Chapter One: The Medallion Calls
Author note: This story is the seventy-eighth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Blind Man's Bluff".
Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, Merlin, or Knight Rider.
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.
The officer sighed and shook his head, then re-read what he'd written, weighing each sentence and word as though it was a negotiation. A few more lines, he decided, just enough to finish outlining the 'official' story; a part of him was uneasy at withholding the full story, but it was necessary. Expected when it came to confidential informants.
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 – leaving the remainder of his lieutenant duties unfulfilled for more days than he cared to count as Team One's shifts demanded all his time and attention.
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.
They'd managed it in the beginning, though Eddie nagged about all the workouts he was skipping. But as time wore on, Greg began to realize just how much he was falling down on his own job in his quest to work two jobs at once. 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 and trained. After that, if Spike still couldn't come back, then the team could recruit a second member.
Greg knew his team would fight against his fledgling plan, intent on maintaining their team, but he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't work two jobs at once, not without sacrificing his own integrity as an officer. 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? That would give them an inside look on his perspective and the challenges he was facing. He knew they'd still be upset that he was permanently leaving the team, but if they knew why, then that might make it a little easier for them.
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'.
He'd gotten through the first two sheets when someone knocked on his door – a frown surfaced as he looked 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 before the rest of Team One showed up and dragged him out.
"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 in instinctive surrender. He spied his pen still in his right hand and hastily put it down.
Inhaling slowly to control his reaction, the lieutenant surveyed his guests. "May I help you, gentlemen?"
"Lieutenant Gregory Parker?" a large man in a gray-blue business suit asked.
"Yes." One brow hiked in question and dread swam in his gut. He knew what this was, but what he couldn't fathom was why.
The big man stepped forward, jaw set. "Lieutenant 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 watching Parker's response. He stiffened automatically, but carefully held still – there would be a time and place to fight this, but it wasn't now, during his arrest. So he obeyed, placing his hands flat on the desk and following each order given to him as they confiscated his sidearm and badge before cuffing him.
The walk out of his office, past his coworkers – his friends – was humiliating, but the negotiator never let himself show it. Instead, he walked as proudly as he could with his hands cuffed behind his back, never letting a smidge of guilt or doubt show. Whatever IA thought they had, he could beat it. He just needed a chance to look at their evidence and disprove his involvement. Then he could come right back home to his kids and the SRU.
65 hours earlier (3 days earlier)
Greg Parker walked into his apartment, a sigh of relief escaping as he pushed the door shut behind him, flipped both locks in place, and hung his keys on the wooden key holder fastened to the wall next to the apartment door. Though part of him smarted at the way his commander had evicted him from his office, the rest of him was extraordinarily relieved to finally be off-duty after a grueling hot call and several additional hours spent doing paperwork – a futile attempt to winnow down the mountain of white paper atop his inbox.
The officer limped as he headed for his kitchen – he'd been on his feet so much during the hot call that old injuries were flaring up a bit, compounded by sheer exhaustion. With any luck, he could snag a plate of leftovers, plus a low-level Pain Potion, and fall into bed once he was done eating. Thank the Lion it was Friday and he didn't need to work again until Monday. Two days to sleep, eat, and play with his kids was just what the Healer ordered.
He'd just located a plate and was reaching for the refrigerator door when his cell phone shrilled in the silence. Groaning, Parker dug in his jeans pocket for the device, praying it was just some creative spam caller who'd made it through the goblins' anti-spam protocols. Hadn't happened yet, but there was always a first time… A quick glance at the caller ID brought a frown and he thumbed the 'call accept' icon as he brought the phone up to his ear.
"Anthony?"
"Boss."
Relief and hope and pain, so tightly tangled together that Greg knew in an instant what was happening. His jaw clenched and his stomach wailed, but he was already turning away from the clean, empty plate on his counter to hurry for the door and his keys.
"Status and location," he ordered, detouring to his bedroom for his personal weapon.
"They got me in the chest, Boss." A gasp and distant yells in the background. "Got 'way, but they're still lookin'."
Parker cursed inside his mind – depending on where the bullet had hit, Anthony might only have minutes. And he'd have to listen to the other man die; bad enough when he had to listen to that on a call, when it was a stranger, but for it to be a friend… The lieutenant picked up his pace, rapidly punching in the keys to open his gun safe and wishing for his comm. Seizing his gun, he lofted it up to the bed and whirled away to grab his spare gun belt and holster. He wanted to run right out the door, but that would put Anthony in more danger, not less.
"Anthony, text me your location, then find a place to hunker down. Put as much pressure on the wound as you can; I'm on my way."
A ragged, thankful rasp. "Thanks, Boss. Knew you'd come."
"I'll be there," Greg promised before hanging up. He tossed the phone towards his bed and yanked his belt through the loops in his jeans, only pausing when he got it 'round to his right side. He slid his off-duty holster in place, first one side, then through the jeans belt loop, and finally through the other side, securing the holster in place so it couldn't move. He finished fastening the belt, thankful the slide buckle (1) worked via friction instead of a traditional belt hole. It might've taken some time to get used to after his kids ordered it a year or two ago for his birthday, but now he wished he could trade his work belt for a similar style.
Dismissing the idle thought, the officer scrambled back to his bed, scooping up his off-duty gun first; a quick rack loaded the first round and he slid the gun into his holster, automatically pulling the retention hood up and into place. With his other hand, he grabbed his phone, thumbing the power button so he could see Anthony's text. He nodded once at the location, then turned and ran from the bedroom, racing for the door and his keys. With a gunshot wound, every second counted.
The sleek SUV pulled up close by to an old, ramshackle warehouse. The type that Greg usually wouldn't approach without Team One at his back – but he couldn't do that tonight. Not when calling in backup would put his CI at risk. His shiny, fairly new – and in excellent condition – vehicle was bad enough, but it was the only transportation he had.
Grimacing, Parker slid out, quickly thumbing the button on the door handle; the car beeped once as locks thudded down. Shifting to a crouch, the officer drew his gun and hurried around the front of his vehicle, angling through an overgrown field of tangled grass and weeds, all of it tan from lack of water. As he moved, he focused on listening, doing his best to locate his injured informant – without any innate link to Anthony, he was back to old-fashioned tracking.
Or… Considering, Greg slowed his pace, scanning the ground as he tugged on his magic. It took a few moments, but then his eyes acquired a slight burn, the telltale sign of his native scarlet glittering in hazel irises. Hearing grew more sensitive, picking up the traffic and the soft whistle of wind through the meter-high grass around him. He sniffed cautiously, wincing at the deluge of scents, most of them rather sour to his gryphon senses. But…there…the slightest tang of blood. Recent, with a freshness that spoke to a wound still gushing. Not close by, though – probably from the ramshackle warehouse.
With a nod, Parker shifted his stance just a bit more, taking advantage of the gryphon instincts running hot in his veins, and shot forward in a breakneck run. Though the grass rustled in his passing, nothing else betrayed the born predator's presence.
As an officer working after dark, he was trained to clear any space with gun and flashlight – preferably mounted to his weapon, but otherwise ideally in his opposite hand. As a gryphon, he didn't need the flashlight. His vision might not be as acute after dark as it was during the day, but he'd done most of his hunting during the midnight 'witching' hours during his cross-country marathon home and never had a problem catching his prey.
So he prowled through the building without a sound or a single gleam of light to betray his location, weapon partially up and ready. Every so often, he sniffed the air, focusing on the distinctive scent of blood; deep inside, his predator side perked up, but his human revulsion at the idea of hunting a fellow human kept those instincts firmly in check.
Even so, he couldn't help the realization that his prey was wounded – an easy catch. Easy to track and finish off; his soul was horrified, but that was simply the way his gryphon side was wired. He knew he wouldn't hurt Anthony – and that had to be enough because he needed his gryphon side to track the gravely injured man. Even if his gryphon side did think too much like a predator for his human tastes.
As he turned the corner, he sniffed again – and his head came up. Close now; very close. And what luck – this corridor was so rundown that he could jump up into the next floor, right where the scent was coming from. His human side drolly observed that such a jump was risky, particularly given the clearly unstable surroundings, but Greg was acutely aware that Anthony was running out of time with each passing moment.
He dared not use his wings, but a crouch, a running start, and a jump carried him up to the next floor; he landed hard and skidded a few inches. Bringing his weapon all the way up, he slowed his breathing and listened – that had caused way too much of a racket, how stupid could he get and… Good, good…he couldn't hear anyone coming. Not yet. Just the startled, sharp intake of breath from ahead of him and carefully regulated pants as his prey readied a defense.
Pitching his voice low, he called, "Anthony?"
A second startled noise. "Boss?" Mixed hope and shock – did Anthony really think that little of him?
Parker lowered his weapon and moved forward, peering through the gloom to spy the mobster. Anthony sat against a mostly solid wall, gun held awkwardly in his left hand while his right hand covered a dark spot on his jacket – the dark spot was spreading, making it clear where the other man had been shot.
Training screamed to call in EMS, but he couldn't. He'd put himself, Anthony, and the paramedics in danger if he was that stupid. Greg restrained a grimace and hurried to the injured man's side. Sparing no more than a moment to check the injury, he sorted through their options and nodded once.
"Anthony, have you got a holster?"
"Yeah, but…"
Parker shook his head. "I have my weapon, but we need to get you out of here. Fast as possible. Can't do that if you've got your gun out."
He waited for the grimace and nod before taking the gun and holstering it. Then he shifted, getting right next to Anthony on his left side.
"Okay, grab on. Keep your right on the wound." He reached out, grabbing hold of Anthony even as the wounded man grabbed him. The officer levered them up, ignoring the pained moan from his CI. Inside, his heart twanged, but there was no time. They had to get out of the building, faster the better.
Lowering his head a hair, he did his best to meet Anthony's eyes. "I'm gonna go fast, but we're gonna make it. My word on it."
The mobster's expression tightened, but he nodded. Then he leaned into Greg's support, murmuring, "Knew you'd come for me, Boss."
With a sad smile – he was a cop, not a mob boss – Greg turned his attention to their route out of the building and back to his car. With any luck, they wouldn't even need the distractions he'd planted along his original route.
Parker hefted Anthony up into his passenger seat and helped the semi-conscious man get the seat belt buckled before he closed the door and hurried around the front of his car, cell phone in hand and already dialing. He swung into his own seat, started the engine, and pulled out just as the call connected.
A yawn came through the line, followed by a sleepy, "Doctor Jesse Travis speaking."
"Dr. Travis, this is Greg Parker. I've got a medical emergency and I'm coming your way."
There was a beat, then Travis demanded, "Why me? Isn't the hospital closer?"
Darting a glance right, Greg replied, "It is, but I've got an injured CI. I take him to the hospital and he'll be exposed."
"You want me to treat someone under the table?" Jesse sputtered.
"Please," Greg whispered. "He's a friend."
Travis grumbled something rude under his breath. "Anyone ever tell you you're a jerk sometimes, Parker?"
"Practically every single hot call I've ever been negotiator on. And Giles called me a troll a couple weeks ago."
In spite of himself, the doctor laughed. "He's learning." A huff. "Fine, Parker, but if this goes south on me, I'm taking you down with me."
"Copy that, Dr. Travis. I owe you one."
"You owe me more than one," Jesse announced as he inspected his patient and the bullet wound in Anthony's upper chest. "I'm a general practitioner, not a surgeon."
"Bullet didn't go through?" Anthony gasped out.
"Nope, it's still in there," Travis replied, deeply unhappy with his own conclusion. He glanced up at the watching lieutenant. "You'd be better off with the hospital, Parker."
Greg sighed, rubbing his chin – he winced at the feel of evening growth, but set it aside. "Any chance your sister can help tonight?"
Jesse blinked. "Yeah, she's off, but…" He cast a pointed glance at Anthony's distinctly techie attire. "You sure you want your guy here to meet her?"
"Whatsa matter, doc? Don' want your sis to meet a real man?" Anthony slurred, leering as best he could with a gunshot wound to the chest.
"I doubt you would survive the experience," Greg countered, tone mild as he gestured for Jesse to calm down. "Susan has no tolerance for fools or those who go against doctor's orders." He cast a pointed glare at Anthony and the injured man turned pink, both of them recalling a number of times when the mobster had done just that – though he'd never gotten shot before.
Hazel shifted back to Jesse. "Anything you have on hand to help with the pain?" He backed the question with a meaningful expression.
Travis blinked at him, frowning, then brightened as he caught the real question. "Yeah, I got just the thing," he confirmed, heading to a nearby cabinet. "Pretty fast-acting, too." He rummaged around for a few seconds, then pulled out a small vial with a dark purple liquid inside.
"I ain't takin' that!" Anthony protested. "How'm I suppose t' know what that junk is?"
"Anthony, do you trust me?" Greg asked, pulling the mobster's eyes to him. He waited for the other man's expression to twist, then added, in a gentle tone, "I know you're scared, Anthony. I know you feel like everything is suddenly out of your control, but Jesse is not going to hurt you." He gestured to the vial, watching dark eyes dart to it and back to him. "I've taken that myself; I know what it is and how it works. Jesse's right; it works fast and you won't feel any pain until it wears off."
"Promise, Boss?"
"My word on it." He reached out, resting a hand on Anthony's uninjured shoulder. "You're going to be alright. I just need you to trust me, okay?"
Fear shone in Anthony's eyes, but he nodded, his trust outweighing that fear. Jesse reached across the examination bed, handing Greg the potion vial. The lieutenant opened the vial and offered it to Anthony, not a smidge of hesitation or doubt on his face.
"You…you sure, Boss?"
"Absolutely sure," Greg reassured the frightened man. "I know it looks a bit…odd, but it's very effective at controlling pain."
Doubtful, Anthony stared at the dark purple potion, a few sparkles shimmering in its depths. Then he took the vial and threw it back, swallowing before the taste registered. His expression twitched; he blinked once, twice, then slumped sideways and Greg caught the sleeping man before he could fall off the bed.
As Parker pushed Anthony back into place, Jesse found a pillow to slide under the mobster's head. "He really trusts you, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Greg confirmed, soft with sorrow. "He was my second when I was undercover."
Travis whistled. "Sounds like he's still your second."
The officer sighed and nodded. "I'd appreciate if you didn't spread that around, Jesse. Rather not find myself undercover again."
"Not a word from me, Lieutenant. I'll call Susan and we'll get your guy all fixed up."
"Thank you, Doctor." Greg brought his head up, meeting Jesse's eyes. "He might walk on the wrong side of the law, but he's a good man." Humor crinkled hazel. "Mob activities notwithstanding."
By morning, Anthony was in the small medical practice's recovery room, breathing slow, steady, and unhindered by the bullet that had ricocheted off a rib and come within millimeters of penetrating the heart. There had been a great deal of internal damage and bleeding, but with Susan's healing magic at work, Anthony would survive with only a scar and a few weather-wise aches.
Greg himself had stayed the whole night, only leaving long enough to buy some dinner for himself and the siblings, plus a quick call home to his answering machine. Hopefully, the kids would find the message before they panicked over his absence.
Leaning back in his chair, the officer debated, then sighed and rearranged himself to be a bit more comfortable. Dropping his head down onto his chest, he tugged at his magic, 'asking' it to wake him when Anthony stirred. Scarlet purred acknowledgement, then tugged back, gently pulling him down into much needed slumber.
[1] This unique belt design is sometimes called a crossover belt – for a good description and image, I recommend looking up CrossBreed Holsters, specifically their Thin Line Crossover Gun Belt.
Author Note: As ever, I hope all of my fine readers enjoyed our first installment in one very wild ride.
Not much to report this week. Small Beginnings is still scheduled for a start date of August 19th for the Developmental Edit. My parents are well, the job is going right along, and I'm exploring some new (to me) Meetup groups on cryptocurrency. Seems to be an interesting area, with a lot of moving parts.
On second thought, though...
I do have two members of the team still squabbling with me over their new names in Small Beginnings. It seems that Sam and Jules are quite determined to keep their names instead of permanently changing to James (Sam) and Sandra (Jules). Ironically, Lou seems to like his new name/nickname of Endeavour/Dev - which I only originally came up with because Sam and Jules were so unhappy about being the odd men out. (They were obviously not appeased by Lou joining their ranks.)
I sympathize, I really do. I only changed Sam, Jules, and Lou's names to avoid future accusations that my original fiction is just 'copying' from Flashpoint instead of being a different story/universe of its own. And that is still a valid concern - even though I've changed everyone's last names, if I keep all of the same nicknames for Team One, then it's much easier to tie the Small Beginnings' characters back to Flashpoint.
This is especially true since I have no intentions of ever hiding my past as a fanfic author from my original fiction readers or taking any of my fanfiction down.
Here are Sam, Jules, and Lou's current names in Small Beginnings:
Endeavour 'Dev' Lewis Winner
Sandrilene 'Sandra' Julianna Gallagher
James Samuel Bradagan
Side Note - instead of Spike giving Sam a nickname of 'Samtastic', he currently gives James the nickname of 'Jamtastic'.
Also, it's not in Small Beginnings, but there will eventually be Jamdra (James/Sandra). The in-universe STAR (Strategic Tactics and Response) does not (currently) have the same 'not allowed to date teammates' rule as the SRU does.
That's not to say our couple won't have problems with their teammates - just that I couldn't quite justify making them a couple in my original fiction if the rule was still in place. And yes, I know characters break the rules, just like real people. I may yet put the rule back in, but for now, it's not there.
Anyway... If I were to revert Sam and Jules back to their original names, they'd be:
Julianna 'Jules' Sandrilene Gallagher
Samuel 'Sam' James Bradagan
I've also considered reworking Sam and Jules's first names but keeping their nicknames. For instance:
Celestina (Heavenly) 'Jules' Gallagher
Gideon 'Sam' Samson Bradagan
While characters names should not be a popularity contest, if any of my readers has opinions, I'd love to hear them.
Happy Friday, everyone, and have a wonderful weekend!