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
Posey practically busted in on the Narcotics office. The middle aged PAA was on her feet in a flash.
"Honey, slow down. What do you need? Are you tripping?"
Posey gave her a dirty look and an eyeful of badge. "I need to speak to Cary Caruso. It's about Harry Denby."
The detective who had walked into a wall that morning came up from a desk in the middle of the room. "I'm Caruso. Denby's my partner. You are..?" He stuck out a sugar-sticky hand as he approached.
"Posey Jackson, Homicide." Posey tried not to grimace as she stuck her hand in her pocket and wiped it on the inside. "I was with Harry a few blocks from here when we ran up on some scumbags with guns. Harry pulled a story on them and faked shooting me. He's with them now. What does the word 'boneyard' mean to you?"
Caruso put his hands out. "Slow down, Detective Jackson. Come back over here with me." Posey followed him back into the office and sat down at the desk opposite his. She glanced down at the mess of stuff in front of her. A scattering of phone numbers, a nearly illegible to do list, seven chewed to death pens, half a cup of cold, black coffee, and a pile of memos and letters and handwritten notes, all addressed to Harry Denby. She put her hand out, almost reverently, trying to see what he really had going on in his head without moving too much of his stuff around. Almost instantly, she found her answer.
On the corner of his blotter, among the scribbled names and dates and times and phone numbers, a beautiful little ink sketch of an Alcon Blue butterfly perched on a blade of grass. She ran her fingers over the sketch.
Mariposa...
Caruso's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "Okay, all I caught was faked a shooting and boneyard. What the hell did Harry do now?"
Posey tore herself away from the little drawing and gathered a breath, looking up at Harry's squat little partner. "Well, he and I were... talking and we were approached by four men. Caucasian, all looking between late twenties and mid thirties. Three of them were obviously armed. Handguns."
Caruso nodded, scribbling down the finer points of what Posey was telling him. "Mm-hm. Okay, so what happened?"
"Harry pulled a story leading around to that I was a troller."
"An undercover hooker?"
"Yeah. So after that..."
"How did he expect to pull that one off? With no backup he had to know he was putting you in danger."
Posey stared at him for a moment. "He was my backup, but I don't think that's the important thing. Why are you so hung up on hookers?"
Cary gave a grin. "You sound just like him. Okay, okay, okay... so what happened."
"He told me to run, put me down an alley, faked that he shot me, and left with the four Caucasian males. He left specific instructions for me to find you and say the word 'boneyard' to you before he... left."
Before he told me he loved me. Wait a minute...
"Boneyard... Okay, do you think he's in danger?"
Posey's brain clicked. "Yes. I do."
"How?"
"Something he said before he left."
Caruso tossed his pen down and planted his hands on his desk, pushing himself up. "Alright then. I'll go get him."
Posey stood up as well. "Wait a minute... exactly what are you going and getting him from?"
Caruso heaved a sigh. "Well, our boy Harry is currently trying to pull the wool over the eyes of what's left of the Borgas."
"Borgas?"
"Ukrainian mafia. They're selling anything that changes brain chemistry and sending the money back to the motherland. It's a pretty big catch. Harry's been getting us all yelled at by CIA crotch-kickers for two months over this. You're lucky to have been involved in something like this so soon after starting. Thanks for the information, Detective Jackson. I'll call upstairs when we're done." Caruso turned away and started yelling at the PAA to assemble a team.
"Hold up, pard. I'm still in this one." Posey came from behind Harry's desk to stand face to face with Cary. "I have to make the arrest."
Caruso laughed out loud. "You've got to be kidding me. You?" Posey nodded. "What makes you think..?"
"Because Harry told me to." Posey looked him square in the eye, watching him squirm for a second. "Would you like to explain to him why I'm not there?"
Caruso tossed himself around for a few more seconds, watching the room fill up with uniformed officers waiting for an explanation of why they were there, and finally gave up. "Fine. Harry wants to hand his girlfriend a posthumous bar and a well-worded eulogy, fine. Saddle up, babe. We're goin' for a ride." He walked away, turning his attention to the group of officers.
"It's Detective Jackson," she called after him, then completed her thought under her breath, "you sanctimonious prick."
Posey watched nervously, tugging at her dark blue jumpsuit and windbreaker, practically leaning on the stiff corset of her body armor.
"I assume you've done something like this before?"
"What?"
Caruso twisted in his seat, shooting her a patronizing look through the van. "A bust. A takedown. They do have drug gangs in Detroit, right?"
Posey rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I know what I'm doing. Just try to keep up."
Caruso regarded her for a moment, then started again. "What the hell is this, anyway?"
Posey swiped a hand through her hair. "What's what, Caruso?"
"Harry tosses one into you and all of a sudden you're his personal guard dog."
What?! "Is that what he told you?"
Caruso shrugged. "It's Harry."
Posey pinched her eyes shut, rubbing a little at the bridge of her nose. "You know what? I don't want to hear another word about the Legend of Harry Denby. Let's just get him out of this before someone decides he's a bigger liar than he looks and puts a slug in his brainstem, okay?"
Caruso turned back to the windshield with a shrug. "It's your life."
"No," Posey grumbled, "it's Harry's. Let's bag these assholes." She popped the sliding door on the van and stepped out into the slushy street. Caruso sidled up to her.
"I suppose you'll want point?"
"Yeah," Posey nodded, looking at the dirty little house in front of her. "I'll front this one."
She led a little group of officers and Caruso through the line of police circling the house and walked up to the door. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her weapon and tested the knob. With a careful hand, she turned it.
Unlocked.
She turned to Caruso and he nodded in response, passing the silent message to the rest of the team.
Posey threw the door open with a shout.
"NYPD! We have a warrant! Everyone down!" She took the scene with a quick sweep of her eyes.
Sweet Jesus...
The room was filthy, reeking with old food and several types of smoke. A group of startled men, the ones she'd seen before, were just starting to scatter from their circle around Harry. The detective himself was bound to a spiny-looking kitchen chair, his wrists and ankles tied with cutting twine to the two front legs of the chair, his head forced down between his knees. From what she could see, he was gagged with a dirty white piece of rag and she noticed a small pool of blood on the floor beneath him, but he was wiggling his fingers and toes like crazy.
He's okay... Posey shook herself a little and went about the business she'd come after. She took a few quick steps into the room and made a grab for the guy with the gun.
"Drop it!" She brought her weapon up to his face. "Drop it right now!" The man took a quick glance down the barrel of her Beretta and decided not to be a moron about it. His Glock dropped to the floor with a thud. "Get down! Get on your stomach!" Posey put her knee into the small of his back and groped for his wrist with her free hand. "Somebody cover me!" She felt a presence in blue at her side and heard a gruff 'gotcha'. Posey holstered her weapon and took out her handcuffs.
As she cuffed the man, she happened to glance up to see Caruso untying Harry. "Cary!" Caruso glanced up. "Leave him. Get these guys in the van. I'll take care of him." Over the shouting, she heard Harry whine distinctly.
Caruso stifled a grin. "You got it, lieu." He slapped Harry on the back. "She's the pointman, here, partner. You understand."
Whatever Harry said was hopelessly muffled by the rag, but it fell in the rhythm of "Thanks a pantload."
Posey returned her attention to the man she was kneeling on. "Get up." She jerked him around a little as he struggled to his feet. As she marched him out of the house and to the designated paddy wagon, she Mirandized him roughly.
"Stop me if you've heard this one before. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. We'll get you an attorney if the motherland can't afford one for you. Now get in the goddamn van and try not to break anything." She tossed him down into the bench, satisfied with the thump of his shoulder into the far wall.
"I knew Harry didn't have it in him to kill a cop," he grumbled, turning himself around to glare at her. "He's just another pig with a badge."
Posey cocked her head at him, sliding the door halfway shut. "Yep. He is that. Just another good guy." She gave him a smile and slammed the door shut, hearing him bang his head against the inside of the van as she walked back into the house.
Forensic activity was beginning, with officers tagging and bagging just about everything in the room. Posey winced a little as she looked at Harry again, hogtied as he was to the chair. Shaking her head a little, she picked her way through all the stuff in the room to stand beside him. As soon as he could see her shoes, he started grunting through the gag and wiggling his fingers in her direction. She put a hand on his back and turned to address the nearest officer.
"Anybody got a pair of gloves I can use? I want to keep the twine." Harry sighed heavily into the rag. Posey ran her nails over his back and felt his shoulders relax as much as they could with his arms tied to his feet. After a few minutes, she got her gloves and snapped them on. "Okay," she knelt beside Harry and started working the knot on the gag. "Let me get this off and you can start talking your way out of this one."
He said something through the gag that sounded like her name and he shook his head a little.
"Hold still and shut up or I'm leaving it on."
He obeyed and she removed the gag, listening to him sputter and spit as she bagged it. Finally, he spoke, his voice sounding stuffy and odd from between his knees. "What the hell was that about?"
"What's bleeding, Harry?"
"My nose. You wanna tell me why I'm getting personal attention, here?"
"Well," she started with a little grunt, going to work on the ties around his extremities, "I figured if I couldn't have had the pleasure of tying you up, I could at least have the honor of untying you."
"You're a regular riot, you know that? I've got about fifteen minutes of blood left in me, so if you could save the routine for later..."
She finally got the knot free and unwrapped the twine. As soon as he was free, he pulled his arm in, working his muscles and rubbing his wrist on his pants. Posey caught his hand and looked at the red circle left by the twine. He kicked his leg out and turned to look at her.
"What?"
"I don't see blood, just the mark. Are you moving okay? Any numbness or anything?" She glanced up, then did a double-take on his battered face with a little gasp. "Oh, Harry."
He was dripping from the nose with blood, bearing a series of scrapes at the temple and over his jaw. Nothing looked broken, but he'd definitely seen better days.
Still, he tried to grin and dismissed her. "I've had worse. Just get me up."
Posey untied his other side as quickly as she could, bagging everything and snapping off her gloves as he sat up and tilted his head back to try and stop the nosebleed. "Somebody get me a clean tissue or something," Posey called over her shoulder, standing up in front of him and running her hands diagnostically over his face. He caught her hands in his.
"I'll be fine. Really, I'm okay, baby." His eyes flickered over her shoulder and he reached up for the handful of Kleenex being passed to him by one of the officers. The uniform's voice floated over Posey's shoulder.
"There's an ambulance coming, Detectives."
"Good, thank you," Posey replied, just barely turning, not wanting to take her eyes off Harry. "Are you sure you're okay?"
He nodded a little, pinching his nose in the tissue. His voice sounded like a squeaky growl beneath his hand. "I could use a backrub, though." Posey saw his smile in his eyes and was taken completely by surprise by her reaction.
"Oh, damn," she muttered, putting a hand to her face as the tears started coming. "I'm sorry. I usually don't..."
Harry's eyes lit up with worry and he tried to stand, dropping back down with a groan as the bands in his cramped muscles snapped and ground in his legs. Posey put her hands on his shoulders.
"No, no, no... stay put until the paramedics get here."
He nodded again, watching her with bright eyes. After a moment of just looking, he spoke again, taking her hand in his.
"I meant what I said, you know. I don't... I don't need to hear it back. I just wanted you to know..."
"Shut up, Denby," Posey said, laughing a little in spite of her sniffling. Leaning over, she carefully picked a clean spot on his face and gave him a gentle kiss and a soft whisper.
"I love you, too."
His hand tightened around hers and his brilliant grin burst around his eyes, bouncing with the first hints of the red and white lights of the approaching ambulance.
Continued in Part 7.
