Fic: Old Harry's Game - part 5
Title: Old Harry’s Game, Chapter 5
Author: Kirsteena
Fandom: Life on Mars
Spoilers: Set after 2.02, spoilers for 2.07 and 2.08
Rating: Green Cortina.
Pairings: None
Word Count: 1491
Summary: The hunt takes Harry somewhere he didn't expect
a/n: part 1 here, part 2 here , part 3 here, part 4 here . Thanks to marsorbiter for the bunnies, and emeriin for her wonderful beta reading. This part is dedicated to my dear, darling friend mariusffxi for his help in finding me a birthdate. Have one on me hun.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Williams might as well not have existed, Harry thought to himself. There was no trace whatsoever of the mysterious man from Hyde. Was that significant in any way? Lighting up a cigarette, Harry dragged his fingers through his hair, then sat down to look at the folder which was sitting on his table.
Detective Chief Inspector Frank David Morgan - C Division - Hyde
Born 11 July 1927
Promoted to DCI 11 March 1967...
Flicking through the file, there was nothing that immediately jumped out at Harry. Exemplary career, no indication here of why Morgan had DS Smith so scared. What was it about the man? He would either have to wait until Alfie came up with something, or else he would have to try and dig about himself. A light tap on the door brought Harry back to the here and now. Gene’s daily visit. He took the folder, and slipped it under the mattress of his bed.
Gene paused in front of Harry’s door, suddenly cautious. What if Harry was involved? The thought suddenly scared him, more so than when he found out just how deeply Harry was involved in the robberies. Squaring his shoulders, he lightly rapped on the door.
Harry opened it. “Ah. Good evening, Gene. Come on in.” Gene nodded, and stepped over the threshold. Everything seemed normal, but he couldn’t shake that nagging feeling of dread.
“Evening Harry. How’s things today?”
“Good. Good. Been to visit some old friends, ones that are still talking to me, anyway.” Gene let a small smile appear on his face, ignoring for now the weighty feeling in his gut.
“Brought some food” Gene held up the bag he had brought, with a Chinese Meal B stashed inside. “Missus is out at Bingo tonight.”
“I’ll get the booze.”
Gene had left a couple of hours ago, saying he needed to go home to prove to his missus he was still alive. Harry had sat in his chair for a while afterwards, smoking. Thinking. How was he going to find out what part Morgan was playing in all this? He needed a drink, but he also needed company. He looked out of his window. His shadow had obviously given up, and fallen asleep or gone home. Shame he was only going to grab a swift one at his local. He put on his coat, and wandered down the stairs.
He had walked half of the distance to the pub when a Ford Transit van suddenly came out of nowhere, and screeched to a halt alongside him. Two men dived out from the back of the van, grabbed Harry, and one rapped him sharply on the back of the neck, causing Harry to slump. They bundled him into the back of the van, then raced off into the night.
As Harry struggled to clear the fog from his brain, he took stock of his surroundings. Derelict building of course - so many in Manchester that they could use. It was daylight, he must have been out for a while. He certainly wasn’t getting any younger, didn’t bounce back as quickly. In front of him, three men - two juniors, he judged by their deferential position, and one man in a suit.
As clarity returned, he took in the man standing slightly to the side of the other two. Mid to late 40s, balding, married if the ring on the finger was anything to go by, small moustache, three piece suit, black shoes. Very well dressed for your average criminal. As Harry struggled to sit upright, he caught the stranger’s eye. “What do you want with me?”
“Ah now, Mr. Woolf. That would be telling. I’m sorry my colleagues here hit you so hard, we had hoped you would have woken up earlier.” The voice was cultured, no discernable accent. Harry groaned once, and shook his head in an effort to clear it. The act left him with a splitting headache, but he was thinking more clearly.
“I would guess, by the welcoming committee, that you would be Mr. Morgan. Am I correct?”
“Always the detective, Mr. Woolf. It was a shame greed got the better of you in the end, you were one of the best.”
“I’m impressed that news of my actions made it as far as Hyde’s ears.” Verbal sparring - safe ground.
“But of course. A ‘bent copper’ is always brought to my attention. Especially when he then starts investigating things which do not concern him.”
“So that is what this is about? Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but DI Tyler was responsible for bringing me down. One feels one has the right to investigate.”
“Ah no, Mr. Woolf, you were solely responsible for ‘bringing you down’.”
“So, Hyde protecting their own, are they?”
“Not at all. We just feel you shouldn’t get personally involved too deeply. People might get hurt.”
“People might get hurt - being me?”
“Mr. Woolf, would I be so crass?” Morgan almost sounded offended at the thought.
“Who is we? What do you have to do with all of this? And who the hell is Sam Williams?”
Morgan carefully shook his head. “Mr. Woolf. You may think you are here to get your questions answered. My task here is to inform you that we are... merely requesting that you walk away from this investigation, and have Mr. Fletcher released from the confinement you have arranged for him.” Harry couldn’t help himself, and gaped at Morgan. “You think we didn’t know? You are rather transparent. Even DCI Hunt knows, albeit at some primitive level.”
“Gene? How...? If you know about Fletcher, why don’t you get him yourself?”
“Oh come on Mr. Woolf. Think about it.”
Harry’s head was pounding. “So, what do you want from me?” he repeated his first question.
“I think you know.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Well, it would be a shame if my superiors were to hear of this situation. At that point, I couldn’t guarantee the safety of, well, anyone, up to, and including Gene Hunt.”
As Harry focussed on Morgan, he couldn’t help his eyes filling up with tears.
Most officers were back in CID, taking a break from the street work, another frustrating day with no leads. In the corridor outside CID, there was a clattering noise, followed by “out of me way, you prat” as Carling and Skelton came careening into CID. Both of them were breathing heavily.
“Guv... tip-off... someone on Ratchett Street… saw a... a black man wearing orange shirt... being grabbed by... two of Alfie Grayson’s henchmen.” Ray panted out.
“Grayson? Now why am I not bloody surprised he is involved?”
“Who is Alfie Grayson?” Sam demanded.
“Scum. Remember Malone mentioned a turf war? He is involved in it up to his bloody armpits. Reminds me of Stephen Warren, but his methods are somewhat more - dubious. Good work there, Raymondo. Right you lot” at this, Gene raised his voice to include the whole of CID. “Pull everyone in who is on door-to-door enquiries. This is probably the best tip off we have had on this. I want everyone to start searching houses, gardens, shops, working out in a circle from the pub in Balmfield Street. Grayson owns it, uses it as his centre of operations. Ray, work with Tyler, figure out the best routes so we don’t waste time. Let’s go.”
After Morgan’s two coppers had dropped Harry off, he slowly made it back to his flat. For an hour afterwards he just sat there, chain-smoking, debating whether to just call Gene and tell him where Fletcher was, and face the music. While he was sitting there, the phone rang. He struggled out of his chair, and picked it up. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” The voice of Alfie was on the other end.
“You have information on Morgan or Williams for me?” Harry asked eagerly.
“No. Your man Hunt” the words were spat out, “is closing in. God knows how, but they have had a tip off which puts them in the right area. Fletcher is too much trouble. If you don’t decide what to do with him and fast, he dies tonight. I’m not going to jail for you, Woolf.”
“Wait, you can’t just kill him like that!”
“What did you expect, Mr. Woolf? He can name all of us, including you. In prison, no-one will care if you have cancer or not, they will just see an ex-copper. Even worse, a bent one.”
“But...”
“Consequences, Harry. Like a bull in a china shop you blew in, not thinking of the consequences. Well, they are here now, like rats, ready to bite you in the backside. Meet me on the waste-ground by the mill out by High Croft Lane. You have thirty minutes to get here. After that...”
Harry slammed the phone down, and ran out of the door. He dived into his car, racing off into the night, forgetting about the detective still doggedly tailing him.
Author: Kirsteena
Fandom: Life on Mars
Spoilers: Set after 2.02, spoilers for 2.07 and 2.08
Rating: Green Cortina.
Pairings: None
Word Count: 1491
Summary: The hunt takes Harry somewhere he didn't expect
a/n: part 1 here, part 2 here , part 3 here, part 4 here . Thanks to marsorbiter for the bunnies, and emeriin for her wonderful beta reading. This part is dedicated to my dear, darling friend mariusffxi for his help in finding me a birthdate. Have one on me hun.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Williams might as well not have existed, Harry thought to himself. There was no trace whatsoever of the mysterious man from Hyde. Was that significant in any way? Lighting up a cigarette, Harry dragged his fingers through his hair, then sat down to look at the folder which was sitting on his table.
Detective Chief Inspector Frank David Morgan - C Division - Hyde
Born 11 July 1927
Promoted to DCI 11 March 1967...
Flicking through the file, there was nothing that immediately jumped out at Harry. Exemplary career, no indication here of why Morgan had DS Smith so scared. What was it about the man? He would either have to wait until Alfie came up with something, or else he would have to try and dig about himself. A light tap on the door brought Harry back to the here and now. Gene’s daily visit. He took the folder, and slipped it under the mattress of his bed.
Gene paused in front of Harry’s door, suddenly cautious. What if Harry was involved? The thought suddenly scared him, more so than when he found out just how deeply Harry was involved in the robberies. Squaring his shoulders, he lightly rapped on the door.
Harry opened it. “Ah. Good evening, Gene. Come on in.” Gene nodded, and stepped over the threshold. Everything seemed normal, but he couldn’t shake that nagging feeling of dread.
“Evening Harry. How’s things today?”
“Good. Good. Been to visit some old friends, ones that are still talking to me, anyway.” Gene let a small smile appear on his face, ignoring for now the weighty feeling in his gut.
“Brought some food” Gene held up the bag he had brought, with a Chinese Meal B stashed inside. “Missus is out at Bingo tonight.”
“I’ll get the booze.”
Gene had left a couple of hours ago, saying he needed to go home to prove to his missus he was still alive. Harry had sat in his chair for a while afterwards, smoking. Thinking. How was he going to find out what part Morgan was playing in all this? He needed a drink, but he also needed company. He looked out of his window. His shadow had obviously given up, and fallen asleep or gone home. Shame he was only going to grab a swift one at his local. He put on his coat, and wandered down the stairs.
He had walked half of the distance to the pub when a Ford Transit van suddenly came out of nowhere, and screeched to a halt alongside him. Two men dived out from the back of the van, grabbed Harry, and one rapped him sharply on the back of the neck, causing Harry to slump. They bundled him into the back of the van, then raced off into the night.
As Harry struggled to clear the fog from his brain, he took stock of his surroundings. Derelict building of course - so many in Manchester that they could use. It was daylight, he must have been out for a while. He certainly wasn’t getting any younger, didn’t bounce back as quickly. In front of him, three men - two juniors, he judged by their deferential position, and one man in a suit.
As clarity returned, he took in the man standing slightly to the side of the other two. Mid to late 40s, balding, married if the ring on the finger was anything to go by, small moustache, three piece suit, black shoes. Very well dressed for your average criminal. As Harry struggled to sit upright, he caught the stranger’s eye. “What do you want with me?”
“Ah now, Mr. Woolf. That would be telling. I’m sorry my colleagues here hit you so hard, we had hoped you would have woken up earlier.” The voice was cultured, no discernable accent. Harry groaned once, and shook his head in an effort to clear it. The act left him with a splitting headache, but he was thinking more clearly.
“I would guess, by the welcoming committee, that you would be Mr. Morgan. Am I correct?”
“Always the detective, Mr. Woolf. It was a shame greed got the better of you in the end, you were one of the best.”
“I’m impressed that news of my actions made it as far as Hyde’s ears.” Verbal sparring - safe ground.
“But of course. A ‘bent copper’ is always brought to my attention. Especially when he then starts investigating things which do not concern him.”
“So that is what this is about? Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but DI Tyler was responsible for bringing me down. One feels one has the right to investigate.”
“Ah no, Mr. Woolf, you were solely responsible for ‘bringing you down’.”
“So, Hyde protecting their own, are they?”
“Not at all. We just feel you shouldn’t get personally involved too deeply. People might get hurt.”
“People might get hurt - being me?”
“Mr. Woolf, would I be so crass?” Morgan almost sounded offended at the thought.
“Who is we? What do you have to do with all of this? And who the hell is Sam Williams?”
Morgan carefully shook his head. “Mr. Woolf. You may think you are here to get your questions answered. My task here is to inform you that we are... merely requesting that you walk away from this investigation, and have Mr. Fletcher released from the confinement you have arranged for him.” Harry couldn’t help himself, and gaped at Morgan. “You think we didn’t know? You are rather transparent. Even DCI Hunt knows, albeit at some primitive level.”
“Gene? How...? If you know about Fletcher, why don’t you get him yourself?”
“Oh come on Mr. Woolf. Think about it.”
Harry’s head was pounding. “So, what do you want from me?” he repeated his first question.
“I think you know.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Well, it would be a shame if my superiors were to hear of this situation. At that point, I couldn’t guarantee the safety of, well, anyone, up to, and including Gene Hunt.”
As Harry focussed on Morgan, he couldn’t help his eyes filling up with tears.
Most officers were back in CID, taking a break from the street work, another frustrating day with no leads. In the corridor outside CID, there was a clattering noise, followed by “out of me way, you prat” as Carling and Skelton came careening into CID. Both of them were breathing heavily.
“Guv... tip-off... someone on Ratchett Street… saw a... a black man wearing orange shirt... being grabbed by... two of Alfie Grayson’s henchmen.” Ray panted out.
“Grayson? Now why am I not bloody surprised he is involved?”
“Who is Alfie Grayson?” Sam demanded.
“Scum. Remember Malone mentioned a turf war? He is involved in it up to his bloody armpits. Reminds me of Stephen Warren, but his methods are somewhat more - dubious. Good work there, Raymondo. Right you lot” at this, Gene raised his voice to include the whole of CID. “Pull everyone in who is on door-to-door enquiries. This is probably the best tip off we have had on this. I want everyone to start searching houses, gardens, shops, working out in a circle from the pub in Balmfield Street. Grayson owns it, uses it as his centre of operations. Ray, work with Tyler, figure out the best routes so we don’t waste time. Let’s go.”
After Morgan’s two coppers had dropped Harry off, he slowly made it back to his flat. For an hour afterwards he just sat there, chain-smoking, debating whether to just call Gene and tell him where Fletcher was, and face the music. While he was sitting there, the phone rang. He struggled out of his chair, and picked it up. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” The voice of Alfie was on the other end.
“You have information on Morgan or Williams for me?” Harry asked eagerly.
“No. Your man Hunt” the words were spat out, “is closing in. God knows how, but they have had a tip off which puts them in the right area. Fletcher is too much trouble. If you don’t decide what to do with him and fast, he dies tonight. I’m not going to jail for you, Woolf.”
“Wait, you can’t just kill him like that!”
“What did you expect, Mr. Woolf? He can name all of us, including you. In prison, no-one will care if you have cancer or not, they will just see an ex-copper. Even worse, a bent one.”
“But...”
“Consequences, Harry. Like a bull in a china shop you blew in, not thinking of the consequences. Well, they are here now, like rats, ready to bite you in the backside. Meet me on the waste-ground by the mill out by High Croft Lane. You have thirty minutes to get here. After that...”
Harry slammed the phone down, and ran out of the door. He dived into his car, racing off into the night, forgetting about the detective still doggedly tailing him.