know what, because you're such a well-behaved young lady, I'll be a gentleman. T-Rod? He's out. All his boys? I ain't supporting anymore. You want to take 'em? Or you want me to clean house?"
"We'll take them," Hoffman smiled and got to his feet. "We appreciate your time. Go in good health."
"And you as well," Rosello took his fork and stabbed his salmon, taking a big bite. "And Red?"
Will had gotten to her feet and was standing patiently. "Yes?"
He winked at her. "If you ever want a taste of danger, you know where to find me, okay, beautiful?"
She blinked back at him. Just be polite. "Goodbye." She went to leave but Hoffman's hand gently wrapped around her wrist. She looked up at him alarmed but he nudged his chin back to the mob boss.
"Goodbye, what, young lady?" The man was chewing violently, watching her closely. The gargoyle had folded his arms, eyes narrowing.
She hated him, more than she ever hated a man before. But Mark, with his shoulder blocking view of the criminals, took her hand in his. His grip squeezed.
"Goodbye, Mr. Rosello."
"That's a good girl," The man winked again. "I'll think about you tonight, when I go to bed, Red. I hope you think of me."
As soon as she stepped out of the restaurant she flung herself to the nearest wall, holding herself up as she contained the desire to let out a scream. Her head was spinning and her heart thudded in her ears. She had never felt so angry before.
"Will," Hoffman put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it away violently. "Don't. Touch me." She cast a hateful look his way. "He's a monster."
"Yeah. He is. But he's given us something. He just willingly gave up a whole branch of business, just like that. That's more than I'd ever have hoped for."
"What, so he's suddenly a saint?"
"No. But you did good there. He likes you. He wouldn't have done that, otherwise."
"Ugh. Don't remind me." She shivered at the thought. Hoffman's phone rang as she walked back towards the car. She got into the driver's side and watched him as he spoke, their eyes locking as he moved his lips. After a while, he got into the car.
"That was Riggs. He needs some backup on this domestic abuse call. Mind dropping me off at Lakeview Elementary?"
"Sure. Want me to sit tight?" She'd prefer to just go back to the station and drown herself in work.
"You don't have to." Hoffman was quiet. "Rosello's a piece of work. You probably want to take off and recover. I'm proud of you. You handled him a lot better the first time than I did."
"How did you handle it?"
"I tried to deck the son of a bitch."
"Really?" She started the engine and began driving, only going the speed limit to keep him talking. "Tell me more."
"My old partner had warned me to behave. Gave me the same spiel I gave you. Wanted to talk to him about the latest drug lab we uncovered. We had some decent evidence. His fingerprints, even a video of him at the scene. But then I lost my cool. The bastard likes pushing buttons on rookies. I think he just enjoys seeing us lose our shit. You not giving him anything is probably pissing him off."
"How did he take the punch?"
"I didn't make it to his face. That oaf, Boris, took the brunt and then tossed me out. After that, all hell broke loose. People got hurt. The entire case got thrown. Suddenly, there was a whole thing about the evidence being faked. Tampered with. Who knows, some stupid conspiracy bullshit. Internal Affairs didn't even bother with an investigation on that end. I got taken off the case."
"You're serious."
"Why you think I'm still just a Detective, Will?" He smirked at her. "Really shot myself in the foot over that."
"Well you've come a long way," She gave him a small smile. She punched him gently on his shoulder. "I guess I should thank you for helping me not blow it in there."
"Yeah. Although," his voice went low with concern, "I didn't like how he looked at you."
"Plenty of guys look at me like that."
"Not Rosello. It gave me more creeps than he usually does. Just keep your eyes open. He's not known for being… gentle with women."
She let out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Very funny."
"I'm serious. Keep your gun with you. Don't take the same route. Frank know how to take care of you?" He had serious eyes, concerned eyes.
"Fuck, Mark, I already have enough on my plate. I don't need the godfather trying to take me out."
"It seemed like more than that. Just a gut feeling. Have one of us take you home, at least for the next few weeks."
"Great. Just great," she muttered as she approached the elementary school. She didn't plan on following his request. She sighed and tried to think of what to do. All she wanted was to change the subject and pretend it wasn't a new problem. "By the way," she turned to Hoffman. "Who was your last partner? Does he still work with us?"
Hoffman lowered his face, eyebrows furrowed. "No." He got out of the car and slammed the door, not bothering to look back as he entered the school.
Will went back to the station, parked the car, and slid into the uproar that was her paradise. The large, old building had character that she appreciated. Yellowed marble pillars, cracked concrete floors, and peeling walls; the station had quickly become a comfort to her so far on the job. Familiar faces nodded at her as she fast-walked towards the detective floor. The smell of burnt coffee greeted her as she walked by the break room.
"Hey, Maddox!" A vaguely familiar voice called out to her. She stopped and turned back toward the shabby kitchenette. David Tapp and Steven Sing were sitting back, ceramic mugs steaming. Tapp waved her over. "Still here?"
"Well, can't let you two have all the fun," she smiled at the two detectives. Detective Lieutenant Tapp was someone she admired from a distance, always hard at work. He was one of the oldest veterans in the precinct, with a track record that had him lined up to take Captain one day. She rarely saw his personal parking spot empty when she came and left the station.
"Where's Hoffman?" Sing asked, sipping his drink.
"Out with Rigg."
"It's weird seeing you on your own. You two are usually stuck like velcro," Tapp smirked up at her. "Good to see he's kept his nose clean with you. What's been going on?"
"Oh." She paused, then folded her arms. "I finally met Toni Rosello, just an hour ago."
Tapp's eyebrows went from intrigued to harrowed, his dark eyes going cold like steel. "Yeah? Sorry to hear that."
Sing looked around before leaning in, "I know he's got a lot of people here on his payroll, so it's probably best if you keep any strong opinions to yourself."
"Yeah. Hoffman enlightened me." She sighed, resting her hip on the nearby counter. "He also told me that you two were some of the good ones trying to clean house."
"Hoffman said that?" Sing's incredulous expression and the tone of his voice puzzled her. Sing was one of the newest detectives in MPD, younger than her, crowned Prince Rookie of MPD, last she checked. By a month, she admitted, but still. One of the reasons he was with Tapp was because their experience gap was so wide, as was why she and Hoffman had been paired together. So what did he know that she didn't about her partner?
"Yeah. Why's that surprising?"
Tapp and Sing exchanged looks and gave her a wary stare. "Look. We're not trying to stir the pot," Tapp slowly explained, "but Hoffman has a history of not being exactly by the book."
"Care to elaborate?"
Tapp kept eying her. "How loyal are you to your partner, Maddox?"
"At least as loyal as Sing is to you."
"Then I'll say this as respectfully as I can. You could do better. Have you considered getting reassigned?"
"I don't see why, though. Hoffman has never let me down. He's good, though kind of an oaf." He hasn't let me down yet. Not really. She didn't count their first day together. That was old news.
"You probably should hear it from him. I'm not going to gossip," Tapp leaned back. "I like Hoffman. I think deep down, he's just a little troubled. But he has a temper and struggles to keep it in check."
"Yeah. You're right," she admitted. "But I don't get why you think I should get reassigned."
"It's just… dangerous working with him, sometimes. He's got this reckless streak, where he hits first and asks questions late," Tapp let out a laugh, "I've said too much. You wanted to talk about Rosello. What do you need to know?"
She blinked and unfolded her arms. It was best to let things go, for now. She'd figure it out. One of these days, Hoffman was either bound to trust her enough to tell her or she'd find another way. "I was told you two were trying to take Rosello down. I want in."
Sing smiled wide. "Nice. I did not see that coming."
Tapp raised a brow, humming to himself as he tapped his coffee cup. Sing looked at him expectantly. "Well, Grissom always speaks highly of you. In fact, maybe you can help us out. We need to pick up several parcels of evidence across town. Whatever forensics finds from this old slaughterhouse we checked out today may give enough for a warrant. The place is supposedly a big heroin lab of Rosello's. We were getting ready to go in about," he checked his watch, "seven minutes from now. You free?"
"Actually, yes," she ignored the image of the stack of files on her desk, not wanting to miss this opportunity. "I'd be happy to help."
"Just - do us this one favor," Sing's face was stoic, his mouth frowning.
"Sure, what?"
"Keep this just between us. Hoffman doesn't need to know. Just in case."
Her throat tightened but she nodded. She couldn't pass this up. Besides, Hoffman probably wouldn't care. The man wasn't exactly eager to take on more assignments outside of what Grissom slammed on his table. Besides, he was out with Rigg. He'd probably be gone for the rest of their shift.
Mark Hoffman
What a fucking trainwreck. Hoffman was pulling Rigg off of the man, forcing the uniformed officer to stand down. "Get the fuck out," Hoffman snapped at Officer Daniel Rigg. "Leave!" Before Grissom takes your badge away, you hot-headed fuck. It was just perfectly ironic that he was the one maintaining composure in this situation. He impressed himself.
"You've just made the biggest mistake of your life! Cocksucker!" The man was cradling his hands in front of his nose, blood profusely dripping down onto his pale blue shirt. He screamed at the retreating backside of Rigg.
"Calm down," Hoffman had his hand on the hysterical man's shoulder, his adrenaline pumping as his mind flipped through the mental pages of his emergency response. Fuck, this was going to be another mess he was going to have to clean up. And the paperwork. Where the hell is Will when I need her? "We'll have someone take a look at it, all right?"
The man glared up at him. "You guys are going to be hearing from my lawyer. You hear me? I'll have his badge."
Hoffman bit his lip, desperately trying to come with the right words. He had used all his suave talking with Rosello and was coming up short. "Let's get you to a hospital."
He looked up at his wife, her eyes wide with fear as she stared at her bloodied spouse. "Can you take him?"
"Yeah," she whispered, lips trembling. Hoffman didn't really care, though he was getting strong vibes that she didn't want to be left alone with the man. But he wasn't in the mood. "If he wants to make a complaint, tell him to call the station downtown and come in to make a statement."
He walked by the couple and left, hearing Morgan's hostile yells, "You'll hear from my lawyer! You hear me? You sonsofbitches?!"
Hoffman practically kicked the exit door out of frustration, searching the streets for Rigg's marked car. The squad car was parked. Rigg sat in the driver's spot, gripping the steering wheel tightly. When he got into the passenger's side, he let him have it.
"You really just fucked yourself, you know that?" He glared at the fresh rookie, contempt in his voice. "You knew there was little we could do. I told you. The girl wouldn't speak."
"But I know he hurt her," the man's eyes were wide with conviction. His mouth was curled in regret. "I just - lost control."
"Yeah. I know." He didn't just know. He understood, more than Rigg could imagine.
"So this is it. I'm getting fired, aren't I?" His voice sounded like a young boy, caught stealing candy and thought this was the end of the world.
Hoffman wanted to laugh. "No. You're not getting fired."
Rigg looked at him, confusion and disbelief painted on his face. "What do you mean?"
"He attacked first."
"What?"
"You were defending yourself."
"Hoffman, but you can't just-,"
"Don't worry about it. You did nothing wrong, all right, Rigg?" He stared at the man's eyes, wide like a puppy dog. The guy was still just a rookie. Barely a year in the force. Hell, he was newer than Will was. He would learn, in due time. He'd learn to control that itch before it got out of control. If Hoffman could do it, anyone could. Though the job sucked, the coffee was crap, and his career was currently on ice, he didn't plan on making it worse for this guy. It was the one thing he could do, was take care of his own. "Just remember. He attacked you first."
After a few seconds, Rigg finally nodded. Hope glinting in his face was enough to make him feel like this was the right thing to do. "Whatever you say, Hoffman."
"When you get called to talk to Internal Affairs, just remember. He attacked first. And tell them to call me. I'll take care of the rest. If the fucker does lawyer up, we'll have to meet with him. Be ready for that. Now drop me off at Barneby and West Sutton Street." Hoffman rolled the window down and let the wind blow on his face as Rigg drove - sanely, thankfully - towards the liquor store across the street from his apartment.
Hoffman nodded to Rigg a farewell and went inside the corner liquor store. The cashier was new. He almost paused when he saw her. Time had stood still.
She was tall. He picked up long, golden hair shining under the fluorescent lights. He let his head turn to get a straight view of her. She was chewing gum, looking bored. Her blue eyes lit up and waved at him. Smiling. His stomach did a somersault.
"Hey," he greeted, letting himself smile back at her. She's a looker, that's for sure. He went to the far back, for his standard Jameson and stopped to grab two bottles of wine for Angie's dinner party the next day.
When he went to check out, the cashier looked at his selection. "Pinot Grigio?" She gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief. "You don't seem the type. Girlfriend?" She scanned the bottle.
"Sister," he quickly corrected, "it's for a dinner party she's hosting."
"You going alone?" She chewed her gum and scanned the other bottles. "Now this," she held the whisky up, "so you. Now, I know you must be at least over 21. But you look under 60 so…." she leaned forward, letting him get a nice look at the top of her swelling chest. "I'm going to need to see your ID." She stuck her lower lip out, her voice going soft in that seductive way that just hit right.
Christmas came early this year.
After he flashed his ID and paid, she handed him the brown paper bags. His heart skipped a beat. "What's your name?"
"Natalie," she kept smiling at him like he was her favorite person to see.
"You want to grab a bite sometime?" He felt lame being so direct, expecting her to tell him to piss off. Shit, I should have introduced myself first. Fuck. He waited, his nerves tight, his face feeling warm. She wouldn't accept. There was no way.
"Well, it's about dinner time. And I get off in just ten minutes if you don't mind waiting a little." She checked her watch before beaming back at him. She looked at him eye level, an experience that he rarely enjoyed.
He felt his breath catch slightly. This was an unexpected turn to the day he'd been having. "How about I drop these off and come back to pick you up?"
"Yay," she cooed, "I'll be waiting." She let out a laugh that was flirty. Throaty. "What's your name, handsome?"
"Mark."
"Well, Mark, see you in ten."
He never moved faster from the liquor store to his apartment in his life.
He had gone off with a noticeable pep in his step as he practically jogged towards his building, impatiently stomping on the elevator button to come take him to his floor. The woman of his dreams had just arrived. She was exactly what he'd fantasized, from her blonde head down to her soft playful voice. He had to change. He should shower. Fuck, there wasn't enough time.
Where was he going to take her? The elevator doors opened up and he stabbed his floor number. The doors closed. His mind kept going through each option like an old projector reel.
Larry's. No, Will said it smells like ass. And she always complains about it. He was only a third of the way there.
The Copper Sink? Nah, Will had pointed out the waitress didn't wash her hands when she saw her in the bathroom. Halfway there.
Where, then? The doors opened and he ran to his door, bottles clinking their liquid sloshing in his arms.
He let out a small curse and finally pulled out his phone. He held the number two, waiting for his speed dial to go through. Fumbling with his keys, he unlocked and pushed open his door.
"Y-ello?" Angie cheerfully answered, the sound of pots and pans and shouting in the background. A male voice yelled out French words he didn't recognize. "What's the emergency?"
"What's a good place to eat near my house?" He had practically dropped the bottles on the counter and was running towards his bedroom, shrugging out of his work suit.
"Ha! Since when have you needed my opinion on the local eateries? Can't wait for tomorrow?"
"I don't have time for this, Angie. What's a good place? A place you gals like? Something that's not going to make you run screaming."
"Oh. Oh!" Her voice got high-pitched with excitement. "Uh, wait - Tipton Tea on Broadway is decent. Oh, shoot. It's closed on Thursdays. Give me a second."
"You've got thirty." He had tossed his open cell phone onto the bed and went through his closet to grab a clean shirt. He was going to be sweaty. Great. He ran to grab his deodorant and sprayed it under his arms, looking himself briefly in the mirror. He needed to comb his hair. He fixed himself as well as he could with so little time.
When he at least put on something fresh he took the phone back and was exiting his home. "Where, Angie?"
"Reggies. It's literally right across the street from your place. Perfect last-minute stop. They've got safe food, American eats. The decor is fun. Get the portobello swiss burger, it's so good, I know you'll like it! They have vegan options, too."
"Thanks. Love you."
"Love you too! What's her name?!" He was in the elevator trying not to keep up a sweat, breathing heavily as he lowered down to the first floor.
"Natalie."
"She must be something to get you this flustered," she laughed. "Tell me about it tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah. See you tomorrow Ang. Bye." He hung up and headed back to the store where Natalie was already standing outside and smoking a cigarette. She looked at him again, kissing the air as clouds slowly poured out of her lips.
"Hey, Mark," she gave him a smile that made his knees feel weak.
"Hey."
Wilhelmina Maddox
When she got home late that night she had been smiling to herself, her chest warm and fuzzy at the progress they had made. They had him. Or at least, they had something that would burn a hole in his wallet, if all went well. Tapp expected a warrant by Monday. He had even invited her to come with to execute the warrant, the thought giving her butterflies. It would be so perfect to just ruin that piece of shit Rosello's morning, she surmised as she unlocked her apartment door and got in.
"Frank?" She called out, eager to share the news.
The lights were all on but he hadn't greeted her at the door. Her smile quickly flipped to a frown and she tensed her shoulders. She could feel something was off. It was too quiet. No TV played. Nothing. She needed to prepare. She braced herself as she slowly walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen.
The bottles on the counter were the first thing she saw. Her heart sank. Frank, shirtless, stared at her with bloodshot eyes. He sat at their dingy kitchen table while pouring himself another healthy glass of what looked like vodka.
She didn't speak. She stood and waited, her hands balling into fists. She was beyond tears. "You promised."
He blinked at her, hiccuping. "What're you looking at me for?" He slurred, his head lolling as he took another big drink. He burped and slammed the glass on the table, his movements unbalanced. His tolerance must have been so low. He had been so good until then. So good. Why did he start this back up again?
"Frank." She took a step forward, her voice going soft. It seemed he was just going to be a peaceful, doped drunk that night. She counted her blessings. "We have a dinner party to go to tomorrow, remember? You should get some sleep."
"Yeah!" He let out a half-burp, half-yell. "I 'member. Gonna meet your bigshot partner. Finally." He hiccuped again and pushed himself to his feet, his body rocking as though he was a sailor on a ship in a storm. He walked towards her. "You didn't come home on time. I got tired… waiting."
"I'm sorry," she put an arm on his shoulder. "I had gotten so caught up with work, I forgot to call."
"You always forget… about me." His eyes were haggard and he sobbed. "You just hang out with your partner-all day. And never care… 'bout me."
"That's not true, Frank. I love you." She put her arms around him and held him tightly. "Let's go to bed."
She waited for him to move but instead felt her hair being pulled as she was shoved backwards. She fell, off-guard, hitting the corner of the archway into the hall. It stung, knocking her to her knees as she tried to recover. Even piss drunk he was strong.
"Fuckin' liar!" he coughed and ran to the sink to throw up. She heard him retch, her eyes stinging with the tears she had tried so hard to push back.
She covered her face with her hands. She needed to cancel tomorrow. "Frank, don't worry, we don't have to go. You're not ready."
"We're fucking going!" He declared. "You're just trying to cover your ass. 'Cause when I meet him I'll know. When I shake his fuckin' hand. I'll see it in his eyes." He pointed wildly, talking to the sink as though the faucet was her face. He pushed himself away from the counters and managed to find her, turning back to her with a hand held upwards. "You-fucking-bitch."
She got to her feet. Her heart was picking up the pace and she took a step back towards the front door. "If you get violent and I get bruised up, you know we can't go. What would they think if they see me all banged up?" She held her chin up, almost hoping he'd go for it. She didn't want to subject Mark and his family to her drama. She should never have accepted the invite. "So, go ahead, if it'll make you feel better. But I'll definitely cancel."
He let out a laugh. "Oh, you always call the shots. You're lucky," he paused and swallowed, "you're lucky I'm in such a good mood." He stumbled to the living room and plopped on the couch, breathing heavily as he stared at the blank TV. "Lucky..."
She didn't bother to turn it on for him. Let him figure it out himself. Her throat felt tight and stung as she forced herself to swallow. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream.
She instead went to the bedroom and took a long shower, crying to the white noise of water splattering on tile, and then crawled into bed, hoping she'd wake up and everything would only be a nightmare. The back of her head still prickled until she finally blacked out.
