The Last Mango and Candy Apples + fresh peaches and pineapple
Story: Blaze Mafia Family
Title: You Lookin’ at Me?
Prompts: Mango #27: if looks could kill, Candy Apple #7: shoulder + fresh peaches (The extra sensitivity amplifies any tendency to take things personally) + pocky
Rating: R for violence
Characters: Felix Wade, Unlucky schmuck #19
Summary: Oh Felix. You’ve got anger problems.
“What are you looking at?”
Felix had only just started in on his newest victim so the man wasn’t as afraid of Felix as he should be. The man was actually glaring up at him, which Felix didn’t like.
“You think you’re so fuckin’ tough, you stupid bastard?” Felix snarled.
The man snapped, “Untie me from this chair and I’ll show you what I think, asshole.”
Before the man could finish the insult, Felix stabbed the ice pick he was holding straight into his victim’s shoulder.
“Got anything else to say?” Felix asked over the man’s screaming. “Didn’t think so.”
Story: Blaze Mafia Family
Title: Good Cop, Bad Cop
Prompts: Gingerbread #3: trail of breadcrumbs, Candy Apple #6: foot/feet, Mango #15: gathering evidence + fresh pineapple (I Won’t Back Down by Tom Petty)
Rating: PG13 for implied violence
Characters: Detective Harry Lancaster
Summary: Takes place in Firebird’s first year as Boss. Detective Lancaster is doing some extracurricular investigating. I Won’t Back Down is Lancaster’s theme song. XD
Detective Lancaster stood just beyond the doorway of Room 313 at the Ermanno Blaze Memorial Hospital. There was something inherently wrong about bringing the victim of the Blaze Family to be treated at Blaze Memorial. What was even more perverted was that it wasn’t a Blaze soldier that had roughed up the man in Room 313, but a cop on the Blaze payroll.
Oh, Lancaster could never prove it, but there was enough circumstantial evidence to convince him that his gut feeling was correct this time. The man, Gary Keely, had been beaten to an inch of his life and been shot in both feet. It’d be a miracle if he could do anything more than hobble for the rest of his life.
Keely said he’d been assaulted by some random street punk, but of course it was too dark for him to identify anything about his assailant. He said it was a random mugging, only Lancaster knew that there was no such thing as random muggings in New Palermo. If someone was hurt to this extent, it was because the Blazes or one of their affiliates wanted that person to be. He’d initially thought it was a Blaze that had done this, it wasn’t the first or the last ‘mugging’ he would see courtesy of the mob that strangled this city, but several little things were making him rethink that theory.
When he’d first heard about it, Lancaster had gone straight to the hospital to talk to Keely. The man had practically jumped out of his skin when Lancaster flashed his badge, then refused to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds and pleaded a rain check due to excess pain soon after his interview started. Keely was afraid of Lancaster. No, not Lancaster, Lancaster’s police badge. Keely has spouted all the right things at all the right times, like someone had told him what to say.
Then of course there’d been the bullets, or rather the lack thereof. Two bullets should have been extracted from Keely’s feet. There’d been no exit wounds, but the doctors swore that they hadn’t found any bullets anywhere in Keely. Lancaster went to the crime scene to see what he could see, and of course there weren’t any bullets or casings there either. In fact, the whole scene was wiped clean of any evidence that might indicate who Keely’s attacker was. Not a speck. The Blazes were professionals and every last one of their soldiers possessed a thoroughness that put other criminals to shame, but this crime scene was too clean. Someone that knew the system had cleaned this place up.
But the final nail in the coffin had come from a dirty cop himself. Lancaster had figured out the skeletons in Sergeant Pole’s closet awhile back, so he knew something was up when his superior ordered Lancaster to let the case go. On the surface it made sense that Sergeant Pole hadn’t wanted Lancaster to waste any more of his time on the case. An unknown assailant mugged a man that freely admitted he couldn’t identify him and hadn’t left any evidence behind. Frankly, there was nothing for Lancaster there to investigate.
But it was the way Pole said it. He wasted no time telling Lancaster to let the case die, practically asking for his final report the same day he got the case. Then Pole had come back two days later specifically to make sure that Lancaster had written up his final report and shut the book. Lancaster’s sixth sense that all detectives cultivated on the job was shouting that Pole’s behavior wasn’t normal. Pole wouldn’t have done it himself, he didn’t go out in the field, but the Sergeant was covering for someone. Lancaster could feel it.
There wasn’t enough for Lancaster to give Gary Keely the justice he deserved, and that left a bitter taste in the detective’s mouth. He couldn’t help Keely this time, but perhaps Keely could help him. If he just found enough cases like Keely, enough questionable activities, enough unusual coincidences, then perhaps the circumstantial evidence that Lancaster had started keeping careful records of would form a bigger picture. A picture that would force people to acknowledge the police force’s rotten core. A picture that would finally allow Lancaster to do his job the way it was supposed to be done: alongside colleagues that he never doubted were the good guys.
He just needed more.
Title: You Lookin’ at Me?
Prompts: Mango #27: if looks could kill, Candy Apple #7: shoulder + fresh peaches (The extra sensitivity amplifies any tendency to take things personally) + pocky
Rating: R for violence
Characters: Felix Wade, Unlucky schmuck #19
Summary: Oh Felix. You’ve got anger problems.
“What are you looking at?”
Felix had only just started in on his newest victim so the man wasn’t as afraid of Felix as he should be. The man was actually glaring up at him, which Felix didn’t like.
“You think you’re so fuckin’ tough, you stupid bastard?” Felix snarled.
The man snapped, “Untie me from this chair and I’ll show you what I think, asshole.”
Before the man could finish the insult, Felix stabbed the ice pick he was holding straight into his victim’s shoulder.
“Got anything else to say?” Felix asked over the man’s screaming. “Didn’t think so.”
Story: Blaze Mafia Family
Title: Good Cop, Bad Cop
Prompts: Gingerbread #3: trail of breadcrumbs, Candy Apple #6: foot/feet, Mango #15: gathering evidence + fresh pineapple (I Won’t Back Down by Tom Petty)
Rating: PG13 for implied violence
Characters: Detective Harry Lancaster
Summary: Takes place in Firebird’s first year as Boss. Detective Lancaster is doing some extracurricular investigating. I Won’t Back Down is Lancaster’s theme song. XD
Detective Lancaster stood just beyond the doorway of Room 313 at the Ermanno Blaze Memorial Hospital. There was something inherently wrong about bringing the victim of the Blaze Family to be treated at Blaze Memorial. What was even more perverted was that it wasn’t a Blaze soldier that had roughed up the man in Room 313, but a cop on the Blaze payroll.
Oh, Lancaster could never prove it, but there was enough circumstantial evidence to convince him that his gut feeling was correct this time. The man, Gary Keely, had been beaten to an inch of his life and been shot in both feet. It’d be a miracle if he could do anything more than hobble for the rest of his life.
Keely said he’d been assaulted by some random street punk, but of course it was too dark for him to identify anything about his assailant. He said it was a random mugging, only Lancaster knew that there was no such thing as random muggings in New Palermo. If someone was hurt to this extent, it was because the Blazes or one of their affiliates wanted that person to be. He’d initially thought it was a Blaze that had done this, it wasn’t the first or the last ‘mugging’ he would see courtesy of the mob that strangled this city, but several little things were making him rethink that theory.
When he’d first heard about it, Lancaster had gone straight to the hospital to talk to Keely. The man had practically jumped out of his skin when Lancaster flashed his badge, then refused to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds and pleaded a rain check due to excess pain soon after his interview started. Keely was afraid of Lancaster. No, not Lancaster, Lancaster’s police badge. Keely has spouted all the right things at all the right times, like someone had told him what to say.
Then of course there’d been the bullets, or rather the lack thereof. Two bullets should have been extracted from Keely’s feet. There’d been no exit wounds, but the doctors swore that they hadn’t found any bullets anywhere in Keely. Lancaster went to the crime scene to see what he could see, and of course there weren’t any bullets or casings there either. In fact, the whole scene was wiped clean of any evidence that might indicate who Keely’s attacker was. Not a speck. The Blazes were professionals and every last one of their soldiers possessed a thoroughness that put other criminals to shame, but this crime scene was too clean. Someone that knew the system had cleaned this place up.
But the final nail in the coffin had come from a dirty cop himself. Lancaster had figured out the skeletons in Sergeant Pole’s closet awhile back, so he knew something was up when his superior ordered Lancaster to let the case go. On the surface it made sense that Sergeant Pole hadn’t wanted Lancaster to waste any more of his time on the case. An unknown assailant mugged a man that freely admitted he couldn’t identify him and hadn’t left any evidence behind. Frankly, there was nothing for Lancaster there to investigate.
But it was the way Pole said it. He wasted no time telling Lancaster to let the case die, practically asking for his final report the same day he got the case. Then Pole had come back two days later specifically to make sure that Lancaster had written up his final report and shut the book. Lancaster’s sixth sense that all detectives cultivated on the job was shouting that Pole’s behavior wasn’t normal. Pole wouldn’t have done it himself, he didn’t go out in the field, but the Sergeant was covering for someone. Lancaster could feel it.
There wasn’t enough for Lancaster to give Gary Keely the justice he deserved, and that left a bitter taste in the detective’s mouth. He couldn’t help Keely this time, but perhaps Keely could help him. If he just found enough cases like Keely, enough questionable activities, enough unusual coincidences, then perhaps the circumstantial evidence that Lancaster had started keeping careful records of would form a bigger picture. A picture that would force people to acknowledge the police force’s rotten core. A picture that would finally allow Lancaster to do his job the way it was supposed to be done: alongside colleagues that he never doubted were the good guys.
He just needed more.