| From: | Paul J. Adam Shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Briefing and Update |
| Date: | Tue, 12 Oct 1999 23:55:21 +0100 |
CC: FBI Operational Archive
>>>>>[+++++begin recording
The cops seem happier than usual. I find out why by overhearing the
gossip: after a period of relative peace and quiet, the Tarislar Special
Task Force is to be disbanded and its officers returned to their usual
duties in Tacoma. With "that bitch" out of the way, life can return to
normal for the officers and men of Puyallup South.
I've learned a casual contempt for these guys. Certainly there are honest
cops around, but the Barrens areas are so hard to police that most of the
heroes burn out or die. What's left are the dirty cops and the
incompetents and the ones who are too tired to care any more.
Not that I've done any better. They've neutralised me completely. Hints
are being dropped that I should go back to DC and claim success, at the
same time as they yank the plug on Hart and her fifty Spartans.
The worst thing is, I think they're right... for different reasons.
Fuck'em all. I'm man enough to know when I'm beaten, but I also know
how to kick back and kick low. I'm gonna write this assignment up as an
example of what a young keen SAC should _not_ do, so the next guy in
will be able to tear big bleeding chunks out of the local Mob.
The revenge of a bureaucrat, perhaps, but it's still a revenge.
I'm putting together notes in my head when I hear commotion outside.
Sergeant Bevois, one of Puyallup Branch's most undistinguished officers, is
trying to keep a determined-looking woman away from my office. He
makes the mistake of grabbing her arm.
Lieutenant Julianne Hart weighs maybe half of what Sergeant Harry Bevois
does. Harry likes beer, and soyburgers, and nights at home watching
Brawl games, and cruising Tarislar telling pretty hookers they can blow
him for free or spend the night in cells. He doesn't like enforcing the law.
He probably doesn't like losing a couple of teeth when Hart does something
that looks sort of judo-based and throws him face-first into the wall with
all his weight - and hers too - behind the impact.
Harry makes a terrible mistake. He tries to turn and fight, instead of
slithering down the wall quietly.
Once he's facing her, Hart kicks him once, hard, and I bet not one person
could guess where she plants her foot. Right? Let's just say that Sergeant
Bevois isn't going to be trying to score free blowjobs for a while.
Two or three other of Puyallup's finest are advancing and Hart turns,
hands raised, slightly crouched. I know, she knows, they know, they could
rush her together. But I've got this certainty that the first man to reach
her will regret it, and they know it too, and they hesitate -
"Lieutenant, you were here to see me?" I ought to do _something_ to
defuse the situation, I suppose. I've already come to share the Tarislar
view that most Barrens cops are a waste of skin, but Hart is the kind of
law-enforcer I came here to support, assist and protect.
(I've also learned enough that I've got one hand in my desk drawer, holding
the cool plastic grip of my SIG-Sauer service automatic, with '16 APDS
LOADED READY' glowing deadly red in my vision and the aiming cursor
waiting for its first target. Once I started to find out how many of these
guys got drunk or chipped or high, I felt I needed to be armed all the time
around them.)
"Yes, Agent Elliott. We should talk."
"Come on in, then."
"Not here. These walls have ears." She means it, too. I get my coat, slide
the hefty pistol into its holster. After a moment's thought I take both
spare clips, too.
She walks fast through the station, not waiting for the wave of fearful
resentment she's created to curdle into anger. Even so, she's too slow. By
the time we get to her Patrol-1 cruiser, some anonymous Lone Star
officer (who else could disarm the security system? who else could deface
City property in a Lone Star vehicle park?) has carved the words "CUNT
WAGON" into the paint of one door, below the friendly "To Serve And
Protect" script.
If she notices, she doesn't seem to care. I'm still trying to get my seatbelt
fastened as she's burning rubber out of the station's car park.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" I ask.
"If they can mess up the car, they can bug it too. Be patient, Agent
Elliott." Not much useful I can say to that.
She drives fast, and she's working to shake anyone trying to tail her. By
now I just accept it. Honest cops have to be afraid of their own
Departments here. That's one of the ugly little facts of life you don't get
taught at Quantico.
Our destination seems to be a quiet little coffee shop, not in Puyallup but
in Tacoma. The clientele ignore us - after all, Hart's pretty good-looking
and I'm not exactly ugly, so we might easily just be on a date - but the
owner waves her through to a back room.
What might once have been a storeroom, now has a steel-mesh floor and
walls, and the door seals to the jamb with metallised Velcro. We're sealed
into a Faraday cage. Hart checks the rack of electronics gear on the wall,
which itself is alarmingly state-of-the-art - I recognise one of the sidelobe
pattern analysers from my FBI training - before dropping into one of the
chairs.
"What is this place?" I hope she realises I _know_ it's a secure room, I want
to know more than that.
"Lou caters for shadowrunners. This is a popular place to come and talk
biz in private. It's as secure as I can afford."
"So, what do you have to say that needs all these precautions, Lieutenant
Hart?" I ask.
She leans forwards, holding my eyes. "How badly do you want to take
down Malone?"
"Why Malone?" I play for time.
"Malone's the one who's been shitting in the pool. Most of the rest of the
Mob and the Yak and the other thieves, they're local boys, you can talk to
them. Tell them they're making too much noise, and they'll try to calm
things down, they know the game has rules. Malone's from out of town
and thinks he's bulletproof. He thinks we can't touch him. And, so far, he's
right."
Her eyes are very green, I notice. She's not beautiful but she has good
bones. And she's got a light in her eyes I haven't seen since...
Since I saw a young FBI rookie out to save the world, staring at me in the
mirror. When did he die? Where did he go? When did a nervous bureaucrat
take his place? What should I do?
"I want to put Malone away." I say.
"And _then_ how bad do you want him?" she snarls. "Do you know what
going after Malone will mean? What we'll have to do?"
"Educate me."
She flexes her fingers. "When he pulls a knife, you pull a gun. When he
sends one of yours to hospital, you put one of his in the _morgue_. That's
how Malone fights, _that_ is the Seattle way, and _that_ is what you're
going to have to do if you want to take Seamus Malone. Now, are you
ready to do that?" Hart's green eyes lock with mine and I realise with a
shock they're natural. What kind of penny-ante police department can't
even get its officers decent cybereyes? "Are you _able_ to do that?"
I have to pause and think. Deep breaths, Thomas, deep breaths. You're
facing a life-or-death decision right here and now.
What does The Book say? Use all lawful means to bring to justice those
who commit crimes against the citizens of the UCAS. Well, that's got us a
big fat nothing.
What would Mallins say? Tear me a new asshole, probably.
What would Chris D'Arkan do? Say "Hell, yes!" and go after Malone at once;
foot, horse and marines.
Who do I admire and who did I want to be?
"Are you pushing or pulling, Lieutenant?" I temporise one last time.
"You can jump on this bandwagon, or you can watch it roll by, Agent
Elliott."
I didn't come here to lose. I nod. "I'm in."
She looks at me, long and hard. "You better mean it, Tom. Because now
we're in for the duration. Life or death, win or lose. Come with me."
+++++end diary]<<<<<
-- Tom Elliott <11:03:24/10-12-60>
