Bloody Sunday 1
Nov. 6th, 2005 04:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardSee, I can do things I said I'd do. No, really I can.
This takes place in December, about four months after the end of Omerta.
FORTUNE 500 EXECS MEET
Representatives from Wal-Mart, Taylor Steel, Shaw-Littel all attend.
By Shep Newcombe, staff reporter
NEW YORK CITY - Representatives from the top thirty of this years Fortune 500 companies gathered at the Hilton Hotel today for the annual Christmas party. 2005's companies include Wal-Mart, Taylor Steel, ExxonMobil, Shaw-Littel, and Boeing.
This year, Taylor Steel and Shaw-Littel lead the pack in first and second place. Although Everett and Sofia Taylor were unable to attend, due to the expected birth of their first child, brother Hamilton Taylor and wife Evelyn Maclarin (of Maclarin Industries) attended in their place. Taylor is a justice of the Illinois State Superior Court, but is nonetheless one of his brother's most trusted businesss partners and an able representative of Taylor Steel.
Shaw-Littel has CEO Jacqueline Shaw attending. Shaw, 57, inherited control of the company after founder Alexander Shaw passed away. Company president Dennis Littel remains in Boston.
The festivities begin today and are scheduled to end December 30.
*
MOB BOSS’ SON CONVICTED; COPPOLA EMPIRE FALLS
Francesco “Little Frankie” Coppola today convicted on charges of murder, prostitution, drug dealing, and tax evasion.
By Ellen Wu, staff reporter
CHICAGO – Francesco “Little Frankie” Coppola, son of Chicago’s infamous Mafia boss Paul Coppola, was convicted today in the Illinois State Superior Court on charges as varied as murder, drug dealing, and tax evasion. Justice Hamilton Taylor rendered a sentence of 110 years in maximum security prison, with a possibility of parole after fifty years – approximately December 2055.
This marks the fall of the previously prominent Coppola crime empire, coming as a sharp coda to the convictions of Coppola captains Ronnie DeVito and Benito dell’Garavelli. Coppola himself has not been indicted, but the various stretches of the Coppola Family have been divided up among his enemies. “This is a major point in the destruction of the Outfit’s control over Chicago,” says Lieutenant Darren Suzuki, of the Chicago Police Department’s Organized Crime Division. “With Coppola gone, we can seek out and target individual crime lords, rather than the single, seemingly invincible wall of the Outfit.”
Both Coppolas refused comment.
*
“Come on, Val, I’m busy,” Danny scowled into his phone. “I’m on my way to a scene. I got stuff to do. Important stuff.”
“This is important,” his uncle snapped.
“NYPD important, or Commission important?”
There was a pause. “Neither,” Val said finally.
“Great, then it’s got somethin’ to do with Constantine playing baa baa black sheep.”
“I have no idea where you pick up your analogies, since it certainly isn’t here, but have you picked up the newspaper today?”
Danny glanced at the clock in the SUV. “Val, I only got outta bed fifteen minutes ago. I’ve been stuck in traffic for the last ten. I haven’t showered, I haven’t eaten, and I haven’t had any coffee. And I definitely haven’t looked at the paper.”
“Does the Coppola Family mean anything to you?”
“No. Musta missed them in your quizzes.”
“It’s the Chicago Family.”
“Oh, that would explain why. You never said jack about Chicago the whole time you were teachin’ me what Nico Rossi likes for breakfast and what the Lancione really, really liked. I didn’t need to know that about the dogs, really, Val.” Danny tapped his fingers on the wheel importantly. Flack had left earlier, called out of bed at five am to go to a scene and decide whether or not they should have the Crime Lab show. It had come out to a very definite yes, and Danny wondered why Manhattan Homicide had even bothered with Flack before calling Mac. Maybe, like Flack grumped occasionally, they just hated him.
“The reason I never mentioned them is because they’re all insane,” Val said shortly. He sounded harried. Danny would have sympathized if he hadn’t been feeling much the same way himself.
“You don’t say. Imagine that, the don of the sixth Commission family sayin’ another family’s gone and lost their marbles over in the Windy City.”
“I’m not exaggerating this time, Danny,” Val snapped. “The Coppola Family’s dominated Chicago for over a quarter of a century now. The CPD has never been able to make it fall, until last year, when two of Paul Coppola’s top lieutenants were indicted. Everything’s been falling apart since then, and the empire’s being taken apart from the inside and outside. You know how it works with crime – there’s always someone that thinks they can do it better than you, so they’re constantly trying to undermine your organization.”
“Hate to tell you, Val, but that ain’t just part of crime. It happens in a little place I like to call the real world, too.”
There was a pause. “Yes. Well. The Coppola Empire – the Chicago Outfit – has been disintegrating. Yesterday it hit the melting point. Little Frankie Coppola got convicted yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Don Coppola’s son. Rumor in the Commission is that there’s no way, period, that Coppola can come out of this with anything but at most a sixth of the city. This is something big, Danny – Coppola’s been controlling all of Chicago for years. Common opinion in the law enforcement biz is that the Outfit’s the most powerful criminal organization in America, if not the world.”
“What, not the Commission?”
“You know what they say about committees,” Val said lightly. “It’s the only creature on earth with more than four legs and no brain. The thing is, the Commission divides power among the Families. The Outfit’s straight power through the Coppolas – or whoever. Only Coppola’s fallen now. That means there’s a power vacuum like you can’t believe. Although his underlings are doing a decent job at taking over. I’ve heard about five hits already on the remaining Coppola loyalists. None on Old Paul himself, but it takes balls to whack a guy like that, even old and powerless.”
The light changed. Finally. Early morning traffic, which really should have been lighter, crept forward at a snail’s pace. “So what’s this gotta do with me?”
Val paused again. “The Commission’s meeting today. I was talking with Nicky Pagliuca, and he thinks they’re going to try and send someone to Chicago to take up a little of the slack and spread the Commission’s power.”
“So –”
“It’s not that they want it, it’s who they want to send.”
“You?”
“My heir.”
Danny went still. “Bloody fuck, Val,” he spat finally. “You fucking didn’t. You didn’t.”
“Constantine runs through the blood, Danny, and there’s no one else.”
“One of my fucking brothers, then! Leave me out of your Mob shit.”
“Your brothers wouldn’t know La Cosa Nostra if it painted itself blue and danced naked in front of them singing, ‘We are the Mafia! We love crime!’ Your brothers are cops, plain and simple. You’re not.”
“Excuse me? You think this badge is just decoration or something?”
“You were Tanglewood,” Val said flatly. “Don’t deny that, Danny. It’s important. More, you are Constantine. You. Are. Constantine. It’s your blood.”
“Maybe it’s my blood, Val, but it’s your damn legacy. Keep me out of it. I don’t want any part in the Mafia. You know that. You’ve known that for years.” Danny scowled angrily at the windshield. “So keep me the hell out of the Commission.” He clicked his phone shut on Val’s voice.
*
“What do we have, Flack?” Stella asked. Behind her, Danny crossed his arms and tried not to yawn, and Aiden slurped noisily from her mocha and rubbed at her eyes.
Flack looked grumpy. There were black bags under his eyes and a fading bruise high on one cheek, from an ornery suspect a week ago, and he looked like he hadn’t had nearly enough sleep in the past six months. “Jacqueline Shaw,” he said. “CEO of Shaw-Littel Enterprises of Boston.”
“Of the Fortune 500?” Stella said, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah. Turns out that’s what she’s in town for. The top thirty of the top five hundred are having some fancy Christmas party, and the rep of our number two got her ass murdered. I got over a hundred society business people here, and I gotta interview every single one’a them.” He looked pissed. Danny emphasized. At least he’d get the evidence, not the people. Evidence couldn’t call for its lawyers, and rich people usually refused to say more than six words that weren’t, “I want my lawyer.” They were usually, “I’d like to plead the Fifth.”
“COD?”
Flack jerked his head over his shoulder. “Hawkes is over there with the body. Exsanguination, apparently. She was stabbed. Repeatedly. One’a the other guests came down early for their fancy breakfast and found the body on the table.” He flipped through his notebook. “A Justice Hamilton Taylor, according to the first officer on the scene. I haven’t talked to the guy yet.”
“Justice Hamilton Taylor,” Stella said flatly.
“Uh-huh. Where’s Mac?”
“He’s caught in traffic,” she said absently, eyes flicking toward the crowd of businesspeople crowding at the crime scene tape. “He’ll be here. He can’t miss a case like this.”
“Stell, you all right?” Aiden asked, glancing up from her mocha.
“Fine. Just fucking fine.” Stella turned around. “You two get to work processing the scene. I’m going to go see a man about a corpse.”
Danny and Aiden glanced at each other as Flack stalked off toward the witnesses and Stella toward Hawkes. “Wonder what’s biting her ass?” he mused.
Aiden arched one eyebrow. “Or his, huh? Or is it just the early morning thing? He never was an morning person, but this is ridiculous. What’s up?”
“He didn’t get any sleep last night,” Danny said quietly.
“And whose fault was that, huh?”
“His nightmares came back.”
Aiden blinked. “Oh.” She leaned down to pick up her kit. “Well, let’s get to processing this scene, then.”
*
“Detective Taylor?”
Danny turned around. “What?”
The speaker was a pretty young woman, face dreadfully earnest, with shoulder-length brown hair and huge blue eyes. “I’m Lindsay Monroe. The lab said to come right over –”
“I’m not Mac,” Danny said. “And my reply’s no comment. I don’t talk to press. If you want a scoop, you wanna call the NYPD Press Office.”
Lindsay blinked. “Oh. Oh, I’m not with the paper, I’m –”
“I’ll handle this, Danny,” Stella said, materializing behind Lindsay. “It’s Lindsay Monroe, isn’t it? The new CSI from Montana.”
The woman turned to her with relief evident on her face. “That’s me. I mean – well, yeah, that’s me. Um – are you –”
“Detective Stella Bonasera,” Stella said. She glanced at Lindsay with her expression not unfriendly. “This is Detective Danny Messer. Mac’s not here yet, but he should be at any moment. Aiden Burn’s over there, and that’s Dr. Sheldon Hawkes. Welcome to the NYPD. You picked a hell of a case to start out on.”
*
“Who the hell’s that, Danny?” Aiden demanded, coming over to crouch down next to him.
“New girl,” Danny scowled. “Can you believe that? Mac went and hired a new CSI without telling anyone but Stella. Like we don’t already got enough CSIs, what with Hawkes joining up and Flack halfway to getting a degree. Oh, no, Mac’s gotta go hire some cornfed farmgirl from fucking Montana.”
“Montana? What the hell’s in Montana?”
“Fuck if I know.” Danny twisted around to glare at Lindsay’s back. “I’ve only known her ten minutes and I already hate her.”
“That’s kinda harsh, Danny.”
“I don’t care. Mac’s already got Hawkes; what’s he need a new golden child for? He starting a collection or something?”
Aiden rolled her eyes. “Mac’s not even here, Danny.”
“Well, he’s gonna be any moment now, and I’ll betcha twenty bucks he handpicked her and takes to her like two birds of a feather. Midwesterners run together. Maybe he thinks he’ll get along better with someone his own species instead of us New Yorkers.”
“Okay, my Dannyboy, that’s even harsher. You’ve had what, ten words with her? Not to mention that Montana’s not Midwest, genius, it’s Pacific Northwest.”
“C’mon, Aid, it’s nowhere near the West Coast.”
“Yeah, but it definitely ain’t the Midwest. And I’ll take your bet and raise you ten bucks to thirty.” Aiden cocked an eyebrow and held out one gloved hand. “Deal?”
Danny shook on it. “Deal.”
“Good. Now let’s took a look at this blood spatter, huh?”
*
Mac arrived at the Hilton almost an hour and a half after Flack had called him, hefting his kit and (he was sure) visibly irritated at how long it had taken him to get there. It shouldn’t have taken him that long, not at this hour of the morning, but somehow traffic had conspired to knot up in front of him at every possible opportunity, adding at least an hour to his travel time. If he’d been a superstitious man, he would have called it the capriciousness of the gods. As it was, he regarded it as an exasperating coincidence.
Stella saw him ducking under the crime scene tape and descended on him, leaving an unfamiliar brown-haired woman with Hawkes. “You,” she said, “are so, so late that I would laugh at you if it was any other case.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mac asked, trying to glance around her hair.
Stella moved to block his view. “How much did Flack tell you on the phone?”
“He just said that it was some big case that the brass were pushing us to solve as soon as possible. Why? What’s wrong?”
“You’ve heard of Shaw-Littel Enterprises, right?”
“Well, yes. That’s a major Fortune 500 company. You have to live under a rock to not know about Shaw-Littel.”
“What aobut the name Jacqueline Shaw?”
“The CEO.”
“Uh-huh.” Stella held up one finger. “The good news is, she also happens to be our vic.”
“Stella…” Mac said warily. “How is that good news?”
Stella held up another finger. “The bad news is your parents are here.”
Feedback much appreciated. Man, it's fun to write Aiden again. Coming back to these people is like talking to old friends again. Granted, old friends who you know are going to die painful deaths, but still.
This takes place in December, about four months after the end of Omerta.
FORTUNE 500 EXECS MEET
Representatives from Wal-Mart, Taylor Steel, Shaw-Littel all attend.
By Shep Newcombe, staff reporter
NEW YORK CITY - Representatives from the top thirty of this years Fortune 500 companies gathered at the Hilton Hotel today for the annual Christmas party. 2005's companies include Wal-Mart, Taylor Steel, ExxonMobil, Shaw-Littel, and Boeing.
This year, Taylor Steel and Shaw-Littel lead the pack in first and second place. Although Everett and Sofia Taylor were unable to attend, due to the expected birth of their first child, brother Hamilton Taylor and wife Evelyn Maclarin (of Maclarin Industries) attended in their place. Taylor is a justice of the Illinois State Superior Court, but is nonetheless one of his brother's most trusted businesss partners and an able representative of Taylor Steel.
Shaw-Littel has CEO Jacqueline Shaw attending. Shaw, 57, inherited control of the company after founder Alexander Shaw passed away. Company president Dennis Littel remains in Boston.
The festivities begin today and are scheduled to end December 30.
*
MOB BOSS’ SON CONVICTED; COPPOLA EMPIRE FALLS
Francesco “Little Frankie” Coppola today convicted on charges of murder, prostitution, drug dealing, and tax evasion.
By Ellen Wu, staff reporter
CHICAGO – Francesco “Little Frankie” Coppola, son of Chicago’s infamous Mafia boss Paul Coppola, was convicted today in the Illinois State Superior Court on charges as varied as murder, drug dealing, and tax evasion. Justice Hamilton Taylor rendered a sentence of 110 years in maximum security prison, with a possibility of parole after fifty years – approximately December 2055.
This marks the fall of the previously prominent Coppola crime empire, coming as a sharp coda to the convictions of Coppola captains Ronnie DeVito and Benito dell’Garavelli. Coppola himself has not been indicted, but the various stretches of the Coppola Family have been divided up among his enemies. “This is a major point in the destruction of the Outfit’s control over Chicago,” says Lieutenant Darren Suzuki, of the Chicago Police Department’s Organized Crime Division. “With Coppola gone, we can seek out and target individual crime lords, rather than the single, seemingly invincible wall of the Outfit.”
Both Coppolas refused comment.
*
“Come on, Val, I’m busy,” Danny scowled into his phone. “I’m on my way to a scene. I got stuff to do. Important stuff.”
“This is important,” his uncle snapped.
“NYPD important, or Commission important?”
There was a pause. “Neither,” Val said finally.
“Great, then it’s got somethin’ to do with Constantine playing baa baa black sheep.”
“I have no idea where you pick up your analogies, since it certainly isn’t here, but have you picked up the newspaper today?”
Danny glanced at the clock in the SUV. “Val, I only got outta bed fifteen minutes ago. I’ve been stuck in traffic for the last ten. I haven’t showered, I haven’t eaten, and I haven’t had any coffee. And I definitely haven’t looked at the paper.”
“Does the Coppola Family mean anything to you?”
“No. Musta missed them in your quizzes.”
“It’s the Chicago Family.”
“Oh, that would explain why. You never said jack about Chicago the whole time you were teachin’ me what Nico Rossi likes for breakfast and what the Lancione really, really liked. I didn’t need to know that about the dogs, really, Val.” Danny tapped his fingers on the wheel importantly. Flack had left earlier, called out of bed at five am to go to a scene and decide whether or not they should have the Crime Lab show. It had come out to a very definite yes, and Danny wondered why Manhattan Homicide had even bothered with Flack before calling Mac. Maybe, like Flack grumped occasionally, they just hated him.
“The reason I never mentioned them is because they’re all insane,” Val said shortly. He sounded harried. Danny would have sympathized if he hadn’t been feeling much the same way himself.
“You don’t say. Imagine that, the don of the sixth Commission family sayin’ another family’s gone and lost their marbles over in the Windy City.”
“I’m not exaggerating this time, Danny,” Val snapped. “The Coppola Family’s dominated Chicago for over a quarter of a century now. The CPD has never been able to make it fall, until last year, when two of Paul Coppola’s top lieutenants were indicted. Everything’s been falling apart since then, and the empire’s being taken apart from the inside and outside. You know how it works with crime – there’s always someone that thinks they can do it better than you, so they’re constantly trying to undermine your organization.”
“Hate to tell you, Val, but that ain’t just part of crime. It happens in a little place I like to call the real world, too.”
There was a pause. “Yes. Well. The Coppola Empire – the Chicago Outfit – has been disintegrating. Yesterday it hit the melting point. Little Frankie Coppola got convicted yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Don Coppola’s son. Rumor in the Commission is that there’s no way, period, that Coppola can come out of this with anything but at most a sixth of the city. This is something big, Danny – Coppola’s been controlling all of Chicago for years. Common opinion in the law enforcement biz is that the Outfit’s the most powerful criminal organization in America, if not the world.”
“What, not the Commission?”
“You know what they say about committees,” Val said lightly. “It’s the only creature on earth with more than four legs and no brain. The thing is, the Commission divides power among the Families. The Outfit’s straight power through the Coppolas – or whoever. Only Coppola’s fallen now. That means there’s a power vacuum like you can’t believe. Although his underlings are doing a decent job at taking over. I’ve heard about five hits already on the remaining Coppola loyalists. None on Old Paul himself, but it takes balls to whack a guy like that, even old and powerless.”
The light changed. Finally. Early morning traffic, which really should have been lighter, crept forward at a snail’s pace. “So what’s this gotta do with me?”
Val paused again. “The Commission’s meeting today. I was talking with Nicky Pagliuca, and he thinks they’re going to try and send someone to Chicago to take up a little of the slack and spread the Commission’s power.”
“So –”
“It’s not that they want it, it’s who they want to send.”
“You?”
“My heir.”
Danny went still. “Bloody fuck, Val,” he spat finally. “You fucking didn’t. You didn’t.”
“Constantine runs through the blood, Danny, and there’s no one else.”
“One of my fucking brothers, then! Leave me out of your Mob shit.”
“Your brothers wouldn’t know La Cosa Nostra if it painted itself blue and danced naked in front of them singing, ‘We are the Mafia! We love crime!’ Your brothers are cops, plain and simple. You’re not.”
“Excuse me? You think this badge is just decoration or something?”
“You were Tanglewood,” Val said flatly. “Don’t deny that, Danny. It’s important. More, you are Constantine. You. Are. Constantine. It’s your blood.”
“Maybe it’s my blood, Val, but it’s your damn legacy. Keep me out of it. I don’t want any part in the Mafia. You know that. You’ve known that for years.” Danny scowled angrily at the windshield. “So keep me the hell out of the Commission.” He clicked his phone shut on Val’s voice.
*
“What do we have, Flack?” Stella asked. Behind her, Danny crossed his arms and tried not to yawn, and Aiden slurped noisily from her mocha and rubbed at her eyes.
Flack looked grumpy. There were black bags under his eyes and a fading bruise high on one cheek, from an ornery suspect a week ago, and he looked like he hadn’t had nearly enough sleep in the past six months. “Jacqueline Shaw,” he said. “CEO of Shaw-Littel Enterprises of Boston.”
“Of the Fortune 500?” Stella said, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah. Turns out that’s what she’s in town for. The top thirty of the top five hundred are having some fancy Christmas party, and the rep of our number two got her ass murdered. I got over a hundred society business people here, and I gotta interview every single one’a them.” He looked pissed. Danny emphasized. At least he’d get the evidence, not the people. Evidence couldn’t call for its lawyers, and rich people usually refused to say more than six words that weren’t, “I want my lawyer.” They were usually, “I’d like to plead the Fifth.”
“COD?”
Flack jerked his head over his shoulder. “Hawkes is over there with the body. Exsanguination, apparently. She was stabbed. Repeatedly. One’a the other guests came down early for their fancy breakfast and found the body on the table.” He flipped through his notebook. “A Justice Hamilton Taylor, according to the first officer on the scene. I haven’t talked to the guy yet.”
“Justice Hamilton Taylor,” Stella said flatly.
“Uh-huh. Where’s Mac?”
“He’s caught in traffic,” she said absently, eyes flicking toward the crowd of businesspeople crowding at the crime scene tape. “He’ll be here. He can’t miss a case like this.”
“Stell, you all right?” Aiden asked, glancing up from her mocha.
“Fine. Just fucking fine.” Stella turned around. “You two get to work processing the scene. I’m going to go see a man about a corpse.”
Danny and Aiden glanced at each other as Flack stalked off toward the witnesses and Stella toward Hawkes. “Wonder what’s biting her ass?” he mused.
Aiden arched one eyebrow. “Or his, huh? Or is it just the early morning thing? He never was an morning person, but this is ridiculous. What’s up?”
“He didn’t get any sleep last night,” Danny said quietly.
“And whose fault was that, huh?”
“His nightmares came back.”
Aiden blinked. “Oh.” She leaned down to pick up her kit. “Well, let’s get to processing this scene, then.”
*
“Detective Taylor?”
Danny turned around. “What?”
The speaker was a pretty young woman, face dreadfully earnest, with shoulder-length brown hair and huge blue eyes. “I’m Lindsay Monroe. The lab said to come right over –”
“I’m not Mac,” Danny said. “And my reply’s no comment. I don’t talk to press. If you want a scoop, you wanna call the NYPD Press Office.”
Lindsay blinked. “Oh. Oh, I’m not with the paper, I’m –”
“I’ll handle this, Danny,” Stella said, materializing behind Lindsay. “It’s Lindsay Monroe, isn’t it? The new CSI from Montana.”
The woman turned to her with relief evident on her face. “That’s me. I mean – well, yeah, that’s me. Um – are you –”
“Detective Stella Bonasera,” Stella said. She glanced at Lindsay with her expression not unfriendly. “This is Detective Danny Messer. Mac’s not here yet, but he should be at any moment. Aiden Burn’s over there, and that’s Dr. Sheldon Hawkes. Welcome to the NYPD. You picked a hell of a case to start out on.”
*
“Who the hell’s that, Danny?” Aiden demanded, coming over to crouch down next to him.
“New girl,” Danny scowled. “Can you believe that? Mac went and hired a new CSI without telling anyone but Stella. Like we don’t already got enough CSIs, what with Hawkes joining up and Flack halfway to getting a degree. Oh, no, Mac’s gotta go hire some cornfed farmgirl from fucking Montana.”
“Montana? What the hell’s in Montana?”
“Fuck if I know.” Danny twisted around to glare at Lindsay’s back. “I’ve only known her ten minutes and I already hate her.”
“That’s kinda harsh, Danny.”
“I don’t care. Mac’s already got Hawkes; what’s he need a new golden child for? He starting a collection or something?”
Aiden rolled her eyes. “Mac’s not even here, Danny.”
“Well, he’s gonna be any moment now, and I’ll betcha twenty bucks he handpicked her and takes to her like two birds of a feather. Midwesterners run together. Maybe he thinks he’ll get along better with someone his own species instead of us New Yorkers.”
“Okay, my Dannyboy, that’s even harsher. You’ve had what, ten words with her? Not to mention that Montana’s not Midwest, genius, it’s Pacific Northwest.”
“C’mon, Aid, it’s nowhere near the West Coast.”
“Yeah, but it definitely ain’t the Midwest. And I’ll take your bet and raise you ten bucks to thirty.” Aiden cocked an eyebrow and held out one gloved hand. “Deal?”
Danny shook on it. “Deal.”
“Good. Now let’s took a look at this blood spatter, huh?”
*
Mac arrived at the Hilton almost an hour and a half after Flack had called him, hefting his kit and (he was sure) visibly irritated at how long it had taken him to get there. It shouldn’t have taken him that long, not at this hour of the morning, but somehow traffic had conspired to knot up in front of him at every possible opportunity, adding at least an hour to his travel time. If he’d been a superstitious man, he would have called it the capriciousness of the gods. As it was, he regarded it as an exasperating coincidence.
Stella saw him ducking under the crime scene tape and descended on him, leaving an unfamiliar brown-haired woman with Hawkes. “You,” she said, “are so, so late that I would laugh at you if it was any other case.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mac asked, trying to glance around her hair.
Stella moved to block his view. “How much did Flack tell you on the phone?”
“He just said that it was some big case that the brass were pushing us to solve as soon as possible. Why? What’s wrong?”
“You’ve heard of Shaw-Littel Enterprises, right?”
“Well, yes. That’s a major Fortune 500 company. You have to live under a rock to not know about Shaw-Littel.”
“What aobut the name Jacqueline Shaw?”
“The CEO.”
“Uh-huh.” Stella held up one finger. “The good news is, she also happens to be our vic.”
“Stella…” Mac said warily. “How is that good news?”
Stella held up another finger. “The bad news is your parents are here.”
Feedback much appreciated. Man, it's fun to write Aiden again. Coming back to these people is like talking to old friends again. Granted, old friends who you know are going to die painful deaths, but still.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-10 02:20 am (UTC)Cute boys very good. We're marching tomorrow too, for little kids at the Lincoln Elementary Parade, but Friday we get our pretty jackets the vets bought for us after the big uniform kerfuffle last year. And we can wear anything under them.
I *should*. Hell, since I'm actually bothering to *read* Boys of Winter (sporadically, but more than I had before), maybe even Miracle!pr0n.
*Mark Johnson puppy eyes*
Hrrrm. Yes indeed. There is that. I think I'm just used to it in some obscure New England/Wisconsin half-breed kind of way. (I swear my family is the only one on our block with the sense to clear the sidewalk properly).
Sidewalk? We don't need no steenkin' sidewalk...
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-10 02:30 am (UTC)Awesome! Lucky you. :D
*Mark Johnson puppy eyes*
Throw some ideas my way? I dunno... I got to that part in "Boys of Winter" about Jimmy not ever shutting up... (not to mention the happily destructive turn his life seemed to take post-Olympics.)
Sidewalk? We don't need no steenkin' sidewalk...
When your home street is a heavily traveled significant artery between Newton and Waltham/Watertown, you need one. (I... really, I'd rather not be pummeled by a plow. Or a cop car. Or a beamer.) Everyone else does that wussy one-shovel-width, or not at all.