Aidan Walsh (moonhowl) wrote in thatjazz, @ 2008-10-14 14:54:00 |
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Current mood: | accomplished |
Entry tags: | action post, aidan, elsewhere |
April 10 - Coppers can't be choosers
Atmosphere down at the precinct has been pretty tense all day long, no doubt there, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Or an axe. An axe could cut it. And of course, Aidan's at the center of all that tension. Swell day.
Tapping his pen on his desk, staring at files, his mind very far away. Thinking. Wondering how long before he gets a warning. How long before they really lose patience. Calculating his odds.
"Cousin'a yours downstairs, Walsh," he's told by one of his colleagues, and that snaps him out of it.
He's pretty damn sure it's no cousin of his. He grabs his hat and jacket, "back in five," and trots downstairs to go meet his cousin. He expects the funny kid, maybe, someone innocent-looking at least, that's what John told him, but the kid's not looking all that innocent. No, instead he looks Irish, which means the cousin angle works. "Coz!" he greets him with a wide smile, and clasps him to his chest for a second. "How's your lovely mother doing?"
Five minutes later and he's got what he's supposed to get. Cabbage, plenty of cabbage, none of which is meant for him. That's alright, though, he's not doing it for the money, but they wouldn't get it if he did it for free. They'd get suspicious. It's a thing.
He makes delivery to McArdle, who's still riled at him. Hardly Aidan's fault that he's in the position he's now in; that'll teach him to deal with mobsters. McArdle's sweating under his shirt. Aidan knows it, McArdle knows it, McArdle knows Aidan knows, and it riles him up even worse.
But McArdle's got the dough now, so Aidan won't be taking a beating. There's a few pairs of eyes still glaring his way through the rest of the afternoon, but he's used to that much. His mind is back on the job and he follows up on a case out of the precinct. He thinks he's safe, really.
He should've known better.
It's the cute little receptionist Aidan once caught the very married McArdle necking with that finds the body. McArdle's brass enough to get his own office, and look how that worked out for him. Aidan's never getting his own office, if it means being on the receiving end of a bloody murder right under the nose of your colleagues. He hears the scream as he's jogging up the stairs and he keeps on jogging on his way to McArdle's office.
Body's in one piece. Body really ain't pretty, though. Lotsa red, lotsa gore. Cute little receptionist's turned away, plastered herself to the chest of the newest detective. Fella's too shocked by the body to appreciate his good fortune.
Aidan's not shocked. Squeamishness and he broke up a few years back. He let it keep the apartment. No, he ain't shocked, he's appalled. He knows he's gonna get it. McArdle was one of them, and McArdle backed out of a deal with the wrong people... on account of Aidan. The fact that he ain't exactly popular with most of his colleagues is going to seal the deal.
There's no escaping it. If not today, it'll be tomorrow. So he sticks around, no point delaying it. He'll get off easy, compared to what happened to McArdle.
Behind the precinct. Seven of them. They keep it off his face, mostly. And he doesn't fight.
They leave him curled up on the ground. He waits until they're gone, catching his breath back, listening to his body's complaints. Then he drags himself over to the wall and sits up, although his ribs cry out in dismay at the shift. He leans his back against the wall, ignores the pain, and lights up a ciggie.
Then he starts laughing, and he doesn't stop until tears have run down his cheeks and the ciggie's done.