Chapter Two: Catching Jack Sparrow
As soon as Anthony shifted on the bed, scarlet magic hummed beneath Greg's skin, nudging him awake. The stocky man yawned and rubbed his face – not even the slight rasp of stubble was enough to bother him, not as tired as he still was. Sighing, he pushed himself up from the chair and walked around the room, working the kinks out of his back and shaking off the last of his short slumber. Not nearly enough after pulling an all-nighter, but hopefully enough so he could debrief Anthony and head home.
It took another couple minutes before Anthony fully stirred; reaching up, the mobster yawned, drawing an involuntary echo from Parker, and rubbed at his chest, right by where he'd been shot. His jaw scrunched and he rubbed harder, before jerking upright, eyes shooting open. Wide dark eyes scanned his surroundings, latching onto Greg.
"You said it was for the pain!"
Amused, Parker arched a brow and crossed his arms. "I said you wouldn't feel any pain as long as it was in your system. And you didn't."
Anthony glowered. "You know I don' like losin' control like that, Boss."
Humor drained away, replaced by solemn regard. "Yes, I do, Anthony, and I'm sorry, but it was necessary." He stepped closer, holding the other man's gaze. "Thank you for trusting me enough to take it."
The mobster glared harder. "You tricked me an' you just expect me t' be okay with that?"
"I don't, but, again, it was necessary, Anthony. Believe me that I didn't choose that course lightly." When the glare didn't abate, Parker sighed heavily and ran a hand through the remnants of his hair. Striding over to the nearby counter, he picked up a to-go container and brought it over to the mobster on the medical bed. "Here. Jesse was willing to make a run to your favorite takeout place this morning. Should still be warm."
Wary, Anthony took the foam container and opened it up, eyes widening at the contents. "You didn't spike this, did you?"
"No," Greg promised. "No need; you're past the worst of it and Susan already headed home, anyway."
Startled, Anthony looked up. "You put me out 'cause of the woman?" Hurt rang.
The older man sighed again, understanding the source of Anthony's distress. "No, that's not it at all, Anthony." He returned to his chair and dragged it over to the bed before sinking down in it. He nodded to the food and waited until Anthony had eaten a few bites before speaking again. "Susan is in the medical field, like her brother, but her methods are unique." He let that hang, then added the punch line. "And classified."
The mobster froze, gawking at him with wide eyes. "Classified? Like whatever was up with you when you went down that one time?"
He nodded once. "They aren't directly related, Anthony, but the core source is the same." His jaw twitched. "I couldn't take you to the hospital and Jesse couldn't treat the gunshot. Not without help." He closed his eyes. "We had to put you out so Susan could come in and help. So, I'm sorry I violated your trust and used your faith in me against you, but I won't regret making the call. It saved your life."
For several long minutes there was silence. Up on the wall, the clock ticked along and Anthony stared down at his meal. After a minute or two, he started to eat it again, but didn't speak. Still sitting in the chair next to the bed, Greg kept quiet, though he had to swat his gryphon side down as it whined, hungry for the food he could smell.
At last, Parker's stomach growled, breaking the quiet. Anthony jerked, staring at him for a long moment. Then he laughed. "How'd you ever get that big when you don't eat?"
A rueful smile surfaced. "Because I used to, Anthony," Greg countered, rising to his feet. "But I'd better get home before mio nipotes send out a search party."
"You ain't gonna ask?"
Parker halted and shifted back. "I should, Anthony, but I won't. Not after I violated your trust."
The other man squirmed, gathering himself. "You, ah, you might wanna rethink that."
One brow went up. "Anthony?"
Sorrowful misery stared up at him. "We got a couple new players in town, Boss."
Hazel tightened, flicking back and forth in thought. Then Greg huffed. "Okay. But let me get some breakfast before I debrief you."
"Sure thing, Boss."
By the time he got home, it was partway through the day already and he was beat. Even so, there was quite a bit of information from Anthony that needed to be passed onto his commander. So Greg Parker summoned up his remaining reserves and called Commander Holleran.
The commander picked up after the second ring. "Lieutenant Parker?" Worry and chiding, all rolled together.
"Sorry to bother you at home, sir, but my CI called after I got home last night."
Holleran exhaled hard, something in the sound giving Greg the image of his boss pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "One of these days you're going to work yourself right into the ground, Parker."
"Been there, done that," Greg countered, chipper and glib in his exhaustion.
"I'm aware, Lieutenant." The commander huffed again. "I take it you received some actionable intelligence?"
"Yes, sir," Parker confirmed. "Some of it, we'll need to pass on fast."
"Copy. Give me the rundown and I'll take care of the rest." A pause. "You can fill in the CI paperwork on Monday, Greg, as long as you promise to eat and go to bed right after this call."
"Already ate and bed's my next destination," the stocky man promised. Rubbing his forehead, he said, "Anthony's still working on tracking down the last of Troy's guys, but he says we've got a new player in town. Must've been getting the lay of the land for awhile; some of his guys ambushed Anthony last night down by the old warehouses – the ones the city's working on condemning so they can rip it all apart and start fresh…"
On Monday morning, Greg levered himself out of bed, grumbling at his alarm even though he'd been the one to set it an hour ahead of his usual start time. Quietly, he slipped through the dark apartment and took a quick shower, just long enough to scrub down and finish waking up. Sneaking back to his room, he dressed and headed for the kitchen, nabbing a quick meal before writing out a note for his kids to find.
Once he reached the barn, Greg arrowed for the locker room and changed into his uniform as fast as possible. In fact, he hustled so fast through his changing that he was still fastening the last buttons as he headed up the ramp into the atrium. Pausing by the dispatcher desk, he waited for Ben to look up.
"Need you to call me if anyone wants to talk to me this morning."
"Yes, sir," Ben agreed. "Early warning for Commander Holleran and Team One?"
The stocky officer allowed a faint smile. "Exactly."
"Got it covered, sir," the young dispatcher promised.
Greg's smile broadened and he nodded thanks before heading past and towards his office. Kira and Winnie would never let him get away with it, but Ben was still too much of an eager-beaver to think of questioning his superiors. He'd eventually grow into his role and start pushing back against his lieutenant's 'early-hours-don't-count' strategy, but in the meantime, the extra time was invaluable for putting a dent in the Paperwork Mountain Range atop his desk.
But first… Parker detoured to his commander's office, slipping in long enough to snap up the CI paperwork Holleran had already partially filled out for him. Much as his other paperwork might scream, CI paperwork took precedence – and was easier to do if he didn't let too much time go by before filling it out. Especially the narrative…
Once in his office, Greg finished a few last items of prep before sitting down in his desk chair and locating his favorite pen. Quickest done, quickest over, he told himself as he stared down at the page, replaying every single memory from the previous Friday evening in his mind. Letting himself fall into a half-officer, half-mob boss mentality, Greg leaned over the paperwork and started writing.
The pen moved steadily across the page, smoothly filling in the narrative of his latest brush with Toronto's underworld. A brush that he would've preferred to avoid, save for the fact that the man he'd interacted with had, in his own way, become one of Lieutenant Greg Parker's friends. Rather ironic, that a cop could call a mobster 'friend' – and vice-versa.
Even more ironic that this mobster was someone Greg would trust to have his back, come hell or high water. Just not with the welfare of his children. Or maybe he would; Anthony – Scarface – was adored by the organization's little ones and still regarded Parker himself as his boss, Elias, so he might well go to the wall to protect any of Greg's kids. Not that the lieutenant had any plans on introducing his kids to the mobster – that, he felt, would be a bridge too far back into his undercover op.
Bad enough that he was still maintaining any contacts from that period of his life – if City Hall got wind of the fact that the SRU's lieutenant was still trusted by one of the city's top mobsters, Greg had a nasty feeling he'd be back undercover before he could blink. Particularly since Commander Holleran had finally presented the SRU's requested budget for the upcoming fiscal year – and their plan to expand the unit for the first time since Greg himself was a rookie. Ambitious, perhaps too much so; rumor held that Holleran's new second-in-command was the driving force behind the normally conservative SRU Commander's aggressive push for increased funding.
The officer sighed and shook his head, returning his full attention to the narrative. A few more lines, just enough to finish outlining the 'official' story; a part of him was uneasy at withholding the full story, but it was necessary. Expected. Any cop with a confidential informant was expected to withhold information that might jeopardize their source – the bureaucrats might squawk, but even they knew the necessity of guarding the fragile shield of anonymity that protected sources.
Four lines later, it was done; Parker breathed a full and genuine sigh of relief as he tucked the paperwork away. He would give it to Commander Holleran later in the day, once enough time had passed that it wouldn't appear to be anything other than a subordinate reporting to his boss. In the meantime, he had a mountain of other paperwork.
The stocky, balding lieutenant turned his head, glaring at the tower of white perched atop his inbox. At least his emails were under control – those were easy enough to check, even while on patrol with his team. Unfortunately, email was about all he could check – the rest of his lieutenant duties required more attention than he could give them, not when his teammates needed him on patrols, hot calls, and everything else.
Something was going to have to give – soon. To fill in for an absent team member or go on hot calls when his paperwork was under control was one thing. To be a semi-permanent replacement for Spike while he was out with a – hopefully temporary – vision disability… That was proving to be quite another thing.
Oh, they'd managed it in the beginning, although Eddie nagged about how many workouts he was skipping. Unfortunately, the paperwork 'fairy' he'd never caught had stopped helping out not long after the latest 'Marina incident'. So as time wore on and the paperwork stack on his desk began to grow – as the reports from Ed and the other Sergeants went unattended to, Greg began to realize just how much he was falling down on his own job in his quest to work two jobs at once.
He'd known for months that he wasn't a Sergeant any more. He'd even known his new role as the SRU's lieutenant second-in-command would require sacrifices. He just hadn't realized – until now – that one of those sacrifices was his ability to be a fulltime frontline officer. Deep inside, his gut tightened, because… Much as he hated it – another sacrifice was probably going to be his unofficial status as a member of Team One. The team already ran lean with six members; if he had to bow out because of his mounting paperwork and other duties, then Team One would be down to five.
Worse, even though Spike's magical core was healing right on schedule, he hadn't even gotten a glimmer of vision back. With help from Elyan Coulby's sister Gwen, the constable was beginning to relearn how to live without his sight, but the sad truth was that the SRU couldn't afford to have a blind man in their ranks. Other departments could and Greg was already discreetly looking into one that might be a good fit, but the SRU's physical requirements precluded officers with disabilities, even if they were already in the SRU.
If he took action now – talked Commander Holleran into rescinding Team One's exemption to the seven-man rule – then he could continue to act as Spike's replacement while his own replacement was recruited. If, at the end of the new guy's adjustment period, Spike was still blind, then Parker could bow out and let Team One recruit a second new member.
Greg knew Eddie would fight against him – the bonds of the 'team sense' might've loosened enough to let 'outsiders' in again, but Team One was still fiercely devoted to maintaining the status quo, keeping 'their' team intact. The problem was that Greg couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't work two jobs at once, not without sacrificing his own integrity as an officer. Even with his tentative plan, he was still going to be overloaded for weeks, if not months after he finally eased off the front lines.
And a new member would solve the ever-present problem that Spike's injury had brought to the forefront. Namely, how was Team One supposed to handle things when someone was – inevitably – sick or injured?
Maybe he should take Ed and Wordy with him when he went to talk to Holleran? He knew his friends wouldn't blabber his concerns all over the station – and if they could see the problems building up for him, maybe they'd be more open to his solution. Maybe with four heads on the job, they could even find another solution – much as he doubted that another existed.
Satisfied with his tentative plan, the officer tugged the top sheet off the stack of paperwork and set to work. The more he could get done during the morning downtime, the better. Especially after Commander Holleran had started kicking him out if he 'worked too late'. After all, that was how he'd ended up off-duty when Anthony called…
He'd gotten through the first two sheets when someone knocked on his door – a frown surfaced as his head came up. Normally, he didn't mind if a member of the SRU came right in, but he'd specifically asked Ben to alert him if anyone was coming in. He needed all the time he could get for paperwork before the rest of Team One showed up and he was inevitably harassed from his office to the briefing room. The workout room if Eddie could manage it.
"Enter!" Best to just get it over with.
The door opened and four men streamed in, none of them SRU and all of them in plainclothes that screamed Internal Affairs to the veteran cop. Hazel widened and Greg reared back in his chair, hands lifting away from his paperwork and spreading in an instinctive show of non-threatening compliance. He spied his pen still in his right hand and hastily put it back down on the desk.
Pulling in a deep breath to regain his composure, the lieutenant surveyed his guests. "May I help you, gentlemen?"
"Lieutenant Gregory Parker?" one of them asked, a large man in a gray-blue business suit who was giving him a look of pure contempt.
"Yes." One brow hiked in question, though dread was filtering through his system. He knew what was coming, but what he couldn't fathom was why.
"We'll need you to turn over your badge and gun, and come with us, Lieutenant."
"On what charges?"
"Right now, it's just an interview."
Hazel narrowed a hair. They had charges – there was no way they'd march in here and demand his gun and badge if they didn't have charges. But his reputation in the SRU was no secret and gossip had run rampant across the Toronto Police Department after his 'return from the dead' – IA was hoping to avoid a scene right in the heart of Parker's home turf.
Fixing the four detectives with a disapproving look, the lieutenant lowered his hands and laid them flat on his desk. "Gentlemen. If it's an interview you want, I can arrange that. Just not today." Leaning forward just a touch, he added, "But if it's just an interview, you wouldn't be demanding my badge and sidearm right off the bat."
"Lieutenant. We're giving you a chance to do the right thing."
"No, as a matter of fact, you're not," Greg replied, tone mild. "You are demanding that I disarm, ostensibly for an interview, without telling me what you're investigating me for or enunciating any charges I may be facing." He lifted his left hand and spread it, palm up. "If it's just an interview – without charges – then I can't call a union lawyer in to represent me." His left shoulder shrugged. "Unless you've got charges, you could be interviewing me about something I might've observed in last week's hot call – no reason for a lawyer if that's the case – and that's exactly what the union would tell me if I call in."
They stared at him and he grinned right back with a gryphon's predatory joy. He knew the procedure when it came to officers who ended up tangled in the court side of law enforcement – and not just as a witness in a court case, either. He'd learned early, mostly because although he'd been a pariah after arresting Castor Troy, he'd been represented by a union lawyer from start to finish. Not to mention everything he'd learned from Detective Archer, the prosecutor, and even a few things from the judge – both during the original trial and two years later after Reese's murder.
The big man in the gray-blue suit stepped forward, jaw set. "Fine then. Lieutenant Gregory Parker, you are under arrest for murder and organized crime. Put your hands on the desk and don't move."
Shock reverberated in the small room, all of them waiting for Parker's response. Watching for any hint of resistance. He stiffened automatically as the charges were rapped out, expression twisting, but – after a few moments – nodded acceptance. He knew he'd get a chance to fight, but during his arrest was not the time. And so, with a hard swallow, Greg returned his left hand to the desk – his right had never left it – flattened them both, and rose to his feet, kicking his chair away to give the detectives full access.
They moved in, securing his sidearm before pulling his hands behind his back for the cuffs. Once he was cuffed, two of them hauled him away from the desk and their leader smirked as he checked the officer's pockets and pulled out Parker's badge. Though the negotiator kept his expression perfectly calm and placid, his heart twisted at the sight of his badge in a stranger's hands.
But far, far worse than his badge in the hands of an Internal Affairs detective was the walk out of his office and the barn, past his horrified, gawking colleagues. Greg fought the urge to duck his chin and hunch his shoulders, guilt wrenching his insides. With an effort, he pushed the guilt away – he hadn't done anything wrong and he knew it. So instead of acting like a guilty, cornered suspect, the SRU lieutenant lifted his head high and adjusted his stance to walk as normally and proudly as possible while his hands were cuffed behind his back. Confident serenity radiated from him – whatever IA thought they had, he could beat it. He just needed a chance to look at their evidence and hopefully point them in the direction of the real criminal. Then he could come right back home to his kids and the SRU.
When they cuffed him to the iron ring under the interrogation desk, Greg was sorely tempted to lash out. He could do it, too – he'd practiced using both the locking and unlocking spell on a plain pair of cuffs as well as his gun safe until he could do it in his sleep. Right along with the silencing ward, though that required more raw power and he could only manage about four wards in a row before he gave himself a nasty migraine for the rest of the day.
Indignation throbbed under his skin, but he forced it back with a slow inhale, exhale, and a pleasant smile for the big man in his gray-blue suit. The officer shifted subtly in his seat, relieving the pressure on his wrists and shoulders, then hiked an inquiring brow at his opponent.
The other smirked and leaned over the table, landing his palms flat in a mockery of Parker's stand-down in his office. Pale gray eyes glittered with triumph beneath a high forehead and carefully combed back brunet hair. On the sides of his head, the brunet was beginning to turn silver, but unlike the stocky lieutenant, the IA detective possessed a full head of hair.
Beneath a strong nose, though, the detective's years of good living were catching up to him – cheeks and chin possessed more flab than they should've and the gray-blue suit had been left unbuttoned, displaying a pale blue starched collar shirt and a dark red tie with a crosshatched black diamond pattern. Although it was possible the suit was unbuttoned to allow for greater ease of movement and flexibility, Greg doubted it. Maybe to allow an easier draw from the holster tucked at the detective's side, just visible underneath one side of the suit jacket – he'd believe that.
"Been looking forward to this, Parker. For a long time."
"And why is that, Detective?" the lieutenant inquired. "I wasn't aware I'd done anything to warrant landing on Internal Affairs' radar."
"Is that so…" The other trailed off insinuatingly, frowning when Parker merely gazed back, unconcerned and patiently waiting for the rest.
Reaching over, the large man tugged a folder over, taking his time in slowly flipping it open. Greg regulated his breathing, refusing to let any panic build up – he'd been a Homicide detective, he knew the standard tactics for ratcheting up the tension in an interrogation, goading the suspect into a response, even if the suspect never said a word.
Thunk. Despite himself, the officer jumped, hazel widening involuntarily at how close the detective was – almost nose to nose, contempt blazing in the big man's pale gray.
"Don't get smug with me, Parker," the other man growled, looming over his shorter, seated opponent with palms flat on the metal table again. "You and I both know you're anything but innocent."
A slight frown of his own emerged. "You have yet to elaborate on whom I'm accused of murdering or what evidence you have that I'm involved in any crime, much less organized crime." He leaned back, ever so slightly. "And since my lawyer isn't present yet, anything I say now can and will be used against me. I fail to see how keeping quiet until my lawyer arrives is being smug."
The other snorted, loud and derisive. "Keep tellin' yourself that, Parker." He twirled the folder around on the desk and shoved it towards his stocky prisoner. Greg found himself looking at a photo of his SUV, gleaming under the streetlights as it pulled out of his apartment complex. A meaty hand smacked down on top of the photo – once again, Parker couldn't quite help the tiny jump at the sudden noise.
Smirking at the reactions his prisoner couldn't help, the detective spread out the stack of photos, all of them taken at night and most of them featuring his SUV – at first, Greg was confused, but then he spied a picture of his SUV parked next to an overgrown field, with a warehouse off in the background. A chill ran up his back – someone had been following him. He'd been hurrying to help Anthony and he'd missed a tail. How the heck had he been that stupid? If it hadn't been IA, he could've walked himself and his gravely injured CI into a trap.
Even more horrifying was the final photo the IA detective pulled out of the stack – a photo that the other man dropped right under his nose, triumph fairly vibrating in the air. A picture of him, gun in his right hand as he supported an injured, bleeding man up into the passenger seat of his SUV. Anthony's face hadn't been captured by the photographer, but that was about the only saving grace Parker could see.
"Where'd you take him, Parker?" The big man leaned back, surveying the lieutenant. "Sure didn't take him to any hospital; he lyin' in some field outta town? Maybe a quick trip out on the lake?" A suggestive leer. "Handy construction site?"
Beneath the desk, his fists clenched at the insinuation he would harm one of his own; Anthony might be a mobster who didn't know a thing about magic, but that didn't mean anything. He was Greg's friend and the lieutenant would never abandon any of his friends, never mind in such a cruel, unfeeling way. But aside from the fist clenching and the lethal glare he landed on his opponent, the negotiator didn't respond. That was what the other man wanted. For him to get angry, lose his temper, and give IA enough rope to hang him with.
The IA detective was gearing up for another goading session when someone knocked on the door to the interrogation room. Both men inside the room looked up just in time for the door to swing open – a dark-haired woman strode in, right past a sour-faced detective who scowled at the woman's back. She appeared to be of average height, with brown eyes, a pert nose, and a full mouth; her red lipstick distracted from the tiny mole at one corner and complimented her high cheekbones and slim eyebrows. Her dark brown, almost black, hair fell to her chin and hung free around her face, curling up at the ends.
"I hope you haven't been interviewing my client without me present, Detective Niebaum," the woman remarked. "I'd hate to have drag you in front of SIU for breach of protocol." Again.
"Nothin' wrong with a lil chit-chat while we wait for you, Counselor," Niebaum replied, tone smooth and unconcerned.
The lawyer cast a glance at the photos still spread over the table and cast the detective an insincere smile. She placed her briefcase on the floor and collected the chair next to Greg's. Sitting down, she leaned forward and folded her hands together as she gazed up at Niebaum. "Well, now that I'm here, perhaps you could elaborate on the charges my client is facing. And then I'll have to ask you and your colleagues to leave while I consult with my client."
The big detective scowled, but he had no choice in the matter and all present knew it. To violate attorney-client privilege was to destroy his case before it could even be prosecuted, casting a dark shadow on his career as an Internal Affairs detective. So, with a huff, he turned back to his folder and pulled out several more photos.
"Well, Counselor, it seems our upstanding Lieutenant Parker here has been moonlighting as a mob boss, right here in the heart of the city he swore to protect. Even goes out of his way to pull his confidential informant – aka his second-in-command, Scarface – out of the fire when he should be tucked in at home, nice and snug after an all day shift."
Parker's muscles tightened, but he kept his mouth shut. His lawyer might be present now, but if he lost his temper, he'd give Niebaum free ammunition. Which would be a bad thing, particularly with the sneaking suspicion rumbling around in the back of his mind.
For her part, his lawyer tapped the tips of her fingers together, expression placid as she said, "That would be the organized crime charge, I imagine. What about the murder charge I heard about?"
"Murders, actually," Niebaum countered. A heavy glare was angled in Greg's direction. "One of them was one of ours – Detective Brenda Kastor."
"And who else?"
"Brenda's older brother, Castor Troy." Niebaum shook his head, shoulders bowing in sorrow. "Good man – least he was till Parker here shot him!"
Parker's teeth ground together as he wrestled every last scrap of outrage back into the mental 'cage' he'd once employed for his gryphon form. Aside from his return glare, he didn't say a thing, though he was sorely tempted to.
Next to him, his lawyer absorbed the information, frowning thoughtfully. "Anything else?"
Niebaum shook his meaty head. "We'll leave you two alone to discuss your client's options, Counselor."
Greg waited until he and his lawyer were alone, even signaling her to stay quiet while he turned his head towards the one-way glass and tilted his head, listening. Nothing but the hum of the building A/C. Good.
Shifting back to the brunette, he said, "Lieutenant Greg Parker, SRU."
She smiled back. "Claire Kincaid. I'd shake your hand, but…"
"But I'm a little tied up right now," Parker finished for her, a slight smile tipping his jaw. It fell away as he sobered, meeting her gaze. "How familiar are you with the name 'Castor Troy'?"
Keen brown studied him in turn for several long moments. "I'm still fairly new to Toronto, Lieutenant Parker. Moved up here from Manhattan a couple months ago."
Parker sighed, wishing he could rub his head. "Alright, then, Counselor, let me give you the whole rundown, but before that…" He hesitated. "Do you know how much time they usually give for lawyer/client consults before coming back?"
Kincaid blinked, surprised. "You think we'll need more than that?"
"Yes," he replied simply. "Castor Troy's history in Toronto goes back over twenty years; he was active before I even enrolled in the Academy."
The young lawyer whistled low, surveying him with new eyes. "Give me a few to let Niebaum know he can't come back in here until we're done."
"Copy that."
It took almost two hours to lay out the whole of the history behind Castor Troy, his two siblings, and the swathe of destruction they'd once carved through Toronto and her police force. He named every victim he was personally aware of and even the victims Detective Archer had told him about. The initial arrest, the trial afterwards, and the car bombing that had claimed John Reese's life.
From there, he gave a brief overview of his own career and how, twenty years after the trial, Castor Troy had managed to escape from prison, murdering Archer, the judge, and their families. How Pollux Troy and Brenda Kastor had conspired to force him out of the SRU and into an undercover role as an Italian mob boss, robbing him of protection and backup, right when he needed it most. Commander Holleran's shooting and the fiery standoff that followed, leaving him badly injured and struggling to come home.
The officer freely admitted that he had pulled his former criminal second – now his confidential informant – out of danger the prior Friday, but insisted that he'd never used his personal weapon. He acknowledged that he'd kept his CI away from the hospital, but taken him elsewhere for medical attention, something that wasn't entirely uncommon when it came to CIs.
Kincaid's pen flew as she wrote down his information, a slight frown emerging as the story unwound. By the time he was done, Parker was getting a very sinking feeling in his stomach; as his lawyer, Kincaid couldn't reveal any of what he'd told her in confidence, but if she didn't believe him…
When he was done, he waited for her to finish writing and read over the story once again. At last she turned towards him, a glimmer of skepticism in her eyes. "So, let me see if I've got this straight. You're admitting that IA is right – you did kill two people and you were a mob boss in the same city you're supposed to protect."
He bristled at the last. "I wasn't even given a choice in going undercover, much less what my role undercover was going to be." Hazel narrowed a hair. "And while I regret that I had to take Brenda down with her brother, what I will not regret is protecting my former teammates and my family from what Castor would've done to them if things had escalated any further than they did."
He let that hang in the air a moment, then allowed his shoulders to slump down and glanced away, tilting his head to expose his neck in a show of submission. "I know it was vigilante 'justice', Counselor. I'm well aware that I appointed myself Judge, Jury, and Executioner – and that is something I will live with and regret for the rest of my life. But." His head came back up. "My family is still alive. That's a lot more than any of Castor Troy's other victims can say."
"Then we have mitigating factors," Kincaid mused. She considered, then nodded to herself. "I recommend we cut a deal with Internal Affairs. I'll obtain the evidence of your undercover assignment, get them to take organized crime off the table, and plead you down to a lesser sentence on the murder charges."
"Cut a deal?" Parker echoed incredulously. "Counselor, Detective Niebaum was on Castor Troy's payroll! I found evidence of that while I was undercover and handed that evidence over to my commander. I got no idea how he wriggled his way out of that, but I wouldn't trust him to protect my hamster, much less my three kids if I'm put away on murder charges!"
She eyed him disapprovingly. "Lieutenant, you just confessed to murdering two people in cold blood. Even if we could prove that they posed an imminent threat to your family, do you honestly believe you can walk away from this?"
His shoulders hunched as if she'd struck a physical blow. Then he shook his head. "It wasn't like I walked up behind them and shot them in the back. After they ambushed Commander Holleran, I knew they wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than slaughtering my teammates and my children in front of me. Maybe they'd even drag out the killing, just to ensure I broke, right before Castor executed the last man left from the original trial."
Hazel bored into her brown. "So, yes, I lured them onto my turf, to a location I'd prepped beforehand, but they didn't have to come. They didn't have to start shooting at me after I sprang the trap." He shook his head slowly. "If they'd run in those first few seconds, I would've had to let them go. They would've gotten away scot-free and I'd've had to come up with some other way to take 'em down.
"But you know what they did instead? They both pulled out automatics and started shooting. Even though it was obvious I had the high ground and they were fighting at a disadvantage, they still attacked me. Neither one of them were willing to fall back – no, they had to take me down. Right then. Right there. They needed to prove that if anyone, cop or not, challenged Castor Troy, that person was a dead man walking."
"So. You think you did the right thing. You murdered two people, but as long as your motives were pure, you don't care about real justice."
"Archer did the right thing," Greg countered, soft. "I arrested Castor Troy, but Detective Archer's case is what put him away. For life. He was retired, Counselor. He, his wife, and his daughter, they moved to the States years ago." The lieutenant shook his head sadly. "For doing the right thing, he had to watch as everyone he loved was murdered, right in front of him. We'll never know what Castor did to him before he died – his head was cut off and shipped to his old precinct, but they never found his body. Only his family's bodies; he was the primary suspect in their murders till Captain Cragen called the department near where he lived."
The brunette Kincaid paled at the additional details, but her mouth was tight with stubborn displeasure. "That doesn't make your actions justifiable."
"Doesn't it?" Greg questioned. "Doesn't a man have the right to protect his family, even if it's technically against the law?" He let that hang, then added, "Besides, Castor was an escaped prisoner. As a cop, it's my duty to protect the citizens of Toronto from men like him; Brenda was aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice – I had a duty to stop her as well."
"By arresting them, Lieutenant Parker."
"Arrests weren't possible." Parker set his jaw and stared at her. "No deal, Counselor Kincaid. Niebaum wants my hide, he's going to have to get it the hard way. In court." Teeth flashed in a savage grin. "I have no doubt I'd win in a jury trial – 'specially since my kids were on the line – but I won't risk it. I want a bench trial, Counselor."
Kincaid's mouth went just a bit tighter, but she nodded acceptance. "Very well, Lieutenant Parker. I'll bring Detective Niebaum back in. Once you're booked, I'll arrange a meeting with the prosecutor and arrange for a bench trial."
As she rose and departed, disapproval still tangible around her, Parker exhaled and wished he knew more about the New York lawyer who'd been assigned to represent him. He was prepared to fight to the bitter end, but he definitely would've preferred a lawyer who believed in him rather than someone who was just doing her job.
Author Note: As ever, I hope you all enjoyed!
I do have a Praise to share - and all credit to Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for working this miracle. As some of you may know, my mother has been in a physical decline for the past few years - something that has been very discouraging for all of us. Because of her decline, I've become increasingly concerned about her climbing up and down the steps to my 3rd floor walk-up apartment when my parents come to visit in September. However, she's been utterly determined because she's felt that staying in a hotel means losing precious time to spend with me.
However, the Lord finally prompted me to suggest that all three of us stay in an extended stay hotel - and Mom agreed! The Lord further confirmed His approval by guiding me to a nearby apartment complex which offers a mix of apartments, corporate housing, and extended stay suites. On top of that, it just so happens that this apartment complex is right by my employer's Richardson, Texas hub, so they offer corporate discounts for employees. The complimentary upgrade to their handicapped-accessible suite with a roll-in bathroom was the Lord's idea of a cherry on top!
I am hoping I can work with my parents on improving both of their health. They've spent their lives in the traditional medical system and haven't been interested in looking outside of it. However, from what I can tell, the traditional medical system is more interested in managing their decline than trying to help them find real solutions. Prayer that they would be open to a second opinion would be most welcome - I have an idea about how to approach the topic, but I absolutely need the Holy Spirit's guidance.
If any of my readers has a Prayer Request (or Praise) to share, I'd be delighted to pray for you.
May the Lord Bless all of you on the other side of the screen. = )