PYGMALION

 

by DocPaul

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven: Go and catch a falling star,

 

Day Seven: Monday, 9:09 am

 

“You’re late.”

 

Sean just sneered at Michael as he took his seat next to Kyle.

 

“Yeah, well, you try to get ready for work with two women using all the bathroom space. Then they wanted me to make them breakfast. Things. Strange things hanging from shower curtains. Do you take them down, or leave them up?”

 

“Down,” said Kyle and Michael at the same time.

 

“Damn,” said Sean. Dammit, they would drip dry! They had all day. Julia’s things were hung in a special place, but a damn shower rod?

 

“So that’s your only excuse for being late?” Max asked, wanting to know how Sean could be an hour behind, and almost miss morning briefing.

 

“My car wouldn’t start.” They all groaned. Sean’s damn car. It was a nasty rust bucket that he could afford to replace but refused to do so. They had all jumpstarted him at one time or another.

 

“I went to borrow the Jetta, but you and Maria were already gone,” Sean said to Michael.

 

“She went to spend the morning with Amy and Jim and show them the plans for renovation and talk about the nursery. I don’t plan to see her until lunch.”

 

“She hid the keys to the GTO.”

 

“No. I hid the keys to the GTO. Last time she had you picked up for grand theft auto. She doesn’t need the stress.” Michael paused as his suspicion grew. “What are you driving?” His Mustang better be where he left it.

 

“Not your damn Mustang. I took the bus!”

 

The group of men started laughing at Sean’s dilemma. The bus. Roswell had the worst citywide transit system in all of New Mexico. The thought of big tough guy DeLuca on the bus was just worth a snicker or two.

 

“So that’s it? The bus?” Max asked in his pseudo-authoritive voice.

 

“No! Not just the bus!” Sean tossed himself down with a cup of steaming black nightmare guaranteed to remove inches of internal organs, clean away rust, and dissolve the peskiest of glues. Umm...Roswell PD coffee. “There was this woman…”

 

The entire group groaned. Of course there was. Sean, even off the market, was still a babe magnet.

 

“Hey! Not what you’re thinking! I’m a happily involved man…well, um…sort of. Anyway this woman was trying to get on bus in front of me, and her dress was too tight.”

 

“How tight was it?” Kyle asked, causing the others to laugh harder.

 

“Shut up, and let me tell the damn story!” Sean cracked his neck and started again. “Anyway, her dress was so tight that she couldn’t lift her leg to get on the bus no matter how much she tried. She lifted, but nothing. So she reached behind her and unzipped her dress a little to give herself some maneuvering room and tried again. Still too tight. She reached back, unzipped again. Again, nothing. So once again she unzipped and tried. Could not get on the damn bus.”

Max smiled slightly. “So this is why you’re late?”

 

“One of the reasons. So anyway, finally tired of waiting to get on, being that I was going to be late to work anyway,” Sean said with emphasis, looking at Max. “I put my hands on her ass and pushed her up and onto the damn bus.” The guys in the room exploded in catcalls and other remarks. Sean ignored them. “Anyway, the woman was a little miffed. She turned back and said, ‘Sir! I don’t believe I know you well enough for you to put your hands on my person in that manner!’ And I said, ‘Well, I didn’t think you knew me well enough to unzip my pants three times either, but that didn’t stop you!’…and that is why I'm late.” Sean finished dunking his stale donut in his coffee as the group of men exploded in laughter.

 

Strickland walked into the briefing room to all the laughter and comments. His appearance caused a complete quieting of the crowd. Putting his notes on the front desk he looked over the room of his Detectives.

 

“I’ve got problems with all of your reports. There seems to be a flurry of teams crossing over and helping each other. Gentlemen, this job requires you, meaning you alone with your partner, not every other man in the unit. Dispatch tells me that the teams are not giving their locations or are calling in from areas they aren’t supposed to be. Point in fact, the other night Hanson and Banks took a call in the early morning, and Guerin was called in. I understand that Evans was also alerted. Someone want to explain?”

 

Michael just shrugged, and continued to demolish a dozen of the donuts he had picked up on his way in that morning. They were incredibly good, but they lacked something. Even Tabasco didn’t take away the sense that they needed…more. He just continued to feed his face and refused to comment.

 

Max waited, but the entire group was silent. Sighing he stood up to take the assault head-on, “Guerin was called because the case was a ‘special’, and Michael is called in on all ‘specials’. I was informed since he is my partner, and we come as a matched pair. I took the call, called Michael to see if he needed me, which he did not, so I went back to bed. Michael took in the scene, worked with Hanson and Simon, and left Hanson primary, and went home back to bed when his assistance was no longer needed.”

 

“Specials?” Strickland hurriedly scanned his notes, trying to find that reference.

 

Max cleared his throat. “It's a term we use to denote a case that has excessive violence, serial, cult or gang killing potential, or is just plain bizarre. Captain cut Michael’s caseload, took him off rotation until after his maternity leave, but he's still pulled to the ‘specials’.”

 

Strickland looked a hole through Max who was standing strong and authoritive before him, the spokesman of the group. Guerin was too busy eating to comment. “So you're saying that Guerin is a one man special ops team?”

 

“Well, not exactly, Sir. There are more of us, but Michael is primary and he alone determines if he needs additional help.” Michael watched the two men talk about him like he wasn't there. Good. He couldn’t eat and talk at the same time. Well, he could, but Maria was trying hard to break him of that habit.

 

“And the others would be?”

 

Max looked straight into Strickland’s eyes, unflinching. “DeLuca, Valenti, and myself.”

 

“I should’ve known. The four stooges. Larry, Curly, Mo, and Shem.” Strickland’s eyes narrowed. “And the reports? The crossovers? The units being out of their turf?” Michael’s eyes narrowed. He better damn well not be Curly. Hoarding his donuts closer he gave Sean a glare. Sean was Curly, no doubt about it. Max was Mo. That left Kyle to be Larry. He had to be Shem, the nice one. Feeling better about himself, Michael started working on another donut while passing his empty coffee cup to be filled.

 

Max spread his feet and placed his hand behind his back in a stance of power. “Captain Valenti implemented a new system of checks and balances over four months ago. This system required that all teams available respond in the immediate area, regardless of who is primary. Recently there has been a flood of violence, drugs and gang-like killings on the streets. Our forces are stretched, our budget is pushing the breaking point, and our Captain didn’t want to leave any team or team members out there unprotected. It has never been, nor will it ever be the agenda or protocol of Major Crimes to chop up the city into turfs for the individual teams. All teams work the city, and we help and assist whatever team is primary to the best of our ability, because we are a team.” Max said with a non-emotional voice, cold and hard, “...Sir.”

 

Strickland’s face took on a nice shade of red. He came to stand in front of Max. “The agenda and protocols of Major Crimes are determined by me, Evans. This is my cop shop. I will determine how it is run, and you…all of you...will follow my orders to the letter. Is that understood?”

 

Max who had been staring past Strickland turned to look the man in the eye. “No, Sir.”

 

“Excuse me, Detective. What did you say?”

 

“I said, ‘No, Sir.’ We will not follow any protocol not set up by our Captain and commander of this unit, Captain James Valenti. This is his unit. Sir.”

 

“I’ll have your badge, and any badge of any man that will not follow my commands.”

 

Max calmly took off his badge and tossed it on the table in front of Strickland. The rest of the room tossed their shields on top of Max’s, with the exception Michael.”

 

Strickland’s face took a deeper shade of red, turning to Michael, he sneered. “What? You aren’t following your fag partner and his band of mutineers?”

 

Michael allowed his face to take on a look of disgust and disdain at Strickland’s taunt at Max. “I’d happily follow my partner…my ‘fag’ partner to the ends of the earth, but unfortunately I left my badge in the top drawer of my desk.” Michael took a donut and tossed it on the pile. “You may consider that a ‘stand-in’ for my badge.”

 

Strickland’s hands clenched, and Michael did the one thing guaranteed to send him over the edge. He sat back and smiled.

 

“Strickland!” All eyes turned to the sound of an authoritive voice. The Chief. Chief of Police Daniel Travalis stood in the doorway watching the interplay.

 

“Sir?”

 

“I need to see you in your office, immediately!”

 

Strickland glared at both Max and Michael, quickly turned and left the room of men behind. Chief Daniel Travalis looked over the room of men and sighed.

 

“Gentlemen, I realize the transition between Captain Valenti and Captain Strickland has been a rough one. And I apologize for taking so long to oversee the situation. Now men, pick up your shields… go on, pick them up. No one is quitting here today. There is no need for that.” He waited until they all retrieved their badges. “Stand fast, Guerin. I’ll be needing to confiscate that donut.” The men snickered and passed Michael’s donut to the Chief. Waters, who had been standing beside the coffee quickly poured the Chief a cup. “Thanks, Waters. How are the wife and kids? I saw Lydia in the school play the other night. She's growing up fast.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

The Chief took a bite of the donut, and hid a smile at the sulky scowl on Guerin’s face. That was a man that took his food seriously. Critically looking at him through lowered eyes, he had to agree that Guerin was in need of some fats and substance. He was too thin, and bordering on gray. His skin was blanched and he lacked his normal pissed off healthy bloom.

 

“I’ll take care of this situation immediately, so until otherwise, I want you all back on the streets doing your job. That will be all.” He watched them start to file out. Polishing off his coffee and one excellent Krispy Krème donut, the Chief went to talk to Strickland.

 

 

Strickland quickly stood when the Chief entered his office. He started to talk, but noticed the Chief was quietly checking out his office.

 

“You removed Jim’s personal belongings.”

 

“I just rearranged them to make room for my things.”

 

Daniel sat on the edge of the desk and nodded. “Did it ever occur to you that your things weren’t needed? This was never to be a permanent assignment; it was an interim quick-fix only. Nothing changes here. Nothing. This is Jim’s unit and it will remain so as long as I am the Chief of Police, is that understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir. But begging your pardon, Sir. I was trying to implement some discipline and efficiency to this unit, and you saw how unruly these men can be. They were…”

 

“Standing up for their Captain, and resisting your attempts to reorganize a unit that you have no authority to reorganize.” Daniel looked Strickland over. Damn, what a fucking mistake! “You were placed there, despite your suspension, because we had no time to find a more suitable replacement at a moment's notice.” Strickland opened his mouth to protest. “Do not even try to suggest that you are suitable. You were on suspension, your old unit is in turmoil. More than half your men are up for board inquiry, and the other half are too frightened to speak. I gave you this unit, but I never had any intention of leaving you here. This was your chance to play by the rules, be a member of the team, and you failed miserably. You came in all full of your authority and began wreaking havoc with a unit that has been working well above standard performance.”

 

“Sir, if I may…”

 

“You may not! Honestly, Strickland…what did you hope to accomplish here?”

 

“Sir, I was just doing my job as I understand it.”

 

“Then you need to reread the book or take language lessons, because you understand nothing. I gave you the best unit in the Department. This unit has the best conviction and solve ratio of any other unit. They have the fewest conflicted personalities, and as far as I can see, they work together as a team. Do you see the numbers on the work assignment board written in multicolor?”

 

Strickland nodded. Rhonda filled it out every morning.

 

“At the top are visiting hours for Captain Valenti, and next to it is the hospital condition report every morning for both Captain Valenti and his wife. The board is done in red, because this unit considers themselves to be under fire, and in a condition red for distress. The number at the top of the board is a number that increases every day. It is the count of how many days since one of theirs was attacked. Today it stands at seven, and that number will increase until the day this unit brings in the person or persons responsible for harming one of their own. The assignment list is as you assign them, but next to the assignment you will see a sort of shorthand. The shorthand is what the detectives and members of this unit consider their real assignment, and the ones they are fulfilling. This has never been your unit. Not even for a moment. The men have been running this unit at its usual speed and efficiency behind your back.”

 

Strickland turned red, and started to speak, but the Chief held up his hand. He wasn’t through.

 

“Don’t think I wasn’t watching, because I was. Tell me, what is the purpose of intercepting all lab and CSI reports? Why are they coming through you and not going to the case teams?”

 

“I thought it best to keep up on the individual cases myself, and…”

 

“That is not the most efficient way. The teams take care of their cases, work the information, and then report to you. You were hampering their investigations. Why?”

 

Strickland had nothing more to say. He remained standing.

 

“You are dismissed.” Strickland started to protest, but held his tongue. “You are back on suspension until your case comes before the inquiry board, and IA has finished its investigation. So pack up your things, and replace all of Jim Valenti’s belongings exactly where you found them.”

 

Daniel didn’t wait for a response; he went out to the bullpen. Standing beside Rhonda’s desk, he looked down and quietly thanked her for sending for him that morning. “Has it been like this all along?”

 

“Pretty much.” Rhonda said softly. “Hell week.”

 

“Guess that’s why you broke our date the other night?”

 

“No, I broke our date because you failed to mention that your divorce isn’t finalized.”

 

“Damn, I hate cop shops. Does everyone know everything about everyone?”

 

Rhonda just lifted her brow.

 

“Look, it was just a paper foul up. Jenny isn’t too pleased either. After being separated for two years, she was planning on getting remarried in Reno. It wiped out her plans. It should be all squared away by next week.”

 

“Then call me next week, and I’ll think about it.”

 

Daniel nodded. He had been trying to get her to date him for over three months, but she refused to date a married man. Her insistence was one of the reason he stopped dragging his heels on ending a marriage that had died two years previously. That and problems in the Department, Valenti out from a bombing attack, and numerous other concerns, including a daughter who dyed her hair flat black and a son that he suspected was stealing his cigarettes, he was stretched pretty far. He had let Valenti down. He should have paid more attention. “Send Evans to me in the breakroom, and if Captain Strickland hasn’t vacated Valenti’s office in the next ten minutes call downstairs for some uniforms to escort him out.” Daniel smiled warmly at Rhonda and went to locate more coffee.

 

“Sir?” Max stood in the doorway fully prepared to reap the results of his morning's activities.

 

Daniel looked up from the contemplation of his deep coffee cup. Vile stuff. He was hoping to get another cup before he had to return to his offices. His secretary had recently discovered flavored coffees, and somehow it just didn’t feel like a real police station with double vanilla coffee bean.

 

“Evans. Sit down.”

 

Max took a seat, and tried to remain firm and unyielding. The show of mutiny was his move, and solely his responsibility. He honestly never expected the entire team to follow him.

 

“Why are you running Majors?”

 

“I was ordered to continue business as usual, Sir.”

 

“By whom?”

 

“Captain Valenti.”

 

“I see.” Daniel downed the rest of his coffee. “Did Captain Valenti also instruct you to stage an act of insubordination?”

 

“No, Sir. That would be my own decision.”

 

“I see.” And he did. Evans was making decisions on his own, ones that were beyond those ordered and required. “Well, you leave me few options, Detective. On one hand, I completely agree that Strickland needed shutting down. But on the other, I’m not convinced that you were the person to do it. There are channels, places and procedures that need to be followed. There is a chain of command. Do you understand that, Detective?”

 

“Yes, Sir. I understand chain of command.”

 

“For future reference, Detective, all complaints go up, and if you have a problem with a supervisor, your complaint or hopes for resolution should and will go up the chain of command.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

The Chief reached over and poured himself some more coffee. “I have a problem. First, I have a unit that is missing its Captain. A unit that has been operating rogue and behind its acting-Captain’s back. Second, this same unit staged a group act of insubordination. Third, it will take me a few days to get a replacement. I might be able to get Captain Stevens again. Walt worked here while Valenti was on his honeymoon, and no one seemed ready to mutiny. Problem is, Walter Stevens hates this unit. Not the unit personally, but he thinks weird stuff happens around here, and he is a retiring S.W.A.T. commander. He’s not sure he's equal to the task.” Daniel drank his coffee thoughtfully sizing up Max. Evans. Good man. Good record. Good Detective. But his strengths weren’t in the field. His strengths were his quiet ability to get others to follow him. Guerin was a point in case. No one could keep Guerin from going off on a rage, except Max Evans.

 

“Sir...,” Max started, unsure what to say, but he was interrupted.

 

“It occurs to me that this unit has been running at its usual operating efficiency since Captain Valenti went into the hospital. Who do you report to?”

 

“Captain Valenti.”

 

Daniel nodded. Of course he did. “Well, it seems I can’t control you, but Valenti can. And if I’m going to have you and your band of merry men mucking around, I might as well sanction you and use you.”

 

Max frowned, but remained silent.

 

“Guerin. He's formally on limited duty, correct?”

 

“Yes. He's having health problems, both he and his fiancée. They're expecting twins and she's having a difficult pregnancy. He's stretched pretty thin.”

 

“Thin is a good word for him. I don’t remember him ever looking so wasting. Actually I thought he was putting on a few pounds a while back…”

 

“He was. Before the pregnancy.”

 

“He’s assigned to special cases?”

 

Max nodded. “He is. I’ve assigned him to the Valenti case, but made DeLuca and Valenti the primary team.”

 

“That might not be too smart. All three men have personal connections to Captain Valenti.”

 

Max smiled slightly. “We all do, but the three of them are the most closely connected. But, I wasn’t going to be able to control them, so I figured I might as well use them.”

 

The Chief recognized his own words tossed back at him. Grunting he continued to drink his coffee. “I remember there also being a granted request for Guerin for vacation time.”

 

“Honeymoon. He was planning on being married before his children are born, but the problems with the pregnancy and something to do with flowers has put it on a slow burner.”

 

“Okay. Pull your Detective team from active case duty.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“You heard me. Guerin pulls no new cases except special duty. When he needs his vacation time, give it to him. Until then, he is ‘special cases’ only, and time off. He’s looking too rough around the edges, and I’d rather get him back up to fighting strength. That’s not going to happen until his children are born.” Max nodded. “Also schedule him for two months' family leave effective the minute they're born. He’s going to need the time to get back on his feet and get used to being kept up all night.”

 

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime, if our team is pulled from duty?”

 

“You are acting Captain of the unit until Valenti returns to duty, or until I feel you can’t handle the job. If for any reason I feel you are not performing to the required degree of excellence, I’ll pull you and put in a replacement Captain of my choice.”

 

“Sir, I don’t think that I can…”

 

“You’ve been doing it for an entire week. Valenti thought you could, or he wouldn’t have assigned you. Guerin and the others follow you.” The Chief got up to leave. “Don’t think. Do. Either you're a born leader of men, or you aren’t. Time will tell us what you are, Detective. You’ll be needing to move into Valenti’s office for now.”

 

“Can’t I just…”

 

“No. A Captain isn’t one of his men. He has to be above, and an authority. This isn’t a democracy here. It doesn’t work that way. It will set you apart, but you should have been getting used to that over the last week. Now I expect daily progress reports on my desk by the following morning of each day, and you are to continue to report to Jim. Is that clear?”

 

Max stood up straighter. “Yes, Chief.”

 

“Max, you can do this.” Daniel hit him on the shoulder in comfort. “Who are your major teams? You’ll have to rearrange them to cover the loss of Guerin-Evans.”

 

“Valenti-DeLuca, Waters-Philips, Sargento-Petrowski, Hanson-Banks, and I’ve got Fletcher as a floater.”

 

“Don’t you have three rookies, and a few Patrolmen assigned?”

 

“Yes, but I’ve been keeping them close since I can’t assign them Primaries.”

 

“Guerin is out as a trainer. Pretty much excludes Valenti-DeLuca. Their caseload will be tight without you and Michael. Rotate the Rookies with Fletcher. Give them minors and domestic disputes. Bunco might have a few I can bump you if your case loads gets too heavy, but both Vice and Narcotics are already under staffed.”

 

“We’ve been skimming off Narcotics turf.”

 

“I heard, and it’s appreciated. You clear everything with their Watch Commander before anything big, and give them full accolades. Your unit is already pulling high marks, and Narcotics is getting trashed lately. Vice is a shit hole. There are only a few men I can vouch for in that nest, so let me know if you cross into their area. I’ll be happy if you keep Guerin from driving or shooting anyone, and Valenti and DeLuca from destroying the city with their car.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” The Chief just nodded and left the breakroom with Max following. Strickland was just leaving. Both the Chief and Max watched as Strickland walked out with a box of belongings and the entire bullpen purposely turned their backs to him. Harsh. There’d be bad blood over this incident if Strickland managed to survive the IA investigation and board inquiry.

 

~~~

 

“Guerin,” Michael barked into the phone, swearing at his watch. He was late.

 

“Hi, Detective,” Maria’s sweet voice came over the phone, and suddenly Michael’s face cleared.

 

“Professor, I’m late. I know. I was just on my way out when…”

 

“It’s okay. I’m home already.”

 

Home? “Wasn’t I supposed to pick you up for lunch?”

 

“You were.” Michael could hear something rattling in the background. “Mom had a special appointment, and Jim was scheduled for therapy until lunch. Mom says he’s not fit for man or beast after his therapy session, so she told me to go home, and she’d call me when she was finished with her appointment.”

 

“So you called to tell me to come home, not the hospital?”

 

Maria laughed. “No. Yes. Well, partially. I called to tell you to bring me home French Onion dip.”

 

“Just call in an order from the grocery store. They’ll deliver.”

 

“I already did. I forgot a few things, and I’m too embarrassed to call in another order.” Maria’s voice picked up a small annoying whine. “Michael, please?”

 

Michael moaned. Damn. French Onion dip. That was it! That was what his donut was missing this morning!  Rubbing his face hard he looked up at the ceiling, rocking on his feet. Ammunition. He was collecting lots of ammunition to guilt his children over in the future. The horrors of pregnancy. All the crap he ate. Dammit! He had actually eaten tongue with peanut butter and mayo!

 

“Okay, give me your list.” Michael winced at her happy squeal. “Let's make sure I’ve got this right. French Onion dip. The dip you put your potato chips into and not the French Dip sandwich with Au jus?”

 

Maria paused on the other end, and Michael almost ready to repeat his question.

 

“Bring me that too! Extra sauce, onions, and see if they'll toss some pickles too. Oh! Oh! Extra melted cheese.”

 

“That’s a deli stop, Maria. Not just a grocery store. And, it doesn’t come with cheese.”

 

“Provolone! Michael, provolone, double slices, and extra meat, extra sauce, and don’t forget the French Onion dip. You better get me two, and pickles!”

 

“Anything else?” Michael asked amused. When Maria was no longer pregnant, and she looked back on the things she had eaten, the woman was going to melt down, pickle her brain on aromatic oils and blame him completely.

 

“I think I need chips too,” she said softly.

 

Michael smiled slightly and rubbed his hand across his mouth. She was so damn adorable. If it wasn’t from the tiredness and fear of her dying, he’d keep her pregnant all the time. Then he heard it. The rattling. A bag.

 

“What are you eating, Professor?” His voice softened so as not to frighten. Too late.

 

“Um, uh…nuf..ing.” Maria cleared her throat. “Nothing.”

 

“My Oreos?”

 

“Nuuu….No.” Maria said with a full mouth. “Those are gone.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie. She had just shoved the last of them in her mouth.

 

“Maria! You swore you wouldn’t eat my cookies.”

 

“Honey, can you bring home milk too?” Her small voice came over the phone just before she hung up, “and more cookies.”

 

~~~

 

“Jim.”

 

“Chief, I wasn’t expecting you.”

 

“I suspect not.” Daniel took a seat next to Jim’s bed. Jim’s arm was still in a full sling. “How’s the arm?”

 

“Better. I’ve got some sensation, and almost unbearable pain in it. A good thing in some ways, bad in others. Right now the nerves are going insane. My arm feels like ants are running over its entire surface. Damn irritating. But it's damn nice to actually feel something.”

 

“Physical therapy?”

 

“Hurts like a bitch. I can’t use the arm, so physical therapy right now is nothing to do with strength, and everything to do with therapists whose parents overdid their potty training and they’re taking it out on me.”

 

Daniel laughed and sat back. “Well, you’re sorely missed by your people. They staged a full out mutiny today.”

 

“We’re not the Navy, Dan. It can’t be a mutiny.”

 

“Damn well looked like one to me.”

 

“So what happened?” Jim was almost afraid to ask. He had had reports from Max all week, but this was a report he hadn’t received yet. He sat back, resigned.

 

“Strickland is out. Your man Evans is in - unless he screws up.”

 

“He won’t. Maybe some bad starts, a few bad calls, but when it comes to anything major, he’ll come through. He’s a natural.”

 

“I caught that today. He never wavered once, even after staging a revolt that could’ve cost him his job, and the job of some others. Strong convictions in the face of overwhelming odds and against a powerful adversary are an important asset.”

 

“He lacks confidence, hedges a bit, and the times he’s been at his best is when he’s under pressure and facing crushing odds. When push comes to shove, I’d trust Max Evans’ native instinct over his long methodical reasoning. He overworks a problem, allows doubt and confusion to enter. I think he can handle it.”

 

“I’m still putting a reprimand in his jacket. Discipline, even in the face of idiocy is still necessary. He has to learn the rules and abide by them. They have to apply equally to everyone. Nothing above the law.”

 

Jim nodded, but there were times when men were laws unto themselves. Times when it was necessary to return to an older sense of justice when the newer ones failed. His unit was filled with men who had a sense of justice and understanding of what was right, and when the wheels of justice ran slow and inconsistently, they were willing to brandish their own version. They were becoming too powerful and too strong too fast. They needed a leader to control, channel and guide them away from losing all reason. They needed someone to yoke their strength.

 

“Max will keep them under control. With Guerin behind him, few will question his decisions.”

 

Normally, that was a true statement. “I’m not sure Guerin is going to be with us much longer. He looks like he could use about a good ten pounds and two months’ worth of sleep. I heard rumors that he was packing away food, that anytime anyone saw him, he’s eating. Today he hoarded a dozen donuts. Has anyone checked the man for worms or something?”

 

Jim frowned. Damn. He had noticed this situation a little, but his concerns and worries had centered around Amy and himself, getting out of the damn hospital and finding who had hurt his wife. He forgot to keep an eye on Michael and Maria.

 

“I’ll check on him. You might be right. We might have to kick him loose before I planned. Maria’s pregnancy is going badly, and he’s pushed to the limit with worry and stress. This problem hasn’t made it easier. Maria and Amy are very close, as are Michael and Amy.”

 

“It’s your unit, your men. I’ll leave you to take care of it as you see fit. I do know that Strickland walked away today with a gut full of hate and rage. He’s a hard one to cross. This won’t sit easy with him.”

 

“I know. I’ll take care of it.”

 

Daniel nodded and stood up. “When the hell are you out of here, Jim?”

 

“Next week sometime, or so they tell me. I have therapy, and in about three months another surgery.”

 

“Amy?”

 

Jim went quiet. “We’re still waiting for her legs to wake up. She has sensation in them, but she can’t move them. The cast makes it hard too. The specialist thinks that once the area around the spine finally recovers from the trauma, and swelling goes down, we’ll see some progress. Amy can go home too in the next week or so. She’ll stay in the hospital with me. They’re cutting and recasting her leg tomorrow. She’ll have a smaller cast, giving her more mobility.”

 

Daniel rubbed his hand across his face in fright. “Lord, have mercy.”

 

“Amen. She has a new project…”

 

Before Jim could finish telling Daniel the gruesome details, his beautiful wife rolled herself into his room. Her eye lit upon Daniel almost immediately.

 

“Why, Daniel! Just the man I needed to see!” Jim carefully avoided making eye contact with his friend and boss. A buddy in arms, but this was different. In this, every man for himself.

 

~~~

 

“Okay, tell me one more time.”

 

Michael quickly swallowed. “She dumped him. He’s sleeping on the Grim Sisters’ sofa, and I got him a new car.”

 

Maria banged her spoon on the countertop. “Detective, I’m going to punish you brutally.” Ignoring the gleam in his eye, she continued, “Cut the crap. Give me the stats.”

 

“1969 Dodge Charger in Charger Red, the tires are gone, and there’s some rust. The engine’s a 383-4BBl, and was already rebuilt but you’ll want to look at it. I don’t trust the restorer, but the 727 transmission is baked.”

 

“Oh, that will be fun. Transmissions. Damn. They’re like a damn albatross. Well, what else?”

 

“Mechanically, except for the transmission, the car looks to be in great shape. The body, on the other hand, is a mess. The frame is solid, but the trunk and rear quarter panels are all rusted out. So that’s the area that needs to be restored first.”

 

Maria tossed the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. “Let’s go look at it.”

 

“Not so fast, Grease Monkey Girl,” said Sean from the sliding glass door, as he and Liz entered the loft. “My project! You’re pregnant. There won’t be any shimmying under cars for you.”

 

“Fiddle, piddle, piss. I was just going to look. Hey, Liz!” Maria spied a noxious-looking liquid in Liz’s hand. “What’s that? It’s white, with a tinge of brown and green, and something tells me that the word ‘yummy’ will not apply.”

 

“Probably not. I think I licked the iron problem. This is a fish extract in a malted milk mixture from whales, that…”

 

“Michael! Kill Liz.. She’s threatening me!”

 

Michael ignored Maria and looked at the liquid. “From sea life?”

 

“The iron is unusual. Closest form found in nature is in sea animals, mammals such as whales and a few others. Genetically, we don’t want to alter her chemistry, and her body is unable to process the iodine, so I found some healthfood derivatives rich in kelp and fish concentrate…”

 

“I’m not drinking that!”

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

“Not.”

 

Michael’s eyes narrowed at the stubborn look on her face. “One way or another, Maria. I swear.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare!” Maria said boldly, but the look oh his face told her he wasn’t beyond sitting on her and pouring it down her throat. “Fine, but you first, and…and I’ll drink it if you agree not to take your gun to Lamaze tomorrow night.”

 

Michael faltered. Eying the slightly green milky liquid and stroking his gun in his back holster, he tried to quickly think of an alternative. It was the gleam in her eye that had him reconsidering, She thought she had won.

 

Taking the glass, Michael took a hearty gulp. Controlling his stomach and a need to gag, he quickly swallowed. It tasted like a glass of ground up fish eyeballs. The crap was vile. Giving Maria a competitive glare, Michael handed the glass to her. Not in the best of sportsmanlike behavior she grabbed it with a few choice words.

 

“Cookies? Maybe cookies would help it?”

 

“Drink it.”

 

Maria reached over on the counter and grabbed the bottle of Tabasco sauce. Adding a hearty amount, she plugged her nose and downed the remaining liquid. Michael’s stomach did a turn watching her, and Sean actually made retching noises. She made a high hacking noise as her face went through contortions. Michael quickly looked for something for her to throw up in, and found nothing handy.

 

“I’m okay!” Maria said crossly as her eyes watered and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Just tell me that I don’t have to do that again.”

 

Liz grimaced. “Well, only once a day, and only if it makes a difference.”

 

Maria gave a full body shake and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to go brush my teeth and sterilize my mouth.” On her way up the stairs she started talking to the twins, “The first time you don’t clean your rooms, you’re hearing about this. So you better enjoy that fish juice my little tadpoles, because it is coming with a price.”

 

Michael watched her for a moment and then looked over at Liz. “Anything on the blood?”

 

“Nothing really, except that it’s strange.”

 

Michael’s entire body went still. “Strange? Her blood is strange? Define ‘strange’ for me, Parker.”

 

“Well not strange,” She saw his look and quickly rushed in before Michael lost what little patience he had, which from all accounts was next to nothing. “Not as strange as yours and the others. You have specialized blood cells, sort of hyped-up hemoglobin with special receptor areas that carry this strange iron-iodine precursor cell. Maria has some residual iron-iodine cells, I think from the twins, in her system, but she lacks the hemoglobin to carry it. That’s why I think she craves your blood. Your blood in her system is like a banquet, picking up those special hormones and iron-iodine binding cells and carrying through her body at a fast rate.”

 

“This is biochemistry, right?” Liz nodded. “Dammit, Parker! You’re lecturing me on biochemistry. Okay, talk to me in layman’s terms and tell me what is going on with her. Why the sex? Why does it feel essential?”

 

Liz shrugged. She was finally getting used to Michael. “Basically, I think she lacks the transport system to deliver the basic energy and proteins that the twins need. They’re taking what’s provided from the normal fetal-mother concurrent exchange system, but…” Liz faltered at the irritated and glazed look in Michael’s eyes. “I mean, they use the food Maria’s system provides normally which, for a normal pregnancy, would be perfect. But I think these babies need more. Assuming that aliens or your kind are highly evolved, or more evolved than human are, there must be a greater need for energy to lay down those highly specialized pathways.”