Angelina Acomb
It had been six months since she heard Peter's voice. A dark cloud had overcast her days and so she buried her feelings into work. At The Dillon, it was so easy to lose herself.
She would run about, prepping ingredients. Stir sauces and simmer meats. More oregano. Thyme. Salt. She then went to the desert station. She took out cake tins while her pastry chef held out a spoonful of frosting for her to check. She took a small taste, closing her eyes and focusing solely on the flavor notes.
The loud hiss of steaming chaos and the rich smells of caramel in the kitchen almost made her forget.
They were catering for a large charity banquet with Umbrella Health, a medical insurance company collaborating with Urban Renewal Group and Homeward Bound Clinic.
"Angelina?" The low and gentle voice of Jill Tuck broke through her thoughts. She smiled at the beautiful doctor. "Yes, Jill?"
"Do you mind adding another appetizer to the menu? And an additional course that's vegetarian?"
"Of course, there's still time." Truthfully, it would take more preparations well into the late evening but she had nothing better to do. She was grateful for it.
The one thing Angelina dreaded was going home to her empty apartment. She didn't know what to do, now that Peter was gone.
She had found herself simply standing and staring down at the telephone, as if hypnotized and waiting for a phone call to break the spell. This scared her.
She had called Mark a few times, to see if he wanted to come over. The first time had been the last.
"Ange?" Mark sounded as though he had just been awoken. A thunk, followed by a soft giggle had piqued her interest.
"Who's that?"
"Uh." He had been quiet for a few extra seconds before sheepishly admitting, "Will."
"Oh!" A familiar feminine sleepy murmur had made her immediately backpedal. "Sorry for bothering you. I know it's late."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah! You know, funniest thing. I forget why I even called. Sorry."
"...You need me to come over?" There was that knowing tone, that he wasn't buying her words.
"No - no, seriously, it must not have been a big deal. I'm going to bed. Good night!" And she had hung up, shaking her head at herself. She was happy for them, more than she was sad for herself. She would get through this on her own.
She just needed more work to keep herself distracted. Time would fly faster and Peter would be back home to her sooner. She did everything she could to not be home.
Sometimes, she felt resentment worm its way through her heart, her being left behind.
She couldn't remember the last time she felt so alone.
Amanda Young
She stood before the judge, in disbelief as she heard her sentence. Her public appointed lawyer put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy but it did little to bring any comfort. Five years. She was sentenced to five fucking years.
And she hadn't even done the crime she was accused of. Possession. Sure, she hung out with Cecil and the wrong crowd. And sure, she had done her fair share of criminal activity. But she never fucked with dope. She never needed to.
So how the hell did she get found with heroin?
She knew it was that fucking cop. He was in the courtroom, unphased as he looked right at her as if he was in the right for this whole mess. He must have framed me. Lied.
She had protested and even begged to have a drug test done. It changed nothing. Her friend, Cecil, managed to evade prison time. She was happy for him. Really. But the resentment itched up her arms despite it. How the hell did he get off while she got stuck in this mess?
"Do you understand?" The judge looked down at her, unimpressed and cold.
"Yeah. I understand." I understand that this system is fucked and I'm going to prison for a crime I didn't commit. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.
"Perhaps you'll reflect and change your ways during your sentence. I hope so. You're young and still have a long life ahead of you. I suggest you take this time to reconsider your life choices." The judge smacked the gavel, the court dismissed.
Amanda barely registered when the handcuffs were clasped to her wrists. She glared hatefully at the cops that did this to her. She would never forget their names. Eric Matthews, the cunt with the oral-fixation and the dick-sucking-lipped Mark Hoffman.
She wished she could shoot lasers from her eyes and vaporize the two of them. The two men were talking amongst themselves, laughing like schoolboys and ignoring her hateful eyes as she was pulled from them.
She'd get them. One day. Somehow. She swore this.
Even if it kills me, I'm going to make them pay.
Mark Hoffman
Six months. After six months of dating, he thought they had built a healthy enough relationship to trust each other. He was slowly stalking up the stairs towards their office level. The ambient buzz around him had snuffed out. He was keeping his fingers from tightening into balled fists. He felt his pulse beating under the skin of his neck. She had even rolled over and kissed him good morning, no hint that she had been hiding anything from him.
If she hid something like this, what else was she not telling him?
"You're going to Quantico?" Hoffman pushed into the women's office, hot anger gripping his throat. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Kerry was in mid-sip of her coffee, eyebrow raised, before she straightened up and walked out of the room with her mug. Hoffman was grateful for her tact and closed the door behind her. He pulled the blind shut at the door's window. And then he rounded upon Will.
"Were you just going to leave me a note?"
Will looked like a naughty teenager getting caught sneaking out after curfew. He refused to find it arousing. He refused.
He kept sharply reproaching, not blinking as she squirmed in her seat. "Well," she closed the folder she was referring to and leaned back into her chair, "I don't know how long it's going to be. It's for the collaboration program and the agents who helped us on the Rosello case asked for us specifically."
"Yeah. I'm sure Strahm will be thrilled to know you're going."
"What does that mean? Perez made the request."
He remembered the first time he met Special Agent Peter Strahm, the thorny memory of his hand on Will's back as he steered her back into the task force room, closing the door in his face. Riggs' words replayed in his mind. "Oh, and she's been heading uptown to talk to those agents. I noticed she'd grab a bite to eat with the guy. And get this - Strahm - he was also at the funeral."
Strahm, he had thought, was not a threat any longer now that he was out of state. How fucking wrong he was. Will, that fluff of red hair pulled back, looked up at him so naively, it sometimes made him incredulous. She had to know. And yet she was trying to deceive him, to pretend she was unaware. It hurt, and he wondered if this was a sign he couldn't trust her. "I know the guy has feelings for you."
Her jaw twitched. "I won't deny that before we were dating," she cleared her throat, "there may have been some flirting."
Hearing this, though it raised the temperature in his blood, he felt his shoulders relax a bit. She was open to him. That was something. "And now?"
"Obviously, I don't intend to do anything beyond maintaining a working relationship. And not like ours, so don't start on that," she shook her head and sighed. "There's nothing between me and Strahm. We haven't even spoken since the night Rosello died. I'm sure he's moved on and," she got to her feet and went around her desk to put a hand on his arm. "So have I. I love you. I don't want to ruin what I have with you."
Her touch was like a healing spell that calmed the buzzing in his head and halted the sparks of anger before they could catch aflame. He wanted to take her face in his hands and pull her close to him and not let her go. "I love you, Will." But he didn't want her to leave. "How long are you going to have to work with the FBI?"
She smiled sadly up at him. "Until we catch the serial killer that's been murdering women all up the east coast."
"That could take months," he grumbled.
"Kerry and I plan to still keep up with our caseload here. We'll be flying down to Quantico and back up here every other week."
He shook his head. "You're going to be busy."
She gave him a grin, all chagrined. "Well, if you and Matthews want to help us when we're here, that would certainly clear up my schedule for some more downtime with you."
She could always pay him like a fiddle. "I'll be expecting a form of payment, then."
"Oh," Will pulled at his necktie, mischief glittering in her laugh. "I think I can find a way to make it worth your while."
David Tapp
The Japanese man looked so calm and refined, despite being cuffed to the table. His black suit was pressed and without stray hair or lint. He had a scar at the corner of his mouth and his right hand was missing the tip of his pinky.
"Mister Yamaguchi. We appreciate you speaking with us."
The yakuza's mouth curled into a lazy smirk. "Of course, considering I have been arrested under false charges. So, what does the esteemed Metropolitan Police Department require of me, to have the drug charge disappear?"
"Information." Sing approached, arms folded and sour. This round, he was center stage as the bad cop. "Any information on the locations of other explosives your syndicate has stashed so we can save some innocent lives. Get your group to stop this bloodbath, hell, we may let out some of your brothers that are already incarcerated. Two years is long enough."
"No one is innocent," Yamaguchi commented with candor. "Especially when those who uphold the law twist it to get what they want. And delude themselves into believing it is for a worthy cause."
Tapp stepped in, leaning back in his seat and giving the man a smile. "That's what judges and IA's for. Now we appreciate you letting us know about the corruption in the department. Believe me, I want to do things right. But we're on a time crunch. I know, unlike the street hoodlums here, you follow a strict set of code, Mr. Yamaguchi. You won't harm children. You won't harm innocents. And yet your bombs are directly putting those at risk who aren't involved. Level with me. Do you want innocent blood on your hands? Because maybe we're bending the rules because that's the last thing we want."
Yamaguchi pondered, a thoughtful hum escaping his nose. "Yes. Perhaps. Give me a telephone, and I will speak with the syndicate. Perhaps we can make arrangements."
Tapp's feet twitched with hope. "Get this man a telephone," he turned to Sing who leaped and left the room, to get the authorization to escort their prisoner.
"But know that our war with K2K will save many more, and we intend to purge this city of their corruption. They are like an infected limb and must be cut off," Yamaguchi whispered, eyes black pools of night that reflected no stars. "I advise keeping your distance from their contested territories and soon we will erase them. And order will be restored."
"As the Sumiyoshi-kai maintain that order, is that right?" Tapp always felt creeped out by the yakuza. They normally kept low profiles and were low maintenance on his case docket. But Rosello's absence made everyone see gold and it was just chaos. The mayor had ordered a curfew. There weren't any idle officers at the moment.
"We will return to balance. And, unlike Toni Rosello, we will not get too glutinous with power. Understand that we are not your enemy, Detective Tapp. We are businessmen."
Tapp nodded, wanting the man to continue. He was on tape.
"In the end, the civilians want to walk out in the sunshine and to go to the markets. Take their children to the parks. Pray in their churches. The sumiyoshi? We want to earn our wealth and return it to the outcasts of society. We wish to aid those that need it. And keep the black markets in line. No unnecessary bloodshed. Simple perfect dance, police chase to catch us, we simply evade. " Yamaguchi smiled serenely.
Tapp pursed his lips. "Very eloquent, Mr. Yamaguchi."
"Thank you."
Sing finally returned. "Tapp. A word?"
Outside the interrogation room, they went into the observation chamber where Yamaguchi looked straight at the one-way looking glass, smiling.
"What is it?"
"K2K members have come forward, asking for protection. Get this, apparently the yakuza have already just about wiped them out. The bombs are still out there, though. "
"Then we still need to play their game." He scratched his beard, taking slow and deep breaths as he contemplated. "No wonder he's playing nice. They got what they wanted."
"And the other bombs?"
"Well, Sing, let's get him that phone call."
