"The Squad"

[aSimpleMan4U]

"The Squad"​

0213 hrs, 3 July 2017:

The Briarhook neighborhood had exploded with activity just after sundown, and now -- more than 5 hours later -- there was still no sign that things would quiet down any time soon. There were still more than two dozen emergency response vehicles on scene: police cruisers, undercover vehicles, fire trucks, EMS vans, ambulances. The neighborhood had been taped off for two blocks in each direction. Most of the Press trucks had already departed: they'd gotten their video of bodies laying in the streets and heavily armed, heavily armored SWAT members walking all about, so as far as they cared they had their story.

If only they knew the truth.

Lieutenant Parker Davis was sitting in the opened back doors of an EMS vehicle, a paramedic working on stemming the bleeding from his wound for the third time. A man had tried to put a knife into Parker's neck. The quick acting Undercover had tried to block the attack entirely but had instead ended up with the blade sticking out of his forearm. It could have been worse, but Parker had quickly put four shots in the man's chest from less than two inches, bringing the attack to a brutal end.

Parker's more recent concern had been getting the young paramedic's phone number. It was the reason she was bandaging him for the third time: he'd reopened the wound to gain the sexy blonde's attention. It had hurt, but he'd finally gotten then number and hoped the pleasure he'd enjoy with her in the near future would make up for it.

"Here he comes," a voice said softly from nearby.

Parker looked first to one of his Squad's more experienced members, Sergeant Jack Carter; then he followed Carter's nod. The Chief Inspector from the Internal Affairs Bureau was heading his way, a dour expression on his face. Not that that meant anything in and of itself. John Kreggen had been born with that expression, Parker believed.

"Take me through it," Kreggen said without the bother of pleasantries.

Parker stared at the man for a moment, winked to the cute EMT, then stood and headed across the street toward the restaurant. He began describing the mayhem of the night: how the Squad had been investigating a white slavery network run out of the back of the a Greek restaurant currently operated by the Russian; how several of the gang's leaders were to be here for a top level meeting; and how the Squad was surveilling the location from four directions.

"Surveillance only?" Kreggen asked. "You weren't making arrests?"

"No," Parker lied convincingly. "Surveillance only. We weren't ready to make a bust yet."

"And then she showed up," Parker said, nodding Kreggen's attention toward a second EMT vehicle. Parker said with distasted, "Almost blew the whole operation."

A uniformed cop in her mid- to late-20s was sitting on a stretcher. The blouse of her uniform was open, revealing her basic white bra as a paramedic was strapping an ice pack to her bandaged chest where a pair of bullets had struck her bullet proof vest.

She looked up toward Parker, her face filling with a concerned expression. Parker had already had some words with the officer, just moments after he himself had shot those two rounds that hit her in the chest. Once the action was over, Parker had hurried over to where she lay writhing on the ground. He'd pulled open her blouse and pulled back the vest to ensure the bullets hadn't penetrated, then -- almost in the same breath in which he asked if she was okay -- threatened, "You speak to no one about what happened here tonight until you and I get a chance for a sit down ... understand? You walked into the restaurant ... and the next thing you remember, I was checking to see if you were hit. That's it!"

To ensure that she understood the importance of his demand, Parker had had one of his Squad members standing near the cop for the entirety of the past five hours.

"Take me through it," Kreggen repeated to Parker again, wanting more.

"I saw her round the corner there," Parker went on, gesturing toward the end of the block. He described where all of the team members were at the time. "As she neared the--"

"Your team was outside?" Kreggen asked. His tone was doubtful.

"Outside," Parker confirmed. "Surveillance. That's how its done. I know it's been a long time since you were a real cop, Captain, but surveillance--"

"We have witnesses who say your squad was in the restaurant," the IAB investigator interrupted, used to being called all sorts of derogatory things by men and women who considered themselves real cops and him not so much so. He continued, "They say your team were inside when the shooting began."

"They're wrong, Captain," Parker said without hesitation. He ignored the accusation and looked off toward the corner, continuing, "Fearing that the op' was about to--"

"You had no one inside prior to the first shot?" Kreggen insisted. He studied the silent Parker for a moment, offering, "Nothing's on paper yet, Sergeant. If, perhaps ... you're remembering something with more clarity now ... this would be the time to--"

"My team was out ... side," Parker cut in firmly, "We only entered the restaurant in response to gun fire." He gestured toward the cop watching him from across the street, "She entered ... we heard shots ... we responded--"

"And killed seven high ranking members of a Russian crime ring ... on their own turf ... surrounded by heavily armed personnel who also account for another four dead," Kreggen cut in with a tone dripping in doubt. He added, "Without your squad suffering any casualties."

Parker raised his bandaged arm. "What do you call this. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my tennis game?" When the IAB investigator only stared at him, Parker stressed again, "None of my team was inside the restaurant prior to the fireworks beginning."

As if on cue, a string of firecrackers began exploding several blocks away, the pops echoing over the city. Kreggen flinched at the unexpected sound, but Parker barely registered them. Parker asked with impatience, "Are we done here?"

"Not hardly," Kreggen said, his tone as accusatory as normal. They stared each other down for a moment before Kreggen demanded, "My office, 10am. I want the entire Squad there ... statements and interviews."

Parker shrugged his shoulders, as if neither confirming nor denying his willingness to show up. He turned away to go speak to some of his Squad members. They each glanced this way and that as they discussed the night's event. But eventually, all attention turned to the cop who -- with a fresh ice pack now strapped to her chest -- was buttoning up her blouse. He borrowed a flask of whiskey from one of the men, then told the Squad about the morning meeting and sent them home. As they headed for their vehicles, Parker headed for the pretty cop.

"Give us a moment," Parker said with a polite smile to the EMT. After the paramedic left, Parker offered out the flask. "It's okay. I think we can call this off the clock."

He waited to see whether she would partake, then slipped the flask into an inside jacket pocket. He looked around for eavesdroppers, then looked back to the patrol officer.

"Sorry about that," Parker said, gesturing toward the ice pack over the wounds he caused. "I was trying to maintain my cover ... not kill you. I knew you were wearing a vest. It'll hurt for a few days, but ... you'll be fine. Listen..."

He glanced around for people too close for his comfort before continuing, "There's more going on here than I can explain here and now. I need you to forget what you saw here tonight ... and remember only what I tell you to remember."

Parker knew that she'd seen him and maybe one or two of his Squad members inside the restaurant when she entered, but he told her, "You entered the restaurant ... but before you noticed anyone in particular ... any faces you could ID ... you got shot and went down. Obviously, I'm not the one who shot you."

Once again, he looked about for eavesdroppers. "I can make great things happen with your career. Or..." He finished with a tone that was an obvious threat. "...I can make sure that the next time someone shoots at you ... they aren't aiming at your vest."

"Sergeant!" a voice called from near the restaurant.

Parker gestured acknowledgment to the undercover there, then looked back to the injured cop. He smiled politely. "Just ... consider my offer."

He pulled out the flask, slid it under the nearby vest, and walked away, hoping that he wasn't going to find himself having to kill a fellow police officer. He'd hate to have to do that again so soon after having done so just a year before.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Valerie Piquette was having a rough night. She had no fucking clue what the hell was going on, and she was only half sure she wanted to find out-the stress of the firefight, even though she had already been laid low for most of it, raked across her nerves.

She was a smaller woman, maybe five two or so. She kept her lithe body toned and fit, spent a significant amount of time in the precinct gym. She cut a nice figure even in the police uniform. She had large, dark eyes that matched the dark brown of her curly hair. Some of those curls had fallen out of her bun, framing her olive skinned, heart shaped face.

She was small for a cop, even a female one-and she felt a little like she'd been hit by a car-or shot. The bullets had knocked her flat on her back. A reckless shooting-she could have died. She almost hadn't donned the vest that morning-it was a little warm, her father was just a big worrier-she almost hadn't worn it. She'd never been shot before, she was just a beat cop-fresh out of the academy, only two years on the force. Green but studious, smart. And now her chest was on fire, the ice pack doing little to comfort her.

She glanced to the man hovering nearby. Valerie was plenty tough, but she wasn't stupid. Whatever was going on, it was shoot-at-a-fellow-cop bad. The man had parked a baby sitter to make sure she said exactly what she had been told to say.

And she had. It wasn't hard to be seen as believable in her confusion-she WAS confused.

She stuck to the story. She didn't see what had happened or who fired-she showed up in uniform in response to a call and came to on her back with two slugs in her vest and Parker checking to see if she was okay. She didn't remember who was inside. She wasn't sure who was outside. She was just a dumb, stupid beat cop.

He came over to talk to her and she felt herself tense up, buttoning the shirt a little faster. He sent the EMT away, and now she felt she had to look at him, given it was just the two of them.

Dark eyes looked at the flask, then shifted past it to him. She shook her head and curled her hands around the edges of the stretcher. She didn't say anything. Not yet-but he said plenty.

She could feel her face color as he spoke, her mind going into overdrive. What...what the fuck was this? He threatened her, and Valerie managed a tight nod. She didn't know what else to say-her mouth had gone dry and she almost didn't trust herself not to say something that could get her killed.

She was a mixture of outraged and anxious, her thoughts flashing on her father. She wasn't relishing the idea of mentioning the shooting to him-he had finally stopped emailing her job listings for office work a month ago, she didn't need more of that. He would believe her, of course, but who knows what action could be taken-it was her word against Parker's...and a bunch of a dead men for witnesses.

Maybe some corrective action or an investigation, but then he might make good on his threat to shoot her in the head, next time.

As of yet, she had no idea what she was going to do-and no idea what might happen next.

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

Parker placed himself in a position that allowed him to keep an eye on Valerie while he discussed a few more details with his squad. They had to have their stories straight without sounding as if they were keeping their stories straight.

"Who are these witnesses Kreggen was talking about?" asked Jack. A bit closer, he said, "I didn't think we left anyone alive inside who saw anything worth seeing."

"We didn't," one of the others said firmly.

"Don't know, doesn't matter," Parker cut in as a conversation on the subject threatened to erupt. When all eyes shifted to him. "Doesn't matter what anyone else says. Only matters what we say."

The advantage of being an independent law enforcement squad that operated so far out on the edge was that there was no one to look over their shoulders. Oh sure, Kreggen had made an appearance, but the Squad didn't answer to IAB: they only answered to the 1PP.

The Mayor had appointed Robert Piquette Police Commissioner on the promise of rooting out the worst of the worst in both organized criminal activity and public corruption. Parker and his team reported directly to Piquette, and it was Piquette alone who could take any sort of corrective action against them should they ever be accused of doing anything inappropriate.

Well, to an extent. It wasn't as if Parker could walk up to a random thug on the street and put a bullet in his head without some sort of consequence. But, IAB...? It'd take a helluva a lot more than Kreggen interviewing some local looking down from a third story window to make a case that the Squad had done anything wrong.

"What about her?"

Parker looked between the men, all of whom were staring at him. He glanced off toward Valerie, then back to his Squad. "She's under control."

"For now maybe," Jack said. When Parker looked to him, the Sergeant pointed to a shiny black Towncar speeding under the crime scene tape as an officer lifted it high. "You didn't know, did you?"

As Parker watched the car hurry to a stop and the back door fly open, all he could do was murmur, "Fu-u-u-u-u-ck ... really?"



Police Commissioner Robert Piquette snagged the first uniformed officer he could find, asking, "Where is she...? Officer Valerie Piquette! I was told--"

The cop pointed the Force's highest ranking member toward the nearby EMT vehicle. He hurried ahead, followed closely by the bodyguard the Mayor had forced him to have near 24/7 after having taken down a powerful Serbian heroine smuggling ring months earlier. He came around the end of the vehicle, and by the look in Valerie's eyes he could tell she wasn't happy to see him.

"Are you okay, honey?" he said, all father, not cop. He looked at the wrap over her shoulder holding the ice pack in place. "What happened...?"

Before she could even get a word out, his concern shifted to anger. "What happened! I told you! This isn't--"

He went silent suddenly. This wasn't the place for this, he knew. They were very private people, and a public street at 3am was not the place to once again go over his disappointment that she'd decided to follow him into the family business. For six generations, Piquettes had been cops, and Valerie had cousins and uncles who were cops now, her in New York City, in Boston, in D.C., and -- even in distant Seattle. But Robert had been telling Valerie since she was six that she would never be a cop. Not my daughter!

And here she was shot just two years into the job. This was it: she was out. He wouldn't tell her that now, of course, but ... he'd find a way. Fuck! He was the Police Commissioner. If he couldn't find a way to get his daughter off the force, then why have a position like this?

 

[Ambrosia_64]

(Aw...I love her dad.)

Why, why, why, had she ever thought her father wouldn't find out about this until she told him? Did someone call him up, or did he just listen to his scanner whenever she was on duty? Blushing furiously and slipping to her feet, she forgot, briefly, about the fucked up nature of the shooting and went full damage control-the concerned Commissioner towering over his petite daughter.

"Daddy-I'm fine, really, it-" But there he went, over protective father mode even as she tried to calm him down, lifting her hands to gesture for quiet-but wincing, the muscles of her chest protesting painfully when she lifted the same arm on that side. She didn't even want to know what bruises she was going to have on that side of her chest for the next several weeks.

She tried to cover the wincing up with more assurances.

"I was wearing the vest you got me, look, I'm okay, I'm fine." Nevermind she almost left it at home, and had been doing so here and there. She was 24! He had to stop being like this about the police work-she was a good cop, she was going to get somewhere doing it, and he had to just accept that!

Or else she was going to move-and that was the threat that finally got him to relent, a little, when she insisted on going to the Academy.

He wanted to know what happened, and he was going to analyze it six ways to Sunday but...what was she going to tell him? She felt anxious, suddenly, having her father there, his back to Parker and his ilk.

She hesitated, a shadow of anxiety flickering over her fragile features. She didn't have enough information. They had threatened her life. She didn't relish being at risk, but she certainly didn't want to place her father-already a target for every scumbag in this town-in further danger.

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

He may have been the Police Commissioner, and this may have been police incident. But the daddy in him just wouldn't go away. He asked Valerie questions almost faster than she could answer them: who shot her, how many shots, did she discharge her gun, where did the shots come from, was she on duty, did she have back up, did she see the shooter...

Many of the questions were slightly altered versions of previous ones, and many of them could have been skipped if Robert's mind hadn't been racing so quickly about almost having lost his daughter. He was trying to find that perfect opening to tell Valerie it was time for her to think about a new line of work. But she was good at not letting him steer the question that direction.

The conversation took a major twist, though, when Robert looked off to his left and caught sight of a familiar face. He found his bodyguard, gestured him over, and -- though the words were meant as much for Valerie -- told him, "I want my daughter in an ambulance and on her way to General Memorial, now. She's going to tell you that she doesn't need to go to the hospital ... but you're going to remind her that she's a cop and she'll do what the Police Commissioner tells her to do ... or she will be looking for a new job."

He turned to give Valerie a sharp look. Then, smiling, he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead before saying, "Just be glad you're no longer at home. Your momma would spank you."

He ordered the bodyguard to get it done, and walked off toward his Special Assignment Unit...



"Here he comes," Sergeant Carter said for the second time tonight, this time about the Cop Top.

Robert Piquette stepped up close to Parker, shaking hands with the Squad's leader before asking, "Is there anything you want to tell me about what happened here tonight, Lieutenant?"

The two men had an understanding about the Squad's operations: Robert only asked Parker the bare minimum of what he needed to know to reassure himself that the Squad was still a good idea; and Parker only answered those questions that ensured that reassurance. And that was just what he did this night, too, reporting the names of those targets of the current investigation that were here tonight, what their fate was, and what further steps were needed to call the operation a successful conclusion.

"And my daughter?" the Commissioner asked with a leading tone.

"That was some unfortunate business, sir," Parker said cryptically.

Robert stared at the man in silence for a moment, repeating with expectation, "Unfortunate business? Care to elaborate?"

"We suspect that there may have been a 9-1-1 call made that resulted in her arriving on the premises," Parker said with such skillful deceit that it sounded entirely truthful. "I was unaware that this neighborhood was part of your daughter's beat."

"Purely coincidental, then," Robert asked, hoping to God that his daughter had not been a pawn -- intentional or otherwise -- in Parker's operation. When Parker reassured his boss that Valerie's arrival on the scene had been pure chance, he nodded his acknowledgment and reached out to shake the Squad Leader's hand again. "Good work, Lieutenant. You'll come by my office tomorrow and make a full report?"

"I just did," Parker said. That was his way of saying There really isn't anymore you want to know, Commissioner. He watched Robert head away for his chauffeured Towncar again, telling the members of the Squad, "Go home, get some sleep. IAB interviews and reports in the morning. Keep'em short and sweet, of course."

The special branch cops headed away from Parker, all except for Carter. After a moment, the Sergeant asked, "Did you have any idea when you made the 9-1-1 call that the beat cop on duty was the Commissioner's daughter."

Parker laughed, as if amused by the absurdity of the question. "Hell, 'til I saw the man hug the sweet little thing, I wasn't even aware he had a kid on the force."

The pair watched the Commish drive off, and Carter followed up, "What are you gonna do about her?"

Parker thought about it for a moment. He knew exactly what his second in command was asking: how do we make sure she keeps silent about what she saw tonight? They weren't entirely sure just how much Valerie understood about tonight's event. After all, she'd only been inside the door of the restaurant a few seconds before Parker stepped out before her and put two rounds into her vest. What else had she seen? Has she seen Carter standing the three already dead Russians who he'd killed with a silenced pistol that would later be traced to one of the Russian leader's own bodyguard? Has she seen the bag of cash sitting on the floor, still open, revealing multiple bundles that the Squad would later count and find to total almost $120,000? These were all very good questions for which Parker would love to have answers.

"Go to the precinct tomorrow and pick her up," Parker told Carter. "Bring her by the club house."

Carter asked hesitantly, "She's, um .. she's the Commish's daughter."

Parker laughed, slapped his friend's back, and headed for his own car to call it a night, calling over his shoulder, "I'm not going to kill her, dummy. I'm going to give her a job."

"A job?" Carter asked with shock.

"Sure. Best way to keep an eye on her ... is to have her join the Squad. Right?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Valerie didn't play quite as dumb as she had with the earlier detective-but she repeated a lot of what she was supposed to, for now. Her father was so worried, firing questions off faster than she could respond to them, he didn't seem to take notice of her strange lack of detail, or that she didn't recall anything inside or outside the restaurant.

As much as he wanted to coddle her and as much as Valerie had been struggling against being smothered for the past several years-it didn't feel good to lie to her father.

Or particularly smart.

"Dad, the bodyguard is for your protection." She protested, already being led away. God dammit, she had a shift in the morning, and was fine! She wasn't going to go home for dinner for a month.

Fuck, and now he was going to go talk to them. Anxiously watching him stride away, she assured herself that no one on the force would be dumb enough to try and hurt him.

Then again, she would have thought no one would shoot a uniformed police officer, either. Information. She needed more information, and then she could decide what to do. She was just a beat cop. The commissioner's daughter, but just a beat cop. Her word didn't mean much, and if her dad thought she was in danger-well, she could kiss her fledgling career goodbye.

/////////////////////////////

Valerie kept her expression neutral, but her heart rate was amping up at an alarming rate. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can step out at the moment." She tried, her dark eyes flicking past Carter, trying to see who was seeing her talking to him. This was crazy. She should not be worrying about disappearing.

She regretted not talking to her father the night before, now.

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

Sergeant Carter had flashed his badge to the Desk Sergeant at the 44th Precinct, then again to the Precinct's Lieutenant. They had both been suspicious of the unfamiliar man requesting to see Officer Piquette, and neither one of them had ever heard of the Special Assignments Unit. But mentioning the Department's word of the day -- the code word that undercovers used to identify themselves when they weren't carrying a badge -- actually got him an escort all the way to the squad room where Valerie was just finishing getting her briefing for the day.

"Let's take a drive," he said, noting the surprise in her eyes at seeing him. Carter had been the Squad member who had stood always within view of her while the paramedic had been dealing with her wounds. He could see the hesitation in her face, so he told her in a lower volume meant only for her, "Relax. If we were going to hurt you, the LT would have aimed higher last night ... right?"

He led her down to the street to a very unremarkable sedan. He even opened the passenger door for her like a gentleman. Of course, referring to her likely bruised chest, he couldn't help but ask with a smirk, "How's the tit?"



They left Manhattan, crossing over the East River into Brooklyn Heights. It was one of New York City's seedier neighborhoods, but it was also home to four of the Squad's 9 members. Carter parked at a corner, ignoring the fact that half of the car was in a loading zone and the other half was in a handicapped space.

"C'mon," he said simply. It was the first word Carter had spoken to Valerie since getting into the car. He went to the door of an obviously closed corner bar -- O'Malley's -- and yet when he pulled on the door it opened right up for him. "The LT's inside."

He didn't follow her in. But sure enough, waiting inside, sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty glass of thick beer was Parker Davis. He smiled to her politely, standing and gesturing her to sit on a stool next to his. He didn't sit down, though, instead curling around behind the bar while he asked if she wanted anything to drink or eat.

"How're the ribs?" he asked, touching his own chest in the spot where Valerie had taken his bullets the night before. After she'd responded, he explained, "As I said last night, I wasn't trying to hurt you. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time ... and if I hadn't shot you, one of the thugs we took down last night would have. And they don't typically aim for the vest."

He set their drinks and snacks on the bar, and circled back around to sit near her. He took a moment to gander at her body, not trying to hide his appreciation of her appearance. Valerie was used to men looking at her form. He knew that.

"I'm sure you want a little more information about what the hell went down last night," he went on, tossing a chip into his mouth and crunching it. He studied her a moment, then continued, "And you'll get it ... that information, I mean ... the moment you tell me that you'd be willing to join our squad."

Parker watched Valerie's reaction to his sudden and unexpected offer. He smiled. "We need another young female member. We're down to one now. Carver's off on maternity leave, though I don't know how she ever found the time to get knocked up."

He laughed, then continued, "And O'Hara's out for a while, too. Bullet. This'n didn't hit a vest, so ... she's out for a few months."

He tossed another chip into his mouth, not waiting to chomp it up before he asked, "So, whatcha think. It's an instant promotion. You won't carry the rank of Sergeant, but you'll get the pay and benefits of one. Car from the motor pool. Hell, cars! I change'em up every couple of weeks. Did you see the Mercedes out front? No uniform. Undercover. That carries another pay raise, by the way. Advanced weapons training class. Expense account."

He lifted a hand before him and rubbed his fingers together in a very familiar money money money gesture. "Couple of grand a week, I think it is now. And, if you don't use it on the job..." He shrugged. "Put it away in a safe deposit box somewhere. You know, for a rainy day."

He could have gone on much farther than that, but Parker had to remember that Valerie was the Commissioner's kid. Robert didn't ask questions about such things as where all the money was going. But that didn't mean that if his daughter came to him with some interesting stories, he wouldn't follow up on them.

"So ... interested?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Valerie had not found Carter very reassuring. She was even less comforted by the emptiness of the bar. No one had demanded her side arm, however, so maybe she wasn't about to be shot and dumped off the docks.

She shook her head at the offer of food or drink. She was still on duty. And her stomach was twisted up enough she was sure anything edible would just taste like sand, right now.

"...bruised something ugly, but I'll live." Valerie responded to the inquiry of her health taking the seat indicated, her heart hammering even as she adopted as casual an attitude as possible. Just two cops talking, the blue line she had lived near all of her life-and was now proudly, finally a member of.

She didn't respond to his claim of saving her ass. Valerie wasn't so sure. If she hadn't been wearing a vest, would he still have shot her? If there was a sting or something going on, why had she been dispatched out there?

There had already been downed men when she had arrived. Shit had already started going bad.

He was looking at her. She had let Carter's rude comment go-and she was indeed used to being looked over. It didn't make her okay with it. Being a woman on the force had it's difficulties, and you had to pick your battles if you wanted to be taken seriously, wanted to avoid being written off as a "feminazi skirt". It wasn't fair, but it was how things were.

When his eyes met hers, he'd find the dark, pretty eyes a little narrowed, watching him. She wasn't amused.

"I'm sure you want a little more information about what the hell went down last night," A curt nod. "And you'll get it ... that information, I mean ... the moment you tell me that you'd be willing to join our squad."

"I think you've got this backwards." Valerie said, surprised-but also alarmed. She wanted information, she didn't want to sign a blank check! "And I don't find much appealing in tokenism. I have two years on the force. Don't you think it's going to look a little odd if all of a sudden I'm working with a bunch of sergeants?"

Did her father know about this? Was it his idea to sideline her or something? She frowned, her eyes flickering to the door. What the hell was going on?

Her brows furrowed, voice lowering. "Look, I don't...I don't know what I walked into last night." Her eyes returned, intelligent, troubled, and a bit anxious even if determined. She wasn't going to share the specifics of what she saw, not yet. "But it didn't look above board. I'm a good cop. I want to stay a good cop."


She wasn't tempted by what she saw as bribery. They wanted her quiet, and after seeing her father with her last night, probably thought threats wouldn't be enough. She had done a bit more than a little freaking out this morning before work. She was tired, had hardly slept, and anxious her father was going to redouble his efforts to get her to quit.

She was also worried about getting shot for seeing things she probably hadn't been meant to see.

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

"Tokenism...?" Parker repeated, smiling. He repeated, "Tokenism ... I don't think I've ever used that word in my entire 50 years of being able to form words."

He was smiling, playing with Valerie. Not rudely; just teasing a slight bit. He continued almost to himself, "Mama, papa, ball, food ... tokenism. Yeah ... no, never."

He laughed and stood to go around behind the bar again as he continued, "This isn't about having a token female on the Squad, Officer Piquette. This is about have a female for when our Under Cover operations require the participation of one. Male UCs have a hard time flirting their way past a 300 pound bouncer outside a Mob night club."

He reached under the bar again, pulled out a file folder, and tossed it onto the counter before her. It had emblazoned across it in red CLASSIFIED PERSONNEL FOLDER with another stamp in black announcing COPY -- DESTROY AFTER USE. Just below those words were the identifying words, PIQUETTE, VALERIE S.

"And as far as having only been on the force for two years," he continued, pulling a cold beer out of a glass fronted mini fridge behind him, "you've done some good work, good enough for me to offer this promotion without raising the eye brows of anyone whose attention I give a fuck about."

He opened the file -- revealing Valerie's picture on the front sheet -- then began turning pages one by one as he went on. "4 August 2015, you chase a mugger for eighteen blocks through crowded city blocks, catching him just before he gets into Central Park and disappears. Eighteen fucking blocks!"

Parker laughed. "Not a person on the Squad, male or female, who could have done that. Would have done that. For a mugger? Why'd you do it? For the little old lady whose purse he'd taken...? For the glory...? To prove to yourself that you could do it? Maybe 'cause that's just what a good cop does?"

He sipped from his bottle before continuing, "By the way, I asked around. For doing that, you didn't get any, what's that word ... accolades? No medal, no pat on the back. In fact--"

He turned the page to a performance review sheet. "In fact, you got chastised by your Sergeant for wasting your time chasing a two bit punk who stole a purse, didn't you? Said you were 10 blocks off your beat taking down a crack head who was just gonna be back out on the street before the ink dried on the booking sheet."

Parker reached into his shirt pocket, removed a folded piece of newsprint, and laid it out before Valerie. It was just a snippet from the Daily Ledger -- buried on page 24 -- with the headline Cop returns purse; saves life?

"Did you even get a pat on the back 'cause that worthless purse you chased down had that little old lady's med's in it?" he asked. "That without them she might have ended up in the emergency room?"

He gave Valerie a moment to recall the contrast between the response from the very grateful woman and her less than tickled desk sergeant, then flipped over several more pages as he continued...

"12 November 2015, reported suspicious activity at a bus stop ... led to the arrest of a twelve-times pedophile the department had sought for more than six years..."

Pages flipped, this one including a picture of Valerie's face with a major bruise on it.

"4 February 2016, stepped into the fray of what looked like a simple domestic dispute. Took down the husband ... eighty pounds heavier than you, took him down on your own ... made the arrest ... baby sat the wife and children until Family Services found them a shelter. Did you know that they later found out he'd killed his first wife and his second one's been missing for six years?"

Parker studied Valerie and turned more pages...

"22 September 2016 ... 26 December 2016, day after Christmas ... 8 March of this year ... and again, 30th of last month. You've done good work, Officer Piquette ... Valerie ... but..."

He closed the file and pushed it closer to her, indicating that if she wanted it she could take it.

"But it's just work," he said, dismissively. "In the eyes of your chain of command, you're just doing your job. Doin' what you're paid to do. You're protecting the people of New York City, and that's a good thing! But ... are you really making a difference that matters?"

It was pretty obvious in Parker's tone that while he respected Valerie for who and what she was, he thought that she was and could be far more of both. In all honesty, Parker likely would have offered this opportunity to Valerie without her playing her unsuspecting part in last night's event, had he ever seen her file before this morning.

(Parker hadn't been to bed since long before the shootout last night. He'd returned to Police Plaza -- to the inconspicuous, unmarked office his Squad kept in the basement of 1PP -- to dig up all the information he could on the young cop. He'd wanted to see whether the best course of action was to invite her to the team ... or slip a midnight special to a neighborhood crack head and point Valerie out for an unfortunate random cop killing. He'd chose the former, obviously, though the latter was still an option if it became necessary.)

"As far as what you walked into last night," Parker continued, pulling yet another file out from under the bar. He opened it, turning page after page as he identified and described one Russian mobster after another. He told her a long laundry list of their crimes, told her about how they'd escaped justice by knocking off witnesses or by destroying evidence, told her about how the Squad had discovered and investigated the gang's white slavery business for the last four months only to have a mole inside the Detective's Bureau tip the Russians off.

"We found the house where they were keeping the girls," he said, his tone suddenly somber. He turned another page, revealing a photograph of six young women dead on the floor of a dingy apartment. He described the killings: "Destroy the evidence."

He closed the file, but this time he returned it to under the counter. "We took down one of the City's most dangerous and bloodied criminal organizations last night in the only way we thought we could. Like you and your purse snatcher ... your wife beater ... you pedophile ... we won't get a pat on the back ... no medals ... no picture on page one."

Parker sipped at the beer again, popped the top off a second one, and set it in front of Valerie. He said with a tone that left little doubt about his pride in his job, "But we don't do it for the ... accolades. We do it because we're all good cops ... even if, sometimes, we don't follow the letter of the law."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Parker was certainly comfortable in his own skin. Even, as she had found out, when threatening to murder someone.

Her eyes followed him as he teased his way around the bar, widening when he slapped her file on the varnished counter. He started reading, and Valerie dropped her head, taking her hat off to run a hand over her hair.

"...because he had something that didn't belong to him." She said simply in a slow, sort of reserved way-as if she had indeed taken a lot of shit for it, from multiple people. Her father in particular.

A full hour lecture about how she could have been shot or stabbed or led into an ambush. Just...on and on over hamburgers on the back porch.

"Look, I didn't do it for any of that, the lady lost her purse, I returned the purse." She tried to downplay the incident, but he went on, and Valerie started to feel more and more embarrassed, adjusting the collar of her shirt. She had just-she was just doing her job. She had wanted to be a cop, and she was happy being a cop. But she'd gotten no end of flak for taking the husband down, either. The bruise hadn't helped matters-she couldn't lie and say the guy hadn't landed anything on her.

And now, finally she learned what the hell had been going on last night. Reading along upside down, Valerie was finally assured, finally, that no double dealings had been going down-it had been police work. Off the books police work, but police work.

"And my father knows about this? He's...he's your direct superior right?" Her father was a good cop. He drove her nuts, but Valerie looked up to him, she always had. Why else would she have followed in his footsteps despite his insistence otherwise?

Valerie shifted, frowning at her hat. Her father.

"...even if I wanted to take the job-and I'm not sure I do, you threatened to have me fucking killed-" Yeah, she hadn't forgotten that part. "Pretty sure he would never allow it."

She ruminated over that a moment.

"Not that that would stop me."

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

"And my father knows about this? He's...he's your direct superior right?"

"Your father created the Special Assignments Unit," Parker told her. "We call it the Squad. I probably don't have to tell you this, but your father came into his current position with a vow to take down organized crime entities that were -- using a familiar and sometimes over used phrase these days -- too big to fail. These families, gangs, mobs, cartels ... whatever you want to call them ... they have their fingers deep into law enforcement, prosecution, politics. The Commissioner wanted a unit that could take down the worst of the worst, and that meant working outside the regular chain of command ... and, more importantly, outside the regular chain of reporting. Valerie, we report directly to and only to your father. We don't have to worry about the bad guys learning about what were up to ... because no one outside the Squad and your father knows anything about anything."

He didn't repeat to her that last night's altered plan had resulted in someone talking. He was pretty sure he knew how the Squad's upcoming bust got out, and it wasn't something he wanted to tell Valerie about until after she'd made a decision either way.

"...even if I wanted to take the job-and I'm not sure I do, you threatened to have me fucking killed-"

Parker chuckled lightly, rolling his eyes. He was trying to lighten the mood and had a reply, but Valerie continued, "Pretty sure he would never allow it."

"First, I threaten people all the time and don't follow through. It's part of the job sometimes," Parker told her in an apologetic tone. "I wouldn't have killed you if you'd spoken up. No one would have believed you, so ... I had no reason to take such action."

That was true: the Squad would have survived Valerie being truthful about what she'd seen. His claim that he wouldn't have her killed...? Well, she didn't know just how far he might go to protect himself, his men, and his organization.

"Listen, take a couple of days," he said, lifting his phone and pressing a button. A prewritten text went out over the air. "If you want to talk to your father about this ... that's fine." He smiled knowingly. "I'm sure that he'll back me up with my explanation of the good work we do. Whether or not he'd support you joining us...? Well, you know him better than we do."

As he'd been talking, Carter -- who'd been standing out side chatting up a neighborhood whore -- read the sent message, went to get something out of Parker's car, then headed inside to set it on the stool next to Valerie.

"Hey, sorry about the how's your tit comment from earlier," he said, glancing very briefly toward her bosom. "Was just joking."

He turned to head back outside, but as he did he recalled standing there watching Valerie being treated with her uniform blouse opened and said with humor, "I'm sure that after the bruising is gone, it'll be just a nice as it was before it almost got shot off."

Parker laughed at his partner's inappropriateness, telling Valerie quickly, "Ignore him, he's harmless. Horny! But harmless."

He'd been walking around to stand close to Valerie and now opened the bag to reveal dozens of bundles of cash. "Almost $90,000. We took this off the Russians last night."

He zipped the bag up again, then dropped it into Valerie's lap. "Do with it as you please. Pick a charity ... a school in need of text books, whatever. This is what we do with confiscated valuables. We turn bad into good ... and now its your chance. Do something good with it ... and maybe ... just maybe ... it'll make you feel good about coming to work for me. For me ... and your father."

Parker hadn't been planning on giving Valerie the cash, of course. And to be honest, he was only turning over about 40% of what they'd taken last night. But he couldn't be sure whether or not she'd seen the bag, sitting right there in the open just ten feet from where she'd been shot. And he was certain that her father had expected a large sum of cash to be found at the restaurant. So if Valerie did go to her father to ask about the Squad and did mention seeing the bag, he wanted Robert Piquette to believe that Parker had done the right thing with it.

He lifted his beer to his lips again as he looked into her eyes, waiting for her to make a decision...

 

[Ambrosia_64]

It seemed to be going well, Valerie was listening, nodding along as he spoke. She even believed him about the threat. He would see her tense shoulders relax just a bit-he might wonder if she had expected to be shot here in the bar.

At all the crassness, Valerie's face colored and she dropped her head with a "Jesus, guys-" in the sort of tone one did around friends and comrades, shoving her hat back on her head. An embarrassed, amused flicker of a smile at the corner of her lips, a shake of her head.

She was relieved. She was beyond relieved. For a weird horrible moment last night, she felt like she was living in a fucking spy film.

Course, maybe she was-wide eyed alarm at the bag of cash, genuine shock. "Uh-okay, sure." She wasn't sure that was a good protocol to have, but she knew her father would take care of it, legitimize it somehow if that was the problem.

Her father.

Valerie frowned, shifting the bag to the counter and sliding out of the bar stool. "When I walked in and you lifted that pistol, I thought I was dead."

Valerie admitted, a minute adjustment to her hat as she studied him. She reached forward, lifted the beer he'd left for her with a delicate, deft hand. She took a thoughtful sip before setting the beer firmly on the counter and picking the bag of money up. "...I'll take the job, assuming everything you've said is echoed by my father. I'll also uh, take him this ungodly amount of money, because he'll know better than me what to do with it." She seemed to be a little uncomfortable even having it in her possession.

Extending her right hand for a handshake, Valerie smiled. "Thanks, I guess, for scaring the bejesus out of me, sir."


///////////////////////////////////////////////
It had been a nice dinner. Valerie's mother had fussed only for a moment or two before bringing her a sweet iced tea and setting her down at the table, and her father hadn't even brought up her quitting the force, yet. He was busy showing her his newest gadget, a Chromecast-something he had hooked to the television that he could connect to on his phone.

She almost felt bad she was going to ruin things.

She told him about the meeting with Parker and that they had talked, a little, about the Squad. He was ruffled she had been the one to deliver the bag, but seemed pleased nevertheless, maybe even surprised.

"So, after a review of my record, the Lieutenant offered me a job."

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

Robert had been relatively quiet throughout dinner, biting his tongue over what had happened the night before. He knew that his daughter was awaiting his typical So, I saw this job advertisement intro. And while most parents would have thought that the day after their daughter had nearly been killed was the perfect time to be talking about a career change, Robert knew that it would only result in Valerie standing and heading out the door in fury.

When she showed him the bag of cash, her father quietly closed the bag again and pushed it under the table with a foot. He glanced toward his wife, who knew nothing about the Squad, then gave his daughter a knowing glance.

"So, after a review of my record, the Lieutenant offered me a job."

That ... did it, though. Robert cleared his throat in a way very familiar to his wife. She looked to him, caught his expression -- a very expressive nothingness she'd lived with for over three decades -- and told the pair of them, "Let me clear these dishes, and, honey--" She was looking at Valerie as she curled around to kiss her cheek. "--I hate to seem unsociable, but I have some calls to make to my book club members."

Robert sat there in silence until it was only him and his daughter, then looked at her and said firmly, "You will not ... go to work for the Special Assignments Unit."

He gave her just enough time to speak a couple of words before he stood and began pacing, telling her, "Valerie, you have no idea how dangerous that work is. You were there last night! You saw what happened! Eight dead!"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Valerie allowed the tension to break just long enough to give a warm "Love you" to her mother, waiting for her to leave the room before her and her father argued.

She met his gaze, her own very, very determined.

"It's an excellent opportunity Dad! I'd be stupid to turn it down for another decade of being a beat cop."

He started his pacing, and Valerie came to her feet too, crossing her arms over her sore chest and watching him move back and forth. "I've got a pretty good idea." She responded, leaning her hip against the table.

"All police work is dangerous-" Whoa not the tack to take, he'd have her interior decorating or something- "I excelled at the Academy, I've taken the detective exam and passed with flying colors-you know how hard I've worked Dad, I just, I'm happy being a beat cop but I could be doing more with my talents, not just...big fish in a small pond."

Back and forth, back and forth.

"You can't fault me for being ambitious-you're the police commissioner!"

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

"It's an excellent opportunity Dad!"

"Opportunity to get dead!" Robert cut in, not that it even slowed Valerie down. Robert grabbed the bag of cash with one hand and his daughter's elbow with the other and took them both to his den. He didn't want his wife -- her mother -- to hear this.

"I'd be stupid to turn it down for another decade of being a beat cop."

The argument went back and forth for several minutes, with Robert trying to make the job with the Squad sound dangerous without also making it sound as if he bred a killer dog and let it loose on the community.

"All police work is dangerous-"

Robert's reaction must have been exactly what his daughter had expected when she accidentally led off that way, because she very quickly changed the direction, "I excelled at the Academy, I've taken the detective exam and passed with flying colors-you know how hard I've worked Dad, I just, I'm happy being a beat cop but I could be doing more with my talents, not just...big fish in a small pond."

Back and forth, back and forth.

"You can't fault me for being ambitious-you're the police commissioner!"

For the first moment since they'd left the kitchen table, Robert went quiet. He was pacing still, though. The bag of cash caught his attention, causing him to contemplate all the positive things the Squad did. That cash would have financed a great deal more white slavery if it hadn't been confiscated. The eight dead leaders would be replaced soon enough: it would take a few months, maybe weeks; and it would take far longer than that for the new guys to get up to speed. But with the money off the street, too, that task was even harder.

He turned to face his daughter for a long moment, then told her, "I'll talk to Parker. I ... will talk to Parker. You will stay away from him until I do. Understand?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Valerie's determined gaze met her father's serious one, unrelenting. "...okay, but remember-if I can't get anywhere here, I'm going to Seattle to work with cousin Charlie, dad. I'm a cop, I can't be anything else. Your anti nepotism be damned."

He drew her into a hug and, despite the discomfort in her bruised chest, she found herself returning it tightly, remembering the night before when she had thought, briefly, she might be accidentally putting him in more danger, before she knew what was going on with the Squad.

"I love you old man. I'm sorry I keep giving you heart attacks-but I love you."

//////////////////

The closed bar again.

Valerie thanked Carter and stepped inside, unsure how she would find things. She hoped her dad wasn't legitimately sabotaging her career-she had meant what she said about Seattle, but Charlie was kind of a dick and she secretly wouldn't like being that far away from her parents.

He didn't have to know that, of course. If he had, she would have never been allowed to go to the Academy in the first place, given that's what she had had to threaten then.

Plus, it was embarrassing-she was 24. If she had been his son, it would have been another story, but nope.

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

"Welcome to the Squad," Parker greeted Valerie after waving her this time to a back booth in the bar. When she sat across from him, he tossed a large manila envelope onto the table before her. "Paperwork. Transfer, change of grade, confidentiality explanation and such. Give me your gun and badge."

He gesture to her impatiently with one hand as he reached to the booth seat for a case made of strong composite material. He tapped 0-0-0-0-0 into the lock and opened it to reveal three handguns: a 9mm Glock that could handle a 14 shot clip, a much smaller profile 9mm Beretta, and an even smaller 5 shot .38 Special.

"Each of these has a purpose ... a time when they will be used," Parker said, closing the lid and sliding the box toward Valerie. He stood, telling her, "I have a meeting ... but Victor'll tell you all about the firearm protocol ... then walk you through what you need to know to get started."

He looked off toward a man who had just emerged from the hallway leading back to the bathrooms. "Vic, Val ... Val, Vic."

And with that, Parker shook Valerie's hand, welcomed her again, then headed out, leaving the Squad's youngest, sexiest female member alone with the Squad's youngest, sexiest male member. Victor walked over and offered his hand.

"Welcome to the squad, Val," he said, flashing a perfect, toothy smile. "Or do you prefer Valerie?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Short, abrupt, and to the point.

Valerie nodded, wondering just what the hell her father had said to him-the change in his demeanor from yesterday was more than a little disconcerting. With a final shake of her hand and a final "Welcome to the Squad.", Parker was gone.

Huh.

Dark, slightly puzzled eyes flicked back to Victor. He was taller, either six foot even or just short of it, with broad shoulders and chest, body shape tapering down to his waist in a vague triangle. He was toned but not overly ripped, attractive definition in his arms and thighs from what she could tell through his clothing. Dark blond hair and crystalline blue eyes, a slight, natural tan. He was very handsome, almost pretty were it not for the cut of his jaw-and very male. He was in his late twenties to early thirties, probably 29 if she were going to guess.

Working with a bunch of men, Valerie tried to avoid attention. She wasn't tail to be chased, she was a professional. But for some stupid reason, she wished she was dressed in something other than her uniform and police hat, her dark curls caught in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She hadn't felt like dressing up since she was a sophomore in college, dating that stupid Brian-a boy her father had despised. Might have had something to do with it.

She returned the smile, managing not to stare at him, standing tall and extending one of her smaller hands for a shake. "Thank you. I prefer Valerie, but I'll answer to either, Victor. Nice to meet you." Very nice, but he was a coworker, and the Squad was a team-she wasn't going to show up and mess with the dynamics of it. She was young, but she was too serious to go chasing tail either. Too bad.

His hand swallowed hers, a firm handshake. Yes, too bad.

"So-what do I need to know?" Business. Yes, better to talk about business.

For his part, Victor would be looking at a petite, olive skinned woman in her early to mid twenties, surprisingly shapely-her curves were apparent even in the admittedly dowdy police uniform. Her empty holster hung off one of her curved hips, the silver sheen of the dangling handcuffs, a pouch for pepper spray, the standard nightstick. He towered over her, but she carried herself well. Her pants and shirt were pressed, the shirt tucked neatly in with the standard issue black belt unintentionally showing off a tiny waist.

Her hair was dark and pulled back into a no nonsense bun, her pretty face lacking any make up-not that she really needed it. Her lips were full and prettily shaped, her dark, fathomless eyes hinted at her intelligence and determination, and they were fringed with dark, long eyelashes that would have made any woman jealous. Pert nose, defined cheekbones. She seemed fit, but it was hard to determine in the uniform.

She was attractive and had a practical, down to earth nature about her, neither stuck up nor flighty. He might know who her father was, he might not-she did her best to keep the fact under wraps. There was no denying her appeal-and her left hand wasn't adorned with a ring. Matter of fact, she didn't seem to be wearing any jewelry.

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

Victor looked Valerie over well. The lack of a hungry smile was the only thing that kept his study of her from easily being called an ogle. She was definitely attractive but not overly so, and the Squad needed that right now: a young woman who could be uglied down to look like a homeless crack whore or prissied up to look like an expensive escort.

"So, what do I need to know?" Valerie asked.

"Stand up," Victor said politely, offering a hand.

Whether she took it or not, once she'd risen from the booth and was on her feet before him, Victor would reach both hands to her waist, unbuckling her utility belt. It was a bit more intimate than probably appropriate, with his finger tips pressing against her uniform shirt over her belly, just inches above that destination on a woman that all men hoped to one day reach. But it wouldn't be the last time either of them would be closer to a fellow Squad member for one reason or another. Such innocent though seemingly intimate behavior was just par for the Under Cover course.

"You won't need this ever again," he told Valerie as he slung the belt off her waist and tossed it onto the booth's table. He looked down to her bosom, this time with a tiny bit of an approving smile. Looking back up, Victor told her, "Lose the uniform. You'll never wear it again ... ever. Once Squad, always Squad."

He half turned and gestured her toward the inner depths of the bar.

"There's some women's clothes in the back room ... second door on the right down the hall ... code on the door is always the most recent Pick Five number ... so ... if you don't follow the lottery ... start."

He once again gave Valerie's form a once over. "Pick something ... eye catching. We need to go check out your new apartment ... then make a visit to the gun range ... then do some shopping ... and I want people to notice you."

And yet for a third time -- more noticeably than before -- Victor let his gaze scan Valerie from head to toe and back up again. He smiled broadly. "Not that people wouldn't anyway."