Westley White
Wesley It’ll take nearly a minute to fall from this height. And despite what you may have heard, you’re likely to stay conscious all the way down. Thoughts like that keep me warm at night. The impact is tremendous. Every bone turned to powder. Corpse is mostly liquid. Head first; the dive will turn his dentals to dust. Fingerprints will likely be worthless.
“I want a lawyer!”
I grin.
“I said I want a lawyer!”
“You don’t get it - you’re in no position to negotiate.”
I pull the sack from over his head - his vision is filled with two hundred stories of terminal velocity. Sidewalk - a car. It took me two hours and two sandmans to get him up here.
The scream alone is worth it.
He tells me everything. They always do.
I pull the pliers from my back pocket - a rotting wisdom tooth turns to dust - but its better with the molar.
“You fucking pig I’ll have your badge for this! I’ll have your ass! I’ll kill your family - I’ll rape your wife and skin her alive! I’ll make your daughters watch! I’ll - “
I take the blade across the rope. Nobody fucks with my family.
Back at the office the Captain wants a progress report. Captain Dallas. He’s a good cop. A great cop. A goddamn hero cop, papers call him.
“Wesley! Get in my goddamn office right goddamn now.”
Dallas plays it by the book. His wad is blown and his hands are tied.
“Heard a punk did a swan dive off the Sears last night.”
I grin and light up one of his cigars.
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
He growls at me and the Vein pops out at me. God I hope I don’t look like that when I make Captain. Never happen though - I’m too good at my job. Not even the corp-backers like a cop that makes too many arrests.
“Dusted prints at the Calhoun place this morning. Got em on disk,” I pull it out of my pocket and put it on his desk.
Captain growls again - but takes the disk. The Vein isn’t getting any smaller.
“Twenty two murders - thirty rapes - four of those were under twelve years old. Killed four cops last year. Oliver Hardt dies - we closed a major case. How many widows can stop crying now? How many parents can finally burry their children?”
Dallas never sees it my way - never all the way. I break too many of the important rules. But he knows my record. He may not like my methods, but goddamn if my work doesn’t make him a candidate for Commissioner when Mally retires.
“Jesus” Dallas says as he loads the disk and looks at the photos. “Jesus - Wesley - this fucker got off easy. Off the record.”
My kids are sleeping by the time I get home. 2 Am. I haven’t seen them in two days. I go to their bedroom and watch them sleep. Chelsea is getting big. She’ll turn 12 in four weeks. If I can wrap up this case I want to take everybody camping for a week. I kiss both of them on the cheek in turn and head to my own room. Samantha is in the doorway, in her robe. She smiles at me.
“Samantha I’m so sorry.”
She moves in and kisses me. I don’t know why she puts up with me. Beautiful, strong, smart - she could have any man she wanted. But she chose me.
We go to our room - our clothes fall off quickly and before long we’re at a steady rhythm, like we used to when I was still working beat on the east end. Right out of the service, this job was freedom then.
I think of the Calhoun family, and the wall I’ve built up over the last two days melts. I start weeping. I fear for my family. My girls. I tell Samantha everything. She holds me and I cry like a coward. Only Samantha can do this to me.
I’m gone in the morning before she wakes up. I bring down Falcone today.
Falcone had been boss of Vice in Chicago since zero day. Built of Teflon. Of Kevlar. Of Mylar. Combat mesh. Not even RSI could touch him and not feel the feedback. It would cost my career to take him down. I’d take Samantha and the kids to Canada after this. Hide. Maybe live in peace.
Some rookie is sitting at my desk. I start to stiff-arm him off when Dallas calls my name.
“Wes - your new partner, James Monroe.” James Monroe - couldn’t be…. Goddamnt.
I grab Dallas by the shoulder and push him into his office, “You fucking prick you sell me out? You going to tie my goddamn hands?!”
“Jesus Christ, Wes, I had no say - came down from tops.”
I leave him and shout at James, “Come on Jimmy we gotta work.”
Slow day. But that’s what he’s here for. Keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t do anything they’re going to regret. Somebody with the power to transfer the Commssioners’ nephew. Not a long list.
“Wes stop the car!” I hit the brakes. Jimbo steps out. Goddamn he’s big. Not as smart as me - but bigger. The object of his affection doesn’t even see his badge before he swallows his own teeth. Kiddo’s RSI trained hand to hand. Goddamn….I watch him - studying his moves. He gets back in the car.
“Had an unlicensed weapon.” He tosses at .22 polymer on the dash. Goddamn hero.
I pull into Maroni’s house. “Wesley what are we doing here.”
I don’t answer him and I walk up. I shouldn’t be here. Maroni is too big. Right hand to Falcone. Closer than the best brothers.
“Hello - this is Detective Lieutenant White.” Butler answers the buzz. Donald. The hitman.
“Good day Detective, can I help you?”
“I was wondering if I could speak with Mr. Maroni today?”
“Mr. Maroni is in a meeting right now, if you’d like to wait.”
I nod and James follows me in. He lets me run the show. Good boy. Donald leaves and I start looking around the waiting room. Nice place.
Thirty minutes later Im across the desk from Maroni.
“Mr. Maroni -“
“Donald let you in? Goddamnit.”
“I just wanted to ask you some questions about where you were last night.”
“I don’t have to answer to you, flatfoot.”
I nod, then I slide a photo envelope across the desk.
“You’re right - I was just wondering if you might want to explain this.”
His fingerprints, hair fibers, and saliva all over the Calhoun place. Good people. Dead because of you and your boss.
He goes for a gun, and I want to do the obvious thing - but he’s only good to get me Falcone. I grab his wrist, send the bullet into a book case, and I hear his carpals turn to dust.
Donald comes in - still in his suit, ten scalpels come out of his fingers. James gets too close and he gets a rake across his brow. I take Maroni’s gun - Donald was trash. Expensive but trash. I put two into his skull.
Got Maroni on murder. Evidence. Resisting arrest. Assault on a cop. Chief’s nephew of all people. He’d still be out before dawn. But it would buy us enough time. Send Falcone a message. I go home to change while they process him.
“Hey Wes!”
I turn and see James. ASP comes across my back. Another across my legs. I curl into a ball and take it - protect what’s important. Two broken ribs. A broken nose. Ocular orbit. They run out fast. Cops. His pals.
James…
An hour later I’m in front of his place. ASP by my side. I start thinking about the beating. I haven’t fought an RSI in fifteen years. James walks outside, smoking a cigarette. I meant to catch him coming home drunk. He’s sober. He’s young. He’s stronger and faster… I grab the ASP.
It’s been a long fifteen years. But still - he deserves a handicap.
He catches the ASP midair, arm outstretched to get it. I grab his wrist and keep his arm there sending a hand edge into the nerve cluster in his armpit. He doesn’t feel it but no force on earth will let him move that arm now. Arm goes slack and he catches the baton in his offhand. Come on boy, show me. Show me.
Elbow comes down on my shoulder, knee into my gut. Missed the ribs. His balance is off long enough for me to take him down - he looses the ASP in the snow and I don’t worry about going easy on him anymore. I bring my fist into his nose and break it into a hundred pieces of shattered bone and cartilage. There go your good looks, pretty boy.
I can’t stop. He has to know that it was me. I have to humiliate him. Leave nothing for him to blame on chance or circumstance. Make him feel the shame.
Fifteen minutes later he’s handcuffed naked in the woods.
I just wanted to change clothes.
I’m back in time to watch Maroni walk out of the PD. He looks good. Got a coat folded over his broken wrist. He’ll remember me when it’s cold. I follow him in an unmarked car I borrowed from the motor pool. He’ll go straight to Falcone. They’ll talk shop.
I park two blocks down and make it to his place on foot. Perimeter guard is light. I had harder times sneaking into bed at nights without waking Sam.
I’d scoped their security and locks before - had the floor plan memorized for weeks. I pick the lock in a jiffy. Up the stairs - quietly - second door on the left. Linen closet with an air vent that connects to his meting room. I put on my ears and punch record. I hear it all. Confessions for dozens of murders. Hundreds of hired hits. They talk about a bounty on my head which I’m a little embarrassed about - only 200k? Maroni and Falcone talk for hours.
A bank heist. Two days from now. I let myself out. No dead - full confessions from every one of the scumbags that I’m going to bust. But I’m not done with Maroni. Not tonight.
I catch him cruising the goods in West End. I wonder what Samantha would look like in one of those bodysuits - I imagine her slapping me jokingly just for thinking it. He picks some prime beef - heads back to his cathouse ten miles from there.
I have to play it quiet. The two guards go down fast with the chloroform. Maybe another one out on the balcony. I’ll worry about him on the way out. I just wonder about the girl. Fuck it. I kick in the door with my heat in my hand. It’s an ugly thing. A thing of death. I hate it. But it’s a tool. I was wrong about the third guard. He was on the couch watching the tube - goes for a rifle but he’s too slow. The ugly thing goes off and his head turns to mud - spraying across the room. I hear the hooker scream, and Maroni comes out, naked and still hard, with some stupid custom handgun. Too big to be any use. Too slow.
He gets off one round - I never even meant to give him time to pull out, let alone grab a gun - it hits something behind me - nothing important. I rush him, pistol whip him hit him with the sandman. The girl is okay. Looks beautiful - still naked and covered in sheen of sweat. I curse myself for noticing her perfect breasts as I take Maroni off. To talk.
He comes too. Old garage I’d rented just for the night. Smells of gasoline and there’s grease and oil everywhere. I pick up a ball pine hammer. Ten toes. His ankles. His shins. His kneecaps.
Then I start with the questions.
It takes a lot to sell out a brother. I’ve got it all on tape. But I need him to cooperate. To testify. Death is too good for Falcone.
It takes five hours to get a signed confession. He signs the paper. His hand is broken and so is everything below it.
Two days later I’m across from the Bank. Second National. February Second. 2AM. Did this asshole think he was Harvey Dent or something? Hubris is a bitch. I check my armor one more time. Three squads of Swat are right behind me. Just waiting for the word. Little more than goons themselves - I had to insist on rubber bullets and CS. Too many civilians in there. Of course I’m packing a .45 with hot loaded hollow points.
Their car drops them off. Then another car. More goons. Must have been fifteen of them. I move to radio for backup when we hear the silent alarm. No time.
“Go now.”
Gas covers the building fast. They have masks - they’re trained. Cybered to fuck. No need to go easy on them. I lead two squads into what, for fifteen minutes becomes hell. The SWAT opens up first - polymer and CS and every manner of less than lethal weaponry we had in stock. Still killed four. I make it out without a scratch. They all agree to testify when I show them the tapes. Show them the confession.
“Yeah Wes, good work. But what are you going to do, go and ring the doorbell?”
Sure thing, Dallas. Worked for Maroni. I ring the doorbell on the biggest mansion in Chicago. Then I hit the thermite. Whole back end of the place turns to ash with my signal. Smoke hits the sky and the AVs and SWAT turn into a ghosts. Welcome to hell, motherfucker.
The fire spreads fast - and I catch myself hoping that he doesn’t make it. But he does. Just like rats they run from fire. He hardly whimpers when I put the cuffs on him. I let him watch as his mansions burns down. His legacy.
He sees all the evidence I’ve got on him. Piled up to the roof. I sweat him for ten minutes before he confesses. Life in prison versus the chambers. All the info is no good for court - but the court of public opinion are different. His corporate backers wont touch him. The Calhoun family sold em on that. I light a cigarette and bask for a moment. I think of Samantha. The kids.
I’m in the car fifteen minutes when Samantha calls to tell me Dallas called for me. Fifteen minutes back and Dallas is enjoying my party. But he wasn’t looking for me. Strange. Unless.
I hit the gas and wheel off home. That fucker. THAT FUCKER. The 200k would have been sweet on the ears of a lot of people - playing easy, then kill me and the evidence goes away. Samantha - the girls…. Maniac flies by me at eighty - and I ignore the smoke rising from my roof to follow him. Nobody fucks with my family. Be strong Samantha. For the girls. For me.
I have time for one shot - make it count. I put the car on auto and open the door. Come on Daddy. Do it.. For the girls. Please Daddy help them. The cannon goes off and the tire turns to shreds. It doesn’t flip. It stops on a bridge. It was Salvatore. Nothing but a Capo - wanted to move into Maroni’s place maybe. Not important. Not now. He comes out holding Samantha by her wonderful red hair. She crying, screaming at me to kill him. To not go soft. I see my girls in his back seat. Tied up but ok. Their eyes are wide. Samantha could handle this - but not them. Their daddy is a hero - not a murderer. I drop my gun.
“Sal - leave the women out lets end this like men. Show Falcone what kinda balls you’ve got.” He grins, hoping I’d say that. Pushes Samantha to the ground. She stays there. Good. Quick hit across my face breaks my glasses. Another one takes my sinus. I circle him - letting him hit me. Taking my time. Waiting for it to be perfect. I think of my girls. I block a kick with my forearm - then take the two of us over the guard rail. I don’t want Samantha to see what I’m going to do to this guy. Nobody fucks with my family. Nobody.
Two months later the divorce is final. After that I can’t blame her. I can’t promise her that it would never happen again. I can’t promise the safety of my family. I tell her I love her and leave. Dallas took it worse than I did. At least on the outside. He told me to get out of town. New Dons were coming up - and each one of em were gunning for me. He shakes my hand. I’m in New Carthage a week later. Hiding under their nose. Hoping that the Yakuza breaks it. I’ve got some friends in PD here. Not bad work. Not too many rules to get in the way. Samantha says I can come visit once a month. Could have been worse. Could have been a lot worse.
Wesley White - Career cop and former IO spook. Married at 19. Divorced at 34. Two kids. He is more of a smart cop than a tough guy. Detective, not swat. Moved to Chicago when he left IO. He doesnt talk about his IO career. He is either ashamed of it or doesnt see the use in bragging. Either way - Im not going to write about it here because if I know what it is and write it down the first time he goes into the syn hes going to talk about it. Its better if I dont know. He isn't a crooked cop (no bribes etc). He takes everything right to the line - and yes he breaks it time to time. But he knows what rules are important and which ones arent. He tries to do good - and to hurt bad people. But he knows that if he fucks up once and an innocent gets hurt that its all over. His wife and he were divorced after an attempt was made on their lives and a hit placed on the family. They are still very much in love - but Wesley doent want them hurt at all. He is a great father, dedicated to his children and Samantha (though now divorced he will see other people). Why is he a cop? He had some experience in sec teams with IO. He didnt like it. There was too much agenda. Anything that gets him in trouble as a cop is that he doesnt follow the corps agenda. He will when it runs the same way as he does - but he wont let it protect somebody that he needs to take down. There is something in his past - something that he has supressed (his parents are alive and well - no batman here) and wont admit to himself that drives him. At best - he hates crime. At worst - he loves his work too much.
He isnt a super hero. He isnt a super soldier. He is very smart. A good cop and great detective though not "educated." He knows people and motives. When he can he will use his smarts not his gun. He is very brave and will sacrifice his life for his job.
Advantages
Lock expert - as a youth he worked with a locksmith (public history). As time went on he used the skill time and time again. Good fingers and a bobby pin will get you places a warrant wont.
Black Ops training - Former IO. His work was all classified. Not even Samantha knows about all of his exploits. He is humble about his "medals of commendation" and never brings them up. He hates them and thinks they should be given to the boys that didn't make it. But they wouldnt do them any good. He left IO because he thought the actions were "morraly questionable." Those actions are still classified. Highly.
QD Pistol - Skill picked up in the service, used time and time again in the streets of Chi Town.
Middle Class creds - He took out some savings when he left the PD in chicago. Not alot, but enough to help him settle in while he waits for his job to start.
“I want a lawyer!”
I grin.
“I said I want a lawyer!”
“You don’t get it - you’re in no position to negotiate.”
I pull the sack from over his head - his vision is filled with two hundred stories of terminal velocity. Sidewalk - a car. It took me two hours and two sandmans to get him up here.
The scream alone is worth it.
He tells me everything. They always do.
I pull the pliers from my back pocket - a rotting wisdom tooth turns to dust - but its better with the molar.
“You fucking pig I’ll have your badge for this! I’ll have your ass! I’ll kill your family - I’ll rape your wife and skin her alive! I’ll make your daughters watch! I’ll - “
I take the blade across the rope. Nobody fucks with my family.
Back at the office the Captain wants a progress report. Captain Dallas. He’s a good cop. A great cop. A goddamn hero cop, papers call him.
“Wesley! Get in my goddamn office right goddamn now.”
Dallas plays it by the book. His wad is blown and his hands are tied.
“Heard a punk did a swan dive off the Sears last night.”
I grin and light up one of his cigars.
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
He growls at me and the Vein pops out at me. God I hope I don’t look like that when I make Captain. Never happen though - I’m too good at my job. Not even the corp-backers like a cop that makes too many arrests.
“Dusted prints at the Calhoun place this morning. Got em on disk,” I pull it out of my pocket and put it on his desk.
Captain growls again - but takes the disk. The Vein isn’t getting any smaller.
“Twenty two murders - thirty rapes - four of those were under twelve years old. Killed four cops last year. Oliver Hardt dies - we closed a major case. How many widows can stop crying now? How many parents can finally burry their children?”
Dallas never sees it my way - never all the way. I break too many of the important rules. But he knows my record. He may not like my methods, but goddamn if my work doesn’t make him a candidate for Commissioner when Mally retires.
“Jesus” Dallas says as he loads the disk and looks at the photos. “Jesus - Wesley - this fucker got off easy. Off the record.”
My kids are sleeping by the time I get home. 2 Am. I haven’t seen them in two days. I go to their bedroom and watch them sleep. Chelsea is getting big. She’ll turn 12 in four weeks. If I can wrap up this case I want to take everybody camping for a week. I kiss both of them on the cheek in turn and head to my own room. Samantha is in the doorway, in her robe. She smiles at me.
“Samantha I’m so sorry.”
She moves in and kisses me. I don’t know why she puts up with me. Beautiful, strong, smart - she could have any man she wanted. But she chose me.
We go to our room - our clothes fall off quickly and before long we’re at a steady rhythm, like we used to when I was still working beat on the east end. Right out of the service, this job was freedom then.
I think of the Calhoun family, and the wall I’ve built up over the last two days melts. I start weeping. I fear for my family. My girls. I tell Samantha everything. She holds me and I cry like a coward. Only Samantha can do this to me.
I’m gone in the morning before she wakes up. I bring down Falcone today.
Falcone had been boss of Vice in Chicago since zero day. Built of Teflon. Of Kevlar. Of Mylar. Combat mesh. Not even RSI could touch him and not feel the feedback. It would cost my career to take him down. I’d take Samantha and the kids to Canada after this. Hide. Maybe live in peace.
Some rookie is sitting at my desk. I start to stiff-arm him off when Dallas calls my name.
“Wes - your new partner, James Monroe.” James Monroe - couldn’t be…. Goddamnt.
I grab Dallas by the shoulder and push him into his office, “You fucking prick you sell me out? You going to tie my goddamn hands?!”
“Jesus Christ, Wes, I had no say - came down from tops.”
I leave him and shout at James, “Come on Jimmy we gotta work.”
Slow day. But that’s what he’s here for. Keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t do anything they’re going to regret. Somebody with the power to transfer the Commssioners’ nephew. Not a long list.
“Wes stop the car!” I hit the brakes. Jimbo steps out. Goddamn he’s big. Not as smart as me - but bigger. The object of his affection doesn’t even see his badge before he swallows his own teeth. Kiddo’s RSI trained hand to hand. Goddamn….I watch him - studying his moves. He gets back in the car.
“Had an unlicensed weapon.” He tosses at .22 polymer on the dash. Goddamn hero.
I pull into Maroni’s house. “Wesley what are we doing here.”
I don’t answer him and I walk up. I shouldn’t be here. Maroni is too big. Right hand to Falcone. Closer than the best brothers.
“Hello - this is Detective Lieutenant White.” Butler answers the buzz. Donald. The hitman.
“Good day Detective, can I help you?”
“I was wondering if I could speak with Mr. Maroni today?”
“Mr. Maroni is in a meeting right now, if you’d like to wait.”
I nod and James follows me in. He lets me run the show. Good boy. Donald leaves and I start looking around the waiting room. Nice place.
Thirty minutes later Im across the desk from Maroni.
“Mr. Maroni -“
“Donald let you in? Goddamnit.”
“I just wanted to ask you some questions about where you were last night.”
“I don’t have to answer to you, flatfoot.”
I nod, then I slide a photo envelope across the desk.
“You’re right - I was just wondering if you might want to explain this.”
His fingerprints, hair fibers, and saliva all over the Calhoun place. Good people. Dead because of you and your boss.
He goes for a gun, and I want to do the obvious thing - but he’s only good to get me Falcone. I grab his wrist, send the bullet into a book case, and I hear his carpals turn to dust.
Donald comes in - still in his suit, ten scalpels come out of his fingers. James gets too close and he gets a rake across his brow. I take Maroni’s gun - Donald was trash. Expensive but trash. I put two into his skull.
Got Maroni on murder. Evidence. Resisting arrest. Assault on a cop. Chief’s nephew of all people. He’d still be out before dawn. But it would buy us enough time. Send Falcone a message. I go home to change while they process him.
“Hey Wes!”
I turn and see James. ASP comes across my back. Another across my legs. I curl into a ball and take it - protect what’s important. Two broken ribs. A broken nose. Ocular orbit. They run out fast. Cops. His pals.
James…
An hour later I’m in front of his place. ASP by my side. I start thinking about the beating. I haven’t fought an RSI in fifteen years. James walks outside, smoking a cigarette. I meant to catch him coming home drunk. He’s sober. He’s young. He’s stronger and faster… I grab the ASP.
It’s been a long fifteen years. But still - he deserves a handicap.
He catches the ASP midair, arm outstretched to get it. I grab his wrist and keep his arm there sending a hand edge into the nerve cluster in his armpit. He doesn’t feel it but no force on earth will let him move that arm now. Arm goes slack and he catches the baton in his offhand. Come on boy, show me. Show me.
Elbow comes down on my shoulder, knee into my gut. Missed the ribs. His balance is off long enough for me to take him down - he looses the ASP in the snow and I don’t worry about going easy on him anymore. I bring my fist into his nose and break it into a hundred pieces of shattered bone and cartilage. There go your good looks, pretty boy.
I can’t stop. He has to know that it was me. I have to humiliate him. Leave nothing for him to blame on chance or circumstance. Make him feel the shame.
Fifteen minutes later he’s handcuffed naked in the woods.
I just wanted to change clothes.
I’m back in time to watch Maroni walk out of the PD. He looks good. Got a coat folded over his broken wrist. He’ll remember me when it’s cold. I follow him in an unmarked car I borrowed from the motor pool. He’ll go straight to Falcone. They’ll talk shop.
I park two blocks down and make it to his place on foot. Perimeter guard is light. I had harder times sneaking into bed at nights without waking Sam.
I’d scoped their security and locks before - had the floor plan memorized for weeks. I pick the lock in a jiffy. Up the stairs - quietly - second door on the left. Linen closet with an air vent that connects to his meting room. I put on my ears and punch record. I hear it all. Confessions for dozens of murders. Hundreds of hired hits. They talk about a bounty on my head which I’m a little embarrassed about - only 200k? Maroni and Falcone talk for hours.
A bank heist. Two days from now. I let myself out. No dead - full confessions from every one of the scumbags that I’m going to bust. But I’m not done with Maroni. Not tonight.
I catch him cruising the goods in West End. I wonder what Samantha would look like in one of those bodysuits - I imagine her slapping me jokingly just for thinking it. He picks some prime beef - heads back to his cathouse ten miles from there.
I have to play it quiet. The two guards go down fast with the chloroform. Maybe another one out on the balcony. I’ll worry about him on the way out. I just wonder about the girl. Fuck it. I kick in the door with my heat in my hand. It’s an ugly thing. A thing of death. I hate it. But it’s a tool. I was wrong about the third guard. He was on the couch watching the tube - goes for a rifle but he’s too slow. The ugly thing goes off and his head turns to mud - spraying across the room. I hear the hooker scream, and Maroni comes out, naked and still hard, with some stupid custom handgun. Too big to be any use. Too slow.
He gets off one round - I never even meant to give him time to pull out, let alone grab a gun - it hits something behind me - nothing important. I rush him, pistol whip him hit him with the sandman. The girl is okay. Looks beautiful - still naked and covered in sheen of sweat. I curse myself for noticing her perfect breasts as I take Maroni off. To talk.
He comes too. Old garage I’d rented just for the night. Smells of gasoline and there’s grease and oil everywhere. I pick up a ball pine hammer. Ten toes. His ankles. His shins. His kneecaps.
Then I start with the questions.
It takes a lot to sell out a brother. I’ve got it all on tape. But I need him to cooperate. To testify. Death is too good for Falcone.
It takes five hours to get a signed confession. He signs the paper. His hand is broken and so is everything below it.
Two days later I’m across from the Bank. Second National. February Second. 2AM. Did this asshole think he was Harvey Dent or something? Hubris is a bitch. I check my armor one more time. Three squads of Swat are right behind me. Just waiting for the word. Little more than goons themselves - I had to insist on rubber bullets and CS. Too many civilians in there. Of course I’m packing a .45 with hot loaded hollow points.
Their car drops them off. Then another car. More goons. Must have been fifteen of them. I move to radio for backup when we hear the silent alarm. No time.
“Go now.”
Gas covers the building fast. They have masks - they’re trained. Cybered to fuck. No need to go easy on them. I lead two squads into what, for fifteen minutes becomes hell. The SWAT opens up first - polymer and CS and every manner of less than lethal weaponry we had in stock. Still killed four. I make it out without a scratch. They all agree to testify when I show them the tapes. Show them the confession.
“Yeah Wes, good work. But what are you going to do, go and ring the doorbell?”
Sure thing, Dallas. Worked for Maroni. I ring the doorbell on the biggest mansion in Chicago. Then I hit the thermite. Whole back end of the place turns to ash with my signal. Smoke hits the sky and the AVs and SWAT turn into a ghosts. Welcome to hell, motherfucker.
The fire spreads fast - and I catch myself hoping that he doesn’t make it. But he does. Just like rats they run from fire. He hardly whimpers when I put the cuffs on him. I let him watch as his mansions burns down. His legacy.
He sees all the evidence I’ve got on him. Piled up to the roof. I sweat him for ten minutes before he confesses. Life in prison versus the chambers. All the info is no good for court - but the court of public opinion are different. His corporate backers wont touch him. The Calhoun family sold em on that. I light a cigarette and bask for a moment. I think of Samantha. The kids.
I’m in the car fifteen minutes when Samantha calls to tell me Dallas called for me. Fifteen minutes back and Dallas is enjoying my party. But he wasn’t looking for me. Strange. Unless.
I hit the gas and wheel off home. That fucker. THAT FUCKER. The 200k would have been sweet on the ears of a lot of people - playing easy, then kill me and the evidence goes away. Samantha - the girls…. Maniac flies by me at eighty - and I ignore the smoke rising from my roof to follow him. Nobody fucks with my family. Be strong Samantha. For the girls. For me.
I have time for one shot - make it count. I put the car on auto and open the door. Come on Daddy. Do it.. For the girls. Please Daddy help them. The cannon goes off and the tire turns to shreds. It doesn’t flip. It stops on a bridge. It was Salvatore. Nothing but a Capo - wanted to move into Maroni’s place maybe. Not important. Not now. He comes out holding Samantha by her wonderful red hair. She crying, screaming at me to kill him. To not go soft. I see my girls in his back seat. Tied up but ok. Their eyes are wide. Samantha could handle this - but not them. Their daddy is a hero - not a murderer. I drop my gun.
“Sal - leave the women out lets end this like men. Show Falcone what kinda balls you’ve got.” He grins, hoping I’d say that. Pushes Samantha to the ground. She stays there. Good. Quick hit across my face breaks my glasses. Another one takes my sinus. I circle him - letting him hit me. Taking my time. Waiting for it to be perfect. I think of my girls. I block a kick with my forearm - then take the two of us over the guard rail. I don’t want Samantha to see what I’m going to do to this guy. Nobody fucks with my family. Nobody.
Two months later the divorce is final. After that I can’t blame her. I can’t promise her that it would never happen again. I can’t promise the safety of my family. I tell her I love her and leave. Dallas took it worse than I did. At least on the outside. He told me to get out of town. New Dons were coming up - and each one of em were gunning for me. He shakes my hand. I’m in New Carthage a week later. Hiding under their nose. Hoping that the Yakuza breaks it. I’ve got some friends in PD here. Not bad work. Not too many rules to get in the way. Samantha says I can come visit once a month. Could have been worse. Could have been a lot worse.
Wesley White - Career cop and former IO spook. Married at 19. Divorced at 34. Two kids. He is more of a smart cop than a tough guy. Detective, not swat. Moved to Chicago when he left IO. He doesnt talk about his IO career. He is either ashamed of it or doesnt see the use in bragging. Either way - Im not going to write about it here because if I know what it is and write it down the first time he goes into the syn hes going to talk about it. Its better if I dont know. He isn't a crooked cop (no bribes etc). He takes everything right to the line - and yes he breaks it time to time. But he knows what rules are important and which ones arent. He tries to do good - and to hurt bad people. But he knows that if he fucks up once and an innocent gets hurt that its all over. His wife and he were divorced after an attempt was made on their lives and a hit placed on the family. They are still very much in love - but Wesley doent want them hurt at all. He is a great father, dedicated to his children and Samantha (though now divorced he will see other people). Why is he a cop? He had some experience in sec teams with IO. He didnt like it. There was too much agenda. Anything that gets him in trouble as a cop is that he doesnt follow the corps agenda. He will when it runs the same way as he does - but he wont let it protect somebody that he needs to take down. There is something in his past - something that he has supressed (his parents are alive and well - no batman here) and wont admit to himself that drives him. At best - he hates crime. At worst - he loves his work too much.
He isnt a super hero. He isnt a super soldier. He is very smart. A good cop and great detective though not "educated." He knows people and motives. When he can he will use his smarts not his gun. He is very brave and will sacrifice his life for his job.
Advantages
Lock expert - as a youth he worked with a locksmith (public history). As time went on he used the skill time and time again. Good fingers and a bobby pin will get you places a warrant wont.
Black Ops training - Former IO. His work was all classified. Not even Samantha knows about all of his exploits. He is humble about his "medals of commendation" and never brings them up. He hates them and thinks they should be given to the boys that didn't make it. But they wouldnt do them any good. He left IO because he thought the actions were "morraly questionable." Those actions are still classified. Highly.
QD Pistol - Skill picked up in the service, used time and time again in the streets of Chi Town.
Middle Class creds - He took out some savings when he left the PD in chicago. Not alot, but enough to help him settle in while he waits for his job to start.