TC Coyote Whispers

Alex Smith mounted the stairs. Why do all police stations look alike? he wondered as he entered the glass doors. There was a man behind the front desk. "Hi, I'm Alex Smith, I'm supposed to see Captain Clarke?" He introduced himself with a smile.

The sergeant looked at him. He raised a brow. "I didn't know Clarke was getting an intern."

Alex blinked. "I'm going to be working here full time."

"Sure. How long? Three months? Or are you here for a full semester?"

"I'm not an intern," Alex protested. This place was already worlds away from the City.

"I'm Sergeant O'Brian. You can call me Sarge. Go down those stairs one floor. Follow the wall to the right and it'll be the first bullpen you see. And, kid, you might want to show him some ID. He's paranoid."

"Thanks." Alex smiled and left Sarge behind. I'm going to have to shoot someone to prove I'm not someone's kid brother. The bullpen was a noisy bustle of insults and gossip. It felt like home. He'd missed the activity while he was hidden away as Nicky's lover. He took the room in at a glance. Wardrobe and lockers were on the far left. Desks filled the middle. And on the right were three offices. One was probably a conference room. The other might be an interrogation room. But he was putting money on it being a quiet room for making discrete phone calls.

"Where the Hell is that NYC upstart?" a man in suit-pants and a white button-down demanded. "He's supposed to be here at eleven!"

"Captain Clarke," Alex said carefully.

Clarke looked at him. "Community outreach is upstairs, kid. You have to be at least eighteen to test cashiers." The man turned away. "Vinnie, call Sarge and tell him to keep a look out for our new employee. Don't know why the chief hired him without telling me."

"Captain," Alex began again.

"Upstairs, kid."

"My name is Alex Smith. Captain Bartlett said you would be expecting me."

Clarke stared. Alex restrained the urge to fidget. "You have your badge?"

Alex shook his head. "They tend to keep track of those." He shrugged. "Here's my license. And just for the record, I'm even legal to drink."

The captain snorted. "I don't trust fake ID's."

"It's not fake." Alex sighed. "I knew transferring out here was a bad idea. If all you need me to do is test cashiers, I think I can find another position."

"Not this side of Jersey. And in Jersey all they'll have you doing is gang related. Come into my office."

Clarke's office was small. His furniture was standard issue. He's not too high on the pecking order here, Alex assessed. The desk was an obvious hand-me-down and the chairs were scavenged from someplace. He hated to admit it, but he was a hand-me-down too now. Bartlett wanted him someplace safe and low-profile. The commissioner wanted him to continue to run the Bartalone family. He was sure he'd have plenty of free time here.

"So tell me, what's your specialty?"

"Whatever you need, sir. I have SAC experience, Heaven help me. I'm an ordained minister." He shrugged. "I don't exactly blend in to the Black Panthers, but they've had whites in the past. I'm also a multi-lingual translator, court-recognized."

"So why are you in Westchester?"

"Because there are people in NYC who want to kill me. Can't imagine why."

"Well, I've seen your records. You're one of the people who brought down the big Sanchez bust a couple years ago."

"Yes, well." Alex shifted uncomfortably.

"Think you could do it again?"

"Which cartel?"

"Any of them."

"Of course."

"I love a confident man. We'll start you off slowly though. Let you get the lay of the land. Mall duty."

"Shoplifters or drugs?"

"Shoplifters, drugs, arms, anything else suspicious. How young can you look?"

Alex shrugged. "I can get away with sixteen most of the time. Maybe a little younger if I dress properly."

"Can you fight?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. Just regular clothes and a wire for now. Here's your badge. I just need you to qualify on the range."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you come equipped with a non-polite version?"

"No, sir." Alex couldn't help but grin. Clarke chuckled. He opened the door. "Vinnie." Alex jumped. Shit, that was going to take some work.

The man who came to the door was Italian. There was no way for him to be anything else. He was wearing a sloppy suit of grey with a yellow shirt. His hair was black and slicked back. "Yes, boss?"

"Vinnie Cappela, this is your new partner, Alex Smith. Take good care of him."

"Hi, kid, nice to meet you. Smith, huh?"

"Si." Capella's brows rose. He nodded.

"Take him to the range. Get him a gun."

"I don't have to buy my own?"

"In this town? No way. We've got a benefactor."

"Who?"

"A charity set up by one of the local crime bosses believe it or not. He said it wasn't sporting if the cops weren't properly armed."

Alex ran through the bosses he knew. "Giovanni?" he asked.

The other two stared at him. "You know him?" Vinnie asked.

"I've met him. Not as a cop, of course, but, he's a good guy. He thinks criminals who shoot cops are just lazy." Alex shrugged. "And it's the sort of thing he'd do. Vinnie can fill me in on the local gang politics on the way to the range."

Clarke ushered him out with a wave of his hand. They were in the hall before Cappela noticed the dance bag. "You want to put that in a locker?"

"Should I?"

"Yeah. Is that a laptop case? Fuck, do you have a place yet or is your luggage in the car?"

"You're looking at my luggage. I've got some things in storage in the city but," Alex shrugged. "This is the important stuff."

"Let me make a couple of calls while you qualify, okay? I think I can find you someplace cheap. What happened? Fire?"

"No, I had to jackrabbit. I couldn't go back to my old place. It's too dangerous."

"You got made?"

"No, they want my cover dead. They don't know I'm a cop. I've never been made."

"Never?"

"Never. So, tell me all about Westchester PD."

"First tell me how long you've been living out of that dance bag."

"Just two weeks. I crashed on my ex's couch."

"Not his bed?"

Alex froze. He stared at Vinnie. "Hers. And I'm not that kind of boy."

"Don't worry. We're liberal around here."

"I'm not gay."

"No?"

"No. I'm bi." Alex laughed at the expression on Vinnie's face. "Don't worry. You're not my type. Well, maybe you are, but I don't know yet. Looks aren't everything." He batted his lashes.

"You're yanking my chain."

"Yeah. You're not my type. Honest."

"Why not?"

"Too tall."

Vinnie didn't move. The set of his shoulder told Alex not to push anymore. "I go for personalities, not looks," he said finally. "Granted Suzy was beautiful, but that's not why I liked her. I liked her because she's smart and funny. Oh, and money helps. She's an architect."

"And the others?"

Alex grimaced. "You don't want to know. Suz and lasted three years of living together and two of dating. The other two didn't last too long. One was a year, the other a year and a half."

"I'll get you drunk and you can tell me all about them one day."

"Better lay in a really good supply."

****

Vinnie ushered his charge into the armory. "What's your poison?"

"A gun is a gun. What's normal around here?" The armory sergeant snorted.

"Not a whole lot. Here, try this one. I just cleaned it."

Smith lifted the gun smoothly, testing the grip. He was young looking. His hair was platinum blond and his eyes were a clear, pale blue. He looked like nature had forgotten to color him in. Vinnie looked a little more closely as his new partner talked over the gun's good points. There were circles under his eyes, deftly hidden by make-up. There were scars on his hands and Vinnie was willing to bet there were more under the long sleeves of his shirt. He wondered if he should start looking for bruises. This one was going to need a keeper. That was obvious.

Finally, Alex decided on a gun. Vinnie left him at the range to make a few calls. Actually, he only needed to make one. "Hey, Dim, this is Vinnie. Is that apartment still open?"

"Yes."

"I've got someone to fill it. Can I drop him by later?"

"Cop?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You bring by house. I give good price."

"Thanks, Dim."

"Goodbye." Vinnie hung up the phone and went to find the kid. Alex was signing papers.

"No, I don't want my name on your wall, danke."

"You speak German?" Vinnie asked, saving him from the range-master.

"No, Afrikaans. I'm told it's similar."

"That's an unusual one. Where you from originally?"

"I was born in New York City, believe it or not. I've traveled a lot though."

"See you, Carter." Vinnie hurried his new partner out. "You qualified, I assume."

"Yes. I have reams of paper now to attest to that fact. I'm surprised they didn't make me sign in blood."

"Don't suggest that too loudly or they will. I've got a place lined up for you. It's not much."

"Thanks. You didn't have to do that. I can get a hotel room."

"Dim's a good guy."

Alex shrugged. "Thanks. So what's the over-view of this place?"

"Homicide is on the top floor. Missing persons and robbery are on the floor under that. Traffic and narcotics are under that. Community outreach is on the main level. We get to share the basement with the gym and range. We work with all the departments. And run regular cases on our own."

"I don't do homicide."

Vinnie glanced at his new partner. "Squeamish?"

"Really bad experiences in that department. Let's just mark it down as not a good idea?"

"Okay. The other departments use us for surveillance and bait."

"Sounds blindingly normal."

"It is. So, what brought you out here besides the people wanting to kill you issue?"

"My boss arranged it. I didn't get much input." Alex shrugged. "We'll see how it works out. Tell me about you, now. Since you were tagged to keep tack of me, I'm guessing that you're supposed to keep me out of trouble. Let me warn you, my partner swears that's impossible."

"I can tell. You have a fresh meat sign over your head."

"Grade A." Alex winked.

"Well, I'm the usual story. Joined up after two years at the local college. Worked my way up to here."

"Married?"

"Tried once. It didn't last."

"How long?"

"A year."

Alex rolled his eyes. "How long were you engaged?"

"Three months."

He nodded. "Kids?"

"No."

"Dog?"

"Too much work."

"Goldfish?"

"Died last week. Let's get your stuff into a locker, then we'll get you oriented to the best food places."

"And the library?"

"And the library. And the bank. All that shit."

"I think I can manage it. Do you have a Crossroads expansion around here?"

"No."

"Damn. Capt. Clarke said something about mall surveillance."

"I'll show you what we get up to there. We have our own little station and everything."

"Goodness, do you mean actual back-up?"

"Yes. Don't tell me you don't curse?"

"I curse like a sailor in seven languages, but I don't blaspheme."

Vinnie laughed.

****

Alex looked around the station. A station in the mall, what a switch. "So we don't have to freeze when we're working here?"

"No, they set this up the year that a little girl was kidnapped. Her family lobbied for it and no one wants to cross the Xavier Institute," Vinnie explained.

"Xavier's? I forgot that was out here."

"You know them?"

Alex shook his head. "No, I was told hands off, nose out, focus on your work, not sidelines."

"Good policy."

"I don't like not knowing the secrets that I'm keeping."

"Don't worry about it. It's not your problem." Vinnie pulled him over to look at a screen. "This is where we keep visual traces on our people. This is where your wire will be recorded."

"Why a wire? I could just call you. You know, on a cell phone? Use the codes. Viola!"

"Trust me, you don't want to try to get reception in this mall."

Alex laughed. "So, any particular places I should hit?"

"Try to hit all the stores at least once. Even the teeny-bopper places."

"Oh, because I'll fit in so well there. Fine. Where's the wire?"

"John will put it on you."

"Hi, I'm John Stetson."

"A pleasure."

****

Alex sighed. He'd been on mall duty for three days and had yet to see anything more interesting than a teen-aged shoplifter who'd lost her nerve before leaving the store. A young Asian woman in a trenchcoat of brilliant yellow over a black pantsuit caught his eye. She sauntered through the mall, window-shopping. She moved with the ease of an athlete who knew her body well.

As he watched her from his vantage point on the upper-level, she turned and bumped into an older man in a brown suit. She held his arm to steady him with one hand, while the other hand received something small and hard. She tucked her hands into her pockets and went back to shopping.

"Stop scoping women and get to work, Smith," Martha Brown chided in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmured. "I'm just working up to Abercrombie." He picked up his battered leather messenger's bag and headed back to his rounds.

"Skip Abercrombie. We have a possible shoplifter at Ann Taylor."

"Great. Women's clothing. I'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"Come off it, sweetheart, they'll assume you're gay like the rest of us."

"Love you too, Brown."

"You know it."

****

Alex turned just at the wrong moment and ended up dumping his coffee down the front of the young woman in the yellow trenchcoat. "I'm so sorry," he said as he grabbed a handful of napkins. "Here, send me the drycleaning bill."

"That's okay," she replied wiping off her boots and mopping up some of the coffee on her leather pants. "I do my own cleaning." Her eyes were a beautiful china blue. "But you can buy me dinner." She put a business card into the front pocket of his dress shirt. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. She tweaked his nose. "You're the first guy who's ever had the balls to try this."

He grinned at her. "Well, you know what they say, no guts no glory."

She laughed outright. She waved as she left.

"What the Hell was that?" Brown demanded.

"Flirting. It's how humans procreate." He returned to the counter.

"I'll just get you a new coffee," the barista said.

"No, no. It was worth the three bucks. I got the date. I'll have a hazelnut latte."

****

"Ms. Lee? This is Alex Smith? We ran into each other at the mall the other day?"

Jubilee laughed. Logan and Remy stopped their bickering over what assignments she should be allowed to take at the sound. They frowned at her with equally worried looks. "Why hello, Mr. Smith. Where are you taking me for dinner?"

"Do you like spicy? There's a good Cajun place I found the other day just down by the mall."

"I know it. Great place."

"Do you want me to pick you up or would you rather meet me there?"

"I'll meet you there. In case I have to leave unexpectedly."

"So, seven o'clock tomorrow?"

"See you then." She hung up on his goodbye. "What?"

"Was that a date?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether he's actually a cop or not."

"No datin' cops," Gambit said firmly. Jubilee stuck her tongue out at her teacher. "It ain't a good policy. Y' piss them off and they start tryin' to arrest you."

"You speakin' from personal experience?" Logan asked. His brows were raised. "And who was this cop?"

Remy looked up at the ceiling light which really didn't deserve the attention he was giving it. "He was interpol and it was f' about a mont'. He was more pissed that I was seventeen and didn' tell him."

Jubilee laughed. She shook her head. "He has perfect physical timing and managed to catch me unaware. So he's either a kick-ass, a cop, or a con-artist. We'll have to see. Now, I'm taking the Spain job. I don't care that you have objections, Logan. It's a good score and it'll help build my rep without hurting anyone who doesn't deserve it."

TBC

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