All the King's Men (2/5)
Title: All the King’s Men (2/5)
Author: hope_tang
Rating: PG-15
Spoiler Warning: The Reichenbach Fall
[Part II Warnings (will contain spoilers; click to open)]
Part II Warnings (will contain spoilers): continued vulgarity warnings; repeated threats of violence towards women; casual discussion of assassinations and murder; off-screen violence
Summary: All Sergeant Sean Pritchard wanted was the chance to complete his assignment: kill Inspector Greg Lestrade. Lady Luck (and Scotland Yard) had other ideas…
Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have nothing to do with Sherlock. I’m not even British…
Betas: I would be utterly lost without my awesome beta team powdered_opium, bluewillowtree, and agent_bandit.
Author’s Notes: Please see Part I for General Warnings.
~
April 2nd
“Up against the wall, now!”
With one smooth sweep of his arm, Kapur flattens Sean against the dingy walls of the high-rise. Opposite them, DCs Dunne and Chang do the same, protectively flanking their Detective Inspector. Dimmock’s tense expression reflects the fear pounding in all of the coppers’ throats. The paramedics rush through the narrow hallway, ignoring their audience in favour of their patient. Conscripted PCs carry the stretcher down the stairs at a brisk walk that is just short of a run. Dunne chokes back a cry of dismay as the little convoy goes past. Chang grabs her training mentor’s wrist and stares at her senior officers with an expression of thinly veiled terror. Sean likes that vulnerable look on the young constable’s face.
“Dimmock,” calls Lestrade from the open door of the sixth-floor flat. His suit jacket is gone and his shirtsleeves are pushed back to his elbows. His shirt is soaked with his sergeant’s blood. Despite his pallor, he stands firmly on his own and gestures for the junior inspector to come closer.
“Lestrade,” says Dimmock anxiously, striding forward, “are you-”
“I’m fine,” the older man lies. He makes an abortive gesture to run a bloodied hand through his hair. “None of the blood is mine. Look, I need to take Morris back to the station, but-”
“We’ll find her,” vows Dimmock, referring to their latest missing victim. “We’ll turn the bastard’s place upside down until we do.”
“Inspector Lestrade,” interjects Kapur kindly, “how about you get cleaned up first?” He glances at Dunne who nods firmly, her professional mask back in place. “Dunne will drive you back.”
Dimmock orders, “Pritchard, you’re with Chang on escort duty. If anything happens to Morris in custody, you’re responsible.”
“Got it,” Sean says before he can think about it. DC Chang nods in agreement before she slips past her betters into the flat to take charge of their prisoner.
By the time they leave, half of the CID squad has descended on Morris’ lousy excuse of a life to tear it apart. Their prisoner is the kind of lowlife scum that the Boss funds until they become liabilities and then sends Sean in to clean up. He wonders if there is any way to spring Morris from the clink. The whining bundle in the backseat might be worth a night’s entertainment before Sean slits the paedophile’s throat. Chang is surprisingly aggressive when she barks at their prisoner to shut up before she makes him. With that outburst, Sean puts her in the same category as Dunne in his mind; both female constables are feisty ones who would be worth the trouble of a hunt-and-fuck, if only to see them weep and beg. He pushes that daydream into the back of his mind. Not yet, not until he’s finished with the Boss’ job. Coppers might be pigs, but they hunt like wolves when one of their own is killed.
The rest of the day is spent holding down the fort back at the office. Dimmock, Gregson, Montgomery, and Acheson’s teams are all out at various scenes in their borough, with Dimmock heading a small army of detective and police constables searching for Morris’ most recent victim. Weary relief fills the squad room when Bronte announces that they’ve found the little girl, terrified but alive. It’s the CID’s small victory against death and murder. The rumour spreads that after Lestrade triple-checked the custody papers down in lock-up, he tried to go back on scene. With a phone call, Dimmock firmly puts that idea out of its misery. In the end, on the DCI’s orders, Dunne is assigned as Lestrade’s keeper and she takes him to UCH to wait for news on Donovan’s condition.
With the sun fast sinking below the horizon, Sean decides to risk his life and down a mug of the kitchenette’s acid-based coffee. It might kill him, but then at least he’d be free of the small mountain of forms on his desk. Everything in fucking triplicate-at least working for the Boss means no paper trail. Christ.
It’s on his way back to his desk that Sean happens to overhear his name coming from one of the observation rooms.
“-Prichard is too green,” argues Kapur. “We can’t put him in as Donovan’s replacement.”
Beckett retorts, “Well, he’s the only sergeant who seems willing to work with Lestrade and Donovan for any period of time. We don’t have anyone we can spare, not unless we’re going to reshuffle assignments for the entire squad.”
“He’s definitely eager,” acknowledges Davies, “and he has the stomach for the kinds of cases that land on the desk, but Kapur’s right. He’s too young and green to handle things for Lestrade. Five years out in the Cotswolds and less than a year here isn’t enough to ride herd on the constables the way Donovan can.”
There is a short reflective pause before Beckett sighs. “She’ll be out at least a month, minimum. We need someone who can cover for her. Any chance that we can get Pritchard to cancel his upcoming leave?”
“It’s his last trip with his girl before she heads off to the States,” replies Davies in an equally weary tone. “We can try, but…”
Kapur picks up the line of thought. “He’s been talking about it for weeks.”
Sean chuckles silently to himself. In three days, he’s headed to Italy with his girl all right. Except his girl Ira is 1.2 meters of sleek metal and travels in a form-cushioned case, and they’ve got a date with the Boss’ Italian godfathers. The capofamiglia have been staging their own little city-state revolt, dragging the carabinieri into “family business.” The Boss needs Sean and Ira to help clean up the mess and remind the surviving godfathers who is truly in charge of the criminal underworld. It will be nice to be himself again, and not a pig with a badge.
“What about Lee?” proposes Kapur. “He’s done the song and dance for the press before.”
Davies groans. “Oh bloody fuck hell, we’re going to have a media circus here again, aren’t we? Christ. Why can’t we get a goddamn break?”
“‘Cause the Sun and the Daily Mail are sodding vultures, that’s why,” mutters Beckett under his breath before he agrees, “Lee would be a good face, or Bronte.” Davies points out, “Lee has the military experience. He won’t take flak from the journalists. Yeah, Bronte has the guts to kick them to the curb, but she’s more likely to get herself a black mark on her record than Lee is. He’ll just stare them down. We’ve already got two people who can never talk to the press again; I’d like to keep from adding another name to that list.”
A series of dark chuckles spill out from the room. Kapur catches himself and says, “All right. Lee it is, with Bronte as his backup. Which of the constables do we want?”
“Can you spare Dunne and Chang?”
“Chang is too green for Lestrade’s cases.” Sean can imagine Kapur shaking his head in disapproval. “I want to keep an eye on her after today. Dunne is a better bet. She looks up to Donovan. It won’t be a problem for Rachel to transfer back when Donovan goes on desk duty.”
“Do we want to keep Pritchard on the team?” asks Beckett and Sean feels himself tensing in frustration.
“Who’s scheduled to cover him during leave?”
“Preston,” replies Davies after a moment. “I thought it would be good for her, get a woman’s prospective on the CID.”
Kapur’s tone is carefully neutral as he asks, “We’re putting Donovan back on the mentoring track?”
“Like it or not, Lestrade’s not transferring her out anytime soon, and well, Thornton isn’t going to push him on this… Look, I get that you’re not happy with her, none of us are, but she’s as good a copper as the rest of us when she isn’t being impulsive.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, Davies,” is the response. “I’d be the first to point out that she’s cleaned up her act since Holmes’ suicide. I don’t have a worry about her mentoring Preston or any of our DCs, but does the DCI know about this?”
“Thornton is fine with it.” Davies mutters, “And Stanton’s got bigger and better things on his plate.”
Beckett scoffs. “There’s talk he’s going to get promoted.”
Davies sighs. “Talk or not, that’s none of our business. So we’re agreed? Lee for lead Sergeant, Pritchard as his support, and Constables Dunne and Preston for backup until Donovan gets back?”
“You think Pritchard will be all right with working with two women?”
“It’s the new Met, he’s in,” replies Davies to Beckett’s question. “It’s not the Old Boys’ Club anymore. If he doesn’t like it…”
Kapur sounds confident when he says, “Lee will keep him in line. So will Lestrade.”
Sensing that the senior sergeants’ conversation is just about over, Sean beats a silent withdrawal into the kitchenette. He shoves his now-cold mug into the microwave. As he reheats the battery-acid sludge of CID coffee, he mulls over the potential opportunity presented to him. There’s no way for him to cancel his upcoming holiday to Italy, not after all the groundwork he’s laid with his colleagues about his girl and this last one hurrah before she ditches him for desert flowers in Arizona. Plus, the Boss needs him in Italy and he needs a break from the CID before he finds himself doing more than pretending to be a copper. Donovan’s death would be a convenience, but it’s not a done deal. The one thing he can be assured of is that he has less than a month to get Lestrade to trust him without her interference.
Still, that mission will have to wait until his little holiday jaunt to Italy. Sean wonders how easy it would be to pick up a pretty tourist and have his way with her. He has a type; he likes his women screaming and breathless.
It won’t be easy, but it can be done.
~
July 13th
“Any updates?”
Sebastian Moran, formerly of Her Majesty’s Royal Marines and now owner of a small but profitable private security firm, swirls his glass of red wine before he takes a sip. He is the perfect picture of a seasoned soldier who has done well for himself in retirement, a war hero with an honourable discharge to his name and the good fortune to arrive home in far better condition than most of his peers. None of the corporate office workers on the restaurant’s main floor would suspect that he is anything more than a savvy businessman who now makes his killings in the company boardrooms instead of in the wilds of Afghanistan.
Sean does the same, savouring the slow slide of rich flavour down his throat, before he sets his wineglass back on the table. Time to report.
“It’s been slow going,” he says, “but he’s starting to trust me.” Even though the room is private, neither man is stupid enough to assume that they won’t be accidentally overheard by the wait staff or by another customer. They are men who have survived and thrived in a field of work that rewards sloppiness with death.
“Is there any chance of putting forth the proposal?” Sebastian traces the rim of his glass. Sean easily translates the innocent question as Is there any chance of isolating the detective inspector from the others?
Sean frowns, picks up his knife and fork as he counters, “Has our timeline accelerated?” Do you want Lestrade dead tonight?
The Boss’ right hand man shakes his head. “No, I was just wondering how receptive he would be if circumstances abruptly changed.” How easy would it be for you to get close and finish the job on short notice?
“It’s hard to say,” muses Sean, slicing his finely done steak. “His secretary is the wary type.” It could be done, but his sergeant is going to be a problem.
“I thought she was on extended leave.”
“She’s back now, pretending that nothing’s changed, and he’s certainly happy to have her back. He doesn’t mind me anymore, but she’s watching the door again.”
Sebastian spears one of the carrot garnishes. “Will she be a problem?”
Sean shrugs, chewing and swallowing. “No. If she is, I can handle it. Donovan’s just an old busybody, after all.”
“Good,” the other man picks up his knife. “Now, about Italy…”
“What about Italy?” replies Sean with forced casualness. It’s a different type of danger, reporting to Sebastian rather than the Boss. Lying to the Boss is just as fatal as failing the Boss; the man knows things before you even realize you know them. Sebastian, on the other hand, is a charmer, someone who coaxes confessions out of people, makes them feel like they can confide in him, tricks them into thinking he is harmless…until he isn’t.
Sitting across the table from him, Sean reminds himself that all of this-the smartly cut suits, the casual conversation, the high-end meal-is just window dressing for the man Sebastian truly is. He is the Boss’ right-hand man, the one who knows where nearly all the buried skeletons are hidden. Displeasing Sebastian is just about as dangerous as angering the Boss. So why bring up Italy? The last he heard, the Boss was pleased with the way Sean had handled that mess.
“I’m just…interested in your take on the situation there. Anything you didn’t tell the Boss in your report?”
Sean raises an eyebrow. “I’m not suicidal.” He knows that Sebastian will tell the Boss anything he adds now to his original comments and the Boss doesn’t like anyone withholding information the first time around. Like he says, he doesn’t have a death wish.
The younger man has already let the Boss know the current lay of the criminal underworld in Italy. The Carabinieri have shattered the backbone of the Italian operations. Even an idiot can see that it will take years to rebuild the fragile alliances that held the Cosche together. The surviving fragments are too busy vying with each other to care about what the Boss could offer them. Sean will stay well clear of it. All he did was go in and execute the orders he was given. Through in all honesty, Ira did more damage control than deterrence, eliminating the godfathers who couldn’t be allowed to live and testify on behalf of Lo Stato. In the Boss’ organization, knowledge is wealth, but it comes with a price. Sean is happy where he is, high enough to be trusted with certain tasks, but not enough that his life is worth a bullet to keep the Boss’ secrets. Sebastian treats this knowledge with both respect and scorn.
“So there is something…”
“No.” Sean meets the other man’s piercing stare with a level gaze. There is nothing to say. He has nothing to hide. “I told the Boss everything I saw and did in Italy. He knows.”
Sebastian sits back and smiles, satisfied. “Good.”
Silence falls for several minutes with both men staring at each other in unspoken challenge. Sean knows that he can’t yield to the pressure to speak first. A slow, predatory grin spreads across Sebastian’s face and he nods to himself. He picks up his utensils and resumes eating. After a heartbeat’s pause, Sean does the same.
“We’re very satisfied with your work in Italy, and your liaison in Austria.” Out of habit more than anything else, Sean keeps an eye on the other man’s steak knife as Sebastian gestures with his fork. In their line of work, nearly anything can become a weapon.
“I do my best.”
“Yes,” agrees Sebastian affably. “When are you due for leave?”
“I’ve got next Wednesday and Friday off.”
“No way to make them concurrent?”
“I’m on call Thursday,” he counters, “but I’d prefer not to risk it.”
The other man nods, chews, and swallows. “And that weekend?”
“I’m in the office.”
“You’re still on days, then?”
“Yes, until the end of this month.”
Sebastian picks up his wineglass with a thoughtful expression. “There’s a situation in Frankfurt. I know-” He raises a hand in acknowledgement of Sean’s rising ire. “I know we agreed that you’ve done more than your share of travel in the past three months. It’s…it’s a scouting expedition, if you will.”
“I’ll need more than just a day’s leave to do any kind of proper scouting.”
“Yes, I know, but… The Boss has already assigned someone to look into the Frankfurt situation, and while he is confident of the man’s abilities….”
“You want me there as a shadow.”
“More or less.” Something changes in Sebastian’s expression and Sean finds himself sitting across from a very tired-looking man. He wonders if that is a momentary slip of expression or a calculated move. “There have been too many leaks recently for me to feel…comfortable with merely one set of eyes on any situation.”
Before he thinks about censoring himself, Sean asks, “Then who is watching me?”
Genuine surprise flashes in Sebastian’s eyes before he chuckles, “Of course. You’ve always been one of the Boss’ favourites.” He smiles slightly. “I am.”
Sean nods, accepting that the answer is only a partial truth. He isn’t stupid enough to press. Again, not suicidal. “Fine with me. So you want me to travel to Frankfurt to do a bit of checking up on one of our associates. What is he looking at, exactly?”
“Rumours,” says Sebastian with a distinctly displeased look on his face. Sean has seen that expression before, usually before someone ends up dead on Sebastian’s advice to the Boss. “One of our mutual friends has been seen in the company of… of a certain employee of the MBP.”
“Are we certain that the…exchange of information is not to our benefit?” People are always so convinced about the upstanding nature of their police forces, as if the Boss doesn’t have his ‘friends’ there too. Corruption comes hand-in-hand with power, and there is nothing like power as a police officer .
“Our mutual friend has no reason to be speaking to that rival. Rumour has it that the contact has received some…sensitive information regarding our business.” Sebastian sips his wine and lets Sean mull over the news. So the Boss suspects that someone in the Frankfurt operations is leaking information to the Bundespolizei? Sean is, naturally, of the firm opinion that any member of the Boss’ empire who is stupid enough to be seen keeping company with the German federal police without the Boss’ explicit blessing deserves to end up dead.
“So you want me to go in, plug the leak?”
“Yes, and no,” says Sebastian slowly. “The Boss would like confirmation before he asks you to take care of the problem. I am of the mind that should you discover there is a problem, you should be allowed to take care of it immediately.”
Sean is instantly wary. He hasn’t survived this long in the Boss’ employment by letting himself get trapped in power plays. Sebastian has been faultlessly loyal to the Boss for years, but it wouldn’t be the first time a trusted underling has wrested control from a weakened crime boss. Sean won’t play that game. If Sebastian is staging his own little rebellion, Sean wants nothing to do with it.
“Until that’s sorted out, I can’t do anything.” It’s a risky demand to make, but Sean has always been clear about where his priorities lie. He hunts for the Boss because the Boss can buy his silence. He’s not interested in power, and Sebastian should know better than to assume otherwise.
The slightly older man tilts his head in concession. “Of course, you’re right. This is between me and him, but he’ll confirm his decision with you before you leave. You have my word on this.”
“Look,” Sean sighs, because Sebastian isn’t getting the entire point, “I don’t want to play games, and I don’t want to take sides.” He sets down his knife and fork. “I’m the Boss’ man, through and through.”
“And you’ve never given us any reason to think otherwise,” interjects Sebastian in a low murmur.
Sean ignores the compliment as he continues, “The point is, I can only do so much traveling before people start asking questions. Now, I can either continue where I am and handle issues that are closer to home, or resign from my position and spend my time fixing problems wherever they show up.” It’s a dangerous ultimatum, but it’s also a necessary one. Sean has to maintain certain levels of professionalism, and working two contradictory jobs for the past year or so has begun to fuck around with his standards. He can be either the Met’s Sergeant Pritchard full-time or the Boss’ janitor full-time. If he doesn’t choose, Sean knows that sooner rather than later, he’s going to make a stupid mistake.
Sebastian nods sharply. “Yes, and the Boss and I agree with you. Frankfurt will be your last job out of England unless something comes up. Let me finish.” The warning is mild, but the intention is not. Sean is content to let the other man assert his dominance in the conversation and stays silent.
“I can’t promise you that you won’t have to travel again in the coming months. The situation in Europe has been…less than stable for our company, and you have been one of our best negotiators to date.” The two men share a tight smile before Sebastian continues, “However, you are correct. You are far more valuable where you are, close to our friend. We must guard our leverage when we can, and he… Well, let’s just say that he is of interest to many people, including the Boss, and keeping a close eye on him would be wise for our future successes.
“Given the situation, you may be asked to travel more often within the country. Limited valuable resources, you do understand.” Sean nods in understanding. No one at the Yard would think it odd if he went out to the Cotswolds or up to Scotland to see old mates or distant relations, especially on short notice. He’ll probably be cleaning up business in London as well, keeping the syndicates in line after their short-lived rebellion a few months back. It’s all politics, and, while Sean would normally stay the hell out of the power struggles, the Boss has asked for his ‘assistance’, and no one refuses the Boss.
Before the wanker offed himself, Jim Moriarty was the man who made the European criminal underworld dance at a whim. He was the genius behind some of the Boss’ most brilliant (and profitable) operations. He was the bogeyman that no one crossed. He was the deputy that the Boss sent into negotiations and meets (and executions) on his behalf when the Boss wanted to make a point-usually in corpses-about one disagreement or another. Moriarty was a certifiable genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also batshit insane. His suicide triggered a succession crisis that has nearly brought the Boss’ European operations to its knees. It’s certainly caught the Boss’ personal attention. While no one has ever met the Boss in person, Sean has received his share of personal summons to meet with the Boss’ newest deputy: Sebastian Moran, the lethal assassin promoted to fill his predecessor’s shoes.
Not everyone has accepted the Boss’ decision to coin Sebastian as Moriarty’s successor. Sean can’t see why-the older man might not be genius brilliant, but he is a charmer, a snake in the grass, the quiet kind of lethal. In their line of work, efficient practicality matters more than flashy complexity. Plenty of people have underestimated Sebastian before, and ended up dead for their stupidity. Of course, most of their younger ‘associates’ are idiots, so perhaps Sean is expecting a little too much from nothing.
If he had to speculate on the why of the rebellions-and he will only confess to doing so when hell freezes over-Sean would say that it probably has something to do with Sebastian’s old position as Moriarty’s bodyguard. All nine of the Boss’ deputies have one, someone the Boss trusts to keep his chosen appointees alive as they go about his business. On the surface, it’s a boring job because most of the time, the bodyguards just stand there and look vaguely threatening while the deputies talk. It’s all the behind-the-scenes work, the preparation beforehand and constant vigilance that makes these bodyguards dangerous. People don’t realize it, but it takes more than a bit of luck to be a successful assassin. The fact that Sebastian has made it to his late thirties means the man’s smart. And the Boss likes smart people.
Sean’s no fool himself; he can tell that the former soldier has been in the Boss’ good graces for a long time. Moriarty was the Boss’ most trusted right-hand man, and his safety was entrusted to Sebastian’s care. The Boss doesn’t trust easy, but it’s clear he trusted, and still trusts, his new deputy. Hell, Sebastian’s already taken over Moriarty’s old responsibility of ruthlessly eliminating anyone who displeases the Boss-including other deputies. It’s certainly making the point that he’s capable of the job. Maybe people think that there should be some hell to pay, because Moriarty pulled that trigger on Sebastian’s watch, but Sean can’t think of anyone else who could possibly be a decent deputy. Besides, he almost likes his fellow sniper, and that makes life go so much smoother.
“For services rendered to date,” continues Sebastian, “you will receive your usual compensation and a small bonus. Few of our…peers have demonstrated the same degree of patience that you have in this matter.”
Sean nods once again. “Like I said, I’m the Boss’ man.”
“Yes,” Sebastian smiles at him and raises his glass in a toast. Sean follows suit. “To the Boss.”
The rest of the lunch goes smoothly, with little chatter. By the time the two men part ways, Sean is feeling comfortably relaxed and confident of his place in the world. The warmth of the wine and the pleasant fullness of a well-cooked meal makes him crave the satisfaction of the hunt. Not the thrill of the kill, not tonight, that would require more preparation and energy than he has. No, what he wants is to stalk his prey, play with his target, and score a hit. It will be a trial run for the plan. It has been three months, after all, and it’s time to see if his work has paid off.
Sean goes hunting.
Dressed in casual business wear, he seems like every other corporate office worker on the street, bland and unremarkable, ultimately forgettable. He ducks into a W.H. Smith and purchases a paperback copy of the latest bestseller in cash. It doesn’t take Sean very long to track down his prey. The extra GPS receiver in Lestrade’s phone and a quick search on Google maps nicely takes care of that business. There is a coffee shop across the street from the pub that will have the perfect vantage point to wait and observe.
Every copper knows the dangers of having a fixed routine. It makes it easy for someone with a grudge to track down a copper and take revenge. The reality, though, is that everyone has a routine on days when they’re not called in at bloody six in the morning. There are only so many ways to get from one point to another, after all, and people build their lives around patterns. Kapur always has dinner with his family in the cafeteria when he’s on night shift on a weekend. Nelson always checks the kitchenette coffeemaker before and after shift. Bronte always calls her mother if she works on Sunday. For the past six months, when John Watson has a shift at the A&E and DI Lestrade has the day off, the two men meet for a mid-afternoon meal and drink at this particular pub.
Sean is about fifty pages into a dull plot when he spots Lestrade and Watson stepping out of the establishment. The ex-army doctor makes a gesture with his cane, punctuating some remark or another. The silver-haired detective grins and shakes his head. He points down the street, towards the Tube station, but Watson says something, clasping the other man’s shoulder before they bid each other farewell and walk in opposite directions. Sean gives himself a three-minute wait before he drains his expensive, piss-poor cup of coffee, tucks his book under his jacket, and leaves the store. He lets his fingers twitch over the switchblade hidden in his belt. Not today, not yet.
He follows Lestrade at a distance as the other man strolls languidly through the streets of London. It’s a sunny day in an unusually rainy July, which has made his time out in the elements all that much more bloody enjoyable. Still, it’s nice weather and the warmth of the summer afternoon sun soaks into his bones and isn’t he waxing fucking poetic like some fancy poof?
It’s when he spots the coffee vendor across the street that Sean realizes where Lestrade is heading. He allows himself a satisfied smile. One of their current cases is a woman’s body found in an alley not far from here, a nice blind spot in CCTV central London. It’s looking to go unsolved since no one noticed the stiff until a heavy rainstorm had washed away all the evidence. Sometimes, Nature just loves murderers. He begins to close the distance to his target. Showtime.
Lestrade is standing at the mouth of the alleyway, people moving past him with annoyed glances at the human obstacle blocking the pavement. The Inspector is staring intently at the brickwork as if that would be enough to make the crime scene reveal all its secrets. Sean takes a deep breath, relaxes his shoulders, and walks forward out of the crowd.
“Hey, Boss,” he says casually, “I thought today was your day off.”
Lestrade turns sharply at the call, wariness flashing in his eyes before he relaxes his stance. He nods in greeting, “Pritchard, I could say the same to you.”
“Are you working the case now?”
The older man chuckles once. “No. Just passing by, but you know how it is. You do the Job long enough, and your mind sometimes knows more than you do.”
Sean nods and smiles like he understands. “I guess I’ve got a ways to go, then.”
“You’re doing fine.” With one more look at the rubbish-filled lane, Lestrade sighs and asks, “And you?”
“Just in the neighbourhood,” he shrugs, “Thought it would be a waste of a good day if I didn’t go and enjoy the sun… and found myself here, of all places.” Sean chuckles lightly. “On second thought, maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”
Lestrade smiles a little and replies, “As long as it’s the good habits, and not the ones that land you in front of the Commissioner’s inquiry committee.”
“I hear you. So,” Sean turns his attention to the alley, but his focus is on the man next to him, “what do you think happened?”
“To Tina Green?” Lestrade purses his lips in thought. “What do you think?”
Sean takes a step into the narrow lane, willing his prey to come along, to trust a fellow copper, to follow him into a CCTV blindspot in the middle of central London on a bright, sunny afternoon. If he can do it here, he can do it on a cold, rainy night when it’s just the two of them at a crime scene.“I’d say that it was a crime of opportunity.” He moves into the alley and lowers his voice. If Lestrade wants to hear what he’s going to say, he’ll have to come closer. “I think it’s a domestic gone wrong.”
The senior investigator takes one step away from the pavement and-
“Boss?”
Jesus buggering Christ, are you fucking serious?
Sean stares at the interruption. In his rage, he nearly vows right there and then to gut the conniving bitch before he gets himself under control. Trial run, remember? he reminds himself.
“Dunne,” says Lestrade affably, with a soft grin as he turns around and steps back out of the alley. “Aren’t you off-duty today?”
Wearing a sundress in an awful shade of yellow, DS Dunne looks up at Lestrade with respect bordering on adoration. Sean wants to gag, but he plasters on an expression of pleasant surprise as he steps forward.
“Yes, I am.” She beams back at him, leaning on the arm of the man accompanying her. “Oh! Pritchard, I didn’t see you! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No, no,” says Sean quickly, because damn now there’s a witness to get rid of and-he discreetly eyes the man standing next to Dunne-another witness who frankly looks like he can handle himself in a pub brawl. Bugger it all.
“No,” agrees Lestrade with a dismissive nod, “we were just talking shop. Is this your brother?”
Dunne grins. “Yes, Patrick, this is my boss, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and one of my supervisors, Sergeant Pritchard. Boss, Pritchard, this is my brother, Major Patrick Dunne of the British Army.”
“Please, Greg,” says Lestrade with a warm smile and a handshake. Sean does the same, feeling the urge to flee the sickeningly sweet scene, screaming. “Sean.”
“Likewise, call me Patrick,” says the man affably. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you. Actually, I was wondering if I could impose a bit on your expertise. My tour is up soon, and I’d like to move back to London, be closer to my sis.”
“Well, we’re not exactly what you’d recommend for a normal post-military career.”
“I’ve been with the RMP’s Special Investigations branch, coming up on a decade.”
“And you’re looking to join CID?” Lestrade considers the man seriously.
The younger man nods, “I’m thinking about it. I’d like to hear your thoughts, if that’s all right with you.” He wraps an arm around his sister and smiles down proudly at her, “Rache’ here has a lot to say about the Job-”
“But I’m family,” she cuts in without any fear of shaming her brother. “So my big brother would like to know more about what he’s getting into if he signs up from an unbiased source.” She laughs fondly.
“Plus,” the elder Dunne glances at his sister before meeting Lestrade’s gaze straight on, “she respects you. It would mean a lot to me if we could talk sometime.”
Lestrade smiles at the siblings. “I’d be happy to share.”
“Actually,” says Dunne brightly, “we’re about to have dinner right now. Would you like to join us?”
She stares innocently at Sean, wordlessly including him in the invitation. He knows that if he doesn’t walk away now, he will do something incredibly stupid. He can almost feel the weight of his switchblade in his hand. He might get Dunne before either of the men can shield her, but Lestrade is a veteran investigator and the other man is an active soldier. Plus, he wants revenge, and he wants to take his sweet time in making her beg, scream, and cry. So Sean smiles apologetically and makes his excuses, something about having to meet his mates at a pub in a bit. The grin on his face turns a bit more real when Dunne cheerfully extends an invitation to dine with her and her brother at some later date. We’ll dine all right, he thinks as he shakes her brother’s hand and waves to his colleagues, and I’ll love dessert.
Sean manages to keep a hold on his temper until he is two streets away. Instead of directing his steps homeward, he chooses the Piccadilly line. The young man fumes as he taps his unregistered Oyster card against the ticket barrier. He needs to make someone scream tonight. Might as well be someone who is paid to bloody well take it and ask no questions.
God must love the bloody fucking Met. Or just Lestrade.
~
Continued in Part III
Author: hope_tang
Rating: PG-15
Spoiler Warning: The Reichenbach Fall
[Part II Warnings (will contain spoilers; click to open)]
Part II Warnings (will contain spoilers): continued vulgarity warnings; repeated threats of violence towards women; casual discussion of assassinations and murder; off-screen violence
Summary: All Sergeant Sean Pritchard wanted was the chance to complete his assignment: kill Inspector Greg Lestrade. Lady Luck (and Scotland Yard) had other ideas…
Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have nothing to do with Sherlock. I’m not even British…
Betas: I would be utterly lost without my awesome beta team powdered_opium, bluewillowtree, and agent_bandit.
Author’s Notes: Please see Part I for General Warnings.
~
April 2nd
“Up against the wall, now!”
With one smooth sweep of his arm, Kapur flattens Sean against the dingy walls of the high-rise. Opposite them, DCs Dunne and Chang do the same, protectively flanking their Detective Inspector. Dimmock’s tense expression reflects the fear pounding in all of the coppers’ throats. The paramedics rush through the narrow hallway, ignoring their audience in favour of their patient. Conscripted PCs carry the stretcher down the stairs at a brisk walk that is just short of a run. Dunne chokes back a cry of dismay as the little convoy goes past. Chang grabs her training mentor’s wrist and stares at her senior officers with an expression of thinly veiled terror. Sean likes that vulnerable look on the young constable’s face.
“Dimmock,” calls Lestrade from the open door of the sixth-floor flat. His suit jacket is gone and his shirtsleeves are pushed back to his elbows. His shirt is soaked with his sergeant’s blood. Despite his pallor, he stands firmly on his own and gestures for the junior inspector to come closer.
“Lestrade,” says Dimmock anxiously, striding forward, “are you-”
“I’m fine,” the older man lies. He makes an abortive gesture to run a bloodied hand through his hair. “None of the blood is mine. Look, I need to take Morris back to the station, but-”
“We’ll find her,” vows Dimmock, referring to their latest missing victim. “We’ll turn the bastard’s place upside down until we do.”
“Inspector Lestrade,” interjects Kapur kindly, “how about you get cleaned up first?” He glances at Dunne who nods firmly, her professional mask back in place. “Dunne will drive you back.”
Dimmock orders, “Pritchard, you’re with Chang on escort duty. If anything happens to Morris in custody, you’re responsible.”
“Got it,” Sean says before he can think about it. DC Chang nods in agreement before she slips past her betters into the flat to take charge of their prisoner.
By the time they leave, half of the CID squad has descended on Morris’ lousy excuse of a life to tear it apart. Their prisoner is the kind of lowlife scum that the Boss funds until they become liabilities and then sends Sean in to clean up. He wonders if there is any way to spring Morris from the clink. The whining bundle in the backseat might be worth a night’s entertainment before Sean slits the paedophile’s throat. Chang is surprisingly aggressive when she barks at their prisoner to shut up before she makes him. With that outburst, Sean puts her in the same category as Dunne in his mind; both female constables are feisty ones who would be worth the trouble of a hunt-and-fuck, if only to see them weep and beg. He pushes that daydream into the back of his mind. Not yet, not until he’s finished with the Boss’ job. Coppers might be pigs, but they hunt like wolves when one of their own is killed.
The rest of the day is spent holding down the fort back at the office. Dimmock, Gregson, Montgomery, and Acheson’s teams are all out at various scenes in their borough, with Dimmock heading a small army of detective and police constables searching for Morris’ most recent victim. Weary relief fills the squad room when Bronte announces that they’ve found the little girl, terrified but alive. It’s the CID’s small victory against death and murder. The rumour spreads that after Lestrade triple-checked the custody papers down in lock-up, he tried to go back on scene. With a phone call, Dimmock firmly puts that idea out of its misery. In the end, on the DCI’s orders, Dunne is assigned as Lestrade’s keeper and she takes him to UCH to wait for news on Donovan’s condition.
With the sun fast sinking below the horizon, Sean decides to risk his life and down a mug of the kitchenette’s acid-based coffee. It might kill him, but then at least he’d be free of the small mountain of forms on his desk. Everything in fucking triplicate-at least working for the Boss means no paper trail. Christ.
It’s on his way back to his desk that Sean happens to overhear his name coming from one of the observation rooms.
“-Prichard is too green,” argues Kapur. “We can’t put him in as Donovan’s replacement.”
Beckett retorts, “Well, he’s the only sergeant who seems willing to work with Lestrade and Donovan for any period of time. We don’t have anyone we can spare, not unless we’re going to reshuffle assignments for the entire squad.”
“He’s definitely eager,” acknowledges Davies, “and he has the stomach for the kinds of cases that land on the desk, but Kapur’s right. He’s too young and green to handle things for Lestrade. Five years out in the Cotswolds and less than a year here isn’t enough to ride herd on the constables the way Donovan can.”
There is a short reflective pause before Beckett sighs. “She’ll be out at least a month, minimum. We need someone who can cover for her. Any chance that we can get Pritchard to cancel his upcoming leave?”
“It’s his last trip with his girl before she heads off to the States,” replies Davies in an equally weary tone. “We can try, but…”
Kapur picks up the line of thought. “He’s been talking about it for weeks.”
Sean chuckles silently to himself. In three days, he’s headed to Italy with his girl all right. Except his girl Ira is 1.2 meters of sleek metal and travels in a form-cushioned case, and they’ve got a date with the Boss’ Italian godfathers. The capofamiglia have been staging their own little city-state revolt, dragging the carabinieri into “family business.” The Boss needs Sean and Ira to help clean up the mess and remind the surviving godfathers who is truly in charge of the criminal underworld. It will be nice to be himself again, and not a pig with a badge.
“What about Lee?” proposes Kapur. “He’s done the song and dance for the press before.”
Davies groans. “Oh bloody fuck hell, we’re going to have a media circus here again, aren’t we? Christ. Why can’t we get a goddamn break?”
“‘Cause the Sun and the Daily Mail are sodding vultures, that’s why,” mutters Beckett under his breath before he agrees, “Lee would be a good face, or Bronte.” Davies points out, “Lee has the military experience. He won’t take flak from the journalists. Yeah, Bronte has the guts to kick them to the curb, but she’s more likely to get herself a black mark on her record than Lee is. He’ll just stare them down. We’ve already got two people who can never talk to the press again; I’d like to keep from adding another name to that list.”
A series of dark chuckles spill out from the room. Kapur catches himself and says, “All right. Lee it is, with Bronte as his backup. Which of the constables do we want?”
“Can you spare Dunne and Chang?”
“Chang is too green for Lestrade’s cases.” Sean can imagine Kapur shaking his head in disapproval. “I want to keep an eye on her after today. Dunne is a better bet. She looks up to Donovan. It won’t be a problem for Rachel to transfer back when Donovan goes on desk duty.”
“Do we want to keep Pritchard on the team?” asks Beckett and Sean feels himself tensing in frustration.
“Who’s scheduled to cover him during leave?”
“Preston,” replies Davies after a moment. “I thought it would be good for her, get a woman’s prospective on the CID.”
Kapur’s tone is carefully neutral as he asks, “We’re putting Donovan back on the mentoring track?”
“Like it or not, Lestrade’s not transferring her out anytime soon, and well, Thornton isn’t going to push him on this… Look, I get that you’re not happy with her, none of us are, but she’s as good a copper as the rest of us when she isn’t being impulsive.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, Davies,” is the response. “I’d be the first to point out that she’s cleaned up her act since Holmes’ suicide. I don’t have a worry about her mentoring Preston or any of our DCs, but does the DCI know about this?”
“Thornton is fine with it.” Davies mutters, “And Stanton’s got bigger and better things on his plate.”
Beckett scoffs. “There’s talk he’s going to get promoted.”
Davies sighs. “Talk or not, that’s none of our business. So we’re agreed? Lee for lead Sergeant, Pritchard as his support, and Constables Dunne and Preston for backup until Donovan gets back?”
“You think Pritchard will be all right with working with two women?”
“It’s the new Met, he’s in,” replies Davies to Beckett’s question. “It’s not the Old Boys’ Club anymore. If he doesn’t like it…”
Kapur sounds confident when he says, “Lee will keep him in line. So will Lestrade.”
Sensing that the senior sergeants’ conversation is just about over, Sean beats a silent withdrawal into the kitchenette. He shoves his now-cold mug into the microwave. As he reheats the battery-acid sludge of CID coffee, he mulls over the potential opportunity presented to him. There’s no way for him to cancel his upcoming holiday to Italy, not after all the groundwork he’s laid with his colleagues about his girl and this last one hurrah before she ditches him for desert flowers in Arizona. Plus, the Boss needs him in Italy and he needs a break from the CID before he finds himself doing more than pretending to be a copper. Donovan’s death would be a convenience, but it’s not a done deal. The one thing he can be assured of is that he has less than a month to get Lestrade to trust him without her interference.
Still, that mission will have to wait until his little holiday jaunt to Italy. Sean wonders how easy it would be to pick up a pretty tourist and have his way with her. He has a type; he likes his women screaming and breathless.
It won’t be easy, but it can be done.
~
July 13th
“Any updates?”
Sebastian Moran, formerly of Her Majesty’s Royal Marines and now owner of a small but profitable private security firm, swirls his glass of red wine before he takes a sip. He is the perfect picture of a seasoned soldier who has done well for himself in retirement, a war hero with an honourable discharge to his name and the good fortune to arrive home in far better condition than most of his peers. None of the corporate office workers on the restaurant’s main floor would suspect that he is anything more than a savvy businessman who now makes his killings in the company boardrooms instead of in the wilds of Afghanistan.
Sean does the same, savouring the slow slide of rich flavour down his throat, before he sets his wineglass back on the table. Time to report.
“It’s been slow going,” he says, “but he’s starting to trust me.” Even though the room is private, neither man is stupid enough to assume that they won’t be accidentally overheard by the wait staff or by another customer. They are men who have survived and thrived in a field of work that rewards sloppiness with death.
“Is there any chance of putting forth the proposal?” Sebastian traces the rim of his glass. Sean easily translates the innocent question as Is there any chance of isolating the detective inspector from the others?
Sean frowns, picks up his knife and fork as he counters, “Has our timeline accelerated?” Do you want Lestrade dead tonight?
The Boss’ right hand man shakes his head. “No, I was just wondering how receptive he would be if circumstances abruptly changed.” How easy would it be for you to get close and finish the job on short notice?
“It’s hard to say,” muses Sean, slicing his finely done steak. “His secretary is the wary type.” It could be done, but his sergeant is going to be a problem.
“I thought she was on extended leave.”
“She’s back now, pretending that nothing’s changed, and he’s certainly happy to have her back. He doesn’t mind me anymore, but she’s watching the door again.”
Sebastian spears one of the carrot garnishes. “Will she be a problem?”
Sean shrugs, chewing and swallowing. “No. If she is, I can handle it. Donovan’s just an old busybody, after all.”
“Good,” the other man picks up his knife. “Now, about Italy…”
“What about Italy?” replies Sean with forced casualness. It’s a different type of danger, reporting to Sebastian rather than the Boss. Lying to the Boss is just as fatal as failing the Boss; the man knows things before you even realize you know them. Sebastian, on the other hand, is a charmer, someone who coaxes confessions out of people, makes them feel like they can confide in him, tricks them into thinking he is harmless…until he isn’t.
Sitting across the table from him, Sean reminds himself that all of this-the smartly cut suits, the casual conversation, the high-end meal-is just window dressing for the man Sebastian truly is. He is the Boss’ right-hand man, the one who knows where nearly all the buried skeletons are hidden. Displeasing Sebastian is just about as dangerous as angering the Boss. So why bring up Italy? The last he heard, the Boss was pleased with the way Sean had handled that mess.
“I’m just…interested in your take on the situation there. Anything you didn’t tell the Boss in your report?”
Sean raises an eyebrow. “I’m not suicidal.” He knows that Sebastian will tell the Boss anything he adds now to his original comments and the Boss doesn’t like anyone withholding information the first time around. Like he says, he doesn’t have a death wish.
The younger man has already let the Boss know the current lay of the criminal underworld in Italy. The Carabinieri have shattered the backbone of the Italian operations. Even an idiot can see that it will take years to rebuild the fragile alliances that held the Cosche together. The surviving fragments are too busy vying with each other to care about what the Boss could offer them. Sean will stay well clear of it. All he did was go in and execute the orders he was given. Through in all honesty, Ira did more damage control than deterrence, eliminating the godfathers who couldn’t be allowed to live and testify on behalf of Lo Stato. In the Boss’ organization, knowledge is wealth, but it comes with a price. Sean is happy where he is, high enough to be trusted with certain tasks, but not enough that his life is worth a bullet to keep the Boss’ secrets. Sebastian treats this knowledge with both respect and scorn.
“So there is something…”
“No.” Sean meets the other man’s piercing stare with a level gaze. There is nothing to say. He has nothing to hide. “I told the Boss everything I saw and did in Italy. He knows.”
Sebastian sits back and smiles, satisfied. “Good.”
Silence falls for several minutes with both men staring at each other in unspoken challenge. Sean knows that he can’t yield to the pressure to speak first. A slow, predatory grin spreads across Sebastian’s face and he nods to himself. He picks up his utensils and resumes eating. After a heartbeat’s pause, Sean does the same.
“We’re very satisfied with your work in Italy, and your liaison in Austria.” Out of habit more than anything else, Sean keeps an eye on the other man’s steak knife as Sebastian gestures with his fork. In their line of work, nearly anything can become a weapon.
“I do my best.”
“Yes,” agrees Sebastian affably. “When are you due for leave?”
“I’ve got next Wednesday and Friday off.”
“No way to make them concurrent?”
“I’m on call Thursday,” he counters, “but I’d prefer not to risk it.”
The other man nods, chews, and swallows. “And that weekend?”
“I’m in the office.”
“You’re still on days, then?”
“Yes, until the end of this month.”
Sebastian picks up his wineglass with a thoughtful expression. “There’s a situation in Frankfurt. I know-” He raises a hand in acknowledgement of Sean’s rising ire. “I know we agreed that you’ve done more than your share of travel in the past three months. It’s…it’s a scouting expedition, if you will.”
“I’ll need more than just a day’s leave to do any kind of proper scouting.”
“Yes, I know, but… The Boss has already assigned someone to look into the Frankfurt situation, and while he is confident of the man’s abilities….”
“You want me there as a shadow.”
“More or less.” Something changes in Sebastian’s expression and Sean finds himself sitting across from a very tired-looking man. He wonders if that is a momentary slip of expression or a calculated move. “There have been too many leaks recently for me to feel…comfortable with merely one set of eyes on any situation.”
Before he thinks about censoring himself, Sean asks, “Then who is watching me?”
Genuine surprise flashes in Sebastian’s eyes before he chuckles, “Of course. You’ve always been one of the Boss’ favourites.” He smiles slightly. “I am.”
Sean nods, accepting that the answer is only a partial truth. He isn’t stupid enough to press. Again, not suicidal. “Fine with me. So you want me to travel to Frankfurt to do a bit of checking up on one of our associates. What is he looking at, exactly?”
“Rumours,” says Sebastian with a distinctly displeased look on his face. Sean has seen that expression before, usually before someone ends up dead on Sebastian’s advice to the Boss. “One of our mutual friends has been seen in the company of… of a certain employee of the MBP.”
“Are we certain that the…exchange of information is not to our benefit?” People are always so convinced about the upstanding nature of their police forces, as if the Boss doesn’t have his ‘friends’ there too. Corruption comes hand-in-hand with power, and there is nothing like power as a police officer .
“Our mutual friend has no reason to be speaking to that rival. Rumour has it that the contact has received some…sensitive information regarding our business.” Sebastian sips his wine and lets Sean mull over the news. So the Boss suspects that someone in the Frankfurt operations is leaking information to the Bundespolizei? Sean is, naturally, of the firm opinion that any member of the Boss’ empire who is stupid enough to be seen keeping company with the German federal police without the Boss’ explicit blessing deserves to end up dead.
“So you want me to go in, plug the leak?”
“Yes, and no,” says Sebastian slowly. “The Boss would like confirmation before he asks you to take care of the problem. I am of the mind that should you discover there is a problem, you should be allowed to take care of it immediately.”
Sean is instantly wary. He hasn’t survived this long in the Boss’ employment by letting himself get trapped in power plays. Sebastian has been faultlessly loyal to the Boss for years, but it wouldn’t be the first time a trusted underling has wrested control from a weakened crime boss. Sean won’t play that game. If Sebastian is staging his own little rebellion, Sean wants nothing to do with it.
“Until that’s sorted out, I can’t do anything.” It’s a risky demand to make, but Sean has always been clear about where his priorities lie. He hunts for the Boss because the Boss can buy his silence. He’s not interested in power, and Sebastian should know better than to assume otherwise.
The slightly older man tilts his head in concession. “Of course, you’re right. This is between me and him, but he’ll confirm his decision with you before you leave. You have my word on this.”
“Look,” Sean sighs, because Sebastian isn’t getting the entire point, “I don’t want to play games, and I don’t want to take sides.” He sets down his knife and fork. “I’m the Boss’ man, through and through.”
“And you’ve never given us any reason to think otherwise,” interjects Sebastian in a low murmur.
Sean ignores the compliment as he continues, “The point is, I can only do so much traveling before people start asking questions. Now, I can either continue where I am and handle issues that are closer to home, or resign from my position and spend my time fixing problems wherever they show up.” It’s a dangerous ultimatum, but it’s also a necessary one. Sean has to maintain certain levels of professionalism, and working two contradictory jobs for the past year or so has begun to fuck around with his standards. He can be either the Met’s Sergeant Pritchard full-time or the Boss’ janitor full-time. If he doesn’t choose, Sean knows that sooner rather than later, he’s going to make a stupid mistake.
Sebastian nods sharply. “Yes, and the Boss and I agree with you. Frankfurt will be your last job out of England unless something comes up. Let me finish.” The warning is mild, but the intention is not. Sean is content to let the other man assert his dominance in the conversation and stays silent.
“I can’t promise you that you won’t have to travel again in the coming months. The situation in Europe has been…less than stable for our company, and you have been one of our best negotiators to date.” The two men share a tight smile before Sebastian continues, “However, you are correct. You are far more valuable where you are, close to our friend. We must guard our leverage when we can, and he… Well, let’s just say that he is of interest to many people, including the Boss, and keeping a close eye on him would be wise for our future successes.
“Given the situation, you may be asked to travel more often within the country. Limited valuable resources, you do understand.” Sean nods in understanding. No one at the Yard would think it odd if he went out to the Cotswolds or up to Scotland to see old mates or distant relations, especially on short notice. He’ll probably be cleaning up business in London as well, keeping the syndicates in line after their short-lived rebellion a few months back. It’s all politics, and, while Sean would normally stay the hell out of the power struggles, the Boss has asked for his ‘assistance’, and no one refuses the Boss.
Before the wanker offed himself, Jim Moriarty was the man who made the European criminal underworld dance at a whim. He was the genius behind some of the Boss’ most brilliant (and profitable) operations. He was the bogeyman that no one crossed. He was the deputy that the Boss sent into negotiations and meets (and executions) on his behalf when the Boss wanted to make a point-usually in corpses-about one disagreement or another. Moriarty was a certifiable genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also batshit insane. His suicide triggered a succession crisis that has nearly brought the Boss’ European operations to its knees. It’s certainly caught the Boss’ personal attention. While no one has ever met the Boss in person, Sean has received his share of personal summons to meet with the Boss’ newest deputy: Sebastian Moran, the lethal assassin promoted to fill his predecessor’s shoes.
Not everyone has accepted the Boss’ decision to coin Sebastian as Moriarty’s successor. Sean can’t see why-the older man might not be genius brilliant, but he is a charmer, a snake in the grass, the quiet kind of lethal. In their line of work, efficient practicality matters more than flashy complexity. Plenty of people have underestimated Sebastian before, and ended up dead for their stupidity. Of course, most of their younger ‘associates’ are idiots, so perhaps Sean is expecting a little too much from nothing.
If he had to speculate on the why of the rebellions-and he will only confess to doing so when hell freezes over-Sean would say that it probably has something to do with Sebastian’s old position as Moriarty’s bodyguard. All nine of the Boss’ deputies have one, someone the Boss trusts to keep his chosen appointees alive as they go about his business. On the surface, it’s a boring job because most of the time, the bodyguards just stand there and look vaguely threatening while the deputies talk. It’s all the behind-the-scenes work, the preparation beforehand and constant vigilance that makes these bodyguards dangerous. People don’t realize it, but it takes more than a bit of luck to be a successful assassin. The fact that Sebastian has made it to his late thirties means the man’s smart. And the Boss likes smart people.
Sean’s no fool himself; he can tell that the former soldier has been in the Boss’ good graces for a long time. Moriarty was the Boss’ most trusted right-hand man, and his safety was entrusted to Sebastian’s care. The Boss doesn’t trust easy, but it’s clear he trusted, and still trusts, his new deputy. Hell, Sebastian’s already taken over Moriarty’s old responsibility of ruthlessly eliminating anyone who displeases the Boss-including other deputies. It’s certainly making the point that he’s capable of the job. Maybe people think that there should be some hell to pay, because Moriarty pulled that trigger on Sebastian’s watch, but Sean can’t think of anyone else who could possibly be a decent deputy. Besides, he almost likes his fellow sniper, and that makes life go so much smoother.
“For services rendered to date,” continues Sebastian, “you will receive your usual compensation and a small bonus. Few of our…peers have demonstrated the same degree of patience that you have in this matter.”
Sean nods once again. “Like I said, I’m the Boss’ man.”
“Yes,” Sebastian smiles at him and raises his glass in a toast. Sean follows suit. “To the Boss.”
The rest of the lunch goes smoothly, with little chatter. By the time the two men part ways, Sean is feeling comfortably relaxed and confident of his place in the world. The warmth of the wine and the pleasant fullness of a well-cooked meal makes him crave the satisfaction of the hunt. Not the thrill of the kill, not tonight, that would require more preparation and energy than he has. No, what he wants is to stalk his prey, play with his target, and score a hit. It will be a trial run for the plan. It has been three months, after all, and it’s time to see if his work has paid off.
Sean goes hunting.
Dressed in casual business wear, he seems like every other corporate office worker on the street, bland and unremarkable, ultimately forgettable. He ducks into a W.H. Smith and purchases a paperback copy of the latest bestseller in cash. It doesn’t take Sean very long to track down his prey. The extra GPS receiver in Lestrade’s phone and a quick search on Google maps nicely takes care of that business. There is a coffee shop across the street from the pub that will have the perfect vantage point to wait and observe.
Every copper knows the dangers of having a fixed routine. It makes it easy for someone with a grudge to track down a copper and take revenge. The reality, though, is that everyone has a routine on days when they’re not called in at bloody six in the morning. There are only so many ways to get from one point to another, after all, and people build their lives around patterns. Kapur always has dinner with his family in the cafeteria when he’s on night shift on a weekend. Nelson always checks the kitchenette coffeemaker before and after shift. Bronte always calls her mother if she works on Sunday. For the past six months, when John Watson has a shift at the A&E and DI Lestrade has the day off, the two men meet for a mid-afternoon meal and drink at this particular pub.
Sean is about fifty pages into a dull plot when he spots Lestrade and Watson stepping out of the establishment. The ex-army doctor makes a gesture with his cane, punctuating some remark or another. The silver-haired detective grins and shakes his head. He points down the street, towards the Tube station, but Watson says something, clasping the other man’s shoulder before they bid each other farewell and walk in opposite directions. Sean gives himself a three-minute wait before he drains his expensive, piss-poor cup of coffee, tucks his book under his jacket, and leaves the store. He lets his fingers twitch over the switchblade hidden in his belt. Not today, not yet.
He follows Lestrade at a distance as the other man strolls languidly through the streets of London. It’s a sunny day in an unusually rainy July, which has made his time out in the elements all that much more bloody enjoyable. Still, it’s nice weather and the warmth of the summer afternoon sun soaks into his bones and isn’t he waxing fucking poetic like some fancy poof?
It’s when he spots the coffee vendor across the street that Sean realizes where Lestrade is heading. He allows himself a satisfied smile. One of their current cases is a woman’s body found in an alley not far from here, a nice blind spot in CCTV central London. It’s looking to go unsolved since no one noticed the stiff until a heavy rainstorm had washed away all the evidence. Sometimes, Nature just loves murderers. He begins to close the distance to his target. Showtime.
Lestrade is standing at the mouth of the alleyway, people moving past him with annoyed glances at the human obstacle blocking the pavement. The Inspector is staring intently at the brickwork as if that would be enough to make the crime scene reveal all its secrets. Sean takes a deep breath, relaxes his shoulders, and walks forward out of the crowd.
“Hey, Boss,” he says casually, “I thought today was your day off.”
Lestrade turns sharply at the call, wariness flashing in his eyes before he relaxes his stance. He nods in greeting, “Pritchard, I could say the same to you.”
“Are you working the case now?”
The older man chuckles once. “No. Just passing by, but you know how it is. You do the Job long enough, and your mind sometimes knows more than you do.”
Sean nods and smiles like he understands. “I guess I’ve got a ways to go, then.”
“You’re doing fine.” With one more look at the rubbish-filled lane, Lestrade sighs and asks, “And you?”
“Just in the neighbourhood,” he shrugs, “Thought it would be a waste of a good day if I didn’t go and enjoy the sun… and found myself here, of all places.” Sean chuckles lightly. “On second thought, maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”
Lestrade smiles a little and replies, “As long as it’s the good habits, and not the ones that land you in front of the Commissioner’s inquiry committee.”
“I hear you. So,” Sean turns his attention to the alley, but his focus is on the man next to him, “what do you think happened?”
“To Tina Green?” Lestrade purses his lips in thought. “What do you think?”
Sean takes a step into the narrow lane, willing his prey to come along, to trust a fellow copper, to follow him into a CCTV blindspot in the middle of central London on a bright, sunny afternoon. If he can do it here, he can do it on a cold, rainy night when it’s just the two of them at a crime scene.“I’d say that it was a crime of opportunity.” He moves into the alley and lowers his voice. If Lestrade wants to hear what he’s going to say, he’ll have to come closer. “I think it’s a domestic gone wrong.”
The senior investigator takes one step away from the pavement and-
“Boss?”
Jesus buggering Christ, are you fucking serious?
Sean stares at the interruption. In his rage, he nearly vows right there and then to gut the conniving bitch before he gets himself under control. Trial run, remember? he reminds himself.
“Dunne,” says Lestrade affably, with a soft grin as he turns around and steps back out of the alley. “Aren’t you off-duty today?”
Wearing a sundress in an awful shade of yellow, DS Dunne looks up at Lestrade with respect bordering on adoration. Sean wants to gag, but he plasters on an expression of pleasant surprise as he steps forward.
“Yes, I am.” She beams back at him, leaning on the arm of the man accompanying her. “Oh! Pritchard, I didn’t see you! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No, no,” says Sean quickly, because damn now there’s a witness to get rid of and-he discreetly eyes the man standing next to Dunne-another witness who frankly looks like he can handle himself in a pub brawl. Bugger it all.
“No,” agrees Lestrade with a dismissive nod, “we were just talking shop. Is this your brother?”
Dunne grins. “Yes, Patrick, this is my boss, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and one of my supervisors, Sergeant Pritchard. Boss, Pritchard, this is my brother, Major Patrick Dunne of the British Army.”
“Please, Greg,” says Lestrade with a warm smile and a handshake. Sean does the same, feeling the urge to flee the sickeningly sweet scene, screaming. “Sean.”
“Likewise, call me Patrick,” says the man affably. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you. Actually, I was wondering if I could impose a bit on your expertise. My tour is up soon, and I’d like to move back to London, be closer to my sis.”
“Well, we’re not exactly what you’d recommend for a normal post-military career.”
“I’ve been with the RMP’s Special Investigations branch, coming up on a decade.”
“And you’re looking to join CID?” Lestrade considers the man seriously.
The younger man nods, “I’m thinking about it. I’d like to hear your thoughts, if that’s all right with you.” He wraps an arm around his sister and smiles down proudly at her, “Rache’ here has a lot to say about the Job-”
“But I’m family,” she cuts in without any fear of shaming her brother. “So my big brother would like to know more about what he’s getting into if he signs up from an unbiased source.” She laughs fondly.
“Plus,” the elder Dunne glances at his sister before meeting Lestrade’s gaze straight on, “she respects you. It would mean a lot to me if we could talk sometime.”
Lestrade smiles at the siblings. “I’d be happy to share.”
“Actually,” says Dunne brightly, “we’re about to have dinner right now. Would you like to join us?”
She stares innocently at Sean, wordlessly including him in the invitation. He knows that if he doesn’t walk away now, he will do something incredibly stupid. He can almost feel the weight of his switchblade in his hand. He might get Dunne before either of the men can shield her, but Lestrade is a veteran investigator and the other man is an active soldier. Plus, he wants revenge, and he wants to take his sweet time in making her beg, scream, and cry. So Sean smiles apologetically and makes his excuses, something about having to meet his mates at a pub in a bit. The grin on his face turns a bit more real when Dunne cheerfully extends an invitation to dine with her and her brother at some later date. We’ll dine all right, he thinks as he shakes her brother’s hand and waves to his colleagues, and I’ll love dessert.
Sean manages to keep a hold on his temper until he is two streets away. Instead of directing his steps homeward, he chooses the Piccadilly line. The young man fumes as he taps his unregistered Oyster card against the ticket barrier. He needs to make someone scream tonight. Might as well be someone who is paid to bloody well take it and ask no questions.
God must love the bloody fucking Met. Or just Lestrade.
~
Continued in Part III