LOCATION: CRIME SCENE, BAR SHOOTING.
@forall-x
‘‘Put an ABP out. Now!’‘ Alder ordered, his voice gruff while a cigarette hung from his chapping lips. The lighter that he’d had secured in his pocket for the last two weeks was dead. The flame, no matter how hard he tried, had gone out. And the frustration within him was only building. ‘’Mother fucking cunt’’ He harshly shouted to the plastic before slamming it to the ground; well, tonight was going to plan.
Three bodies lay strewn and dead.
It was the way he knew what was waiting inside, the way his body had reacted. Maybe he wasn’t completely over what happened a few months back. But if he said anything, they’d make him go to therapy--- and he knew that would be worse. He couldn’t sit there and talk about his feelings. He was a fucking FBI agent, for christ’s sake. His job was to protect those around him.
If they thought anything else, they’d pull him out of work. And he couldn’t afford the things he needed if they did that. His mind instantly went to the little bag that was in his backpack. He let no one touch it. It was his little secret, or as he thought, his super power. It was how he remained so switched on at all times. He never missed a beat. It was why Alder Coplan was infamous.
The detective was renowned for being the best of the best. He got the bad guys. And when he had them in his custody, he could pull information out of people without even realising they’d said too much. He was feared by those in the crime world, known for being a hardass.
The weather had been perfect this last week, but as night descended, the cool air had become harsh and unforgiving. With that, he pushed his back to the wall outside the entrance of the now closed club. It was madness, a raid. He’d got here a little too late. The NYPD were already inside taking what they needed.
Some were dead, though. That was more paperwork than one could ever want.
How long had it been since he’d last had his ‘pain killer’? The cocaine that sat in his top draw was the only thing that kept him going these days. It was his way of getting through the stress of his job, of the impending doom he felt every time his phone rang in the dead of night.
And then he saw her. It was enough to illicit a groan. They played on different sides of the field, but, she was known for being just like him. He couldn’t lie. He admired her. She was one of the few females out there in any of the forces that he’d happily say he’d trust with his life if it came down to it.
‘‘Oh, and look who we have here, if it isn’t Ruby Hunt.’‘