Prompt: One more chance.
Have a drabble inspired by today's prompt from 
dailyprompt:
Duane had never been the best candidate for the job. He enjoyed the power behind the badge a little too much, manhandling suspects into the back of the car with more glee than should be appropriate, and did a sloppy job of taking down and keeping track of information relevant to the case. Deputy Sheriff Groves yelled at him on more than one occasion for failing to keep his handgun and his desk clean - and then yelled at her for failing to remind him. Sometimes he'll get this look in his eyes that makes her fear he's no longer a police officer to maintain order in a city always tipping towards chaos. She's seen that look far too many times on men and women who are later proven to have accepted money in exchange for oversight in their beats.
Nevertheless he had always been dependable, always right there behind her with his Glock out, ready to back her up as she banged on and then kicked down doors. When it was Paperwork Day and she couldn't bring herself to concentrate because her longtime girlfriend broke up with her two nights before he volunteered to do them for her, even though she had to go back over them again just to make sure he didn't fuck it up like he tended to do.
It's when he started getting too friendly with their informants, mishearing phone calls and directing everyone to the wrong location for the meth lab that wasn't there, owning things that looked just a bit out of his price range, and carrying around a second "personal" cell phone (a disposable) that she knew something wasn't right with her partner. He had a lot of explanations and the recent string of failed sting operations distracted her just enough not to look into her doubts about him.
How Risa wishes her doubts were proven wrong, not proven right.
"Guess that's what happens when your partner's the only good cop left in the force, huh?" Duane asks. His voice is almost lost over the sound of machinery as a cargo ship unloads its goods onto a nearby dock. He kicks aside the bleeding man and slides a step to the side. Risa mirrors his movement, clutching her Glock tightly while eying the muzzle of his piece.
"I can't believe you, you piece of shit," she says. The crumpled note he left on his desk burns in her pocket.
"Welcome to Calvary, baby. It's dog eat dog here; you gotta do what you gotta do to survive-"
"Oh don't feed me that bullshit. When you join the force you do it to keep the peace and uphold the law."
"Back at you, baby," he says. "Oh don't tell me you signed up for this to be Miss Goody Two-Shoes. You can't keep up with all the crap in this city, Reese. Don't want to go insane now, do you? Or die before you're forty?"
"I find having a sense of morality useful in keeping me sane, thanks."
She glances at the gang member and her heart sinks when she realizes he's dead. Shit. There's no telling what the fallout might be if the Croatoa realize that the person they sent to the rendezvous point never came back. Explains why Duane killed him, really.
"So what's it going to be?" Duane calls out. "You gonna let me walk or are you gonna try to arrest me?"
He smirks, knowing that there's no easy way out of this. If she walks away, like most cops do, he'll just find her and kill her to keep the secret safe. The sting operation will fail and the Croatoa will move their labs elsewhere, where not even Bobby and Nick can find them.
If she decides not to sign her own death sentence she has to shoot Duane, because arresting him will never be enough and they're always in short supply of officers. A corrupt cop will fester within the police department, though, sucking up resources and lives just to get the best of both worlds.
And a cop who shoots one of her own? It'll haunt her forever.
"What's it going to be, baby?" Duane asks again.
Duane seems to forget that it's Risa who grew up in the city. He moved here as a young teenager; the hospital where Risa was born still stands. This is her hometown, her city, her life. She'll live with the reputation if it means killing her years-long partner and removing one more bad apple from the damn tree.
"You," she says, "can fuck off and leave my city alone."
She pulls the trigger.
Playing a totally different ball game so the writing's a little choppy. Am also struggling with sudden onset of apathy that makes it incredibly hard for me to give a fuck about anything.
Fictional depictions of US law enforcement does shit all when it comes to writing this type of fic. The more you know.
dailyprompt:
Duane had never been the best candidate for the job. He enjoyed the power behind the badge a little too much, manhandling suspects into the back of the car with more glee than should be appropriate, and did a sloppy job of taking down and keeping track of information relevant to the case. Deputy Sheriff Groves yelled at him on more than one occasion for failing to keep his handgun and his desk clean - and then yelled at her for failing to remind him. Sometimes he'll get this look in his eyes that makes her fear he's no longer a police officer to maintain order in a city always tipping towards chaos. She's seen that look far too many times on men and women who are later proven to have accepted money in exchange for oversight in their beats.
Nevertheless he had always been dependable, always right there behind her with his Glock out, ready to back her up as she banged on and then kicked down doors. When it was Paperwork Day and she couldn't bring herself to concentrate because her longtime girlfriend broke up with her two nights before he volunteered to do them for her, even though she had to go back over them again just to make sure he didn't fuck it up like he tended to do.
It's when he started getting too friendly with their informants, mishearing phone calls and directing everyone to the wrong location for the meth lab that wasn't there, owning things that looked just a bit out of his price range, and carrying around a second "personal" cell phone (a disposable) that she knew something wasn't right with her partner. He had a lot of explanations and the recent string of failed sting operations distracted her just enough not to look into her doubts about him.
How Risa wishes her doubts were proven wrong, not proven right.
"Guess that's what happens when your partner's the only good cop left in the force, huh?" Duane asks. His voice is almost lost over the sound of machinery as a cargo ship unloads its goods onto a nearby dock. He kicks aside the bleeding man and slides a step to the side. Risa mirrors his movement, clutching her Glock tightly while eying the muzzle of his piece.
"I can't believe you, you piece of shit," she says. The crumpled note he left on his desk burns in her pocket.
"Welcome to Calvary, baby. It's dog eat dog here; you gotta do what you gotta do to survive-"
"Oh don't feed me that bullshit. When you join the force you do it to keep the peace and uphold the law."
"Back at you, baby," he says. "Oh don't tell me you signed up for this to be Miss Goody Two-Shoes. You can't keep up with all the crap in this city, Reese. Don't want to go insane now, do you? Or die before you're forty?"
"I find having a sense of morality useful in keeping me sane, thanks."
She glances at the gang member and her heart sinks when she realizes he's dead. Shit. There's no telling what the fallout might be if the Croatoa realize that the person they sent to the rendezvous point never came back. Explains why Duane killed him, really.
"So what's it going to be?" Duane calls out. "You gonna let me walk or are you gonna try to arrest me?"
He smirks, knowing that there's no easy way out of this. If she walks away, like most cops do, he'll just find her and kill her to keep the secret safe. The sting operation will fail and the Croatoa will move their labs elsewhere, where not even Bobby and Nick can find them.
If she decides not to sign her own death sentence she has to shoot Duane, because arresting him will never be enough and they're always in short supply of officers. A corrupt cop will fester within the police department, though, sucking up resources and lives just to get the best of both worlds.
And a cop who shoots one of her own? It'll haunt her forever.
"What's it going to be, baby?" Duane asks again.
Duane seems to forget that it's Risa who grew up in the city. He moved here as a young teenager; the hospital where Risa was born still stands. This is her hometown, her city, her life. She'll live with the reputation if it means killing her years-long partner and removing one more bad apple from the damn tree.
"You," she says, "can fuck off and leave my city alone."
She pulls the trigger.
Playing a totally different ball game so the writing's a little choppy. Am also struggling with sudden onset of apathy that makes it incredibly hard for me to give a fuck about anything.
Fictional depictions of US law enforcement does shit all when it comes to writing this type of fic. The more you know.