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bedlamsbardYes, so well, the interlude that was supposed to be between chapters five and six? Will probably be (the edited version, that is) between chapters six and seven, since the Mac/Danny antagonization scene isn't coming till six. Of course, I have to figure out if I can actually write Mac freaking out, and if I can, if I should write the scene where Curly Sassone and Phil DaCosta confront Mac, Stella, and Aiden.
I can understand Danny, I can write him, I can more or less get inside his head. I can write Flack, but only from somebody else's point of view. I don't have much of a hold on the others at all. Like the hold I have on Mac? I'm making it all up. Stella and Aiden I should be able to relate to, because I mean, closest like in real life. Strong-willed females with not that many problems. Stella seems like the best bet. So if I can write Danny, and I can write Stella, I should be able to do most of Snafu from their points of view, and hopefully I'll be able to pin Mac, Flack, and Aiden down. Aiden should be easiest.
And do I have a clue what's going on in Snafu right now? Not a clue. Not at all.
“Hey, Danny, we’ve got a fuckload of a lot of blood back here,” Flack called. Danny went over to him, frowning. Most of the blood in the room – fuck that, in the house, they were still finding sprays of it in the weirdest places – was fresh enough and thick enough that it hadn’t dried yet. It got all over their clothes and their hands and various pieces of Danny’s kit, and left a smell of iron thick in their noises.
“C’mon, Flack, not more of the stuff. How many people died here, anyway?”
Flack’s eyes flicked back towards the living room. “More than three?”
“Jesus. And we’re gonna have to swab and test all this stuff, too. The DNA techs are gonna kill us – oh, fuckin’ Christ.” This last was voiced in a resigned sigh as Flack pulled open the closet door. Blood had leaked out from the under the edge of it, pooling in thick wet puddles of scarlet on the carpet. Stuffed inside was the body of a naked woman, a wire wrapped around her neck, her face so bloody and scratched it was unrecognizable.
“Aw, fuck,” Flack said. “Fuck, fuck, fuckin’ fuck. Not another one. Who ordered the massacre, anyway?”
“I’m guessin’ it wasn’t Patriso,” Danny said shortly. “No one plans on endin’ up as a corpse.” He paused. “’cept the suicide Hawkes and I peeled off Broadway last week, though.”
“That was a suicide? Thought it was a murder, the one you and Stella were working overtime on for, like, days or somethin’.”
“Yeah, that’s what it looked like, but it turned out to be a suicide.” Danny raised his camera. “Go check if our perp left any other surprises for us, why don’t ya’?”
Flack wandered off, calling over his shoulder, “Four bodies, two moved to a public place, three out of four different MOs – I think we’re lookin’ at more than one killer here. No one guy coulda pulled this kind of shit off all on his lonesome.”
“Ya’ think?” Danny demanded. The camera clicked and whirred, recording the woman’s brutal death for eternity.
“Got more blood in the bathroom.” Flack ambled back down the hall several minutes later. “No more bodies, but I found a hand. Any of our vics missing one?”
“A hand?”
“Yeah. Been finding a lot of those lately.” He made a face. “People have gotta stop cuttin’ off body parts, it’s startin’ t’ gross me out.”
“No body?”
“Just the hand. Right hand, actually, three silver rings, looks like there’s some blood under the nails.” He seemed proud of himself. “Oh, and – wait for it – more blood. Ya’ coulda seen that one comin’, huh?”
“Flack, the only thing that’s normal in this house is the blood.” Danny paused, slung the camera back over his shoulder. “I just said that the blood in this house is normal, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. I was wonderin’ what you were talking about, there.”
“Shit, I’ve been workin’ this place too long. Show me the hand, then we’ll get some fresh air.”
*
“Shit like this, makes me wish I still smoked,” Danny confided to Flack, standing out in the back lawn of the house. It was fenced in, tall, sturdy wood boards that hadn’t changed much in ten years and probably wouldn’t for another ten years. It brought back memories Danny didn’t want to think about. Of course, since the only other option was going back into the house, he’d take the memories for the time being. He sniffed the air inconspicuously. The smell of blood and violent death clung to his clothes and Flack’s both.
Flack shrugged. “Makes me wanna go get good and drunk, plow some guy into the ground one way or another.”
Danny arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, I figured you for a brawler.”
“It’s in the blood. My grandpa, he used to box back when he was in the Navy during World War II.” He grinned slightly. “Family legend says my great-granddaddy – he fought in the other world war, the first one – one some big victory or other with his fists. Fought single combat with a Kraut commander, first one to knock-out gets to take the other’s troops home to commander. They went six rounds without one, then Great-Granddad popped the Kraut a good one and the unit surrendered. Got a couple of shiny medals, he did, but they didn’t tell the brass how he’d gotten ‘em to surrender.” The look in Flack’s eyes was slightly dreamy, yet bloodthirsty and fierce at the same time. “He was a cop too – a sergeant, like –” He stopped abruptly, then inhaled through his mouth. “Christ, I hate this stink. I cannot fuckin’ wait to get home and jump in the shower. How the hell does Hawkes stand it?”
“He’s a medical examiner,” Danny said. “They’re paid to be insane. You want sanity, you go to a – a – Christ, who in this city has a, y’know, job that’s somewhat normal?”
“Not you folk, that’s for sure,” Flack said, snorting laughter. “Speaking of insanity, when did Mac say he was goin’ to be here?”
Flack caught that? Maybe they didn’t give the detective enough credit after all. Sure, he wasn’t a CSI, and he hadn’t been in the Crime Lab as long as Danny or Stella – Flack and Aiden had come at almost the same time – but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice things. He didn’t see the same things the CSIs saw, but he could pick up on anything that marred the ebb and flow of the Crime Lab if it was going on long enough, evidently.
“Depends on traffic.”
They were silent for a few minutes, watching clouds chase each other across the sky, then Flack turned abruptly toward him. “Danny.”
“Yeah?”
“Tanglewood. What’s up with it?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Danny said, harsher than he’d meant it to come out.
“Famous last words, those are.” Flack’s voice was bitter enough that Danny raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sensin’ some resentment there.”
“None of your fuckin’ business, Messer. Tanglewood gonna screw with the case?”
“Look, Flack –” Danny paused, rethought what he’d been about to say. “You wanna know what’s up with me and Tanglewood? Not a damn thing. I quit. I been out for over a decade now. The tattoo on my shoulder’s got two dates on it, and I won’t lie to you about that.” It was a matter of personal pride. They’d wanted him out – actually, they’d wanted him dead, but barring that, out and away was better than nothing.
Flack raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t sayin’ you would, Danny. Give me some credit for half a brain, at least. Some stuff’s good to know.”
“Yeah, sure.” Danny stared angrily at a knot in the fence board in front of him. Curly Sassone and Phil DaCosta, here. And Mac was coming. And if Sonny had known who he worked for, known Mac Taylor on sight, then Curly’d know. And what Curly knew, Phil knew. And what they both knew – they couldn’t keep their mouths shut, Danny knew that. And he knew that Vinnie didn’t do one damned thing without the gang knowing, so –
“Aw, shit!” Danny barked, and tore back into the house.
Oooh, commercials last night during CSI: Miami? Four new episodes of CSI: NY coming up (I squeed out loud. Fortunately, no one else was awake). And, at the end of the commercial, came Mac's voice "You sure this was the guy you were chasing?" Then he pulls aside this dead man's coat to reveal a badge. Danny (horrified voice): "He's a cop?!"
SQUEE! It's just too bad that next week's gonna be marred by the stupid ITED, but this week we get to sleep in, because the sophs are taking the WASL and the juniors, seniors, and freshman don't have to be at school till 10:45. Hence, CSI: Miami last night, which I usually don't watch because of time. CSI: NY is my one long night. But this week I can watch, like, Without a Trace, too. Unfortunately, next week we're gonna be taking the ITED and some piece of crap called Student 2 Student while the sophs take the WASL, but until then...I could get used to this. SLEEP! *grin*
I can understand Danny, I can write him, I can more or less get inside his head. I can write Flack, but only from somebody else's point of view. I don't have much of a hold on the others at all. Like the hold I have on Mac? I'm making it all up. Stella and Aiden I should be able to relate to, because I mean, closest like in real life. Strong-willed females with not that many problems. Stella seems like the best bet. So if I can write Danny, and I can write Stella, I should be able to do most of Snafu from their points of view, and hopefully I'll be able to pin Mac, Flack, and Aiden down. Aiden should be easiest.
And do I have a clue what's going on in Snafu right now? Not a clue. Not at all.
“Hey, Danny, we’ve got a fuckload of a lot of blood back here,” Flack called. Danny went over to him, frowning. Most of the blood in the room – fuck that, in the house, they were still finding sprays of it in the weirdest places – was fresh enough and thick enough that it hadn’t dried yet. It got all over their clothes and their hands and various pieces of Danny’s kit, and left a smell of iron thick in their noises.
“C’mon, Flack, not more of the stuff. How many people died here, anyway?”
Flack’s eyes flicked back towards the living room. “More than three?”
“Jesus. And we’re gonna have to swab and test all this stuff, too. The DNA techs are gonna kill us – oh, fuckin’ Christ.” This last was voiced in a resigned sigh as Flack pulled open the closet door. Blood had leaked out from the under the edge of it, pooling in thick wet puddles of scarlet on the carpet. Stuffed inside was the body of a naked woman, a wire wrapped around her neck, her face so bloody and scratched it was unrecognizable.
“Aw, fuck,” Flack said. “Fuck, fuck, fuckin’ fuck. Not another one. Who ordered the massacre, anyway?”
“I’m guessin’ it wasn’t Patriso,” Danny said shortly. “No one plans on endin’ up as a corpse.” He paused. “’cept the suicide Hawkes and I peeled off Broadway last week, though.”
“That was a suicide? Thought it was a murder, the one you and Stella were working overtime on for, like, days or somethin’.”
“Yeah, that’s what it looked like, but it turned out to be a suicide.” Danny raised his camera. “Go check if our perp left any other surprises for us, why don’t ya’?”
Flack wandered off, calling over his shoulder, “Four bodies, two moved to a public place, three out of four different MOs – I think we’re lookin’ at more than one killer here. No one guy coulda pulled this kind of shit off all on his lonesome.”
“Ya’ think?” Danny demanded. The camera clicked and whirred, recording the woman’s brutal death for eternity.
“Got more blood in the bathroom.” Flack ambled back down the hall several minutes later. “No more bodies, but I found a hand. Any of our vics missing one?”
“A hand?”
“Yeah. Been finding a lot of those lately.” He made a face. “People have gotta stop cuttin’ off body parts, it’s startin’ t’ gross me out.”
“No body?”
“Just the hand. Right hand, actually, three silver rings, looks like there’s some blood under the nails.” He seemed proud of himself. “Oh, and – wait for it – more blood. Ya’ coulda seen that one comin’, huh?”
“Flack, the only thing that’s normal in this house is the blood.” Danny paused, slung the camera back over his shoulder. “I just said that the blood in this house is normal, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. I was wonderin’ what you were talking about, there.”
“Shit, I’ve been workin’ this place too long. Show me the hand, then we’ll get some fresh air.”
*
“Shit like this, makes me wish I still smoked,” Danny confided to Flack, standing out in the back lawn of the house. It was fenced in, tall, sturdy wood boards that hadn’t changed much in ten years and probably wouldn’t for another ten years. It brought back memories Danny didn’t want to think about. Of course, since the only other option was going back into the house, he’d take the memories for the time being. He sniffed the air inconspicuously. The smell of blood and violent death clung to his clothes and Flack’s both.
Flack shrugged. “Makes me wanna go get good and drunk, plow some guy into the ground one way or another.”
Danny arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, I figured you for a brawler.”
“It’s in the blood. My grandpa, he used to box back when he was in the Navy during World War II.” He grinned slightly. “Family legend says my great-granddaddy – he fought in the other world war, the first one – one some big victory or other with his fists. Fought single combat with a Kraut commander, first one to knock-out gets to take the other’s troops home to commander. They went six rounds without one, then Great-Granddad popped the Kraut a good one and the unit surrendered. Got a couple of shiny medals, he did, but they didn’t tell the brass how he’d gotten ‘em to surrender.” The look in Flack’s eyes was slightly dreamy, yet bloodthirsty and fierce at the same time. “He was a cop too – a sergeant, like –” He stopped abruptly, then inhaled through his mouth. “Christ, I hate this stink. I cannot fuckin’ wait to get home and jump in the shower. How the hell does Hawkes stand it?”
“He’s a medical examiner,” Danny said. “They’re paid to be insane. You want sanity, you go to a – a – Christ, who in this city has a, y’know, job that’s somewhat normal?”
“Not you folk, that’s for sure,” Flack said, snorting laughter. “Speaking of insanity, when did Mac say he was goin’ to be here?”
Flack caught that? Maybe they didn’t give the detective enough credit after all. Sure, he wasn’t a CSI, and he hadn’t been in the Crime Lab as long as Danny or Stella – Flack and Aiden had come at almost the same time – but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice things. He didn’t see the same things the CSIs saw, but he could pick up on anything that marred the ebb and flow of the Crime Lab if it was going on long enough, evidently.
“Depends on traffic.”
They were silent for a few minutes, watching clouds chase each other across the sky, then Flack turned abruptly toward him. “Danny.”
“Yeah?”
“Tanglewood. What’s up with it?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Danny said, harsher than he’d meant it to come out.
“Famous last words, those are.” Flack’s voice was bitter enough that Danny raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sensin’ some resentment there.”
“None of your fuckin’ business, Messer. Tanglewood gonna screw with the case?”
“Look, Flack –” Danny paused, rethought what he’d been about to say. “You wanna know what’s up with me and Tanglewood? Not a damn thing. I quit. I been out for over a decade now. The tattoo on my shoulder’s got two dates on it, and I won’t lie to you about that.” It was a matter of personal pride. They’d wanted him out – actually, they’d wanted him dead, but barring that, out and away was better than nothing.
Flack raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t sayin’ you would, Danny. Give me some credit for half a brain, at least. Some stuff’s good to know.”
“Yeah, sure.” Danny stared angrily at a knot in the fence board in front of him. Curly Sassone and Phil DaCosta, here. And Mac was coming. And if Sonny had known who he worked for, known Mac Taylor on sight, then Curly’d know. And what Curly knew, Phil knew. And what they both knew – they couldn’t keep their mouths shut, Danny knew that. And he knew that Vinnie didn’t do one damned thing without the gang knowing, so –
“Aw, shit!” Danny barked, and tore back into the house.
Oooh, commercials last night during CSI: Miami? Four new episodes of CSI: NY coming up (I squeed out loud. Fortunately, no one else was awake). And, at the end of the commercial, came Mac's voice "You sure this was the guy you were chasing?" Then he pulls aside this dead man's coat to reveal a badge. Danny (horrified voice): "He's a cop?!"
SQUEE! It's just too bad that next week's gonna be marred by the stupid ITED, but this week we get to sleep in, because the sophs are taking the WASL and the juniors, seniors, and freshman don't have to be at school till 10:45. Hence, CSI: Miami last night, which I usually don't watch because of time. CSI: NY is my one long night. But this week I can watch, like, Without a Trace, too. Unfortunately, next week we're gonna be taking the ITED and some piece of crap called Student 2 Student while the sophs take the WASL, but until then...I could get used to this. SLEEP! *grin*
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-20 01:06 am (UTC)Love your Flack. Love him to bits.
Love the dialogue. Dude. So much love for the cranky, snarky investigators.
and, yayDannychasecopwoo!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-20 01:22 am (UTC)*shakes head* I really have to stop killing people. I don't even know who this unknown female is. Although I'm leaning toward Kristen O'Malley, which is really going to screw Danny over.
Danny and Flack are so easy to write. The dialogue writes itself. So really, you shouldn't credit me, you should credit the voices in my head!
...I am only slightly insane, I swear.
Love your Flack. Love him to bits.
*feels guitly about what's going to happen to him*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-20 01:41 am (UTC)*solemn* We always hurt the ones we love.
*internal happy noises*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-20 01:49 am (UTC)And, oh christ, the end bit? Mac's horrified fury and Danny just sounds like he's two breaths away from *bawling*, and the guy's dead? Danny boy, did you *shoot* him?
Oh, wow.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-20 01:57 am (UTC)I really, really want to know what the heck happens. Screw the ITED, I want CSI: NY. (my mother's protestations, "You can't watch CSI! You have to take a test!" "The ITED doesn't matter, besides it'll be over by Thursday anyway."
Argh. Parents.
I cannot wait for next week. *bounces up and down in seat*
Oh, Danny, oh Danny, what did you do?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-20 02:04 am (UTC)Oh, yes. He doesn't *want* to die in that instant; he knows the minute he sees that badge that he is *gone*. Mac will *kill* him. Or Mac will not kill him, and the guilt and disapproval will drive him absolutely batshit insane.
Screw the ITED, I want CSI:NY
ITED--oh. Like the MCAS? State test? Yeah, *screw* that. Or tape CSI NY, if that's possible. (it's what I do...have we had this discussion before?)
Oh, Danny, oh Danny, what did you do?
He killed a cop.He *thinks* he killed a cop anyway, on the other hand, it could just be a man with a cop badge. It's a detective's badge, too, I think. (oh, even that clip is just a trainwreck to watch, that poor boy, panting away and utterly horrified before the adrenaline even stops, and Mac's off his rocker then too).