| From: | Paul J. Adam Shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk |
|---|---|
| Subject: | A Death in the Family |
| Date: | Mon, 24 Jan 2000 23:54:14 +0000 |
>>>>>[Nicki, I just had a visitor. He may file a complaint, he may not, but
this is the meeting as it happened.
+++++begin video
Hart is studying a series of crime-scene reports, plotting them on a
streetmap of Tacoma. They sing a brutal, deadly song: over a period of
three weeks, two score of Malone "businesses" have been raided with
ruthlessly professional force.
The methods and weapons used vary. The targets are diverse. But, time
and again, Malone's mobsters have been overwhelmed by sudden, savage
violence, and there's no evidence that the attackers have taken a single
casualty -
A commotion outside her office door, and she has time to shut down the
holodisplay before it bursts open. A big, black-skinned Ork man stands
there, looking furious, a nervous administrator trying to restrain him.
"You! I want to talk to you!" the Ork bellows. He looks at her, and loses
his fury for a moment as he sees the ruined flesh of Hart's face.
"So talk." Hart sees several uniformed police gathering behind the man,
and under the desk she's drawn her Thunderbolt.
"What are you doing to find who killed my son?"
"I don't know. Who's your son? Is it one of my cases?"
The Ork's dark skin flushes with blood. "Dominic Pevesy. My son. You want
his SIN too?"
"No..." A quick tap of the screen, a rapid search. "I got it. I was working
on that case when you came in, he's one of about a hundred homicides."
"A hundred?" The Ork gapes.
"Yeah, a hundred and... twenty-six dead. Four hundred and sixty-nine
seriously injured. No telling how many more that weren't hurt enough to
go formal." Hart shrugs. "Someone declared war on a Mafia clan and
Dominic was caught in the crossfire."
"My son was a good boy!" the Ork roars.
"Your son was killed in a chip house." Hart replies coldly. "Fifteen years
old. He was found with an Indonesian copy of an Uzi submachinegun in his
hand. That weapon had been used in one rape-murder and two drive-by
shootings. _Don't_ talk, listen. He fired five rounds before or while being
killed, didn't hit anything except the wall: he was struck in the chest by
three 5.56mm armour-piercing rounds, which pretty much killed him
outright. His blood tested positive for triphenyl chloromardinal
oxysulphate, better known as 'crackle', a popular stimulant and exilherant.
He'd probably recently had sexual intercourse, with one of the prostitutes
working at the BTL house: he certainly had the early stages of gonhorrea.
Is this sinking in yet?" The twisted scar tissue down the side of her face
gives her a definite lisp, but not in a nice way.
"Are you investigating or not?" the man asks. His bluster's gone.
"Yeah, I'm investigating. What the hell were you doing letting Dominic play
games like this?"
"I... he wasn't playing. He said he'd got a job, a good job. He was bringing
home money. Since he got thrown out of school we'd argued." The Ork
shakes his head. "I told him, get a job or get out. He was... running with
the Mafia?"
"Yeah. He was guarding a chip house."
"But... rape? Murder? Not my Dominic. He wouldn't. He-"
"The rape and murder on the gun's three years old. Probably just a cheap
POS weapon that they gave the new guy. I don't think he had anything to
do with that." Hart throws the man a bone. "Was coming here your idea?"
"Yeah... pretty much."
"Pretty much? Did someone tell you who to talk to?"
"This guy I was talking to in a bar. Said you were on the case. He was..."
Pevesy looks blank. "Real ordinary-looking. Sort of... uh..."
"Skip it. You were upset at your son being killed and you were talking
about it. He said, Lieutenant Hart's meant to be investigating but isn't
doing jack. Or something like that?"
"Yeah. Something like. I thought Dominic'd just been killed and the cops
were ignoring it 'cause he's an Ork. You're not drekking me?"
"Why would I bother? You can take it to Internal Affairs if you don't believe
me." Hart shrugs.
"But... Dominic's dead."
"Dominic decided he wanted to protect a massively illegal operation.
Someone, I don't know who, came through the door and Dominic - half-
wasted on crackle - fired at them and got shot in return. That's pretty
much 'natural causes', Mr Pevesy."
"My son's still dead."
"Yeah? So's my husband." Hart snaps. "Only _he_ was murdered for helping
me and the FBI do our jobs. Who's looking out for _him_?"
"My son-"
"Was killed trying to protect a bunch of chip-pushing drug-dealing
whoremongers. You cared that much about him, you should have known
where the fuck he was, not let him run 'round the streets with an Uzi and
a gutful of drugs, catching the clap off underage whores."
"Don't you talk about my Dominic like that! Who the hell do you think you
are?!"
"A sworn peace officer who's under oath to serve and protect." Hart
replies, ice dripping from her voice and her damaged-face sibilance much
more noticable: she rises from her chair and leans forward, and Pevesy
flinches back. "And if some psycho cybervigilante hadn't killed your son,
maybe Dominic would have shot it out with the cops and you'd be
explaining to an officer's orphaned children what a _good boy_ Dominic
really was and how he didn't actually want to hurt anyone with that Uzi."
"I don't-"
"No, you don't. Get out of my office before I arrest you as an accessory."
Hart collapses into her chair, as several uniforms wall Pevesy in and herd
him away. One of the uniforms closes her door.
Hart doesn't collapse into tears, or smash furniture, or indulge in any of
the usual actions of the emotionally disturbed. She starts the chronometer
on her watch running and rapidly, efficiently, breaks her Thunderbolt
down to its eight main assemblies: laying them out on her desk, ignoring
the slight smears of oil they're leaving on her paperwork.
"Nine point two. Adequate. Not good." she says, zeroing the chronometer.
Reassembly takes her thirteen point six seconds: that, she seems more
satisfied with. After that small exercise, her hands are steadier and her
breathing more regular.
Hart picks up the reassembled Ruger pistol, slots the magazine home,
chambers the first round. For nearly a minute, she sits and admires the
play of light and shadow across the Thunderbolt's sleekly lethal shape,
turning it to and fro, before whispering "Not today." and applying the
safety, then holstering the weapon.
Hart reaches for her desk 'phone, and hits the IAD speeddial-
+++++end video
I lost my temper. Pevesy may be genuine or he may be a plant, I don't
know, but I meant what I said: we're lucky it was some cybernonster
death squad that hit that place, not Lone Star. They were tooled up and
dug in and we'd have lost two or three officers real easy.]<<<<<
-- Lt Julianne Hart <23:46:43/01-24-61>
Homicide Division
Lone Star (Tacoma)
*****INTERNAL: Lt Julianne Hart, Homicide
>>>>>[Why were you so interested in your sidearm?
And what did you mean, 'not today'?
You okay?]<<<<<
-- Lt N E Cole <23:48:16/01-24-61>
Internal Affairs
Lone Star (Tacoma)
*****INTERNAL: Lt N E Cole, IAD
>>>>>[I was just thinking a few thoughts. Nothing special.
I'm fine. Don't worry, Nicki, I'm not skipping my psych evals. They say I'm
really bent out of shape about Andy being dead. Big surprise there.
They're doing what they can to help.
I look at my sidearm and I think how easy suicide would be. But there's too
much to do for me to actually put the gun in my mouth and pull the
trigger. Thinking about it, properly, in depth, helps me realise I don't
really want to do it. Not yet, anyway.
I'll be okay, Nicki.]<<<<<
-- Lt Julianne Hart <23:53:43/01-24-61>
Homicide Division
Lone Star (Tacoma)
