Pros Fic: In the Beginning
Disclaimer: All things related to The Professionals belong to others. I borrow the lads, and on occasion The Cow, solely for my own entertainment.
This started out ages ago as a case story as past attempts I’ve made at one have never turned out quite right. It got stalled, however, as did all my writing as life threw me a rather nasty curve ball toward the end of last year. Rereading it the other day I thought it might make an interesting ‘first meeting’ story instead, so here goes…
"Doyle, where the hell you been, mate?” Michael Bowen shouted as Ray Doyle walked into the locker room of the private gun club.
Ray Doyle smiled at the 6’3” blonde and shook his head. “Michael, why is it you always seem to forget that some of us actually work for a living?” Ray placed his gun case on the bench before taking a key out of his pocket and opening one of the lockers.
“Heard you were in hospital, Ray. Everything alright?” Bowen asked quietly as he pulled even with the slightly shorter man.
“Yeah, Michael, I’m good. Just went left when I should have gone right. Figured since I’m off active duty for a bit I might as well use my time wisely. Thought I might try out for the shooting team?”
“They could use you, Ray. Collins only thinks he’s God’s gift to weaponry!” The comment caused them both to chuckle.
“Anything new around here?” Ray asked as he pulled a pair of ear protectors out of the locker and settled them around his neck.
“Yeah, finally got some help.”
“Who’d be silly enough to work for you?” Ray joked.
“Name’s Will Phillips, former SAS,” Michael held up a hand before Ray could interrupt. “Had a tough time in Ulster…left him a bit quiet, but he’s a whiz with any weapon you can name and a steady worker. Come on, I’ll introduce you, and let him know its’ alright if you stay after hours.”
Ray studied the dark haired man seated at the bench as he followed Bowen into the small equipment room. The man’s fingers moved quickly and efficiently as they cleaned the disassembled handgun on the table. The stranger did not look up until Bowen announced their presence. “Will? Someone here I want you to meet.”
Will lifted his head and Doyle barely managed to hold in the gasp. The man was beautiful - pale skin, aristocratic nose, slightly bowed lips and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. “Will, this is Detective Constable Ray Doyle. He has a key to the place, and I trust him to lock up if he decides to practice late. So it’s okay to let him have the run of the place.”
Will Phillips slowly pushed his chair from the table and stood. Doyle took in the muscular chest and the solid thighs before looking up to meet the man’s gaze. “Detective Constable.” The oil covered hand came up slowly only to be pulled back quickly as two spots of heat added colour to the pale cheeks. “S…s..sorry,” Phillips stuttered as he reached for a clean rag.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt your work, Will. And call me Ray.” Doyle was pleased that his words, accompanied by a smile, seemed to relax the man.
“Ray,” Will repeated as he offered up his own small smile.
****
When Ray found himself in the locker room for the sixth day in a row, he had to laugh and shake his head. “Seems a man should have something more exciting to do with his time off than end up at the gun club every day,” he announced to his locker as he grabbed his ear phones.
A loud group - and it is difficult to be considered loud at a shooting range - was at the far end so Doyle took the slot closest to the office and carefully checked his weapons. After his second round, he pulled the ear phones off and pulled his target in. The noise at the far end was continuing - more loud talk than gun fire, so he took a step back from his lane to take a look. What he saw had him hurtling down the narrow walk way. Three men had Will on his knees, a gun held to his head, while they passed a bottle around. “Will, I need you to look at my gun, I’ve got a stoppage.”
“Sorry, mate, but Will here is busy. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to take a look when we’re done with him.”
“I’m sorry but I’m due back at the station in less than an hour, so I need to have it looked at right away.” Ray stood far enough away to be out of fist range, his body loose and a serious frown on his face.
“The station?” One of the men asked, loosening his grip on his captive's short hair.
“Detective Inspector Raymond Doyle at your service.” He decided a small white lie was in order given that he was outnumbered and the fact that DC’s didn’t ordinarily carry guns.
“He’s a copper, Bradley!” The smallest shouted before taking another slug from the bottle. “A copper.”
“Yeah, Higgins, I heard the man. Gentlemen, we would not wish to keep the Detective Inspector from his duty. Help young Will up so he can see to the DI’s weapon.” The other two jerked Will to his feet. He swayed slightly, his eyes glued to the tips of his boots.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Now, Will, if you’d come have a look…”Ray was unable to finish the sentence as he had the air knocked out of him as Will pushed him to the ground as a shot rang out, echoing through the range.
“Will, Will get off of me,” Ray ordered as soon as he caught his breath, and he took in another deep gulp as the heavy body rolled off. Reaching out, he grabbed Will’s arm, only to have it pulled fiercely away.
“Will?” Ray moved to his knees and got his first look at the blood collecting on the other man’s shirt. “Shit, you’ve been hit. How bad?”
“M’okay,” Will responded slowly as he struggled to his feet.
“No, no you’re not! You’ve been shot. What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“He was going to shoot you,” Will replied as he headed for the office.
“Shoot me?” Ray looked back and realized the three men had vanished. Taking a deep breath he used a handkerchief to pick up the gun that had been left on the floor. Fingerprints should be able to tell him just who he was going to have the pleasure of locking up before the day was over.
He stepped into the small armory and stopped short. Will stood with his back to him, shirtless, the broad muscular back dotted with scars telling him a tale all its own. “Will, it’s still bleeding come on and I’ll take you to A&E.”
“No! No need. I can look after meself.”
“I have no doubt of that. But it’s more than a graze and I’d feel much better if you let the professionals take a look at it. And the quicker we get there, the quicker I can get this,” he held up the weapon, “back to the station and have them run the prints.”
“Can’t go. Sgt. Bowen’s at a funeral, no one to run the range.”
“I’ll take care of Michael, now let me bandage that for you and we’ll be off. Can’t have you bleeding out in my Escort now can I? What would the birds think if I had blood stains on me upholestry?”
He manhandled Will into a clean shirt and then into his car while he ran routes in his mind to the nearest A&E. As he parked the car near the entrance he turned to Will. “While they take a look at you, I’m going to call the station. We’ll have those idiots in a cell before nightfall.”
“Don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not, Will. Bloody hell, if it hadn’t been for you, I’d be the one needing a doctor. Now let’s go. At least they won’t have to call a copper to take the report.”
“Report, what report?”
“All gunshot wounds must be reported, by law.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Look mate, you’re losing blood, you’re in shock and I know the idea of filling out paperwork probably doesn’t appeal to you, but not to worry, I’m a whiz with a brio and paper. Now, in we go.”
Ray called the station as soon as he was sure Will was in good hands. Then he called and left messages for Michael on his home phone and at his office. When the doctor ushered him in he smiled at the forlorn figure hunched over on the examining table. “DC Doyle,” the doctor started right in. “I’d feel much better if Mr. Phillips had someone stay with him tonight. But he tells me there’s no one he can call.”
“That’s alright, I’ll take him to my place.”
“No!” the patient interjected. “I can go home. I’ll call…I’ll call Uncle George. He’ll send someone around to look after me.”
“You don’t even have an Uncle George, do you?” Doyle responded, only half joking.
“He doesn’t like it when I get in trouble. Don’t want him mad at me.” Will’s lower lip puffed out and Ray wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hug the man who suddenly looked all of ten.
“Not to worry, mate. I’ll square it with your uncle, if you’d like.”
“No, best I call and get it over with. Thank you again, Detective Constable.” Will pushed himself upright and headed for the door.
“Not so fast, there’s a phone on the wall. Use it. I want to meet this mysterious Uncle George, or at least know that he exists.”
Curling his lip Will threw him a look of disgust before gingerly picking up the phone and dialing. “It’s Will. I need to speak with Uncle George.” Ray watched the facial expressions cross the man’s face as he took what was obviously a tongue lashing in silence. “Let me have the phone,” he said as he grabbed it. “Look sir…Detective Constable Raymond Doyle, sir. Yes, sir, I filled out the report, but sir, I…yes, sir the doctor says he’ll be fine but he does want someone to keep an eye on him tonight…Yes, sir, I will, but sir…” He turned to look at Will. “He hung up on me.”
Will’s attempt at a shrug ended in a grimace as his left arm complained. “Told you he wouldn’t be happy.”
“But he is sending someone over, Betty, I think he said. Is that you’re aunt?”
“No,” a smirk crossed the handsome face. “No, she works for Uncle George.”
“Oh, she won’t just drive you home and drop you, will she?” Will shook his head. “Okay, then….I’m going to the station and see what we can do about putting those blokes behind bars. If you need anything,” he pulled a card out of his pocket, “this has my home number as well as the station. Just call.”
Ray left the hospital hesitantly His head told him he needed to get to work while his heart was urging him to stay close to Will. But his head won out, knowing that the best thing he could do for Will was to get the bastards behind bars.
“Miss Betty,” Will responded when a trim, good looking brunette walked into the exam room.
“Will, your uncle asked me to bring you to his house for the evening. Do we need to stop and pick up anything on the way?”
“No, ma’am.” After she spoke with the doctor, the two headed for the car. Once they were out of the car park, Betty turned. “Bodie, are you alright?”
“I’m bloody fine!” He took a deep breath, “Sorry Betty, I’m fine. A deep graze, be good as new in a day or so.”
“Mr. Cowley’s worried about your DC Doyle.”
“He’s NOT my DC. Look he’s a conscientious copper and I couldn’t very well refuse to go along with him it would have raised too much suspicion.”
“I agree, 3-7,” George Cowley, the controller of CI-5 replied as he listened to his operative explain what had happened. “I’ve done a bit of checking,” he held up a hand, “very quietly of course. Raymond Doyle’s a good copper, good enough in fact to have given evidence against two corrupt policemen. He’s not the most well liked man in his station.”
“The drunk bastards were going to shoot him, I didn’t have a choice,” Bodie responded before taking a small sip of the single malt he’d been handed.
“Yes, of course. I don’t think this will interrupt your assignment. In fact, play up the injury a bit so you have an excuse to wear the sling for a few days. It’ll make you appear even less of a threat then Bowen already feels you are.”
“Bowen greeted Doyle as though he were a friend,” Bodie said, blue eyes staring into the flickering fire. “How do we know…”
“Trust me, 3-7, Raymond Doyle is the straightest copper in this whole city. Nothing and no one is above his notice. If he knew what Bowen was up to, he’d have turned him in if he couldn’t figure out a way to bring the man down himself.”
Shrugging, Bodie took a sip of the golden liquid in his glass. “Any news on when the guns are due?”
“Latest information from Stuart is next Wednesday.”
“Good,” Bodie sighed as he leaned back against the couch.
“Missing life on the streets are you, 3-7?”
“No sir, just want the bastards shut down. The Taylor case was mine, you know.”
“Yes, poor young thing. Well, at least it gave us the information we needed to close the pipeline.” Cowley paused as his agent stifled a yawn. “Bedroom’s beyond the kitchen. I’ll have Betty drop you off at your flat first thing.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And Bodie,” he waited until his agent turned to face him, “a fortnight’s holiday when this is over. You’ve earned it.”
A nod and a quiet “good night, sir,” left Cowley alone in front of his fireplace. He contemplated his single malt for a bit as his mind reviewed what he’d learned about one Raymond Doyle. When this op was over he planned on having a long talk with DC Doyle.
This started out ages ago as a case story as past attempts I’ve made at one have never turned out quite right. It got stalled, however, as did all my writing as life threw me a rather nasty curve ball toward the end of last year. Rereading it the other day I thought it might make an interesting ‘first meeting’ story instead, so here goes…
"Doyle, where the hell you been, mate?” Michael Bowen shouted as Ray Doyle walked into the locker room of the private gun club.
Ray Doyle smiled at the 6’3” blonde and shook his head. “Michael, why is it you always seem to forget that some of us actually work for a living?” Ray placed his gun case on the bench before taking a key out of his pocket and opening one of the lockers.
“Heard you were in hospital, Ray. Everything alright?” Bowen asked quietly as he pulled even with the slightly shorter man.
“Yeah, Michael, I’m good. Just went left when I should have gone right. Figured since I’m off active duty for a bit I might as well use my time wisely. Thought I might try out for the shooting team?”
“They could use you, Ray. Collins only thinks he’s God’s gift to weaponry!” The comment caused them both to chuckle.
“Anything new around here?” Ray asked as he pulled a pair of ear protectors out of the locker and settled them around his neck.
“Yeah, finally got some help.”
“Who’d be silly enough to work for you?” Ray joked.
“Name’s Will Phillips, former SAS,” Michael held up a hand before Ray could interrupt. “Had a tough time in Ulster…left him a bit quiet, but he’s a whiz with any weapon you can name and a steady worker. Come on, I’ll introduce you, and let him know its’ alright if you stay after hours.”
Ray studied the dark haired man seated at the bench as he followed Bowen into the small equipment room. The man’s fingers moved quickly and efficiently as they cleaned the disassembled handgun on the table. The stranger did not look up until Bowen announced their presence. “Will? Someone here I want you to meet.”
Will lifted his head and Doyle barely managed to hold in the gasp. The man was beautiful - pale skin, aristocratic nose, slightly bowed lips and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. “Will, this is Detective Constable Ray Doyle. He has a key to the place, and I trust him to lock up if he decides to practice late. So it’s okay to let him have the run of the place.”
Will Phillips slowly pushed his chair from the table and stood. Doyle took in the muscular chest and the solid thighs before looking up to meet the man’s gaze. “Detective Constable.” The oil covered hand came up slowly only to be pulled back quickly as two spots of heat added colour to the pale cheeks. “S…s..sorry,” Phillips stuttered as he reached for a clean rag.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt your work, Will. And call me Ray.” Doyle was pleased that his words, accompanied by a smile, seemed to relax the man.
“Ray,” Will repeated as he offered up his own small smile.
****
When Ray found himself in the locker room for the sixth day in a row, he had to laugh and shake his head. “Seems a man should have something more exciting to do with his time off than end up at the gun club every day,” he announced to his locker as he grabbed his ear phones.
A loud group - and it is difficult to be considered loud at a shooting range - was at the far end so Doyle took the slot closest to the office and carefully checked his weapons. After his second round, he pulled the ear phones off and pulled his target in. The noise at the far end was continuing - more loud talk than gun fire, so he took a step back from his lane to take a look. What he saw had him hurtling down the narrow walk way. Three men had Will on his knees, a gun held to his head, while they passed a bottle around. “Will, I need you to look at my gun, I’ve got a stoppage.”
“Sorry, mate, but Will here is busy. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to take a look when we’re done with him.”
“I’m sorry but I’m due back at the station in less than an hour, so I need to have it looked at right away.” Ray stood far enough away to be out of fist range, his body loose and a serious frown on his face.
“The station?” One of the men asked, loosening his grip on his captive's short hair.
“Detective Inspector Raymond Doyle at your service.” He decided a small white lie was in order given that he was outnumbered and the fact that DC’s didn’t ordinarily carry guns.
“He’s a copper, Bradley!” The smallest shouted before taking another slug from the bottle. “A copper.”
“Yeah, Higgins, I heard the man. Gentlemen, we would not wish to keep the Detective Inspector from his duty. Help young Will up so he can see to the DI’s weapon.” The other two jerked Will to his feet. He swayed slightly, his eyes glued to the tips of his boots.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Now, Will, if you’d come have a look…”Ray was unable to finish the sentence as he had the air knocked out of him as Will pushed him to the ground as a shot rang out, echoing through the range.
“Will, Will get off of me,” Ray ordered as soon as he caught his breath, and he took in another deep gulp as the heavy body rolled off. Reaching out, he grabbed Will’s arm, only to have it pulled fiercely away.
“Will?” Ray moved to his knees and got his first look at the blood collecting on the other man’s shirt. “Shit, you’ve been hit. How bad?”
“M’okay,” Will responded slowly as he struggled to his feet.
“No, no you’re not! You’ve been shot. What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“He was going to shoot you,” Will replied as he headed for the office.
“Shoot me?” Ray looked back and realized the three men had vanished. Taking a deep breath he used a handkerchief to pick up the gun that had been left on the floor. Fingerprints should be able to tell him just who he was going to have the pleasure of locking up before the day was over.
He stepped into the small armory and stopped short. Will stood with his back to him, shirtless, the broad muscular back dotted with scars telling him a tale all its own. “Will, it’s still bleeding come on and I’ll take you to A&E.”
“No! No need. I can look after meself.”
“I have no doubt of that. But it’s more than a graze and I’d feel much better if you let the professionals take a look at it. And the quicker we get there, the quicker I can get this,” he held up the weapon, “back to the station and have them run the prints.”
“Can’t go. Sgt. Bowen’s at a funeral, no one to run the range.”
“I’ll take care of Michael, now let me bandage that for you and we’ll be off. Can’t have you bleeding out in my Escort now can I? What would the birds think if I had blood stains on me upholestry?”
He manhandled Will into a clean shirt and then into his car while he ran routes in his mind to the nearest A&E. As he parked the car near the entrance he turned to Will. “While they take a look at you, I’m going to call the station. We’ll have those idiots in a cell before nightfall.”
“Don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not, Will. Bloody hell, if it hadn’t been for you, I’d be the one needing a doctor. Now let’s go. At least they won’t have to call a copper to take the report.”
“Report, what report?”
“All gunshot wounds must be reported, by law.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Look mate, you’re losing blood, you’re in shock and I know the idea of filling out paperwork probably doesn’t appeal to you, but not to worry, I’m a whiz with a brio and paper. Now, in we go.”
Ray called the station as soon as he was sure Will was in good hands. Then he called and left messages for Michael on his home phone and at his office. When the doctor ushered him in he smiled at the forlorn figure hunched over on the examining table. “DC Doyle,” the doctor started right in. “I’d feel much better if Mr. Phillips had someone stay with him tonight. But he tells me there’s no one he can call.”
“That’s alright, I’ll take him to my place.”
“No!” the patient interjected. “I can go home. I’ll call…I’ll call Uncle George. He’ll send someone around to look after me.”
“You don’t even have an Uncle George, do you?” Doyle responded, only half joking.
“He doesn’t like it when I get in trouble. Don’t want him mad at me.” Will’s lower lip puffed out and Ray wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hug the man who suddenly looked all of ten.
“Not to worry, mate. I’ll square it with your uncle, if you’d like.”
“No, best I call and get it over with. Thank you again, Detective Constable.” Will pushed himself upright and headed for the door.
“Not so fast, there’s a phone on the wall. Use it. I want to meet this mysterious Uncle George, or at least know that he exists.”
Curling his lip Will threw him a look of disgust before gingerly picking up the phone and dialing. “It’s Will. I need to speak with Uncle George.” Ray watched the facial expressions cross the man’s face as he took what was obviously a tongue lashing in silence. “Let me have the phone,” he said as he grabbed it. “Look sir…Detective Constable Raymond Doyle, sir. Yes, sir, I filled out the report, but sir, I…yes, sir the doctor says he’ll be fine but he does want someone to keep an eye on him tonight…Yes, sir, I will, but sir…” He turned to look at Will. “He hung up on me.”
Will’s attempt at a shrug ended in a grimace as his left arm complained. “Told you he wouldn’t be happy.”
“But he is sending someone over, Betty, I think he said. Is that you’re aunt?”
“No,” a smirk crossed the handsome face. “No, she works for Uncle George.”
“Oh, she won’t just drive you home and drop you, will she?” Will shook his head. “Okay, then….I’m going to the station and see what we can do about putting those blokes behind bars. If you need anything,” he pulled a card out of his pocket, “this has my home number as well as the station. Just call.”
Ray left the hospital hesitantly His head told him he needed to get to work while his heart was urging him to stay close to Will. But his head won out, knowing that the best thing he could do for Will was to get the bastards behind bars.
“Miss Betty,” Will responded when a trim, good looking brunette walked into the exam room.
“Will, your uncle asked me to bring you to his house for the evening. Do we need to stop and pick up anything on the way?”
“No, ma’am.” After she spoke with the doctor, the two headed for the car. Once they were out of the car park, Betty turned. “Bodie, are you alright?”
“I’m bloody fine!” He took a deep breath, “Sorry Betty, I’m fine. A deep graze, be good as new in a day or so.”
“Mr. Cowley’s worried about your DC Doyle.”
“He’s NOT my DC. Look he’s a conscientious copper and I couldn’t very well refuse to go along with him it would have raised too much suspicion.”
“I agree, 3-7,” George Cowley, the controller of CI-5 replied as he listened to his operative explain what had happened. “I’ve done a bit of checking,” he held up a hand, “very quietly of course. Raymond Doyle’s a good copper, good enough in fact to have given evidence against two corrupt policemen. He’s not the most well liked man in his station.”
“The drunk bastards were going to shoot him, I didn’t have a choice,” Bodie responded before taking a small sip of the single malt he’d been handed.
“Yes, of course. I don’t think this will interrupt your assignment. In fact, play up the injury a bit so you have an excuse to wear the sling for a few days. It’ll make you appear even less of a threat then Bowen already feels you are.”
“Bowen greeted Doyle as though he were a friend,” Bodie said, blue eyes staring into the flickering fire. “How do we know…”
“Trust me, 3-7, Raymond Doyle is the straightest copper in this whole city. Nothing and no one is above his notice. If he knew what Bowen was up to, he’d have turned him in if he couldn’t figure out a way to bring the man down himself.”
Shrugging, Bodie took a sip of the golden liquid in his glass. “Any news on when the guns are due?”
“Latest information from Stuart is next Wednesday.”
“Good,” Bodie sighed as he leaned back against the couch.
“Missing life on the streets are you, 3-7?”
“No sir, just want the bastards shut down. The Taylor case was mine, you know.”
“Yes, poor young thing. Well, at least it gave us the information we needed to close the pipeline.” Cowley paused as his agent stifled a yawn. “Bedroom’s beyond the kitchen. I’ll have Betty drop you off at your flat first thing.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And Bodie,” he waited until his agent turned to face him, “a fortnight’s holiday when this is over. You’ve earned it.”
A nod and a quiet “good night, sir,” left Cowley alone in front of his fireplace. He contemplated his single malt for a bit as his mind reviewed what he’d learned about one Raymond Doyle. When this op was over he planned on having a long talk with DC Doyle.