Butterfly
AUTHOR: Lucky.
DISCLAIMER: Except for the creations of the author, all characters, characterizations, situations, and locations described in this unsolicited and not-for-profit work of fiction are the property of ABC Television, Capitol Cities, Inc., Steven Bochco Productions, the many talented people who created the world of NYPD Blue, and the actors who have made that world such a lively place. The author would also like to extend her personal gratitude to Mr. Scott Cohen for his light, his vitality, his inspiration, and for being such a compelling muse. Thank you, sir.
FEEDBACK: To Lucky
Someone down a hall somewhere was whistling Ravel's "Bolero" with feeling and a lascivious bit of vibrato as Posey came into the precinct building and stamped the snow off her boots. She listened for a moment, smiling a little. Suddenly, it stopped, replaced by a beat of silence, then another sound.
"Psst... sst, sst, sst..."
She turned her head towards the sound just in time to catch Harry's bright smile before he disappeared down the end of the hall to her right. She shook her head, still looking, as he started whistling again, and saw a detective she didn't recognize walk himself into the hallway corner, turned almost completely around, looking after Harry with sheer bewilderment on his face.
Posey giggled and cleared off up the stairs before the unknown detective could turn and see her.
As she came into the office, she hummed the song Harry had been whistling, and it caught John's attention.
"Bolero. That's a good one," the soft-spoken PAA purred up at her with a knowing little smile. Posey elicited a yelp from him as she leaned over and grabbed his head, planting a firm kiss in the middle of his hair.
"You know I love you, John," she teased, breezing into the office and dropping her things on her desk.
"You're so butch," John mumbled back, using both hands to perfect his hair again.
"Where is everyone?" Posey asked, flipping her laptop open and starting up her calendar program.
John twisted in his chair and started ticking off detectives on his fingers. "Detectives Sorenson and Sipowicz are out on a shooting near the harbor. Detectives Baldwin and Medavoy are out in Soho hassling exotic dancers, and Lieutenant Fancy is in a department-head meeting until noon."
"Gee, I hope nobody else gets shot," Posey grumbled, propping her feet up against her desk and leaning her chair back on two legs.
John grinned at her for a moment, then, "So you're a little later than usual."
"That I am."
"Anyone I know?"
Posey flipped her hair around a little. "Maybe. He works in the precinct."
"Ooh, office gossip." John darted around his chair and dragged it after him to sit beside Posey. "Tell me."
"Promise me you won't tell me anything I don't want to hear about him, okay?"
"I promise." John drew an 'x' over his chest with his finger. "Now tell me!"
"Harry Denby in Narcotics."
John gaped at her for a moment, then echoed her. "Harry Denby?" Posey nodded. "Um," John glanced around a little. "I wish you'd have told me before I promised not to tell you anything you didn't want to hear."
"Why's that?"
"Because now I can't tell you anything about him." John gave her a regretful look. "Sorry."
Posey dropped her head back, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Don't tell me I did it again." She flung her hands down and tilted her head until she was looking at John. "So... what? He's married, two point five kids, house in the suburbs, what?"
"Oh, no," John replied quickly. "Nothing like that. It's professional."
Posey lifted her head and crossed her brow at John. "Professional like how?"
"Well," John worked his mouth for a second, choosing his words. "You know the detective you replaced, Diane Russell?"
"I met her on the way out. She seemed like she needed a few months to herself."
"He's the one who did that to her."
Posey gave a harsh little laugh. "What? He wouldn't sleep with her?"
"No-o-o," John drawled a little. "The other way around."
Posey rubbed her temples for a second, then, "Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute. How did someone from Narcotics get so mixed up with someone from Homicide in the first place? The only reason I've ever seen Harry come into this office is because I was here. Other than that, he's never even on this end of the building."
"It's... kind of a long story."
John fairly cringed as Posey turned in her chair, planting her elbows on her knees.
"Well, I'm kind of not busy right now."
She swore she could feel his eyes hit the back of her head as he stood at the file cabinet behind her. Once, twice, three times. Finally, he cleared his throat a little, speaking politely and trying to ignore the irritated looks he was getting from the other Homicide detectives.
"Detective Jackson, we've run up on a name and we're trying to see if our contact is dead or not. Are you familiar enough with the files to... um... give me a hand back here?"
She turned to look at him, dressed in his pressed white oxford with little tan pinstripes and gray slacks, a hand planted firmly over his mouth. Turning back to her computer, she stared blankly at the screen, understanding clearly what he was really asking her to do.
"Detective Jackson?" his voice came again. "I did say that out loud, didn't I?"
She cleared her throat and planted her hands on her desk, pushing her chair back with a sharp scrape. "Sure, Denby."
She walked back to the files, trying to ignore the look he gave her upon hearing only his last name come out of her.
She came up and stood across from him, avoiding his eyes over the file drawer he had opened.
He spoke in a voice meant only for her. "Did I actually do something wrong or is this just more girl stuff?"
"What name are you looking for?" she offered flatly.
"Posey..."
"No, that's my name and I'm pretty sure I'm not dead."
He shifted his weight and took a glance around the room. "We were friends this morning."
"It's not morning anymore."
Wow... I had no idea how much that hurts. He sent Diane a telepathic apology and continued. "So how did we get from fuzzy robes and 'Bolero' to you..." he placed a hand under her chin and turned her eyes to his, "to you not looking me in the eye? What? Is there another guy or something?"
Posey fixed him with a hard stare. "Yeah. Don Kirkendall."
Harry looked around the room, then drew a hand over his face, slamming the file drawer between them shut with a bang that rattled the whole room and made Posey jump.
"No, Detective Jackson," he called back angrily over his shoulder, taking long strides out of the room. "I don't know what I was thinking. That asshole is never gonna die." His words trailed after him as he stormed around the corner and out of sight. "He's goddamn Lazarus!"
Posey waited until she couldn't hear his stomping on the steps anymore, then turned to lean against the file cabinet, holding her head in her hands. Presently, she became aware of a lithe presence at her side. She looked to see John's apologetic look.
"Do you... do you want to talk?"
Posey gave the cabinet a sharp kick and whirled away. "No," she snapped, snatching her coat up from the back of her chair and pulling it on over her long sweater and shoulder holster. She walked from the room, pausing in front of John's empty desk to address the room at large. "I'm gonna grab some lunch. I'll be back in about an hour."
"Denby... Denby! Are you sleepin' or what?"
"No, Caruso," Harry mumbled into his sleeve. "I may never sleep again."
"Please tell me there's no Shakespeare coming up." Cary Caruso dropped his squat, hairless little body into the chair opposite Harry's desk, stuffing what amounted to a handful of cake doughnut into his face.
Harry picked up his head and rested his face against his fist, distorting his features as he looked at his partner. "Aren't you missing a date with a dessert cart somewhere?"
"You're damn funny, Denby," Caruso mumbled through his mouthful of pastry. "But I got something that'll brighten your little face right up."
"What's that?"
"You know that new lady detective in up in Homicide?"
Harry's eyes jumped with a little start. "What about her?"
"I'm gonna ask her out. She looks like she's a pretty good time."
Harry dropped his hand onto his desk and glared at Caruso. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Cary."
Cary spread his hands a little. "Why not? She's pretty, she's young, she's probably into guys."
Harry pumped the heel of his hand into his desk and stood quickly, trying to blank out the image of Cary's pudgy, red fingers against Posey's face, on her skin, and the distant, echolike sounds of her saying 'no' while he laughed and wheedled at her. He leveled a finger at his partner. "You just leave her alone, okay?"
Cary laughed aloud as Harry yanked his trenchcoat off the rack and punched his arms into the sleeves. "Jesus, Harry, you sound like her damn husband. Is there something I don't know?"
"There's a lot of things you don't know, Caruso. Least of all women," Harry muttered at him as he left the Narcotics office.
"What, are you gonna go piss on her now? Mark your territory?" Cary hollered after him, shoving the rest of his doughnut in his mouth.
Harry's voice came back faintly from the end of the hall outside. "Fuck off."
Posey kept her head down as she walked, her brain racing as fast as her feet as she tried to reconcile the ugly snapshot John had given her of Detective Harry Denby with the living pictures in her mind of the person who'd promised her that they would always be the good guys. Trying to integrate the hard black scribble of a twisted, sick liar with the poetry of his kiss. Trying to make some mesh of the strung out, dirty cop John said he was with the playful, gentle man who'd fallen asleep in her arms that morning. She couldn't keep him from being the man he was, but she wanted him to be the man she knew.
The man she thought she knew.
A voice to the right and rear broke into her thoughts. "You don't have to stop, but could you please slow down? I've been shadowing you for ten minutes and my knees are starting to buckle."
Posey whipped around and snapped her hand up, feeling the bright sting of pain in her palm as the crackling sound of her frustration rang from his cheek to the bricks of the building beside the sidewalk.
He shook his head a little and pinned her with angry eyes. "Is 'please slap me' tattooed across my forehead or something?"
"It should be," Posey growled in response, turning away from him again.
"Of course," he puffed, taking long strides to keep up with her. "Meet a woman, ask her out, get smacked. You think I'd be used to it by now."
"You get slapped by the last chick you pulled this on?"
"If you define 'pulling something' as expressing an interest in getting to know said chick better, then yes."
"God, I can't believe I slept with you."
"Technically, you didn't..."
Posey stopped and faced him again. "Oh, blow it out your ass, you pompous windbag!"
"Pompous windbag," he echoed. "That's a new one. You get that from whoever gave you their version of the Kirkendall story?"
Posey laughed cruelly. "I suppose I should have known you'd have a different take on that." She put a finger into his breastbone. "Look, I just spent the last two years of my life ass- deep in crooked, psychotic cops. I don't intend to spend one more minute on you."
"Yeah," he responded, nodding slowly. "Just another pig with a badge that looks like yours, right? Get your finger out of my chest and open your eyes, Mariposa."
She left her hand right where it was. "They're open, Harry. They're open and seeing someone who drove a good detective off the force and then had the lack of taste to start on her replacement."
Harry pretended to stagger in shock, swatting at her hand and mocking her. "I am just gonna up and die from the sheer force of your detecting skills, you know that? Do you honestly think I make a hobby out of shooting myself in the foot?"
Posey folded her arms. "Why did you... How did you get so involved with her?"
Harry clucked a little, looking disappointed in her. "And here I thought we meant something to each other."
Posey missed him. "Apparently not if she'd rather quit than deal with you."
"No," Harry corrected gently, pointing back and forth between them. "You and I."
Posey looked at him blankly, shaking her head a little. "Don't follow."
The way he talked, Posey couldn't tell if he was teasing her or not. "Tell me... did you start spouting Russell-centric worldview just to see if I'd get pissed off or have you actually forgotten that I'm a person?"
Posey tossed her arms up a little. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He wasn't done. "And how does the name Kirkendall come out of you forty five minutes ago, but now it's all about someone who left in a fit of sulking because she stood too close to a fire she didn't understand and got herself burned? I mean, I thought this was about me. Now, it's about you and your bruised feminist pride."
The more he talked, the more her head hurt until all she wanted to do was beat him until he couldn't make any more noise. She pressed her fingers to her temples. "Shut up, Denby."
"Shut up, Denby?" he echoed her, his voice stinging with incredulousness. "No. I can't let this little house of cards stand in your head." As he spoke, he stepped up to her and dropped his voice to well-loaded purr. "And even if I have to bury you in a rubble of words, I am knocking it down."
Posey tipped her head up and challenged him, not about to stand down just because he bullied her. "Why? What's what another woman thinks to you?"
Harry shook his head a little, keeping his eyes on her. "Not another woman. You. What you think."
Posey scoffed, rolling her eyes and turning away. "I'm sure."
Harry seized her shoulders, giving her a little shake, snapping her to. "Listen to me! You're right, I don't care what you think, but I care what you believe and I'm not about to let you believe a lie. Not this lie."
"You'd better get your hands off me, Denby."
His expression crushed as he searched her eyes, gripping and regripping her arms as he spoke. "Harry. My name is Harry. Did you forget that too?"
She glared at him. "I didn't forget, I just don't think I ever knew."
Harry made a little strangled noise like a high-pitched sob and put his head forward. Posey pulled herself as far away as his hands on her arms would allow, looking up at the sky as his forehead fell against her throat. "Don't do this," he muffled into her coat. "Please don't do this to me." He picked his head up again and looked into her eyes. "Please."
Posey gathered her breath to answer him, but never got the chance. A voice she didn't recognize came up the sidewalk at them.
"Denby? Is that you, you damn cocksucker!?"
Harry took a glance up, then looked back at Posey with wild eyes and a hiss. "Fight me."
"What?"
"Fight me! And get ready to show your badge."
Posey put up a struggle, still not knowing why.
Harry glanced up again, then back. "Make me feel it or we're both dead, Detective."
Posey started fighting for her life, pounding at his chest in earnest. After a second, he let her go and stepped past her, spinning her around to face him.
"What the hell are you guys doing still walking among the legally free?" he shouted to the rapidly approaching group of men. In a quick glance, Posey could tell that three of the four men were armed.
The tallest of the group jerked his head up in Posey's direction. "What's this? You finally break down and buy yourself a sleeping pill with a hole?"
They don't know who I am, Posey realized quickly. He's counting on it.
Harry turned to her with carefully shielded eyes. "I don't know yet. I'm not giving her anything until she tells me what I want to know. Homicide got a new bitch in and whoring is the rookie beat. She pitched one at me and then wouldn't let me cover my ass."
One of the men came up from the rear of the group, addressing Posey roughly. "What the hell are you worried about? Don't you know who this is?" The man tried to come at her, but Harry grabbed his arm and slung him back.
"Who I am isn't important to her." He came up against her again, dragging her into his chest by the arm. "Right, sweetheart?"
Blocked from the view of the watching men, he put her hand into his trenchcoat and pressed her fingers against his badge, then let her go. She jerked away for show and gave him a sweet smile.
"I'm sure you're right. It doesn't matter who you are. Matters who I am." Posey flashed her badge. "NYPD." She pointed to a nondescript looking van, picked entirely at random. "You're under arrest for pandering."
Harry gave her wide eyes for a second, impressed, then was nearly overrun by the men behind him. "No!" he barked, turning to face them and taking out his gun. "What? Don't you trust me? There's no action on this street. She's just lucky. He turned to Posey again and trained his gun on her. "Or at least she thinks she is."
As the men behind him grumbled with laughter and leered, Harry mouthed a single word at Posey.
Run.
Posey whirled and started running back towards the house, hearing his panting and footfalls come close after her, followed by shouting and rude laughter. They're all running after me... Jesus, Harry, don't let them catch me.
Harry's voice behind her. "Alley... left... thirty feet. I'm right behind you."
In an instant, she saw what he was talking about and ducked in. His hand on her arm brought her to an abrupt stop. His hand came up and plugged her right ear. Into her left, he hissed, "Scream."
Posey screamed, more from sheer fright than because he told her to, suddenly hearing his weapon discharge into a pile of debris behind him in the alley. She fell silent. The group of men coming after them stopped and started swearing, highly impressed at Harry's ability to kill police officers.
Harry whispered in Posey's ear again. "Circle back to the house. Get Cary Caruso and tell him what happened. Say the word 'Boneyard'. He'll know what to do. You make the arrest. Got it?"
Posey nodded.
"Good. Hide until I'm gone."
Posey nodded again and pushed away from him, but he held her fast, pointing her face up to his.
"I love you. Nothing else. Remember that." He met her sudden shock with his own at having said it, then released her with a little push. "Go."
In an instant, she was invisible, hidden among the alleyway garbage, listening to the sound of his voice as it disappeared over the sidewalk, purposely ignoring the words he was saying to the group of strangers.
She didn't want to ruin the words he'd just said to her.
Continued in Part 6.
