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bedlamsbard*jumps up and down* We're almost there! Almost - almost -
Black Meridion, at eight in the morning, was just opening for breakfast. Stella strolled in with Mac on her heels and Danny and Aiden skulking around somewhere outside.
“Just the two of you?” the waitress asked, picking up a pair of menus and looking from one to the other of them. Her nametag read “Shawna” and she spoke with a midwestern accent mildly reminiscent of Mac’s.
Stella smiled at her. “Actually, we’re here to see Mr. Amarelli. He in?”
Shawna blinked, frowned a little. “Ah…”
Mac flashed his badge. “NYPD, ma’am. We’d like to avoid making a scene if possible.”
Helplessly, the girl – she couldn’t be more than twenty – looked over at another waiter standing behind the cash register. “Benny -"
He came out from behind the stand, looking Mac and Stella over with an appraising eye. “I’m Benny Gravante,” he said. “And you are –”
“Detective Mac Taylor and Detective Stella Bonasera, from the Crime Lab,” Mac said, pushing his coat back again.
“Angelo’s in the kitchen,” Benny said finally. “If you’ll wait just a minute, I’ll go get him.” He strode away towards the back of the restaurant, ignoring the rather curious looks of the few patrons enjoying their breakfasts.
Shawna looked between them again. “I, uh,” she said. “Would you like some coffee or something? It’s on the house.”
“No, ma’am, but thank you for the offer,” Mac told her solemnly. Stella stifled a laugh, then pulled Mac away.
“Did you see that guy?” she asked in a low voice. “He was packing, I swear to God. I know Danny said this Amarelli guy wasn’t with Tanglewood, but do you think –”
“Maybe he’s with the Mafia?” Mac finished. “Stella, the Sicilian Mafia is the boogeyman behind every racket in New York. Just because a man with an Italian name –”
“Detectives Taylor and Bonasera?” a hearty voice said. Danny and Stella both looked up, and Stella did a double take. Angelo Amarelli had to be one of the biggest men she’d ever seen – he stood seven feet if he was an inch, with greasy black hair and a hook in place of his left hand.
“Yeah, that’s us,” Stella said after a minute in which they sized each other up. Benny had gone back behind the cash register, and there was something disturbing about the fact she couldn’t see his hands.
“I’m Angelo Amarelli,” he introduced himself. “What brings you to Black Meridion, Detectives? I can promise that we’ve passed every health inspection the city has to offer –”
“We’re not here about your restaurant, Mr. Amarelli,” Mac said. “We’re here about your friends. I understand you have the acquaintance of a Phillip DiCarlo?”
“Phil? Yeah, but I haven’t seen him since December. He hosted a New Year’s Eve party here.” Amarelli’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s suspected in the kidnapping of an NYPD detective. We’d like to inspect the premises.”
“Take a look around, you mean? Look, Detective, I’d like to help, but I can’t let you do that without a warrant.”
He was lying.
“Sir, you understand how that would make it look,” Stella said. “A warrant takes time, and in a missing persons case, time is of the essence. If we were to come back with a warrant, that would involve closing the restaurant down for at least twenty-four hours – actually, forty-eight hours is the norm, but, well – surely you can understand how your revenue would suffer? We’d have officers all over the place, and I’m sure you understand how that would look to the public. It would hurt your business immensely, I’m sure.”
She was lying, of course.
Amarelli stared at her for a long moment. “Look, Officer –”
“Detective.”
“Detective. I’m really going to have to ask you to come back with a warrant.”
Stella sighed. “Well, we’ll be in touch. It’s really too bad you just can’t cooperate, though. Bad enough having a relationship with a convict like Phil DiCarlo, but if it were to be found that you were hiding evidence from the NYPD in the kidnapping of a decorated police officer –”
“Please leave, Detective Bonasera,” Amarelli said flatly.
Stella gave him her most charming smile, and Mac said, “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Amarelli.”
Once outside the restaurant, in the bright dawning sunlight of the City, clear and unfettered here in Central Park, Stella said flatly, “He’s lying. He’s got something back there, and maybe it isn’t Flack, but it sure as hell isn’t legal. And what’s the right answer when you’re asked about a kidnapping?”
“‘What kidnapping?’” Mac sighed. “Amarelli didn’t deny it, didn’t even mention it.” He glanced around. “Where’s Danny?”
Stella followed his gaze. “Where’s Aiden?”
*
“I’m not sure this is such a hot idea, Messer,” Aiden said, following Danny around the back of Black Meridion.
“Relax, Burn,” Danny said. He thumbed the strap on his holster free, and palmed the butt of his gun briefly. “We’re just taking a look around. There’s a back entrance.”
“And how exactly do you know that?” Aiden grumbled.
“I’ve been here before,” he replied, frowning at the back door. He tried the handle. Open. Aiden grabbed his wrist before he could pull the door open.
“Before you get us arrested for trespassing, maybe you should check out the window,” she said, jerking her thumb at the dusty window set on the other side of the door.
Danny gave it a considering look. “Ya’ might have a point here.” He followed Aiden toward it.
“Shit,” Aiden breathed. “I think we found Flack.”
Don Flack was tied to a chair, his face bloody and bruised. There were streaks of blood on his shirt, and a thicker patch of rust red on his slacks. Danny scowled. “Fuckin’ son of a goddamned bitch – I’m goin’ in there.” He pivoted on his heel and was reaching for the door when Aiden grabbed him by the arm and pulled him against the wall.
Peeking in through the window, they could see Curly Sassone stroll into the view, a gun stuck in the back of his pants. Danny’s lips twisted in a silent snarl as he pulled the ropes binding Flack’s hands together apart and cuffed the detective. Flack said something, then twisted and spat in Curly’s face. Curly backhanded him. Fresh droplets of blood flew from Flack’s nose.
“Fuck this,” Danny said, twisting free of Aiden. He drew his gun and pulled the door open. “Freeze, NYPD!”
Aiden followed him in, her own gun drawn. “Drop the weapon,” she yelled. “Drop it!”
“Can’t do both, can I?” Curly smirked. He yanked Flack to his feet, gun at the detective’s temple.
“Bloody – fucking –” Flack snarled. “Goddammit, Danny!” he yelled, in lieu of anything more coherent to say. “Son of a bitch!”
“Drop the gun!” Aiden yelled.
Danny aimed at Curly’s head, right between the eyes. “Don’t make shoot you, Curly,” he said softly.
“You don’t have the balls to shoot anyone, Messer,” Curly grinned. “Least of all me.”
“Aiden, call Mac,” Danny said to her. “Now!”
She fumbled at her cell phone with one hand. Wide-eyed – “Battery’s out.”
“Mine, then! Coat, left pocket.” He didn’t dare take his hands off his gun and his eyes off Curly, not for a second.
“Aiden, hmm?” Curly said. “This would be the gorgeous Detective Aiden Burn, I assume. The chick with the tits, not the broad with the hair.”
Aiden scowled at him. “Oh, do not make me shoot you.” She pulled Danny’s phone out of his pocket, dialed. “Mac! We got – we got – what the fuck do ya’ mean, where are we?”
“Drop the gun, Curly,” Danny said, loudly enough – he hoped – to carry over through the phone. “Let Flack go. We’ve got you two to one.”
Curly shook his head, looking almost sad. “Sonny’d be ashamed of you, Dannyboy.”
“Yeah? Look who’s about to go to jail for life, and who’s got the promising career. You can talk to your brother in lock-up, Curly.”
Flack was favoring his left leg, Danny noted, and wasn’t putting up much of a fight. More than he expected, given the amount of injury it looked like he’d taken, but while he could ordinarily have beaten the shit out of Curly with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back, all he was doing now was struggling like a captured fish, eyes flinching shut everytime Curly tightened his grip on the gun. And swearing wildly, with a much more vivid vocabulary than even Danny had expected.
“Your pet detective’s gonna be dead before you take me alive, Dannyboy.”
“Fine. A cop-killer like you, I’d rather take to the morgue.”
“Danny!” Aiden screamed suddenly.
A gun cracked, and Aiden screamed again.
“Aiden!”
Black Meridion, at eight in the morning, was just opening for breakfast. Stella strolled in with Mac on her heels and Danny and Aiden skulking around somewhere outside.
“Just the two of you?” the waitress asked, picking up a pair of menus and looking from one to the other of them. Her nametag read “Shawna” and she spoke with a midwestern accent mildly reminiscent of Mac’s.
Stella smiled at her. “Actually, we’re here to see Mr. Amarelli. He in?”
Shawna blinked, frowned a little. “Ah…”
Mac flashed his badge. “NYPD, ma’am. We’d like to avoid making a scene if possible.”
Helplessly, the girl – she couldn’t be more than twenty – looked over at another waiter standing behind the cash register. “Benny -"
He came out from behind the stand, looking Mac and Stella over with an appraising eye. “I’m Benny Gravante,” he said. “And you are –”
“Detective Mac Taylor and Detective Stella Bonasera, from the Crime Lab,” Mac said, pushing his coat back again.
“Angelo’s in the kitchen,” Benny said finally. “If you’ll wait just a minute, I’ll go get him.” He strode away towards the back of the restaurant, ignoring the rather curious looks of the few patrons enjoying their breakfasts.
Shawna looked between them again. “I, uh,” she said. “Would you like some coffee or something? It’s on the house.”
“No, ma’am, but thank you for the offer,” Mac told her solemnly. Stella stifled a laugh, then pulled Mac away.
“Did you see that guy?” she asked in a low voice. “He was packing, I swear to God. I know Danny said this Amarelli guy wasn’t with Tanglewood, but do you think –”
“Maybe he’s with the Mafia?” Mac finished. “Stella, the Sicilian Mafia is the boogeyman behind every racket in New York. Just because a man with an Italian name –”
“Detectives Taylor and Bonasera?” a hearty voice said. Danny and Stella both looked up, and Stella did a double take. Angelo Amarelli had to be one of the biggest men she’d ever seen – he stood seven feet if he was an inch, with greasy black hair and a hook in place of his left hand.
“Yeah, that’s us,” Stella said after a minute in which they sized each other up. Benny had gone back behind the cash register, and there was something disturbing about the fact she couldn’t see his hands.
“I’m Angelo Amarelli,” he introduced himself. “What brings you to Black Meridion, Detectives? I can promise that we’ve passed every health inspection the city has to offer –”
“We’re not here about your restaurant, Mr. Amarelli,” Mac said. “We’re here about your friends. I understand you have the acquaintance of a Phillip DiCarlo?”
“Phil? Yeah, but I haven’t seen him since December. He hosted a New Year’s Eve party here.” Amarelli’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s suspected in the kidnapping of an NYPD detective. We’d like to inspect the premises.”
“Take a look around, you mean? Look, Detective, I’d like to help, but I can’t let you do that without a warrant.”
He was lying.
“Sir, you understand how that would make it look,” Stella said. “A warrant takes time, and in a missing persons case, time is of the essence. If we were to come back with a warrant, that would involve closing the restaurant down for at least twenty-four hours – actually, forty-eight hours is the norm, but, well – surely you can understand how your revenue would suffer? We’d have officers all over the place, and I’m sure you understand how that would look to the public. It would hurt your business immensely, I’m sure.”
She was lying, of course.
Amarelli stared at her for a long moment. “Look, Officer –”
“Detective.”
“Detective. I’m really going to have to ask you to come back with a warrant.”
Stella sighed. “Well, we’ll be in touch. It’s really too bad you just can’t cooperate, though. Bad enough having a relationship with a convict like Phil DiCarlo, but if it were to be found that you were hiding evidence from the NYPD in the kidnapping of a decorated police officer –”
“Please leave, Detective Bonasera,” Amarelli said flatly.
Stella gave him her most charming smile, and Mac said, “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Amarelli.”
Once outside the restaurant, in the bright dawning sunlight of the City, clear and unfettered here in Central Park, Stella said flatly, “He’s lying. He’s got something back there, and maybe it isn’t Flack, but it sure as hell isn’t legal. And what’s the right answer when you’re asked about a kidnapping?”
“‘What kidnapping?’” Mac sighed. “Amarelli didn’t deny it, didn’t even mention it.” He glanced around. “Where’s Danny?”
Stella followed his gaze. “Where’s Aiden?”
*
“I’m not sure this is such a hot idea, Messer,” Aiden said, following Danny around the back of Black Meridion.
“Relax, Burn,” Danny said. He thumbed the strap on his holster free, and palmed the butt of his gun briefly. “We’re just taking a look around. There’s a back entrance.”
“And how exactly do you know that?” Aiden grumbled.
“I’ve been here before,” he replied, frowning at the back door. He tried the handle. Open. Aiden grabbed his wrist before he could pull the door open.
“Before you get us arrested for trespassing, maybe you should check out the window,” she said, jerking her thumb at the dusty window set on the other side of the door.
Danny gave it a considering look. “Ya’ might have a point here.” He followed Aiden toward it.
“Shit,” Aiden breathed. “I think we found Flack.”
Don Flack was tied to a chair, his face bloody and bruised. There were streaks of blood on his shirt, and a thicker patch of rust red on his slacks. Danny scowled. “Fuckin’ son of a goddamned bitch – I’m goin’ in there.” He pivoted on his heel and was reaching for the door when Aiden grabbed him by the arm and pulled him against the wall.
Peeking in through the window, they could see Curly Sassone stroll into the view, a gun stuck in the back of his pants. Danny’s lips twisted in a silent snarl as he pulled the ropes binding Flack’s hands together apart and cuffed the detective. Flack said something, then twisted and spat in Curly’s face. Curly backhanded him. Fresh droplets of blood flew from Flack’s nose.
“Fuck this,” Danny said, twisting free of Aiden. He drew his gun and pulled the door open. “Freeze, NYPD!”
Aiden followed him in, her own gun drawn. “Drop the weapon,” she yelled. “Drop it!”
“Can’t do both, can I?” Curly smirked. He yanked Flack to his feet, gun at the detective’s temple.
“Bloody – fucking –” Flack snarled. “Goddammit, Danny!” he yelled, in lieu of anything more coherent to say. “Son of a bitch!”
“Drop the gun!” Aiden yelled.
Danny aimed at Curly’s head, right between the eyes. “Don’t make shoot you, Curly,” he said softly.
“You don’t have the balls to shoot anyone, Messer,” Curly grinned. “Least of all me.”
“Aiden, call Mac,” Danny said to her. “Now!”
She fumbled at her cell phone with one hand. Wide-eyed – “Battery’s out.”
“Mine, then! Coat, left pocket.” He didn’t dare take his hands off his gun and his eyes off Curly, not for a second.
“Aiden, hmm?” Curly said. “This would be the gorgeous Detective Aiden Burn, I assume. The chick with the tits, not the broad with the hair.”
Aiden scowled at him. “Oh, do not make me shoot you.” She pulled Danny’s phone out of his pocket, dialed. “Mac! We got – we got – what the fuck do ya’ mean, where are we?”
“Drop the gun, Curly,” Danny said, loudly enough – he hoped – to carry over through the phone. “Let Flack go. We’ve got you two to one.”
Curly shook his head, looking almost sad. “Sonny’d be ashamed of you, Dannyboy.”
“Yeah? Look who’s about to go to jail for life, and who’s got the promising career. You can talk to your brother in lock-up, Curly.”
Flack was favoring his left leg, Danny noted, and wasn’t putting up much of a fight. More than he expected, given the amount of injury it looked like he’d taken, but while he could ordinarily have beaten the shit out of Curly with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back, all he was doing now was struggling like a captured fish, eyes flinching shut everytime Curly tightened his grip on the gun. And swearing wildly, with a much more vivid vocabulary than even Danny had expected.
“Your pet detective’s gonna be dead before you take me alive, Dannyboy.”
“Fine. A cop-killer like you, I’d rather take to the morgue.”
“Danny!” Aiden screamed suddenly.
A gun cracked, and Aiden screamed again.
“Aiden!”
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-03 12:39 am (UTC)Dude. One: I love that Stella's happy to lie right back at Angelo. Two: Danny's probably going to get some sort of punishment for fucking procedure up, but that he saved Flack, Jr. (any cop, period) probably eases that into little more than, if anything, a slap on the wrist.
Love. Yay. *waits*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-03 02:13 am (UTC)Is it wrong of me that I was inordinately happy as I wrote the end scene? I was jumping around the house.
I love that Stella's happy to lie right back at Angelo.
Oh, Stella's having the time of her life. She gets happier later on, when she tackles a perp as he pulls a gun on Mac: "Okay, now that was just dumb."
Sometimes I think Stella should'a worked SWAT.
Danny's probably going to get some sort of punishment for fucking procedure up, but that he saved Flack, Jr. (any cop, period) probably eases that into little more than, if anything, a slap on the wrist.
As Danny would say - probably has said, actually - fuck procedure. Although if procedure's happily screwed over now, it gets better. *grins*