First Steps
Sloanville, February 2, 1999
In his mid thirties, on a new job, and without a relationship, life was not easy for Detective Brian Morris. Once known as 'one of NYPD's toughest', the 34-year-old found himself starting anew in a smaller city and God, in a much smaller precinct. And even 101st's solid reputation as a preferred partner for the FBI and Interpol didn't make the transition feel any better. And China Town, can you imagine? From Bronx to Chinamen, what a decline!
As if that wasn't enough, Morris made the mistake to tour the neighbourhood before checking in for his first day. In less than quarter of an hour he spotted at least three trespassers and then found himself in the middle of a neighbourly dispute involving a drunken teenage girl, a massive and very aggressive man, and two hysterical middle-aged women. Oh, and some… smell.
Since none of them paid any attention to him and his raised voice, or to his badge for that matter, he left outraged, trying to collect some background information about the freak show he had been just involved in.
Only few streets away, in front of a large and very Chinese-looking building, Morris spotted the most grotesque sight one could come across at 8:30 on a bitter, though sunny, winter morning.
There was the police car, all right, and two uniforms; so far so good. They were blissfully enjoying their early portion of coffee and doughnuts in the company of an oddball in a black coat. He looked like he was coming straight out of the latest James Bond movie, only that he wore green shades. (Seriously, green?) The group was completed by a… Buddhist monk?! He was a tall, Caucasian young man, in a saffron coloured robe, who was casually leaning leg on one of the police car's tires while… munching a doughnut…
No, no, that was just too much for 8:30 am.
'Morning, fellas,' greeted Morris, trying to hide his annoyance as best as he could.
'Morning,' greeted one of the uniforms.
'Det. Brian Morris, 101st,' he said, proudly waving the badge he had received during the rendezvous with the Commissioner yesterday. He was still coming to terms with the police force of a two-million city being put in the hands of a woman. Jeez…
'Oh, you the new guy?' asked the other uniform.
'Yeah, starting today.'
The priest lifted his half-eaten doughnut in a silent cheer, not paying any attention to the powder sugar that was gently decorating his robe. The weirdo with the green glasses took a sip from his coffee and didn't as much as stir.
'Listen… I think I may need some backup.'
'You think?' wondered the first uniform. His name was Mac Wattson.
'Yeah… There's this big row going on two streets from here. There's this drunken teenager, an attempted robbery, and at least, at least one stoned guy.'
'So?'
The apparent apathy outraged Morris further.
'Seriously, none of the neighbours wanted to cooperate, nobody interfered… I couldn't get even their names! I mean… what's with the Chinese?' raised voice the detective.
By some invisible command the group of three all looked at the saffron-clad man.
'Anything to worry about?' finally spoke the spy-like guy.
'It's the Laos, mother's manic depressive,' smacked the priest while speaking with full mouth. 'Must be their morning workout; I'll check on them.'
'Cool,' said the green-shaded man and sipped more coffee.
'Uhm… excuse me, I'm from the police.'
'Good for you,' said the mysterious man.
'Now, mister, such language can get you in jail. I've been dealing with trespassers all morning and no one has been arrested yet.' Then he turned towards the patrol. 'Won't you do something?'
'He'll take care of them,' said innocently the second uniform, name was John Show.
The priest shrugged.
'What are you gonna' do?' snapped Morris with a heavy New York accent.
'I'll talk.'
'Yeah, that's how it works, talk. No wonder this place is such a mess, 'cause police ain't doin' nothing 'n' people… talk.'
'You should try it, too, you know…. Talking I mean.'
'Listen to me…. Father… I'm a cop, you won' teach me how to do my job; you just go do your… priestly stuff, all right?'
'I beg you a pardon… what do I know about police work…,' humbly spoke the monk and even bowed. The sneaky look in his eyes and uniform's quiet made the Detective's teeth itch, not to mention the uniforms' giggle. He couldn't be an undercover, right? It would be stupid to stand in plain sight in the centre of Chinatown… Though from what he saw until now, nothing would surprise him.
The Detective hummed and looked around, still not certain what he should do next.
'I'd better go see what's going on,' said the priest, shaking the powder sugar off his robe.
'All right, catch you later,' said Show and headed for the car.
'Take care, man,' greeted Wattson and joined his colleague. 'And Morris, good luck on the new job,' cordially wished the cop, then added in a lower voice, 'God knows you'll need it.'
Annoyed that he had to beg backup from a weird priest, Morris couldn't hide his disgust. He made few steps away and only saw how the silent man exchanged words with the robed one.
'So, you're leaving soon?'
'Once I'm done with the Lao family, yeah. I can't postpone it any longer; Mel hasn't checked in two weeks now, I worry.'
'How long, two-three days?'
'If it's serious could be more. …Why?'
'I… I had to talk to you about something…'
'Is it urgent?'
'N-no… ish… It's OK, we'll talk when you come back. '
'You sure?'
'Yeah, yeah, go, concentrate on your work. I'm busy now, anyway; going to pick my new Chief of Detectives. And… if you need any help…'
'…I know where to call,' he said and with a soft smile patted friendly the man with the glasses. 'Good luck with the new Chief.'
'Yeah…'
The man finished his coffee, and still completely motionless observed Morris and the priest leave. The Detective had to admit that this guy gave him the creeps; he dearly hoped they wouldn't meet often.
Few minutes later they arrived at the place of the row, a small shoe store with a cracked vitrine. The row was now even louder, and one of the women was trying to slap the teenager. The small crowd that had gathered saw the duo and immediately made way; Morris could swear some of them actually bowed.
First, of course, the young detective assumed that the badge and holstered gun finally did their job, but then with horror he realised the crowd hadn't even noticed him; they were bowing to the priest.
That became evident when the young man with the robe approached the loud group and the crowd practically trampled Morris, all trying to come closer and listen. Annoyed he pushed few of them and left the closing circle.
Then the cop observed a scene that brought memories from his school years, when a teacher or worse, the principal, would come and break a fight in the school yard. For, the rowdy Chinese people all froze and looked ashamed only at the sight of the priest; the guy didn't even need to speak. What he said afterwards was a mystery, it was in Chinese, and as it sounded to Morris, Chinese without an accent.
In this picture the Chinatown folk were the students. The priest was undoubtedly the principal.
XXX
It was early February and the random winter cold hadn't missed even the officers from 101st. Despite her fever, Jody Powell somehow dragged herself to work, bored of lame morning shows and litres of too-cold tea and too-hot chicken soup. Even the blue sky and the sunshine didn't make her smile.
Inside the warm, red-bricked building the morning buzz was a bit more organised than usual. Everyone was seeing to their duties with uncommon zeal which, she spotted immediately, was by all means due to the presence of the Police Commissioner, and their former Captain, Karen Simms.
Simms was in the Captain's office, nervously checking through his papers. Jody didn't invest too much time spying on her ex-captain. She greeted TJ and Skalany and sat behind her desk, the file of the Rockston double murder being a most uninviting sight. Bored, Powel leaned on the chair, taking few minutes to inspect her surroundings.
There was Broderick, the faithful guard of the doors to their little chaos. Next to her was standing Blake, refreshing his cup then heading for his new office, the same that once used to be Kermit's. Her Chief of Detectives could be spotted, too, collecting the last remaining items from his office.
The official version for Strenlich's surprise 'vacation' was 'sorting out personal matters'. They were so 'personal' that even his live-in girlfriend knew nothing about them.
The weirdest thing was that all of this, Simms's promotion and everything else, happened without Peter's knowledge. He never really stopped being one of the gang; he had been there to celebrate each of his former colleagues' promotions, retirements, or birthdays, but the surprise trip to China lasted so long that he actually missed half of last year.
…Easy, Jody, heading for dangerous waters again…
Powel shook head and absently accepted a cup of coffee from Bobby, one of the latest additions to their team. She observed Mary Margaret heading with a cup to Broderick, while Strenlich was getting angry after tasting a sip of the same muddy, dark-brown drink that marked the start of each day here at 101st. Jody was not concentrated, a normal reaction from any thoughts about Peter Caine that managed to sneak in her usually well-ordered mind. Hence only now she remembered to thank Callahan for the coffee and finally set to work on her file.
X
Robert Callahan was a good cop. Known as Bobby or Rob amongst friends, he got transferred from 92nd to the precinct of his choice. But as it usually happens in life, things don't always turn the way they should.
Bobby Callahan was a good cop, and a good man. He had been so all his life, much to the pleasure of his proud parents and everyone fortunate to have worked with him. He was always doing the right thing, in the right way, following the rules. Rob was a decent detective, decent shooter, and generally a decent man. But there is nothing special about decent. And since he didn't know what else to do but being decent, he paid the price, as it usually happened with decent people.
When his application for transfer, submitted 3 months before, was finally taken into consideration, he was fortunate enough to be headed for the precinct he had pointed as his first choice. Circumstances, however, had turned quite unfortunate, and as a consequence Detective 1st Grade Robert Callahan found himself being transferred to the 101st as the immediate replacement of Detective 2nd Grade Peter Caine.
Callahan accepted the transfer with mixed feelings; the position at the infamous 1-0-1 had suddenly ceased to be so appealing. He had wanted to try his luck at that precinct for a long time, and when it finally happened he didn't know if he was blessed or cursed.
As soon as the news came, almost unconsciously the Detective changed his daily routine. He started spending every day an hour or even two at the shooting range; same amount of time at the fitness, and he even signed for jiu jitsu classes. Parallel to that, neglecting his own cases, he diligently studied all of Peter's cases he could set his hands on. It struck him that with the advancement if his career Caine had been constantly given the most twisted and complicated crimes. More striking was that he had solved them, too; he solved them all.
All preparation considered, Bob Callahan didn't feel a change. He was still a decent cop and a decent man. And being decent is not enough, not if you are sent to watch over the law and order in Metropolis after Superman had left. Callahan put the blue suit and the red cape, but those aren't enough to turn the humble Clark Kent into a super-hero; they are merely sufficient to make him look like a moron in a blue suit and red cape.
X
A cup of warm coffee found its place between the messy papers on Rob's desk. He set to revise the sad condition of his current case. Disheartened by the already third day without new information he knocked fingers on the metallic surface. Few small scratches, left from the desk's previous occupant, attracted his attention. They looked like digits, phone number, perhaps. Nah, they couldn't be his, he took good care of his belongings.
Next month it was going to be 2 years exactly since his arrival here; he remembered it vividly.
Bobby had hoped to remain fairly unnoticed and, unfortunately, he did. Only on his first day did he manage to be the centre of attention. As he set foot in the building for the first time, Chief Strenlich showed him around and took him to his new desk… Peter Caine's desk… Callahan had felt all eyes in the squad-room following every move he made. When the box with his stuff touched the empty desk's surface he felt like he was desecrating an altar.
As the time went by Callahan realised his fears of too much attention had been unjustified. After all, being decent doesn't get you much attention, and being decent doesn't make you a great cop and… Peter Caine had been nothing less than great. No, wearing blue suit and red cape doesn't make you Superman, nor does sitting on his desk for that matter.
X
Jody Powell never noticed any of this; to her Bob Callahan was simply a new colleague, good partner, and fun company.
But not at first. Oh, no, during the first few days she hated Callahan: for sitting in his chair, for being behind his desk, for working his shifts... She hated him for being there, or rather for not being, because he was not Pete, by no fault of his own, of course, but he was not even close. She hated him for that. For a short time Bobby Callahan was responsible for Peter's leaving, for Peter not coming at DeLancey's as often, and generally for everything bad that happened in the world.
But those feelings lasted only a while, because Bobby was a decent man, and you can't be mad at decent people for long.
Jody lifted head to thank Skalany for the refill and watched her heading for the front desk to brighten Broderick's day, too. He was the same, Skalany was the same, Blake, he was the same, too. Many things were the same, but then, nothing was as it used to be.
Over the past two years Mary Margaret and Jody had become even closer, consequence of them sharing something very special in common, the Caine link. After all, both ladies had learned first-hand that the Caine men could break hearts with the same ease they broke bricks.
Though in Mary Margaret's case it wasn't the 'classic' heartbreak, since nothing 'real' other than a kiss ever actually happened, a kiss and a half-spoken four-year flirt at the background. But in Jody's case it was all very real...or so Mary Margaret (and everyone else!) thought. Not even Skalany knew the details of what really went on between her friend and Peter, but at the end of it Jody was a mess.
Powell never shared details about it, yet the two lonely women understood each other. A smile, a look, a half-spoken sentence – they understood. They tried to move on, both with questionable success. Skalany had only short flirts, nothing ever turned serious, while Jody found 'the one' several times and several times ended up alone and miserable. Unconsciously both women were looking for the perfect men, i.e. better than the Caines, and as a result Mary Margaret turned her back on a few great opportunities, while Jody never really spotted the one great opportunity, that was there, right under her nose.
X
Occupied with memories, the detective vaguely spotted the subtle change in the air. Skalany and Broderick saw them first, the Captain and their new Chief.
… holding his coat in one hand, engaged in a lively conversation with a tall, young woman. As he walked in, he gallantly stepped aside, wide smile on his face, and made way for the lady.
'Welcome to 101st precinct, lieutenant Jahn!'
'It's a pleasure, Captain Griffin!'
XXX
