Culpable
AUTHOR: Kate.
DISCLAIMER: NYPD Blue and its characters are Copyright Steven Bochco Productions and/or ABC. No copyright infringement is intended.
FEEDBACK: To Kate
The clip-clop of the fastly-paced heels in a near run down the sidewalk were heard only by one pair of ears. She held her purse flimsily with on hand surrounding the buckle on it, not the straps. Her head was down, flushed and her posture was tough; warrior like, her body ready for battle. She broke her quick stride for just a moment, to push the indignant tears off of her remarkable face.
"This set up is sick," she thought, "how did you let yourself be talked into it?"
Twenty kilos of heroin, a death trap for all set up in the scheme. Pure officers were being sucked into this raid, this joke bust, and Diane was riding the bandwagon. More than that, she felt like she was pulling it.
Pure mastermind, girl, you did well, your fucked-up motives are hardly readable.
Who was that voice? Tell that voice to leave her alone. She shook her head, a muffled grunt forcing it's way through her throat.
You wanted to get him, didn't you Diane? You wanted to be the one who crafted Harry Denby's doom. She drew her eyebrows together and clenched her teeth to keep from yelling.
Little girl, you're busting the wrong people!!! Tsk, tsk. I would have thought that someone like you, a Police Officer, someone sworn to Uphold the Law, wouldn't be so easily tempted to play petty pay-back games.
Just shut up!
Just shut the hell up and let me finish this, she begged the voice,
the demon
of her soul.
Really smooth, Diane. You can't get rid of me. I make you wonder who the real culprit is, don't I?
"Shut Up!" She really did scream it this time, and then scolded herself when she realized how insane she sounded. "Just leave me alone," she muttered to herself. "I know what I'm doing, here."
Do you, now? Diane, it's not too late. You can revoke any involvement, and stop this. It's not too late.
"No," she thought to herself, "no, I've gone this far. I'm not backing out now."
Fine, a sigh from the moral being that was talking to her, whatever it was, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Then, as quickly as Diane had felt, had resented this truth-telling presence, it was gone, temporarily. She rolled her neck to each side, hot tears still threatening to spill out and fall on her new sweater. "What am I doing?" That one whisper of doubt, her own whisper this time, cause her to slam her booted heel on the ground. "NO!"
She needed to sit down and think. Forget begging on time for work. They could live without her for a couple hours. Diane needed refuge, she needed something that would shelter her from the awful....truth.
"Harry, boy, are you up to help me cart this into the truck? I'm afraid these old bones won't hold out much longer."
All the coworkers at C.W.C.S. stood in shock as there was no snide comment from Denby. Their heads stretched out over their tasks, waiting to see what the creature would do. Instead of his little smile, his little disapproving smile, they found a little bit of warmth, a little bid of...humanity.
"Aw, come on, that's the fifth time this week you've asked me to help you, Nick. If you're so incapable, why don't you just quit this rat hole?"
"Funny. Come on, help me out here."
Harry Denby, a capable thirty-eight years of age, walked over from where he was inspecting the employees work stations. Nick Latcey, fifty-seven, braced his hands on his widening hips and paid no mind to the gray hair that was blowing in his face, just waited for Harry to get over there.
"I can't do this much more for you. I'm going to have to report this," a little smile was keeping home on his face. Latcey snorted, bending over with Denby to hoist the hundred pound box, it's contents unknown, onto a Citi-Wide truck.
"I believe you, Harry. I believe that you would report me just about as much as I believe that you have an active sex life."
An eyebrow arched. A meek, whining tone filled the air as Harry huffed it out.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but....but....herpes will never hurt me."
"And he finds a stupid side of humor to everything."
"Indeed."
"Denby?"
"Hmm," he panted, shoving the box to the very back of the right-hand corner.
"When is your trial?"
Harry looked stumped.
"What prompted that train of thought?"
Letcey shifted around uncomfortably, pulling at his currier jacket and blowing air at his eyebrows.
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No, no. You brought the subject up. I'll answer you, but I think we need a bit more of a segue than that."
"I didn't mean anything by it, I was-"
"Yeah, and Utopia is just around the corner."
"Keep your yuppie philosophies out of the conversation."
"Tell me you have heard of Sir Thomas Moore and keep your pathetic excuses for topic-changing out of the conversation. Now, why did you ask?"
"You're going to think that I'm being too intrusive."
Harry flung one arm out away from his side, and it hit his thigh after being flung around a bit, with a loud slap.
"There is no such thing as 'intrusive'. You're only being observant, in your own disembodied, unrecognizable way." Eyeing Latcey's look, Harry rolled his eyes. "Never mind anything I just said."
"I just think that you're terribly unhappy, here especially. I was asking about your trial to see when you can get back with the force, since you seem to like it much more there."
Harry's shoulders sank, but he clapped Nick on the shoulder.
"Nick, I don't think they would let me back in the Narc squad even if I, by some miraculous way that is unfathomnable, saved the entire world from a crazed attack of giant bunnies. I will be glad, however, to settle the matter and be resolved to spend my life cleaning shit off of Danny-boys shoes."
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
"Yes, my child?"
"I'm framing someone out of pure spite."
Continued in Part 2.
