Fiction: Taskforce Part 3
Dec. 26th, 2009 10:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kethniName: Taskforce part 3
Pairing: Audrey/Nathan, mentions of Matt/Mohinder
Rating: 18
Warnings: Swearing, swearing, sex, swearing, swearing
Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perdiccas with huge thanks for the prompt, and thanks to boudecia7, whom I never thank enough for her editing, support, and general awesomeness.
Summary: Having an ability is a fact of life for thousands of Americans. Most of them are decent folks. To cope with the rest, there's the Specials Crime Taskforce.
Word count: 8200 approx
Part 1
Part 2
Parkman drives the car to headquarters. After the shit-storm yesterday, I’m not risking teleporting to the office. Suresh is in the back of the car burbling to Peter about genotoxicity and in vivo somatic cell tests. If I’m ever called to play scrabble for my life, I’ll be fucking set.
‘Did you bring everything you need for monitoring the witnesses?’ I call back.
‘Equipment, sure,’ Suresh says, like he wasn’t the one bitching yesterday about leaving stuff behind. ‘But an independent witness...’
‘I’ll get in touch with the ACLU,’ I say. ‘See if they can help us out.’
‘This time can you explain before the poor kid turns up?’ Parkman says, glancing at me. ‘I’m sure the other one would’ve been fine if you’d given him all the facts to begin with.’
‘Anyone pussy enough to freak out over a little fistfight has got no business in being in the ACLU,’ I answer.
‘You know full well it wasn’t the crime he was distressed by so much as being face to face with a telepath,’ Parkman says sounding almost fine with it. Like fuck he is. ‘People find it... disturbing.’
‘Fuck them.’
‘That’s a very mature response, well done,’ he says sourly.
‘Jesus Christ, Parkman, some people would get ‘distressed’ if you were black, or if they knew you were bi, or Jewish, you want me to mollycoddle them too? The bigots get their own fucking way too damn much as it is without me indulging them,’ I say sharply. ‘You’re not helping yourself or anyone else with the softly, softly approach.’
‘It’s not that damn simple and you know it,’ he retorts. ‘They’re aggressive, so we’re aggressive, where does that get us?’
‘I’m not saying go to fucking war over it. But I don’t see any damn reason to pander to prejudice.’
He blows out his breath and stares out of the windscreen. ‘Life is compromise, Audrey.’
‘Some things are beyond fucking compromise,’ I say. ‘We both know it.’
We leave Suresh happy as Larry up to his elbows in viscera and with Peter playing Igor to his Frankenstein. The ACLU rep hasn’t arrived yet and we really can’t be doing without. We’ve got to fucking cover ourselves and no mistake. We’ve had a dozen convictions go to appeal and every conviction’s been upheld. You can’t be too fucking careful with that shit.
The ACLU has been all over us since the unit set up. Once the news of Coyote Sands leaked out everything went fucking insane. Nobody with have an ounce of sense trusts the government not to do it again, not to use specials as lab rats, not to deny them rights and liberties and every other fucking thing. So people are suspicious of the government, of the FBI, of us. The specials and the liberals think we’re busting heads and trampling all over the specials rights, the bigots think we’re pro-special and anti normal. That we’re using specials to abuse their fucking rights.
And everyone is scared shitless that one of us is a telepath.
After Coyote Sands hit the headlines, Suresh turned up. His dad’s involvement was not pretty but instead of hiding or washing his hands, or defending the old man, he turned up here demanding to be allowed to help. To restore his family name. No fucking wonder he and the old man aren’t talking anymore.
Peter originally came as an ACLU rep, observing an interrogation to see if we were mistreating the shitty, shapeshifter rapist. Once he saw what we were doing though, he lit up. You can see it. Some people just fucking get us, and some people don’t. Peter did and god but a nurse was useful, but a nurse who picks up any ability he meets, a nurse who’s a member of the ACLU, that’s fucking gold.
He files reports on us, on our cases, all above board and dandy. He was a little embarrassed at first, Suresh was a little wary, but I told them both we want to be fucking documented. As much as possible. Because the law is limping a mile behind us. There’s no fucking precedent for whether what we’re doing is legal or not. We’re making precedent, and whether we end up heroes or villains, it won’t be because we didn’t explain ourselves or our intentions.
A lot of agency guys and a lot of cops hate being observed, documented, being held accountable. Bring it fucking on! A lot of them hate the ACLU and other rights groups. They hate them for the same stupid reason they hate anyone holding them accountable; because nobody, nobody, breaks the rules like a fucking cop.
Well I don’t do it and I won’t fucking have it in my unit. I’m not losing a case because of a busted chain of evidence, I’m not losing an appeal because we played fast and fucking loose, and I absolutely will not slam some innocent bastard in jail because we messed up.
So I love the ACLU. My best fucking friends in the entire world. When Parkman interviews witnesses or interrogates suspects, they’re only too happy to send us someone as an unbiased observer, and that suits me down to the fucking ground.
While we wait for a local to show up we go through the file Monroe passed on and Parkman looks into the fence Millbrook mentioned.
‘This girl, Elle Bishop, she’s fucking ex-Primatech.’
‘Huh,’ Parkman grunts. ‘Not one of Bennet’s then?’
Noah Bennet was the Primatech agent responsible for taking Parkman in, twice, and Parkman’s still fucking terse about it. When Bennet was released from debrief he got snapped up by the CIA. Those bastards will take anyone. They took Bennet and they took a whole raft of specials. Hell, they tried to strong arm Parkman but he raised holly hell about it. All he wants, all he ever wanted, was to be a cop. Don’t get me wrong, in his own way he’s as ambitious as any other fucker is, he wouldn’t want to be stuck in traffic for instance, but he has no grand designs to politics or CIA or any shit like that.
‘Worked with him briefly, ha, according to this he said she was ‘unbalanced’.’
Parkman looks up from the computer and raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s encouraging.’
I push away the file and wiggle the mouse, bringing my computer back online. ‘Could be total bullshit. I’ll see what we’ve got on the databases.’
‘Looks like this fence checks out,’ Parkman says, scratching his head. ‘He’s flagged in connection with a lot of other jewellery thefts. Two convictions but most of the others are speculative.’
‘Where do you know the speedy fucking Gonzales from, anyway?’
‘Who, Daphne?’ he asks leaning back. ‘Just around I guess. I nabbed her a couple of times but she rolled over both times and gave up bigger fish, got off with a slap on the wrist.’
‘No wonder she bolted when she saw you,’ I say. ‘So it’s just a work thing?’ Suresh would be worse than fucking useless if Parkman shacked up with some blonde piece.
‘I don’t think you’re her type,’ he says.
‘Ha fucking ha!’
Parkman looks at me and folds his arms. ‘You really want to have this kind of conversation with me? You’d normally rather die that discuss this stuff.’
‘I asked if it was work,’ I mutter, staring at my computer. ‘You jumped to shagging.’
He laughs and rolls his chair next to mine. ‘What’s bugging you Audrey? You worried you’re not my favourite blonde anymore?’
‘Fucking asshole, get out of my light,’ I growl at his laughing face. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
He looks down at his hands. ‘I didn’t really think you were asking on your own accord.’ He licks his lips and looks at me from under his lashes. ‘You asking on someone else’s behalf?’
‘Fuck you both! Get back to bloody work, Jesus Christ! And stop laughing!’
The ACLU rep is late twenties or early thirties, African-American, and smart professional. There’s some fucking money there in the tailored suit and expensive shoes.
See, I never got the ‘shoe thing’. Some women spend all their damn money on them, dozens, hundreds of pairs of the things. Like Peter and his fucking tops. I swear I’ve never seen him wear the same top twice.
She smiles when she sees me and offers her hand. ‘Agent Hanson? I’m Simone Deveaux from the ACLU.’
‘You know why you’re here Ma’am?’ Don’t swear, don’t swear, don’t fucking swear.
‘I was told you were looking for an observer during a telepathic interrogation?’ she asks, pushing a curl of hair off her face.
She doesn’t sound irritated or overexcited, which is good. It’s not often but on the odd occasion some of them have been bolshy or fucking creepy about the telepathy.
‘We’re taking statements, not interrogating, and only off the witnesses who agreed to the telepathic contact. We’ve got no reason to f... to believe these people were anything but victims.’
‘Then why am I here?’ she asks.
I take her into the room that Peter is using to monitor the interviews. ‘To make sure that we’re not tampering with the evidence or planting ideas. You, me, the telepath, and the witness go through the memory. We check every image, every sound, every smell. People record everything but they don’t actively recall everything. We look at all that s... we look at it all and then all four of us write statements, separately. If all four gel we know it’s a genuine memory.’
She sucks her bottom lip and nods. ‘I see. I was warned there might be thought... leaks.’
‘No, not might, will be and not a leak, a deliberate open tap,’ I explain. ‘So nobody is thinking that the telepath is messing with their thoughts all of us will be hearing the others. Just concentrate on the memory and you’ll be fine. Assuming you’re still up for this?’
Deveaux nods slowly. ‘Assuming that the procedure is safe, oh yes.’
‘That’s what Nurse Petrelli is here for, he’s also a member of the ACLU, and he keeps us in check.’
‘She’s exaggerating,’ Peter stammers, blushing as he makes Bambi fucking eyes at her. ‘I mean... I mean I AM in the ACLU but mostly I write reports and uh...’
‘Simone Deveaux,’ she says, flashing her eyes at him. ‘Very nice to meet you.’
Just once, I’d like to get through a complete fucking case without something making a move on Peter.
‘Ahem! As I was saying, Peter is our medical support guy and he will be monitoring our vitals. Any sign of distress from anyone and we end the session,’ I explain.
‘How exactly?’ she asks, finally looking away from him.
‘The telepath gets a shot of sedative. Knocks him right out. Makes him grumpy as f... as hell but it’s worked in the tests we’ve run. We’ve not had to use it in practice,’ I explain.
She nods and folds her arms under her breasts, which of course pushes the fucking things up level with Peter’s face.
‘How many times have you done it?’
‘Not including today... a hundred and four, if you count interrogations as well.’
‘That’s impressive, and no problems?’ she checks.
‘Not a single fucking one.’ Shit! And I was doing so well.
Deveaux smiles and rubs her hands. ‘Okay. I was told there’s a gagging order?’
Too fucking right. No way am I having Parkman’s identity flashed through the ‘smart’ dinner parties up and down the country. ‘Here, you sign to say you understand that you will not reveal the identity of the person concerned by any means, through either action or inaction, nor will you allow his identity to be revealed.’
This is when some of them balk. When they realise how serious it is.
‘The man has a right to his privacy,’ she says, digging through her enormous shoulder bag. ‘I’m sorry, do you have a pen?’
‘People get twitchy,’ I say handing over a pen. ‘A telepath gets identified publicly and he’s likely to lose more than his privacy.’
Heart monitors, brainwave monitors, fuck knows what else. I’m sure Suresh and Peter compete to see how many wires they can glue to us before someone kicks off. It’s like fucking Buckaroo or something. Parkman stays in the room with Peter, there’s no need to expose him to the witness on top of everyone else, and the physical proximity is close enough for him. The first witness is a Mrs Frankel, one of the staff from the first robbery at Finnegan’s. She’s already been interviewed three times so it’s going to be more difficult. Every fucking suggestion the detectives put to her will have impacted on what she remembers. Human memory is like that fucking butterfly flapping its wings and causing rainstorms. As soon as you ask questions, you start creating doubt. Just calling a car accident a ‘smash’ instead of a ‘crash’ affects how fast people remember the speed. A bunch of detectives getting impatient and irate because you can’t remember if there were two or three guys is going to have a knock on effect. That’s where this has another edge – no questions, no inferences, and no leading the fucking witness, Judge.
It’s like being in a dream. Each of us is the witness and we don’t see the others. We can hear them but you learn to tune that shit out. We can’t move anywhere they didn’t, but we can concentrate. On the sounds she heard, on the little details she saw, and on the smells.
She’s at the counter serving an older couple. He’s fifties and greying but she’s early thirties and shiny with new money. Does he realise how ridiculous he looks? Pathetic...Well it keeps us in business is followed by a panicky Oh GOD! PLEASE don’t tell anyone I was thinking that!
It’s all confidential Mrs Frankel Parkman’s thought rumbles past like a railway carriage passing through the station.
The door opens and a boy and a girl... no, a young woman... walk in. He’s small, young, ugly, bursting with testosterone and adrenalin, she’s excited, turned on, aggressive. Both white, she’s blonde, blue eyed, pretty, pointed jaw. Elle Bishop or her twin. He’s pale but with short dark hair and sunken brown eyes. Freckles near his sullen, pouting mouth, and under one eye. Kid needs to apply his sunscreen.
Something about them, their stance maybe, their manner perhaps, sends her thinking Fuck! Fuck! I am not dying for this shitty job! and she spins away from the counter and towards the back door.
An African-American man, bald, tall, muscular, thirties maybe, blocks her way. There’s something... a smell of something when he walks towards her. A smell of something... something like nail polish remover. Behind him is a bullish man, white, bald, blue eyed, a flame erupting from his hand as he smirks at her.
Screaming behind her. Elle Bishop electrocuting the older guy as the boy microwaves the woman. Smirking, laughing, cheering as the pyrokinetic joins in. Mr Nail Polish Remover grabs Mrs Frankel’s arm, pulls her away through a wall into the cloak room.
‘Stay here and be quiet! If you make any noise they’ll kill you.’
Screaming that goes on and on. Laughing, panting, and then quiet. She stays where she is, stays shaking and crying, until the police come.
‘You okay?’ Parkman asks, hanging an arm around my shoulders. ‘Kind of an intense one there.’
‘You’re touching me, Parkman,’ I say, turning to him. ‘I can tell. I’m a fucking detective. I got special training in observation.’
‘I know it’s a new concept for you Audrey,’ he says. ‘But a hug doesn’t work without touching.’
‘Smart ass.’
He pats my arm. ‘You okay?’ he asks again.
‘You’re the one who wants a hug. I’m personally having a bad touch moment. Bad touch Parkman! Bad touch!’
Parkman laughs and squeezes my shoulder. ‘Okay, I’m done molesting you now,’ he says dropping his arm. ‘Ms Deveaux is writing out her statement, as is Mrs Frankel, and I’ve done mine.’
‘I’m done too.’
Parkman nods and stands up. ‘You ready for round two? The next witness is ready to roll.’
‘Oh that’s just... peachy fucking keen.’
After the third witness, we break for lunch. Suresh is doing something terrifying with an electric saw and a full-face visor when I pop into the lab he’s using.
‘Oh... hello! I’m...’
‘I don’t want to fucking know what you’re doing. We’re having a break, come on.’
‘I’ll grab a...’
‘No,’ I interrupt. ‘We’re not having this fucking argument. I’m not having you fainting again. Clean up and shift your ass.’
‘How’s it going?’ he asks, turning off the saw and taking off the paper suit he’s wearing. ‘Anything of interest?’
‘A few things. We’ll have a brief over lunch. Parkman and Peter are already in the canteen.’
He scrubs his hands with a nailbrush and liquid soap before drying them on a hand towel. ‘I’m not anorexic is that’s what you think,’ he says meekly. ‘I just get caught up sometimes.’
‘Fucking anorexic, give me a break,’ I say. ‘You work too damn hard is all. You’re just trying to show the rest of us up.’
‘Is it working?’
‘Not yet, try harder.’
Peter and Parkman meet us halfway down the stairs.
‘What’re you two fucking doing? What’s wrong with the canteen?’
‘Peter got spooked,’ Parkman says, ruffling his hair.
‘They were staring at us like animals at the zoo,’ Peter says with a shrug. ‘And the food looked kind of... manky.’
And this is just because they’re in the unit. If everyone knew they were specials... I don’t want to think. It’s a shitty thought that if things went south, the backup we’d get might vary depending on which of us was asking.
‘So we figured that we’d lurk in the office and eat something awesome,’ Peter finishes.
‘What about that Deli we drove past last night?’ Suresh suggests. ‘I could go for a meatball sandwich.’
‘The ghoul has arisen from his crypt!’ Parkman says jovially.
‘You can always get a rise out of me, Matt,’ Suresh says waggling his eyebrows.
We go back to the office and Peter and Suresh teleport off to get lunch. Left to his own devices Peter is guaranteed to forget something, or order the wrong food, or go to the wrong city.
‘Okay,’ Parkman says, pouring us coffee. ‘So far we’ve got a pretty definite ID on our female perp. She and the youngest male seem to be the prime movers.’
‘Bonnie and Clyde,’ I say, taking the proffered coffee. ‘The phaser, he seems like our weak link. He saved Frankel while the other three clearly get all kinds of jollies from killing. He’s not in it for the fun.’
‘He needs the money,’ Parkman agrees. ‘Debt maybe, drugs.’
‘Chemical smell,’ I note. ‘Why does he smell of chemicals?’
‘Bad taste in aftershave?’ Parkman suggests wryly.
‘Not even yours is that bad.’
He smiles and sits down next to me. ‘That’s the aftershave you gave me for my birthday.’
‘I never did. I remembered you birthday? I must’ve been fucking drunk.’
‘What kind of chemicals?’ he asks, as Peter and Suresh appear in the room.
‘Nail polish remover.’
‘Something smells good,’ Parkman says turning to look at them.
‘I always smell good,’ Suresh says, dumping sandwiches down on the table. ‘What’s this about nail polish remover?’
‘One of the perps smelled of it,’ I explain, getting my Philly cheese steak sub.
Peter tears into a Mediterranean roast vegetable sandwich. ‘Maybe he’d just done his nails,’ he says through a mouthful of food.
‘Or he works somewhere that uses a lot of acetone,’ Suresh says, a lot more sensibly. ‘I’ll do you a list of likely types of businesses.’ He licks a speck of sauce from his lip. ‘So far the bodies have been killed by electricity, microwaves, and burns. Oh, and someone bashed the bishop over a couple of them.’
I don’t know what that means but I’m sure it’s filthy. ‘The only reason I’m asking is because it relates to evidence,’ I says scowling as he waggles his eyebrows. ‘Go on, tell me. What does ‘bash the bishop’ mean?’
‘Wank,’ he says, eyes twinkling. ‘Choke the chicken, a hand solo...’
‘Jesus fucking Christ, enough!’ I say as Parkman nearly chokes to death laughing. ‘Inappropriate humour Mohinder. Bad boy! Damn. Someone whacked off over the bodies? That is some sick shit.’
‘One man or more?’ Parkman asks, coughing.
‘One,’ Suresh says. ‘Although...’ he slaps Peter on the back. ‘My glamorous assistant here tells me there are signs that a second man had sex inside the jewellers, probably with this Elle character.’
The bizarre fucking escapades of other people never fail to amaze me. But over a body? That’s a whole world of creepy.
‘Any sign of rape on any of the victims?’ Parkman asks seriously.
‘No, none,’ Peter says speaking up. ‘It’s all post mortem.’
‘Anything else?’ I ask.
‘We’ve got tons of DNA and fingerprints,’ Peter says with a shrug. ‘I’m running them through the databases right now. These guys are messy. If they’re forensically aware at all then they just don’t care.’
Parkman drums his fingers on the table. ‘They’re running out of high-end jewellers to rob. Their pattern is loose for sure but if they stick to it then they’ll be hitting another place tomorrow evening. There’s two left if they stay within the same area.’
‘I fucking hate stakeouts,’ I say taking a gulp of coffee. ‘Too messy, someone always gets hurt.’
‘So, you want me to cancel the SWAT request?’ Parkman asks, sucking his fingers.
‘No, no. Stakeouts fucking yay,’ I say sourly.
After lunch, we finish off the witnesses and go hunting down the fence Millbrook gave up, a man named Rodgers. He’s in a downtown market pretending to make a legitimate living selling junk. Only takes one look at us for him to take off like he’s got the hounds of fucking hell after him.
I bolt after him, struggling through the crowded streets, tripping over toy fucking dogs and crashing into tourists. Don’t stand in the middle of the damn street gawping you jack asses! Get out of the damn way!
Out of the main drag, through side streets, alleys, until he stops, spins around and grabs up a broken piece of scaffolding.
‘Let me go or...’
‘FBI put down the gun right now!’
‘Police!’ Parkman announces, somehow behind him. ‘Drop it right now!’
‘You’re police!’ he says, sagging. ‘Oh thank god!’ he drops the scaffolding. ‘I thought you were...’
A bright blue spike of electricity hits him in the chest from above. Up above where Elle and the ugly kid are hanging over the fire escape and laughing.
‘Stop or we shoot!’
The boy smirks and points a hand. I dive behind the dumpster as heat ripples down and towards me. Molten metal splashes over my shoes and I turn and bolt for the end of the alley, turn a corner, run up the adjacent street to cut back to Parkman. Shit! Shit! Shit! He’s lying flat out around a corner, breathing but with a tickle of blood coming from a cut to the back of his head. He must’ve caught some of the blast from her electricity.
Rodgers is so much charcoal.
Common sense says I shouldn’t tell Suresh and Peter because it would distract them. Common sense is bullshit, generally, and besides makes no fucking odds when it comes to dealing with hurt feelings. So I tell them and they fret, of course, but they do their fucking jobs, which is what I expect and what they know Parkman expects.
It’s only a damn graze anyway when we get it checked out. Fucker jumped back in surprise and tripped over something, banging his head as he went down.
‘Were you worried about me?’ he asks cheerfully.
‘Like fuck, worried about the amount of damn paperwork if you got your fool self killed,’ I reply.
‘We’re going to need Peter,’ he says so lightly I don’t fucking pick it up at first. ‘On the stakeout, we’re going to need Peter. To get from one place to the other and to deal with these guys.’
‘No, no fucking way, he’s a civilian and you know that.’
Parkman shrugs. ‘Only because you refuse to let him get trained for field work.’
‘I am not having this fucking argument again!’
‘Then stop treating Peter and Mohinder like they’re made of glass,’ he says quietly. ‘You can’t protect everyone, Audrey. I know this might come as a surprise, but you’re not actually god almighty, so get over it.’
‘I’m responsible for all of you fuckers. Not that you make it easy or anything. Jesus! You’ve been talking about this haven’t you? The three of you have been talking about how best to talk to me about Mohinder and Peter getting field trained.’ Bastards! Going behind my fucking back.
He just shrugs though he must know how pissed off I am. ‘Peter has a lot to offer, Audrey. Come on, you know this is getting too much for us. We need more people. Mohinder needs a couple of full time junior geeks, at least a couple, and you and me, we need a minimum of two more people in the field. We need Mohinder to be able to come into the field too. Look at last month, if he’d been there the blood spatter would’ve been useable but he wasn’t and we nearly didn’t catch the guy because of it.’
‘We manage.’
‘We’re not managing,’ he says sharply. ‘Look, I know that a small group is easier, safer, friendlier, and nobody wants to lose that. But you can’t freeze things forever. Peter has a lot of potential that we’re not using; he knows it as well as we do. Let him out of the shallow end of the pool, Audrey. For his sake as well as ours. We need him; we sure need him for these robberies.’
Prepared fucking speech. How long’s this been coming? It’s worse because he’s right. ‘We’ll shut one of the jewellers down,’ I say. ‘Then we only have one to monitor.’
‘Won’t work,’ he says flatly. ‘These aren’t a slick outfit. They’re unprepared, impulsive and I guarantee they won’t have a backup plan. If they turn up to the jewellers we’ve shut down there’s no telling how they’ll react. They might break in, they might go for the shop next door,’ he shakes his head, ‘but they won’t drive all the way across the city and rob the other jewellers.’
Right again, damn that’s an annoying habit.
‘I’ll talk to Peter, about this one,’ I allow. ‘But I’m not turning us into some second fucking FBI with an office in every city and that’s the bottom fucking line.’
‘Okay.’
‘We’re still new and I like that we’re small.’ I steal a mouthful of his water. ‘Small means I stay in charge. Small means I can get to know you cocksuckers. We need to know each other. It’s important, Matt. Every other asshole hates and mistrusts us. We have to be able to trust each other.’
‘Agreed, but we’re too small right now,’ he says gently. ‘Mohinder is working himself to the bone, you know that.’
Yeah I fucking know. That’s the problem about being close-knit; nobody wants to let the others down. ‘I know, I know. I’ll talk to him and we’ll... we’ll see what we can come up with. There’s money in the budget but let me do it in my own time. I’m not going to start hiring willy fucking nilly.’ ‘
Oh god, what did I put it like that for? Parkman starts smirking at me. ‘Willy fucking nilly sounds like a fantastic hiring policy.’
‘Maybe, maybe a couple of lab geeks and a couple of investigators. A mix of us and you. Only a few though and none of them are exempt from my beady fucking eyed scrutiny.’
‘Good,’ he says quietly. ‘Nobody wants to get too big. But... well. The job’s gotten big.’
‘Ain’t that the fucking truth. You have any cocksuckers specifically in mind for recruiting, the magnificent Ms Millbrook?’
He squints at me. ‘Sometimes Audrey I have no idea what’s going on with you. I know you’re not interested in me, you and Nathan are bizarrely faithful for a relationship that seems to consist of sex against office furniture...’
‘Fuck you!’
‘and you never go beyond checking out my amazing package from time to time...’
‘Asshole.’
‘...so what’s with the questions about Daphne Millbrook?’ he finishes, ignoring my comment.
‘Just yanking your chain, forget it.’
He nudges me with his shoulder. ‘I hope you’re not playing matchmaker. I have you pegged as completely unromantic and unsentimental. Don’t go ruining my image of you.’
‘Fuck you! You can stick your dick any damn place you choose. All I care about is the running of my unit. If you tom catting around disrupts my unit, because it sends Mohinder into a fucking tailspin, then I will rip you a new asshole. Do you get me?’
He looks at me way too fucking long. ‘Yeah, I get you,’ he says eventually.
Meanwhile back at the Ponderosa. Showing my age, huh? Fuck you. When we get back to headquarters, Peter is all of a flap.
‘You’re not going to believe this!’ he says, waving his arms about like a duckling in a freefall. ‘He came in, of his own volition! He wants to make a statement.’
‘Who... what? What the hell are you banging on about?’ I demand. ‘If it’s so fucking exciting why didn’t you call?’
‘Your phones are both turned off,’ he says promptly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Parkman wander over to Ms Deveaux and what the fuck is she doing back here?
‘The phaser! So I rang Simone and...’
Oh Jesus, if they’re fucking then we’re screwed six ways to Sunday. ‘Peter, if you’re sleeping with her then that will fucking destroy her credibility as an unbiased witness!’
He blinks at me. ‘No Ma’am. We are getting coffee once the case is over though.’
More of a gentleman than his brother, that’s for sure.
‘Well... good for you. Have you spoken to... what’s the guy’s name?’
‘DL Hawkins, I’ve explained about the telepathic interview protocols and he’s fine.’ He wafts a piece of paper. ‘He signed the waiver. We’ve got him set up with the monitors and Mohinder is keeping an eye on him.’ He pauses and leans closer. ‘FBI agents McCain and Dawson are keeping an eye on Mohinder just in case. I’m pretty sure they’re... you know okay.’
Oy. It’s like a stunned bunny rabbit plotting world domination.
‘Do you mean they’re persons of special ability? Just fucking say it.’ Parkman said that on some level they can recognise each other. Thank fuck normals can’t, or we’d be in a world of trouble. More trouble.
‘Uh, yes, I’m pretty sure they are,’ he says firmly.
‘You trust them?’
‘To keep Mohinder safe, sure, yeah,’ he says. But I know him too well to let it go at that.
‘And otherwise?’ I ask.
He pushes the hair back off his face. One of these, one of these fucking days I am getting a shaver and...
‘I trust Agent Dawson,’ he says eventually. ‘She’s a good sort and she likes us. I think she’d be happier somewhere not so... not so anti-special. But McCain I don’t trust. I don’t why.’
Peter used to be worse than fucking useless when he came to judging other people. But he’s getting better. A lot better.
‘Okay then. Is there anything else?’
‘Oh... yeah, we got DNA matches on the woman, and fingerprints on one of the guys.’ He hands me a file. ‘The bald white guy. Uh, I think that’s it.’
‘Right, show me to our turncoat.’
Hawkins stands up when I walk into the room. He’s fucking young for that kind of a reaction. Ex-army maybe? He’s got the physique for it. Not damn bad at all.
‘Sit down, sir. You understand what’s happening here?’
He glances at the three of us, me, Deveaux, and Parkman. His eyes stay on Parkman a fraction longer. He’s either seen something he likes or he’s pegged Parkman as the telepath.
‘You’re going to use a telepath to make sure I tell you the truth about the robberies,’ he says. ‘That’s what your little boy said.’ He shrugs. ‘He said the telepath is secret. I won’t even see him.’
‘Close, we’re going to use a telepath to force you to tell us the truth,’ I correct him. Deveaux sets her jaw but she doesn’t jump right it. Smart woman that, waiting for all the evidence before making a judgement.
‘‘According to State of California vs Thompson this is not a breach of your civil or human rights provided that we stick only the facts pertaining to the matter at hand. Ms Deveaux here is from the ACLU, she’s an impartial observer ensuring you’re not mistreated. Now generally we’d get a court order to perform this procedure. However, Mr Petrelli tells me that you’ve agreed of your own free will. Is that correct?’
He’s not fucking happy about it, but who would be? He nods his head. ‘Yeah, I’m agreeing of my own free will. If it’ll mean you take me seriously and believe what I have to say.’
‘We do this and I will believe every word,’ I promise. ‘The monitors are measuring your heart rate, brain activity, and amount of sweat. This isn’t a lie detector. It’s purely to ensure that at no time are you in pain, distress, or in any danger. Anything that you say will be recorded and may be used against you. This is where you demand a lawyer.’
He looks me in the eye and then shakes his head. ‘No lawyer. I’ve heard you’re fair. A stone cold bitch,’ he says with a hint of a smile. ‘But fair. That’s good enough for me.’
My kind of guy.
We sit and make ourselves comfy. Parkman switches on the video camera and we state our names and the date. Parkman’s identity as the telepath is considered privileged information. When it goes to court he’ll be listed the same as me, as interrogator.
‘Twelve people are dead,’ I say sitting forward. ‘According to our records you’ve done a little time for petty theft. How did you get mixed up with this shit?’
Hawkins takes on the stuck-on-a-roller-coaster expression of some poor fucker compelled to tell the truth, no matter what.
‘We needed the money. While I was in prison Nikki, my wife, she borrowed a lot of money to put our son into a good school. She borrowed it and the interest keeps going up and up. We can’t make the repayments and they’re threatening my son. I’m working in a paint factory but it’s barely enough for food. I met Flint in a bar. He introduced me to Elle and Luke.’ He stops talking, like a wind-up doll run out of torque. But the expression of disgust at the names of his fellow robbers takes longer to disappear.
I open up the file and flick through. ‘That would be... Flint Gordon Jr and Elle Bishop. What’s Luke’s surname?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you kill anyone?’ I ask.
‘No! I had no idea they were going to do any of that,’ he says with a genuine flare of anger. ‘At a couple of robberies I managed to hide a couple of people. Not enough though.’
‘Why didn’t you come forward after the first robbery?’ Parkman asks.
‘I couldn’t get clear of them and I was worried they’d go after my family,’ he says promptly.
‘Why didn’t you ring the hotline?’
‘I rang three times,’ he says. ‘On the third time I left a message.’
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! When I find out who was screening those calls...
‘When and where is the next robbery planned?’ I ask, fiddling with my pen.
‘Rosen’s Jewellers at six o’clock,’ he answers.
‘Tomorrow night?’ Parkman checks.
‘Tonight.’
Jesus FUCK! It’s gone four o’clock now.
‘Tonight? Are you absolutely sure?’ I ask. There’s no time, no time to organise SWAT properly let alone anything else...
‘Yes, Elle insisted on doing tonight. She didn’t want to miss ‘America’s Top Model tomorrow night.’
I... I have nothing to fucking say to that.
‘Where are they now?’ Parkman asks.
Where they are now is a ratty, decrepit, sprawling old motel on the edge of Hollywood. There are dozens of rooms crammed together with walls like tissue paper and filled with pimps, hookers, users and dealers. Hawkins says they’ve got two interlocking rooms right in the middle of a fucking row and the second floor. No clear shots and no easy access. Christ, what a mess.
‘We go in guns blazing and it’ll be a massacre,’ Parkman says, stealing one of Suresh’s fries.
‘Peter could stop time,’ Suresh says, slapping Parkman’s hand. Looks like they’re at that stage now, when people find all sorts of stupid fucking reasons to touch each other without it being ‘sexual’. Ha.
‘Yeah but then what?’ Peter asks. ‘I can’t stop it for very long. At the restaurant Matt was the one who moved all the people. Holding it that long nearly did for me.’
‘You’ll be big help,’ Parkman says encouragingly. ‘But even so, if we go in there with all the people in the surrounding rooms...’
‘We couldn’t evacuate without alerting the robbers,’ Suresh says thoughtfully. ‘And there’s Hawkins to consider. If he doesn’t go back they might get spooked.’
‘He’ll have to go back,’ I say, taking a bite of my burger. ‘We need them to hit the jewellers. Matt’s right, we can’t take them at the motel.’
‘Will he go back?’ Suresh asks doubtfully. ‘What if he tells them?’
‘He came in, we didn’t pick him up,’ I say sitting back. ‘But he might fucking cut and run.’
Parkman shakes his head. ‘He’s got to protect his family. ‘Without the money from the robbery he needs goodwill from us. He can’t risk it. We send him in, they go to the jewellers...’
‘And he gets killed!’ Peter says hotly. ‘We can’t risk his life.’
‘Watch me.’
‘Audrey,’ Parkman says warningly.
‘No, he’s a robber and he was involved in the murder of twelve people. Twelve fucking people, Peter,’ I say sharply. ‘I’d rather he not die, because a live testimony is so much more compelling. But I won’t lose any sleep over him fucking dying.’
Peter shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You’re so cold sometimes. First Mohinder and now this...’
‘What the hell are you talking about, first Mohinder?’ I demand. When I look, Suresh is looking confused but Parkman looks irritated, like he knows and doesn’t approve.
‘The other day, when we got here?’ Peter prompts. ‘You let them go on thinking Mohinder was a special, you let him go on being in danger. You could’ve told them!’
‘That wouldn’t have made any damn difference,’ I say sharply. ‘They didn’t assume it was him for any other reason than his colour and we all fucking know it.’
Peter pales and his lips thin. ‘That’s ridiculous, there’s no greater incidence of special abilities in people of colour!’
‘You’re talking about logic and I’m talking about prejudice,’ I snarl. ‘The two things aren’t in the same fucking universe. Some of these assholes are still living in ‘brown people scary’ land and no amount of statistics is going to shift that idiotic idea from their thick heads! The people that made that assumption are going to dislike him whatever, I’m sorry Mohinder, but that’s the truth.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ he says quietly. ‘Peter, I appreciate your concern. But I didn’t speak up either. Partly because of what Audrey has already said, they wouldn’t have suddenly welcomed me with open arms, and partly because of what she doesn’t want to say. We need these people. If something goes wrong, goes badly wrong, then Matt and Audrey will need them for backup. If they know, if they suspect, that Matt is special then that backup might not arrive.’
Peter shakes his head. ‘These are law enforcement. They’re on our side! They wouldn’t let Matt get killed.’
‘They wouldn’t kill me, or you,’ Matt says quietly. ‘Not on purpose and not deliberately. But taking your time sending backup, not sending enough, that goes on in police stations if someone is disliked enough. Nobody thinks it’ll actually be that serious, but it can be.’
‘So she puts your life above Mohinder’s?’ Peter snarls. ‘And that’s okay is it?’
‘The worst thing that’s going to happen here is one of you gets a smack in the face,’ I interrupt. ‘The worse that could happen to someone in the field is being microwaved, set on fire, electrocuted. I rate that as a more severe risk, whoever it is that it’s happening too,’ I say. ‘And you’re here. Mohinder’s not abandoned alone and defenceless with the natives. It’s not personal, Peter.’
‘It’s cold,’ he says quietly.
‘It has to be,’ I say honestly. ‘Some fucker actually hurts one of you and I’ll kill him. You know that don’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ he says shyly.
‘Why do you think I don’t let you both out in the field? Because I don’t want you hurt, you stupid prick.’ I turn to Mohinder. ‘Are we good? I don’t want you fucking brooding away and turning me into a giant spider or somesuch in revenge.’
‘I never had a problem with it Agent Hanson,’ he says serenely. ‘I would like to get into the field though.’
‘Me too,’ Peter says quickly.
‘Congratulations,’ I say, looking at Parkman. ‘Tonight is your fucking night.’
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Nathan says, crossing his arms. ‘He’s implicated in twelve murders and you want him out in four years?’
‘He didn’t commit any of the murders, he actually prevented a few, he’s come forward of his own volition with information, and he’s willing to cooperate with the operation,’ I say. ‘I feel for the guy. Or his family at least.’ This shoebox of an office I’ve been assigned isn’t big enough to do diddly squat in. I actually had to turf the others out just to have a semi-private conversation with this cocksucker. ‘Come on Nathan, shit or get off the pot. I’m on a tight schedule here.’
Nathan shakes his head and looks away for a minute. ‘This is what his lawyer is demanding for his cooperation? How much do we need it?’
‘He refuses a fucking lawyer. We’re desperate for his cooperation in getting them to the fucking jewellers; otherwise, they’ll sit pretty at the motel. Then we’ll have to send SWAT in and it’ll be like the gun fight at the fucking OK corral.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t swear,’ he says in his gravelly, professional voice. ‘It gets me horny and right now I can’t do anything about it.’
‘Don’t I fucking know it.’
He looks up at the ceiling. ‘What about the money?’
‘From the robberies?’
‘That his wife borrowed,’ Nathan says. ‘Get him to give up the loan shark, and stand up in court on it, and I’ll agree to four years.’
‘Fucking A!’
This is a nightmare.
‘No this button is for a return...’ Mrs Rosen sniffs.
‘I don’t need to know that,’ I say. ‘Just show me which one opens the till.’
‘I thought the idea was to stop the robbery?’ she asks icily.
Preferably without me getting turned into a charcoal briquette. ‘Just show me.’
It doesn’t help that Parkman and Peter are at the motel keeping an eye on Hawkins. We couldn’t risk a wire so Parkman is monitoring telepathically, and Peter is backup. No point in him being in here when they break in, too fucking late then.
So I’m here with maybe okay Agents McCain and Dawson and Mohinder out the back. We’re evacuated the stores on either side of this one and there are ambulances standing by.
Nothing like looking on the bright fucking side of life, right?
Five forty-five. Time to shuffle Mrs Rosen out of the shop and the hell away from me.
Five fifty and my earpiece buzzes.
‘Hanson, go.’
‘We’re on the move,’ Parkman says, sounding tense. ‘There’s the four of them. They’re in one car.’
I still can’t believe they don’t have a driver waiting outside. How these assholes managed to pull off one successful robbery is beyond me.
‘Roger.’
‘ETA approximate ten minutes.’
‘Rock and roll baby.’
He laughs at that and signs off.
Two minutes past six, and I nearly jump through the fucking ceiling when Parkman speaks.
‘Suspects are parking the vehicle; approximately twenty feet from the fire hydrant... they’re approaching the store.’
‘Standby, wait until they’re in the store.’
‘Conf... three suspects exiting vehicle, Hanson! Gordon is not in the vehicle. Repeat Gordon is not.... bzzzt...’
‘Parkman? Parkman?’
The door swings open and the boy and the woman stroll in.
‘Ooh, look at the pretty, pretty things,’ the girl coos.
McCain and Dawson dive forwards. Dawson has her weapon but McCain looks like she’s going to try and talk them down...
You will...
The window explodes inwards. As I duck down glass slices through the air. Then I hear the sound. The dull echoing boom. Then I see the van crashing down, still blazing. No sign of Matt, no sign of Peter.
‘Hot damn!’ the boy erupts. ‘That was... wow!’ He shoves Bishop up against the wall, hands up her skirt, fumbling to yank her panties down.
Do I bolt for the back door? Fuck that. Dawson and McCain are laying there, easy targets.
You can only rely on special abilities for so much. For some things, you just need balls.
I stand up, pulling the tasers from my shoulder holsters, and fire.
The boy goes down, creaming in his pants, as he drops. Bishop twitches, and then laughs.
‘Stupid fucking bitch,’ she sneers. ‘You going to ‘get’ me with electricity?’ she yanks out the darts and stalks forward.
‘That was just to get your attention,’ I say nicely.
‘Well you got it,’ she says, raising crackling hands, not hearing the jingle of the door. ‘Say goodbye!’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye,’ Suresh says, and turns on the hose. He and Hawkins hold it steady as the full force of the water from the hydrant knocks her over and sends her, screaming and arcing, across the floor.
‘Secure them!’ I order, running out into the street. ‘Parkman! Peter!’ The van is blazing. The seats are empty. ‘Fuck you bastards where are you!’
‘Well that’s not a nice way for a young lady to talk.’
Southern accent, male, behind me. I turn around slowly and smile. ‘Mr Gordon. We were just wondering where you’d gotten too.’
‘Right here, baby. Do you want to scream for daddy?’
And then Parkman appears from nowhere and punches him. Really fucking hard.
The worst injured are McCain and Dawson, mostly cuts from the glass. McCain’s a slippery one and, when I check her file, ex-Primatech. Dawson’s a bright, lively one. She wants to speak privately, which is usually bad fucking news. But I’m always happy for something to buck the trend.
She looks up from her bed and waves a hand at the eye-patch. ‘I feel like I should say ‘yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum’, maybe get a parrot. What do you think?’
‘Fucking thing would crap down your back,’ I say, sitting down. ‘You wanted to see me?’
She nods and plays with the bed covers. ‘I was talking to your med guy, Peter? He says you’re a good boss. Everyone in the community hates you but everyone in the community hates the FBI too.’ She pauses and looks at me. ‘You know which community I mean, right?’
‘You’re a fucking special,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I can’t tell but Peter can.’
‘Oh. Well. I’m smart,’ she says with a bright smile. ‘And I work really, really hard. I’m a quick study.’
‘You asking me for a fucking job?’
‘Yes Ma’am, I am,’ she says firmly.
‘Three months, trial. See how you fit in,’ I say.
She smiles at me sweetly. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’
Parkman catches up with me in the hotel lobby. We’ve got another night and then we’re going home, nice and fresh.
‘Audrey, uh, I need to swap rooms with you,’ he says flatly.
‘What the fuck for?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘So I can share a room with Mohinder. Shall I draw you a diagram?’
‘I’m not sharing with Peter, end of. Jesus, can’t you wait one night?’
‘No,’ he says quietly.
Men.
‘Fine, take the fucking room. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.’
I turn around and SHIT! Nathan is standing right in front of me.
‘I think that was my cue,’ he says.
‘Scaring the ever living shit out of me?’ I ask.
He smiles and flaps a dismissive hand at Parkman. ‘Finding you somewhere else to sleep.’
‘Oh. Okay then. If you fucking must.’
‘Well, if it doesn’t put you out too much.’
The End
Matt, Audrey and Mohinder - pretend Sylar never existed. Pretend that people would do what I would do and use their abilities to commit crimes. Matt's the SFPD detective, Audrey's the FBI agent, Mohinder is the geeky lab guy, together they're the 'Special' Taskforce (geddit? /groan) who solve crimes committed by people with abilities. I'm partial to good diamond heist but any crime is good with me. Let there be gun fights!!!!!!
Pairing: Audrey/Nathan, mentions of Matt/Mohinder
Rating: 18
Warnings: Swearing, swearing, sex, swearing, swearing
Note: For
perdiccas with huge thanks for the prompt, and thanks to boudecia7, whom I never thank enough for her editing, support, and general awesomeness. Summary: Having an ability is a fact of life for thousands of Americans. Most of them are decent folks. To cope with the rest, there's the Specials Crime Taskforce.
Word count: 8200 approx
Part 1
Part 2
Parkman drives the car to headquarters. After the shit-storm yesterday, I’m not risking teleporting to the office. Suresh is in the back of the car burbling to Peter about genotoxicity and in vivo somatic cell tests. If I’m ever called to play scrabble for my life, I’ll be fucking set.
‘Did you bring everything you need for monitoring the witnesses?’ I call back.
‘Equipment, sure,’ Suresh says, like he wasn’t the one bitching yesterday about leaving stuff behind. ‘But an independent witness...’
‘I’ll get in touch with the ACLU,’ I say. ‘See if they can help us out.’
‘This time can you explain before the poor kid turns up?’ Parkman says, glancing at me. ‘I’m sure the other one would’ve been fine if you’d given him all the facts to begin with.’
‘Anyone pussy enough to freak out over a little fistfight has got no business in being in the ACLU,’ I answer.
‘You know full well it wasn’t the crime he was distressed by so much as being face to face with a telepath,’ Parkman says sounding almost fine with it. Like fuck he is. ‘People find it... disturbing.’
‘Fuck them.’
‘That’s a very mature response, well done,’ he says sourly.
‘Jesus Christ, Parkman, some people would get ‘distressed’ if you were black, or if they knew you were bi, or Jewish, you want me to mollycoddle them too? The bigots get their own fucking way too damn much as it is without me indulging them,’ I say sharply. ‘You’re not helping yourself or anyone else with the softly, softly approach.’
‘It’s not that damn simple and you know it,’ he retorts. ‘They’re aggressive, so we’re aggressive, where does that get us?’
‘I’m not saying go to fucking war over it. But I don’t see any damn reason to pander to prejudice.’
He blows out his breath and stares out of the windscreen. ‘Life is compromise, Audrey.’
‘Some things are beyond fucking compromise,’ I say. ‘We both know it.’
We leave Suresh happy as Larry up to his elbows in viscera and with Peter playing Igor to his Frankenstein. The ACLU rep hasn’t arrived yet and we really can’t be doing without. We’ve got to fucking cover ourselves and no mistake. We’ve had a dozen convictions go to appeal and every conviction’s been upheld. You can’t be too fucking careful with that shit.
The ACLU has been all over us since the unit set up. Once the news of Coyote Sands leaked out everything went fucking insane. Nobody with have an ounce of sense trusts the government not to do it again, not to use specials as lab rats, not to deny them rights and liberties and every other fucking thing. So people are suspicious of the government, of the FBI, of us. The specials and the liberals think we’re busting heads and trampling all over the specials rights, the bigots think we’re pro-special and anti normal. That we’re using specials to abuse their fucking rights.
And everyone is scared shitless that one of us is a telepath.
After Coyote Sands hit the headlines, Suresh turned up. His dad’s involvement was not pretty but instead of hiding or washing his hands, or defending the old man, he turned up here demanding to be allowed to help. To restore his family name. No fucking wonder he and the old man aren’t talking anymore.
Peter originally came as an ACLU rep, observing an interrogation to see if we were mistreating the shitty, shapeshifter rapist. Once he saw what we were doing though, he lit up. You can see it. Some people just fucking get us, and some people don’t. Peter did and god but a nurse was useful, but a nurse who picks up any ability he meets, a nurse who’s a member of the ACLU, that’s fucking gold.
He files reports on us, on our cases, all above board and dandy. He was a little embarrassed at first, Suresh was a little wary, but I told them both we want to be fucking documented. As much as possible. Because the law is limping a mile behind us. There’s no fucking precedent for whether what we’re doing is legal or not. We’re making precedent, and whether we end up heroes or villains, it won’t be because we didn’t explain ourselves or our intentions.
A lot of agency guys and a lot of cops hate being observed, documented, being held accountable. Bring it fucking on! A lot of them hate the ACLU and other rights groups. They hate them for the same stupid reason they hate anyone holding them accountable; because nobody, nobody, breaks the rules like a fucking cop.
Well I don’t do it and I won’t fucking have it in my unit. I’m not losing a case because of a busted chain of evidence, I’m not losing an appeal because we played fast and fucking loose, and I absolutely will not slam some innocent bastard in jail because we messed up.
So I love the ACLU. My best fucking friends in the entire world. When Parkman interviews witnesses or interrogates suspects, they’re only too happy to send us someone as an unbiased observer, and that suits me down to the fucking ground.
While we wait for a local to show up we go through the file Monroe passed on and Parkman looks into the fence Millbrook mentioned.
‘This girl, Elle Bishop, she’s fucking ex-Primatech.’
‘Huh,’ Parkman grunts. ‘Not one of Bennet’s then?’
Noah Bennet was the Primatech agent responsible for taking Parkman in, twice, and Parkman’s still fucking terse about it. When Bennet was released from debrief he got snapped up by the CIA. Those bastards will take anyone. They took Bennet and they took a whole raft of specials. Hell, they tried to strong arm Parkman but he raised holly hell about it. All he wants, all he ever wanted, was to be a cop. Don’t get me wrong, in his own way he’s as ambitious as any other fucker is, he wouldn’t want to be stuck in traffic for instance, but he has no grand designs to politics or CIA or any shit like that.
‘Worked with him briefly, ha, according to this he said she was ‘unbalanced’.’
Parkman looks up from the computer and raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s encouraging.’
I push away the file and wiggle the mouse, bringing my computer back online. ‘Could be total bullshit. I’ll see what we’ve got on the databases.’
‘Looks like this fence checks out,’ Parkman says, scratching his head. ‘He’s flagged in connection with a lot of other jewellery thefts. Two convictions but most of the others are speculative.’
‘Where do you know the speedy fucking Gonzales from, anyway?’
‘Who, Daphne?’ he asks leaning back. ‘Just around I guess. I nabbed her a couple of times but she rolled over both times and gave up bigger fish, got off with a slap on the wrist.’
‘No wonder she bolted when she saw you,’ I say. ‘So it’s just a work thing?’ Suresh would be worse than fucking useless if Parkman shacked up with some blonde piece.
‘I don’t think you’re her type,’ he says.
‘Ha fucking ha!’
Parkman looks at me and folds his arms. ‘You really want to have this kind of conversation with me? You’d normally rather die that discuss this stuff.’
‘I asked if it was work,’ I mutter, staring at my computer. ‘You jumped to shagging.’
He laughs and rolls his chair next to mine. ‘What’s bugging you Audrey? You worried you’re not my favourite blonde anymore?’
‘Fucking asshole, get out of my light,’ I growl at his laughing face. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
He looks down at his hands. ‘I didn’t really think you were asking on your own accord.’ He licks his lips and looks at me from under his lashes. ‘You asking on someone else’s behalf?’
‘Fuck you both! Get back to bloody work, Jesus Christ! And stop laughing!’
The ACLU rep is late twenties or early thirties, African-American, and smart professional. There’s some fucking money there in the tailored suit and expensive shoes.
See, I never got the ‘shoe thing’. Some women spend all their damn money on them, dozens, hundreds of pairs of the things. Like Peter and his fucking tops. I swear I’ve never seen him wear the same top twice.
She smiles when she sees me and offers her hand. ‘Agent Hanson? I’m Simone Deveaux from the ACLU.’
‘You know why you’re here Ma’am?’ Don’t swear, don’t swear, don’t fucking swear.
‘I was told you were looking for an observer during a telepathic interrogation?’ she asks, pushing a curl of hair off her face.
She doesn’t sound irritated or overexcited, which is good. It’s not often but on the odd occasion some of them have been bolshy or fucking creepy about the telepathy.
‘We’re taking statements, not interrogating, and only off the witnesses who agreed to the telepathic contact. We’ve got no reason to f... to believe these people were anything but victims.’
‘Then why am I here?’ she asks.
I take her into the room that Peter is using to monitor the interviews. ‘To make sure that we’re not tampering with the evidence or planting ideas. You, me, the telepath, and the witness go through the memory. We check every image, every sound, every smell. People record everything but they don’t actively recall everything. We look at all that s... we look at it all and then all four of us write statements, separately. If all four gel we know it’s a genuine memory.’
She sucks her bottom lip and nods. ‘I see. I was warned there might be thought... leaks.’
‘No, not might, will be and not a leak, a deliberate open tap,’ I explain. ‘So nobody is thinking that the telepath is messing with their thoughts all of us will be hearing the others. Just concentrate on the memory and you’ll be fine. Assuming you’re still up for this?’
Deveaux nods slowly. ‘Assuming that the procedure is safe, oh yes.’
‘That’s what Nurse Petrelli is here for, he’s also a member of the ACLU, and he keeps us in check.’
‘She’s exaggerating,’ Peter stammers, blushing as he makes Bambi fucking eyes at her. ‘I mean... I mean I AM in the ACLU but mostly I write reports and uh...’
‘Simone Deveaux,’ she says, flashing her eyes at him. ‘Very nice to meet you.’
Just once, I’d like to get through a complete fucking case without something making a move on Peter.
‘Ahem! As I was saying, Peter is our medical support guy and he will be monitoring our vitals. Any sign of distress from anyone and we end the session,’ I explain.
‘How exactly?’ she asks, finally looking away from him.
‘The telepath gets a shot of sedative. Knocks him right out. Makes him grumpy as f... as hell but it’s worked in the tests we’ve run. We’ve not had to use it in practice,’ I explain.
She nods and folds her arms under her breasts, which of course pushes the fucking things up level with Peter’s face.
‘How many times have you done it?’
‘Not including today... a hundred and four, if you count interrogations as well.’
‘That’s impressive, and no problems?’ she checks.
‘Not a single fucking one.’ Shit! And I was doing so well.
Deveaux smiles and rubs her hands. ‘Okay. I was told there’s a gagging order?’
Too fucking right. No way am I having Parkman’s identity flashed through the ‘smart’ dinner parties up and down the country. ‘Here, you sign to say you understand that you will not reveal the identity of the person concerned by any means, through either action or inaction, nor will you allow his identity to be revealed.’
This is when some of them balk. When they realise how serious it is.
‘The man has a right to his privacy,’ she says, digging through her enormous shoulder bag. ‘I’m sorry, do you have a pen?’
‘People get twitchy,’ I say handing over a pen. ‘A telepath gets identified publicly and he’s likely to lose more than his privacy.’
Heart monitors, brainwave monitors, fuck knows what else. I’m sure Suresh and Peter compete to see how many wires they can glue to us before someone kicks off. It’s like fucking Buckaroo or something. Parkman stays in the room with Peter, there’s no need to expose him to the witness on top of everyone else, and the physical proximity is close enough for him. The first witness is a Mrs Frankel, one of the staff from the first robbery at Finnegan’s. She’s already been interviewed three times so it’s going to be more difficult. Every fucking suggestion the detectives put to her will have impacted on what she remembers. Human memory is like that fucking butterfly flapping its wings and causing rainstorms. As soon as you ask questions, you start creating doubt. Just calling a car accident a ‘smash’ instead of a ‘crash’ affects how fast people remember the speed. A bunch of detectives getting impatient and irate because you can’t remember if there were two or three guys is going to have a knock on effect. That’s where this has another edge – no questions, no inferences, and no leading the fucking witness, Judge.
It’s like being in a dream. Each of us is the witness and we don’t see the others. We can hear them but you learn to tune that shit out. We can’t move anywhere they didn’t, but we can concentrate. On the sounds she heard, on the little details she saw, and on the smells.
She’s at the counter serving an older couple. He’s fifties and greying but she’s early thirties and shiny with new money. Does he realise how ridiculous he looks? Pathetic...Well it keeps us in business is followed by a panicky Oh GOD! PLEASE don’t tell anyone I was thinking that!
It’s all confidential Mrs Frankel Parkman’s thought rumbles past like a railway carriage passing through the station.
The door opens and a boy and a girl... no, a young woman... walk in. He’s small, young, ugly, bursting with testosterone and adrenalin, she’s excited, turned on, aggressive. Both white, she’s blonde, blue eyed, pretty, pointed jaw. Elle Bishop or her twin. He’s pale but with short dark hair and sunken brown eyes. Freckles near his sullen, pouting mouth, and under one eye. Kid needs to apply his sunscreen.
Something about them, their stance maybe, their manner perhaps, sends her thinking Fuck! Fuck! I am not dying for this shitty job! and she spins away from the counter and towards the back door.
An African-American man, bald, tall, muscular, thirties maybe, blocks her way. There’s something... a smell of something when he walks towards her. A smell of something... something like nail polish remover. Behind him is a bullish man, white, bald, blue eyed, a flame erupting from his hand as he smirks at her.
Screaming behind her. Elle Bishop electrocuting the older guy as the boy microwaves the woman. Smirking, laughing, cheering as the pyrokinetic joins in. Mr Nail Polish Remover grabs Mrs Frankel’s arm, pulls her away through a wall into the cloak room.
‘Stay here and be quiet! If you make any noise they’ll kill you.’
Screaming that goes on and on. Laughing, panting, and then quiet. She stays where she is, stays shaking and crying, until the police come.
‘You okay?’ Parkman asks, hanging an arm around my shoulders. ‘Kind of an intense one there.’
‘You’re touching me, Parkman,’ I say, turning to him. ‘I can tell. I’m a fucking detective. I got special training in observation.’
‘I know it’s a new concept for you Audrey,’ he says. ‘But a hug doesn’t work without touching.’
‘Smart ass.’
He pats my arm. ‘You okay?’ he asks again.
‘You’re the one who wants a hug. I’m personally having a bad touch moment. Bad touch Parkman! Bad touch!’
Parkman laughs and squeezes my shoulder. ‘Okay, I’m done molesting you now,’ he says dropping his arm. ‘Ms Deveaux is writing out her statement, as is Mrs Frankel, and I’ve done mine.’
‘I’m done too.’
Parkman nods and stands up. ‘You ready for round two? The next witness is ready to roll.’
‘Oh that’s just... peachy fucking keen.’
After the third witness, we break for lunch. Suresh is doing something terrifying with an electric saw and a full-face visor when I pop into the lab he’s using.
‘Oh... hello! I’m...’
‘I don’t want to fucking know what you’re doing. We’re having a break, come on.’
‘I’ll grab a...’
‘No,’ I interrupt. ‘We’re not having this fucking argument. I’m not having you fainting again. Clean up and shift your ass.’
‘How’s it going?’ he asks, turning off the saw and taking off the paper suit he’s wearing. ‘Anything of interest?’
‘A few things. We’ll have a brief over lunch. Parkman and Peter are already in the canteen.’
He scrubs his hands with a nailbrush and liquid soap before drying them on a hand towel. ‘I’m not anorexic is that’s what you think,’ he says meekly. ‘I just get caught up sometimes.’
‘Fucking anorexic, give me a break,’ I say. ‘You work too damn hard is all. You’re just trying to show the rest of us up.’
‘Is it working?’
‘Not yet, try harder.’
Peter and Parkman meet us halfway down the stairs.
‘What’re you two fucking doing? What’s wrong with the canteen?’
‘Peter got spooked,’ Parkman says, ruffling his hair.
‘They were staring at us like animals at the zoo,’ Peter says with a shrug. ‘And the food looked kind of... manky.’
And this is just because they’re in the unit. If everyone knew they were specials... I don’t want to think. It’s a shitty thought that if things went south, the backup we’d get might vary depending on which of us was asking.
‘So we figured that we’d lurk in the office and eat something awesome,’ Peter finishes.
‘What about that Deli we drove past last night?’ Suresh suggests. ‘I could go for a meatball sandwich.’
‘The ghoul has arisen from his crypt!’ Parkman says jovially.
‘You can always get a rise out of me, Matt,’ Suresh says waggling his eyebrows.
We go back to the office and Peter and Suresh teleport off to get lunch. Left to his own devices Peter is guaranteed to forget something, or order the wrong food, or go to the wrong city.
‘Okay,’ Parkman says, pouring us coffee. ‘So far we’ve got a pretty definite ID on our female perp. She and the youngest male seem to be the prime movers.’
‘Bonnie and Clyde,’ I say, taking the proffered coffee. ‘The phaser, he seems like our weak link. He saved Frankel while the other three clearly get all kinds of jollies from killing. He’s not in it for the fun.’
‘He needs the money,’ Parkman agrees. ‘Debt maybe, drugs.’
‘Chemical smell,’ I note. ‘Why does he smell of chemicals?’
‘Bad taste in aftershave?’ Parkman suggests wryly.
‘Not even yours is that bad.’
He smiles and sits down next to me. ‘That’s the aftershave you gave me for my birthday.’
‘I never did. I remembered you birthday? I must’ve been fucking drunk.’
‘What kind of chemicals?’ he asks, as Peter and Suresh appear in the room.
‘Nail polish remover.’
‘Something smells good,’ Parkman says turning to look at them.
‘I always smell good,’ Suresh says, dumping sandwiches down on the table. ‘What’s this about nail polish remover?’
‘One of the perps smelled of it,’ I explain, getting my Philly cheese steak sub.
Peter tears into a Mediterranean roast vegetable sandwich. ‘Maybe he’d just done his nails,’ he says through a mouthful of food.
‘Or he works somewhere that uses a lot of acetone,’ Suresh says, a lot more sensibly. ‘I’ll do you a list of likely types of businesses.’ He licks a speck of sauce from his lip. ‘So far the bodies have been killed by electricity, microwaves, and burns. Oh, and someone bashed the bishop over a couple of them.’
I don’t know what that means but I’m sure it’s filthy. ‘The only reason I’m asking is because it relates to evidence,’ I says scowling as he waggles his eyebrows. ‘Go on, tell me. What does ‘bash the bishop’ mean?’
‘Wank,’ he says, eyes twinkling. ‘Choke the chicken, a hand solo...’
‘Jesus fucking Christ, enough!’ I say as Parkman nearly chokes to death laughing. ‘Inappropriate humour Mohinder. Bad boy! Damn. Someone whacked off over the bodies? That is some sick shit.’
‘One man or more?’ Parkman asks, coughing.
‘One,’ Suresh says. ‘Although...’ he slaps Peter on the back. ‘My glamorous assistant here tells me there are signs that a second man had sex inside the jewellers, probably with this Elle character.’
The bizarre fucking escapades of other people never fail to amaze me. But over a body? That’s a whole world of creepy.
‘Any sign of rape on any of the victims?’ Parkman asks seriously.
‘No, none,’ Peter says speaking up. ‘It’s all post mortem.’
‘Anything else?’ I ask.
‘We’ve got tons of DNA and fingerprints,’ Peter says with a shrug. ‘I’m running them through the databases right now. These guys are messy. If they’re forensically aware at all then they just don’t care.’
Parkman drums his fingers on the table. ‘They’re running out of high-end jewellers to rob. Their pattern is loose for sure but if they stick to it then they’ll be hitting another place tomorrow evening. There’s two left if they stay within the same area.’
‘I fucking hate stakeouts,’ I say taking a gulp of coffee. ‘Too messy, someone always gets hurt.’
‘So, you want me to cancel the SWAT request?’ Parkman asks, sucking his fingers.
‘No, no. Stakeouts fucking yay,’ I say sourly.
After lunch, we finish off the witnesses and go hunting down the fence Millbrook gave up, a man named Rodgers. He’s in a downtown market pretending to make a legitimate living selling junk. Only takes one look at us for him to take off like he’s got the hounds of fucking hell after him.
I bolt after him, struggling through the crowded streets, tripping over toy fucking dogs and crashing into tourists. Don’t stand in the middle of the damn street gawping you jack asses! Get out of the damn way!
Out of the main drag, through side streets, alleys, until he stops, spins around and grabs up a broken piece of scaffolding.
‘Let me go or...’
‘FBI put down the gun right now!’
‘Police!’ Parkman announces, somehow behind him. ‘Drop it right now!’
‘You’re police!’ he says, sagging. ‘Oh thank god!’ he drops the scaffolding. ‘I thought you were...’
A bright blue spike of electricity hits him in the chest from above. Up above where Elle and the ugly kid are hanging over the fire escape and laughing.
‘Stop or we shoot!’
The boy smirks and points a hand. I dive behind the dumpster as heat ripples down and towards me. Molten metal splashes over my shoes and I turn and bolt for the end of the alley, turn a corner, run up the adjacent street to cut back to Parkman. Shit! Shit! Shit! He’s lying flat out around a corner, breathing but with a tickle of blood coming from a cut to the back of his head. He must’ve caught some of the blast from her electricity.
Rodgers is so much charcoal.
Common sense says I shouldn’t tell Suresh and Peter because it would distract them. Common sense is bullshit, generally, and besides makes no fucking odds when it comes to dealing with hurt feelings. So I tell them and they fret, of course, but they do their fucking jobs, which is what I expect and what they know Parkman expects.
It’s only a damn graze anyway when we get it checked out. Fucker jumped back in surprise and tripped over something, banging his head as he went down.
‘Were you worried about me?’ he asks cheerfully.
‘Like fuck, worried about the amount of damn paperwork if you got your fool self killed,’ I reply.
‘We’re going to need Peter,’ he says so lightly I don’t fucking pick it up at first. ‘On the stakeout, we’re going to need Peter. To get from one place to the other and to deal with these guys.’
‘No, no fucking way, he’s a civilian and you know that.’
Parkman shrugs. ‘Only because you refuse to let him get trained for field work.’
‘I am not having this fucking argument again!’
‘Then stop treating Peter and Mohinder like they’re made of glass,’ he says quietly. ‘You can’t protect everyone, Audrey. I know this might come as a surprise, but you’re not actually god almighty, so get over it.’
‘I’m responsible for all of you fuckers. Not that you make it easy or anything. Jesus! You’ve been talking about this haven’t you? The three of you have been talking about how best to talk to me about Mohinder and Peter getting field trained.’ Bastards! Going behind my fucking back.
He just shrugs though he must know how pissed off I am. ‘Peter has a lot to offer, Audrey. Come on, you know this is getting too much for us. We need more people. Mohinder needs a couple of full time junior geeks, at least a couple, and you and me, we need a minimum of two more people in the field. We need Mohinder to be able to come into the field too. Look at last month, if he’d been there the blood spatter would’ve been useable but he wasn’t and we nearly didn’t catch the guy because of it.’
‘We manage.’
‘We’re not managing,’ he says sharply. ‘Look, I know that a small group is easier, safer, friendlier, and nobody wants to lose that. But you can’t freeze things forever. Peter has a lot of potential that we’re not using; he knows it as well as we do. Let him out of the shallow end of the pool, Audrey. For his sake as well as ours. We need him; we sure need him for these robberies.’
Prepared fucking speech. How long’s this been coming? It’s worse because he’s right. ‘We’ll shut one of the jewellers down,’ I say. ‘Then we only have one to monitor.’
‘Won’t work,’ he says flatly. ‘These aren’t a slick outfit. They’re unprepared, impulsive and I guarantee they won’t have a backup plan. If they turn up to the jewellers we’ve shut down there’s no telling how they’ll react. They might break in, they might go for the shop next door,’ he shakes his head, ‘but they won’t drive all the way across the city and rob the other jewellers.’
Right again, damn that’s an annoying habit.
‘I’ll talk to Peter, about this one,’ I allow. ‘But I’m not turning us into some second fucking FBI with an office in every city and that’s the bottom fucking line.’
‘Okay.’
‘We’re still new and I like that we’re small.’ I steal a mouthful of his water. ‘Small means I stay in charge. Small means I can get to know you cocksuckers. We need to know each other. It’s important, Matt. Every other asshole hates and mistrusts us. We have to be able to trust each other.’
‘Agreed, but we’re too small right now,’ he says gently. ‘Mohinder is working himself to the bone, you know that.’
Yeah I fucking know. That’s the problem about being close-knit; nobody wants to let the others down. ‘I know, I know. I’ll talk to him and we’ll... we’ll see what we can come up with. There’s money in the budget but let me do it in my own time. I’m not going to start hiring willy fucking nilly.’ ‘
Oh god, what did I put it like that for? Parkman starts smirking at me. ‘Willy fucking nilly sounds like a fantastic hiring policy.’
‘Maybe, maybe a couple of lab geeks and a couple of investigators. A mix of us and you. Only a few though and none of them are exempt from my beady fucking eyed scrutiny.’
‘Good,’ he says quietly. ‘Nobody wants to get too big. But... well. The job’s gotten big.’
‘Ain’t that the fucking truth. You have any cocksuckers specifically in mind for recruiting, the magnificent Ms Millbrook?’
He squints at me. ‘Sometimes Audrey I have no idea what’s going on with you. I know you’re not interested in me, you and Nathan are bizarrely faithful for a relationship that seems to consist of sex against office furniture...’
‘Fuck you!’
‘and you never go beyond checking out my amazing package from time to time...’
‘Asshole.’
‘...so what’s with the questions about Daphne Millbrook?’ he finishes, ignoring my comment.
‘Just yanking your chain, forget it.’
He nudges me with his shoulder. ‘I hope you’re not playing matchmaker. I have you pegged as completely unromantic and unsentimental. Don’t go ruining my image of you.’
‘Fuck you! You can stick your dick any damn place you choose. All I care about is the running of my unit. If you tom catting around disrupts my unit, because it sends Mohinder into a fucking tailspin, then I will rip you a new asshole. Do you get me?’
He looks at me way too fucking long. ‘Yeah, I get you,’ he says eventually.
Meanwhile back at the Ponderosa. Showing my age, huh? Fuck you. When we get back to headquarters, Peter is all of a flap.
‘You’re not going to believe this!’ he says, waving his arms about like a duckling in a freefall. ‘He came in, of his own volition! He wants to make a statement.’
‘Who... what? What the hell are you banging on about?’ I demand. ‘If it’s so fucking exciting why didn’t you call?’
‘Your phones are both turned off,’ he says promptly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Parkman wander over to Ms Deveaux and what the fuck is she doing back here?
‘The phaser! So I rang Simone and...’
Oh Jesus, if they’re fucking then we’re screwed six ways to Sunday. ‘Peter, if you’re sleeping with her then that will fucking destroy her credibility as an unbiased witness!’
He blinks at me. ‘No Ma’am. We are getting coffee once the case is over though.’
More of a gentleman than his brother, that’s for sure.
‘Well... good for you. Have you spoken to... what’s the guy’s name?’
‘DL Hawkins, I’ve explained about the telepathic interview protocols and he’s fine.’ He wafts a piece of paper. ‘He signed the waiver. We’ve got him set up with the monitors and Mohinder is keeping an eye on him.’ He pauses and leans closer. ‘FBI agents McCain and Dawson are keeping an eye on Mohinder just in case. I’m pretty sure they’re... you know okay.’
Oy. It’s like a stunned bunny rabbit plotting world domination.
‘Do you mean they’re persons of special ability? Just fucking say it.’ Parkman said that on some level they can recognise each other. Thank fuck normals can’t, or we’d be in a world of trouble. More trouble.
‘Uh, yes, I’m pretty sure they are,’ he says firmly.
‘You trust them?’
‘To keep Mohinder safe, sure, yeah,’ he says. But I know him too well to let it go at that.
‘And otherwise?’ I ask.
He pushes the hair back off his face. One of these, one of these fucking days I am getting a shaver and...
‘I trust Agent Dawson,’ he says eventually. ‘She’s a good sort and she likes us. I think she’d be happier somewhere not so... not so anti-special. But McCain I don’t trust. I don’t why.’
Peter used to be worse than fucking useless when he came to judging other people. But he’s getting better. A lot better.
‘Okay then. Is there anything else?’
‘Oh... yeah, we got DNA matches on the woman, and fingerprints on one of the guys.’ He hands me a file. ‘The bald white guy. Uh, I think that’s it.’
‘Right, show me to our turncoat.’
Hawkins stands up when I walk into the room. He’s fucking young for that kind of a reaction. Ex-army maybe? He’s got the physique for it. Not damn bad at all.
‘Sit down, sir. You understand what’s happening here?’
He glances at the three of us, me, Deveaux, and Parkman. His eyes stay on Parkman a fraction longer. He’s either seen something he likes or he’s pegged Parkman as the telepath.
‘You’re going to use a telepath to make sure I tell you the truth about the robberies,’ he says. ‘That’s what your little boy said.’ He shrugs. ‘He said the telepath is secret. I won’t even see him.’
‘Close, we’re going to use a telepath to force you to tell us the truth,’ I correct him. Deveaux sets her jaw but she doesn’t jump right it. Smart woman that, waiting for all the evidence before making a judgement.
‘‘According to State of California vs Thompson this is not a breach of your civil or human rights provided that we stick only the facts pertaining to the matter at hand. Ms Deveaux here is from the ACLU, she’s an impartial observer ensuring you’re not mistreated. Now generally we’d get a court order to perform this procedure. However, Mr Petrelli tells me that you’ve agreed of your own free will. Is that correct?’
He’s not fucking happy about it, but who would be? He nods his head. ‘Yeah, I’m agreeing of my own free will. If it’ll mean you take me seriously and believe what I have to say.’
‘We do this and I will believe every word,’ I promise. ‘The monitors are measuring your heart rate, brain activity, and amount of sweat. This isn’t a lie detector. It’s purely to ensure that at no time are you in pain, distress, or in any danger. Anything that you say will be recorded and may be used against you. This is where you demand a lawyer.’
He looks me in the eye and then shakes his head. ‘No lawyer. I’ve heard you’re fair. A stone cold bitch,’ he says with a hint of a smile. ‘But fair. That’s good enough for me.’
My kind of guy.
We sit and make ourselves comfy. Parkman switches on the video camera and we state our names and the date. Parkman’s identity as the telepath is considered privileged information. When it goes to court he’ll be listed the same as me, as interrogator.
‘Twelve people are dead,’ I say sitting forward. ‘According to our records you’ve done a little time for petty theft. How did you get mixed up with this shit?’
Hawkins takes on the stuck-on-a-roller-coaster expression of some poor fucker compelled to tell the truth, no matter what.
‘We needed the money. While I was in prison Nikki, my wife, she borrowed a lot of money to put our son into a good school. She borrowed it and the interest keeps going up and up. We can’t make the repayments and they’re threatening my son. I’m working in a paint factory but it’s barely enough for food. I met Flint in a bar. He introduced me to Elle and Luke.’ He stops talking, like a wind-up doll run out of torque. But the expression of disgust at the names of his fellow robbers takes longer to disappear.
I open up the file and flick through. ‘That would be... Flint Gordon Jr and Elle Bishop. What’s Luke’s surname?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you kill anyone?’ I ask.
‘No! I had no idea they were going to do any of that,’ he says with a genuine flare of anger. ‘At a couple of robberies I managed to hide a couple of people. Not enough though.’
‘Why didn’t you come forward after the first robbery?’ Parkman asks.
‘I couldn’t get clear of them and I was worried they’d go after my family,’ he says promptly.
‘Why didn’t you ring the hotline?’
‘I rang three times,’ he says. ‘On the third time I left a message.’
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! When I find out who was screening those calls...
‘When and where is the next robbery planned?’ I ask, fiddling with my pen.
‘Rosen’s Jewellers at six o’clock,’ he answers.
‘Tomorrow night?’ Parkman checks.
‘Tonight.’
Jesus FUCK! It’s gone four o’clock now.
‘Tonight? Are you absolutely sure?’ I ask. There’s no time, no time to organise SWAT properly let alone anything else...
‘Yes, Elle insisted on doing tonight. She didn’t want to miss ‘America’s Top Model tomorrow night.’
I... I have nothing to fucking say to that.
‘Where are they now?’ Parkman asks.
Where they are now is a ratty, decrepit, sprawling old motel on the edge of Hollywood. There are dozens of rooms crammed together with walls like tissue paper and filled with pimps, hookers, users and dealers. Hawkins says they’ve got two interlocking rooms right in the middle of a fucking row and the second floor. No clear shots and no easy access. Christ, what a mess.
‘We go in guns blazing and it’ll be a massacre,’ Parkman says, stealing one of Suresh’s fries.
‘Peter could stop time,’ Suresh says, slapping Parkman’s hand. Looks like they’re at that stage now, when people find all sorts of stupid fucking reasons to touch each other without it being ‘sexual’. Ha.
‘Yeah but then what?’ Peter asks. ‘I can’t stop it for very long. At the restaurant Matt was the one who moved all the people. Holding it that long nearly did for me.’
‘You’ll be big help,’ Parkman says encouragingly. ‘But even so, if we go in there with all the people in the surrounding rooms...’
‘We couldn’t evacuate without alerting the robbers,’ Suresh says thoughtfully. ‘And there’s Hawkins to consider. If he doesn’t go back they might get spooked.’
‘He’ll have to go back,’ I say, taking a bite of my burger. ‘We need them to hit the jewellers. Matt’s right, we can’t take them at the motel.’
‘Will he go back?’ Suresh asks doubtfully. ‘What if he tells them?’
‘He came in, we didn’t pick him up,’ I say sitting back. ‘But he might fucking cut and run.’
Parkman shakes his head. ‘He’s got to protect his family. ‘Without the money from the robbery he needs goodwill from us. He can’t risk it. We send him in, they go to the jewellers...’
‘And he gets killed!’ Peter says hotly. ‘We can’t risk his life.’
‘Watch me.’
‘Audrey,’ Parkman says warningly.
‘No, he’s a robber and he was involved in the murder of twelve people. Twelve fucking people, Peter,’ I say sharply. ‘I’d rather he not die, because a live testimony is so much more compelling. But I won’t lose any sleep over him fucking dying.’
Peter shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You’re so cold sometimes. First Mohinder and now this...’
‘What the hell are you talking about, first Mohinder?’ I demand. When I look, Suresh is looking confused but Parkman looks irritated, like he knows and doesn’t approve.
‘The other day, when we got here?’ Peter prompts. ‘You let them go on thinking Mohinder was a special, you let him go on being in danger. You could’ve told them!’
‘That wouldn’t have made any damn difference,’ I say sharply. ‘They didn’t assume it was him for any other reason than his colour and we all fucking know it.’
Peter pales and his lips thin. ‘That’s ridiculous, there’s no greater incidence of special abilities in people of colour!’
‘You’re talking about logic and I’m talking about prejudice,’ I snarl. ‘The two things aren’t in the same fucking universe. Some of these assholes are still living in ‘brown people scary’ land and no amount of statistics is going to shift that idiotic idea from their thick heads! The people that made that assumption are going to dislike him whatever, I’m sorry Mohinder, but that’s the truth.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ he says quietly. ‘Peter, I appreciate your concern. But I didn’t speak up either. Partly because of what Audrey has already said, they wouldn’t have suddenly welcomed me with open arms, and partly because of what she doesn’t want to say. We need these people. If something goes wrong, goes badly wrong, then Matt and Audrey will need them for backup. If they know, if they suspect, that Matt is special then that backup might not arrive.’
Peter shakes his head. ‘These are law enforcement. They’re on our side! They wouldn’t let Matt get killed.’
‘They wouldn’t kill me, or you,’ Matt says quietly. ‘Not on purpose and not deliberately. But taking your time sending backup, not sending enough, that goes on in police stations if someone is disliked enough. Nobody thinks it’ll actually be that serious, but it can be.’
‘So she puts your life above Mohinder’s?’ Peter snarls. ‘And that’s okay is it?’
‘The worst thing that’s going to happen here is one of you gets a smack in the face,’ I interrupt. ‘The worse that could happen to someone in the field is being microwaved, set on fire, electrocuted. I rate that as a more severe risk, whoever it is that it’s happening too,’ I say. ‘And you’re here. Mohinder’s not abandoned alone and defenceless with the natives. It’s not personal, Peter.’
‘It’s cold,’ he says quietly.
‘It has to be,’ I say honestly. ‘Some fucker actually hurts one of you and I’ll kill him. You know that don’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ he says shyly.
‘Why do you think I don’t let you both out in the field? Because I don’t want you hurt, you stupid prick.’ I turn to Mohinder. ‘Are we good? I don’t want you fucking brooding away and turning me into a giant spider or somesuch in revenge.’
‘I never had a problem with it Agent Hanson,’ he says serenely. ‘I would like to get into the field though.’
‘Me too,’ Peter says quickly.
‘Congratulations,’ I say, looking at Parkman. ‘Tonight is your fucking night.’
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Nathan says, crossing his arms. ‘He’s implicated in twelve murders and you want him out in four years?’
‘He didn’t commit any of the murders, he actually prevented a few, he’s come forward of his own volition with information, and he’s willing to cooperate with the operation,’ I say. ‘I feel for the guy. Or his family at least.’ This shoebox of an office I’ve been assigned isn’t big enough to do diddly squat in. I actually had to turf the others out just to have a semi-private conversation with this cocksucker. ‘Come on Nathan, shit or get off the pot. I’m on a tight schedule here.’
Nathan shakes his head and looks away for a minute. ‘This is what his lawyer is demanding for his cooperation? How much do we need it?’
‘He refuses a fucking lawyer. We’re desperate for his cooperation in getting them to the fucking jewellers; otherwise, they’ll sit pretty at the motel. Then we’ll have to send SWAT in and it’ll be like the gun fight at the fucking OK corral.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t swear,’ he says in his gravelly, professional voice. ‘It gets me horny and right now I can’t do anything about it.’
‘Don’t I fucking know it.’
He looks up at the ceiling. ‘What about the money?’
‘From the robberies?’
‘That his wife borrowed,’ Nathan says. ‘Get him to give up the loan shark, and stand up in court on it, and I’ll agree to four years.’
‘Fucking A!’
This is a nightmare.
‘No this button is for a return...’ Mrs Rosen sniffs.
‘I don’t need to know that,’ I say. ‘Just show me which one opens the till.’
‘I thought the idea was to stop the robbery?’ she asks icily.
Preferably without me getting turned into a charcoal briquette. ‘Just show me.’
It doesn’t help that Parkman and Peter are at the motel keeping an eye on Hawkins. We couldn’t risk a wire so Parkman is monitoring telepathically, and Peter is backup. No point in him being in here when they break in, too fucking late then.
So I’m here with maybe okay Agents McCain and Dawson and Mohinder out the back. We’re evacuated the stores on either side of this one and there are ambulances standing by.
Nothing like looking on the bright fucking side of life, right?
Five forty-five. Time to shuffle Mrs Rosen out of the shop and the hell away from me.
Five fifty and my earpiece buzzes.
‘Hanson, go.’
‘We’re on the move,’ Parkman says, sounding tense. ‘There’s the four of them. They’re in one car.’
I still can’t believe they don’t have a driver waiting outside. How these assholes managed to pull off one successful robbery is beyond me.
‘Roger.’
‘ETA approximate ten minutes.’
‘Rock and roll baby.’
He laughs at that and signs off.
Two minutes past six, and I nearly jump through the fucking ceiling when Parkman speaks.
‘Suspects are parking the vehicle; approximately twenty feet from the fire hydrant... they’re approaching the store.’
‘Standby, wait until they’re in the store.’
‘Conf... three suspects exiting vehicle, Hanson! Gordon is not in the vehicle. Repeat Gordon is not.... bzzzt...’
‘Parkman? Parkman?’
The door swings open and the boy and the woman stroll in.
‘Ooh, look at the pretty, pretty things,’ the girl coos.
McCain and Dawson dive forwards. Dawson has her weapon but McCain looks like she’s going to try and talk them down...
You will...
The window explodes inwards. As I duck down glass slices through the air. Then I hear the sound. The dull echoing boom. Then I see the van crashing down, still blazing. No sign of Matt, no sign of Peter.
‘Hot damn!’ the boy erupts. ‘That was... wow!’ He shoves Bishop up against the wall, hands up her skirt, fumbling to yank her panties down.
Do I bolt for the back door? Fuck that. Dawson and McCain are laying there, easy targets.
You can only rely on special abilities for so much. For some things, you just need balls.
I stand up, pulling the tasers from my shoulder holsters, and fire.
The boy goes down, creaming in his pants, as he drops. Bishop twitches, and then laughs.
‘Stupid fucking bitch,’ she sneers. ‘You going to ‘get’ me with electricity?’ she yanks out the darts and stalks forward.
‘That was just to get your attention,’ I say nicely.
‘Well you got it,’ she says, raising crackling hands, not hearing the jingle of the door. ‘Say goodbye!’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye,’ Suresh says, and turns on the hose. He and Hawkins hold it steady as the full force of the water from the hydrant knocks her over and sends her, screaming and arcing, across the floor.
‘Secure them!’ I order, running out into the street. ‘Parkman! Peter!’ The van is blazing. The seats are empty. ‘Fuck you bastards where are you!’
‘Well that’s not a nice way for a young lady to talk.’
Southern accent, male, behind me. I turn around slowly and smile. ‘Mr Gordon. We were just wondering where you’d gotten too.’
‘Right here, baby. Do you want to scream for daddy?’
And then Parkman appears from nowhere and punches him. Really fucking hard.
The worst injured are McCain and Dawson, mostly cuts from the glass. McCain’s a slippery one and, when I check her file, ex-Primatech. Dawson’s a bright, lively one. She wants to speak privately, which is usually bad fucking news. But I’m always happy for something to buck the trend.
She looks up from her bed and waves a hand at the eye-patch. ‘I feel like I should say ‘yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum’, maybe get a parrot. What do you think?’
‘Fucking thing would crap down your back,’ I say, sitting down. ‘You wanted to see me?’
She nods and plays with the bed covers. ‘I was talking to your med guy, Peter? He says you’re a good boss. Everyone in the community hates you but everyone in the community hates the FBI too.’ She pauses and looks at me. ‘You know which community I mean, right?’
‘You’re a fucking special,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I can’t tell but Peter can.’
‘Oh. Well. I’m smart,’ she says with a bright smile. ‘And I work really, really hard. I’m a quick study.’
‘You asking me for a fucking job?’
‘Yes Ma’am, I am,’ she says firmly.
‘Three months, trial. See how you fit in,’ I say.
She smiles at me sweetly. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’
Parkman catches up with me in the hotel lobby. We’ve got another night and then we’re going home, nice and fresh.
‘Audrey, uh, I need to swap rooms with you,’ he says flatly.
‘What the fuck for?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘So I can share a room with Mohinder. Shall I draw you a diagram?’
‘I’m not sharing with Peter, end of. Jesus, can’t you wait one night?’
‘No,’ he says quietly.
Men.
‘Fine, take the fucking room. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.’
I turn around and SHIT! Nathan is standing right in front of me.
‘I think that was my cue,’ he says.
‘Scaring the ever living shit out of me?’ I ask.
He smiles and flaps a dismissive hand at Parkman. ‘Finding you somewhere else to sleep.’
‘Oh. Okay then. If you fucking must.’
‘Well, if it doesn’t put you out too much.’
The End
Matt, Audrey and Mohinder - pretend Sylar never existed. Pretend that people would do what I would do and use their abilities to commit crimes. Matt's the SFPD detective, Audrey's the FBI agent, Mohinder is the geeky lab guy, together they're the 'Special' Taskforce (geddit? /groan) who solve crimes committed by people with abilities. I'm partial to good diamond heist but any crime is good with me. Let there be gun fights!!!!!!
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 03:37 pm (UTC)Monica was kick ass (yo ho ho and bottle of rum! hee!) and I squeed aloud at the psycho pervy Elle/Luke (although I do *not* want to know what was up with jerking off over the bodies. *shudder*). DL was pretty fantastic too (and Audrey's right, damn that man is fine.)
LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!!!!!!!! ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 03:54 pm (UTC)I can't remember who suggested Simone, Boudecia7 perhaps. For some reason I always forget about Simone but she had a lot of potential.
this might be the first fic I've read where Peter is straight! LOL! I like to kick against the tide sometimes :P
I'm a huge fan of shows like The Mentalist, the ones where it's personality based teams bickering and bantering as they catch the bad guy :D I wanted to have the team really close knit, very familiar with each other, and not afraid to speak up. Or take the mick out of each other :D
I'm really glad you enjoyed it! Thanks so much <333
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 09:01 pm (UTC)Your idea that all Specials can recognize each other on an instinctual level is a stroke of genius. Not unlike in vampire fiction where vampires can always recognize other vampires on sight.
Telepaths would likely be distrusted and feared by both normals and non-telepathic Specials alike. Making things doubly dangerous for Matt. Also making him both their greatest asset and weakest link at the same time. Matt's growing powers and "tom-catting" could prove to be a problem for them in the future.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 09:21 pm (UTC)Thanks! I had lots of fun with the characters and the dialogue :)
Your idea that all Specials can recognize each other on an instinctual level is a stroke of genius. Not unlike in vampire fiction where vampires can always recognize other vampires on sight.
Absolutely, vamps can always tell :D I'd been thinking about how in the show specials seem sort of drawn to each other. If you think about specials as a new subspecies then subconsciously recognising each other and being drawn together would make sense. That way they'd be more likely to group together for protection and as couples/family groups.
Telepaths would likely be distrusted and feared by both normals and non-telepathic Specials alike. Making things doubly dangerous for Matt. Also making him both their greatest asset and weakest link at the same time. Matt's growing powers and "tom-catting" could prove to be a problem for them in the future.
I think telepathy would make most people very, very nervous. How can you trust someone who can find out everything about you, control you, and you'd never know?
<333
no subject
Date: 2010-07-26 01:42 pm (UTC)The reactions from outside felt realistic to me, as well as the distrust towards telepathy.
And Pervy!Mohinder & Pretty!Straight!Peter were wonderful as well! <3
no subject
Date: 2010-07-26 02:30 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting!