It's the Job

Agent Frasier twisted the iron circles around the man’s wrist, the irreversible pain inflicted on the man’s wrist was excessive and the man writhed in pain. The handcuffs were made by Smith and Weston and had stayed with Frasier for his whole career as a police officer and then as an agent in Narcotics, as well. The criminal, Jose Tevez was a minor league drug dealer who undoubtedly had knowledge that could help demolish a majority of cocaine gangs in Brooklyn, if not the whole of New York. Frasier forced the man into the back seat of the BMW before racing into the passenger seat to show his delight to his partner, agent Shaun Walker.

Tevez was booked and interviewed as normal in the interrogation room and Frasier felt optimistic that Tevez could help them. Walker wasn’t so sure. When they were called in by Special Agent in Charge, Lance Griffin, both cops put forth their arguments about Tevez’s use. In the end they decided to let him stew for a bit, the information they needed would take a long time to extract. Shaun, motionless, was recycling ideas in his head while Griffin and Frasier were talking. His decisions were pictured like a see-saw inside his various brain lobes. Here the see-saw that was previously heavier on the left side, had now received a weight on the right side, balancing it out more. His choice still stuck however, one he would now pursue, with the help of his ex-wife, Elizabeth and unknowingly from Shauna, his eight-year old daughter.

“No, we aren’t talking about deals until we see some help from your client,”
Griffin was getting frustrated, Tevez’s lawyer was clearly an expert in stonewalling and playing for time. Griffin understood that there was no deal until he received some co-operation. Since there wasn't any from Jose Tevez, Griffin would have to drop it. He collected his books and was about to walk away when Frasier stepped in front of him,
“I think Tevez is afraid of me,” Frasier whispered
“Can you use that?” Griffin whispered back
Frasier just nodded, his eyes reflecting the determination flowing through his veins.
Griffin turned around to Tevez’ lawyer, the face of a man who hit a home-run. “May we discuss something in private, Mr Goades?” Griffin asked, eyes focused on the confident, African-American sitting beside Griffin's current nemesis. The man sorted his tie, (that was already adequate) and swung himself dramatically across the chair and went towards to door, Griffin following him. Goades held open the door and let the slightly stocky policeman lead the way to a room across the hall.

For the duration of Goades’ and Griffin’s departure, Frasier was eyeballing Tevez, his bloody wrist, caked in a layer of brown liquid more melted chocolate in appearance than haemoglobin. Tevez himself was sitting head-down, apparently staring at his crotch although nothing sexual was entering his mind. His brain was obviously in a state of shock, his whole world possibly collapsing and causing the poor man to implode in agony. Taking this on board, Frasier deliberated over the scare tactic. Usually in this situation the policeman offers the criminal a deal, to help regain some of his life, a shorter stay in prison and there you go, instant testimony against the puppet-master you are intending to ensnare. Frasier was somewhat of a specialist in the sneaky techniques, preferring olden-style grit over finny-fannying from a Good Police-person’s handbook.

Tevez glanced up at him, taking in the lanky policemans physical appearance and then dropping his head once more.

Instantaneously, Frasier lashed out, launching himself towards Tevez in a psychotic fashion, causing Tevez’s eyes to rise and swell in shock and fear. Frasier slammed his hand viciously down on the wooden table, again staring into Tevez’s eyes, feeding off the man’s fears. Frasier turned away and reached at Tevez’s neck from behind. He clenched the hyoid bone nearly full on and bumped Tevez against the wall, the criminal staying silent still, his eyes still showing the horrors he was feeling, the ultimate lack of knowledge of your future or fate.
“Who is your boss?” Frasier screamed, slamming his right fist into the wall an inch beside his other hand, this which was still clasped around Tevez’s throat.
“Who is your boss?” Frasier repeated, performing another smash with his knuckles, moving within millimetres of Tevez’s flesh.
“Okay, I will tell you,” he choked.
Frasier dropped him and the man fell to his knees, regaining his breath.
“and you’d better testify about that!” Frasier added, after receiving his answer through a scared nod, Frasier grabbed his coat and walked out the door, knocking on Griffin’s door before exiting the building and going home for a drink.

The case against Edward Jenner was borderline covered. Various circumstantial evidence had put the police and BIA onto his scent, but now the case was placed entirely on the surviving witnesses, one of whom being Jose Tevez.

Tevez explained in great detail the jobs he was pressured into doing for Jenner, his carriers, his allies and even implicating himself in various other felonies. Clearly Tevez was the star witness and the BIA were ecstatic.

So ecstatic, in fact, that some of them didn’t pay heed to the second half of the trial, for instance, Agents Jack Frasier and Shaun Walker were sitting in the Flaming Dagger bar, enjoying pints over another successful job. Walker had something important to tell Frasier, the decision which Walker had plotted to tell him numerous times in the conversations, but Frasier’s jolly mood left no room for Walker to wreck it with something to cause sadness, so at the end of the night, Walker walked away without telling him.

When Walker went home, he sat on his couch, in a trance almost, eyes focused on the pages on the coffee table that would change his life, forever. His resignation papers, lay there beside his daughter’s drawing, both symbols to bear on Shaun’s life. Metamorphosis – the end of one, the rebirth of another into his new life.

Frasier was horrified when he heard the news. Griffin had told him everything, the hole that had been blasted into the case against Edward Jennings, the hole that may give Jennings his freedom. It was Tevez. Jennings had brought up that famous question that every prosecutor hated, “coercion?” Since then the case was 50:50, once the jury was aware of the possible corruption, the jury was split and the Judge declared a mistrial, they’d have to retry him.

Jack Frasier came close to crying into his pint of beer that very night. Sitting by Shaun Walker gave him an ever increasing feeling of uselessness and inferiority. Shaun responded in the same way he always did, the same way that made him one of the kindest cops in the business. He put his arm around Frasier’s back and made him feel better about himself…or so he tried. As Jack began to perk up, he had to pick up his phone, 11:33pm, blood/alcohol through the roof, even this basic ring tone drilled into his skull like squawking crows in a blender.
“Yes?” Jack said, angrily, his response in itself a question,
“are you serious?” Jack’s voice piped up,
“Any chance we can get him back?”
“Does it have to be that early?” Jack said, blood to the point of boiling,
“Damn it!” Frasier exclaimed, launching his mobile into the floor beneath him, the force expended caused it to bounce back somewhat before resting on the floor, truly cajoled.
“TEVEZ SKIPPED!” he said in one of his infrequent quiet voices, “we’re going into the Jenner trial without our key witness!” Frasier said, his tone rising again.
Shaun had stood up when the unstable man had taken his frenzy, but upon hearing the news Shaun sat back down again and stared at the bar stools in shock. Gaining some energy, Shaun decided he would help Frasier recover, I mean, surely the boss would go after Frasier’s throat next, he put his other thoughts on hold and spent the night helping his dear friend. “Griffin condoned it, he's to blame as much as you are.”

Shaun entered his home in the early morning, implicating his boss was suicidal in the BIA, not phasing Shaun however, for tomorrow he would surrender his badge forever.

Jack Frasier was woken by a call from Griffin, 2 hours before the start of a shift was always bad news, as it proved to be. On the drive over Frasier was contemplating on what to say and what to expect. On one side he had the apologetic, oh my God, I’m sorry I made such a stupid mistake, it won’t happen again, approach, definitely not. Based on his previous encounters Frasier knew going down that road meant a lot of speed bumps and probably a dead end. Frasier decided to try his macho, no, it’s your fault, you allowed it to happen approach, this that Shaun had helped reinforce.

“Disgraceful, wreckless, stupid, striking a chord with you Frasier?” Griffin demanded, as soon as Frasier entered the boss’s office.
“You weren’t complaining when I got the confession!”
“Your unnecessary torture, allowed the coercion to fly, your idiocy has cost us this case!”
“You’re as much at fault as me!” Frasier snapped,
“I don’t think so, Detective, now clear up your desk, you’re outta here, and I don’t want to see you here ever again,” Griffin said, concise as ever.
Horrified, Frasier tramped outdoors and got back in his car, rage built inside him and he felt like he was going to punch someone, he stamped on the accelerator and flew home, not, however to return some things he borrowed from work.

PD Alice Swanson had been on hold for approximately 18 minutes, frustrated she laid her face on the table and let the phone hang on her shoulder, eventually it was answered.
“Hello, Commissioner Clarke, here,”
“Commissioner, PD Alice Swanson, here,”
“Yes Agent Swanson?”
“Sir, there was a recent shooting, a fight broke out between two ex-criminals on the streets, we were able to break it up before serious injury, but one of the criminals gut the pulp beaten out of him, the other one got away,”
“And why do I need to know this? Agent Swanson”
“Well sir, the man heading for Brooklyn Hospital Centre is wanted for a court appearance… his name is Jose Tevez,”
“Hold on a second, Agent Swanson”
Alice heard shouting down the other side, incoherent to her but they were bound to mean something to the other people.
“Yes, Agent Swanson, a friend of mine works in Narcotics, apparently Tevez’ is required for one of their drug cases, you’ll need to contact their Special Agent in Charge, Lance Griffin.”

Alice rang up the number given to her by the Commissioner, unsurprisingly it redirected to an answering machine, she gave her details as per normal and asked him to call her back, “he’s having lunch at this hour?” She thought.

Shaun was up and ready, he was high as a kite, he had decided to leave the car at home and decided to walk, he left early for his shift of course and when he got near he realised he was still too early. Without an inch of sadness, clinging to his resignation papers he decided to peruse the nearby streets for a coffee shop and enjoy some fresh breakfast and coffee.

Frasier grabbed his gun and a hat from his wardrobe, using some scissors he cut some crude holes where the eyes go and created a balaclava. Putting it on, he grabbed the gun and left without anything else.
Frasier drove furiously back to Griffin’s office, as he sprinted out of the car, he searched for any sign of a threat and noticed none. He opened the main door and stood for a moment to reflect. Blood still boiling he loaded the remaining chambers of his service pistol and unclicked the safety. Ready, he flung open the final door, and aimed his gun in the room. Lance Griffin was at his desk, curious as there was now a message on his answering machine, yet he was only away for a few minutes for lunch.

“Stand up!” Jack ordered, watching the slightly large man stand in discomfort. “Why did you screw up the case!” Frasier screamed, 2 yards away from him but aiming the gun at Griffin’s face. Lance’s eyes showed fear but he replied calmly, “I didn’t, you did!”
“You are the boss, I worked under your orders, you’re supposed to shield me, not isolate me!”
“I had to, the media would have swallowed up the entire office if we didn’t contain it, you committed the offence, you are the obvious candidate,”
Frasier eyed the man with disbelief, his blood pressure dropping slightly, realising the hole he had just dug for himself. Then they heard footsteps.

“You called the cops!” Frasier exclaimed, eyes locking back on the standing man, who’d never moved during the whole ordeal. The footsteps became more apparent, getting closer. Frantic, Frasier ran behind Griffin for cover and pointed the gun at the door,
“I’m going to shoot anyone who walks through that door!” Frasier yelled in defiance.

Shaun Walker had enjoyed his second breakfast, delicious coffee and a croissant from undoubtedly another one of New York’s finest, he smiled at the police joke. Playing around in his mind the things his daughter used to joke about, Walker actually rambled along, plodding his feet rather comically, this his daughter had found extremely entertaining. Walker had come unarmed, his resignation papers in a bag on his back that in fact contained just that. His badge was hanging proudly on his police uniform because he’d decided he wanted to end it the way he started. As he pushed through the first door, he stopped for a second, the abnormal silence coincidentally gave him a perfect time to reflect. After taking a few breaths in and out, Shaun was ready, Shaun thought, “and now to change my life forever.” Pride bursting from every orifice, Shaun stood up to the final door to Griffin’s office, placed his hand on the knob, and turned.