NYPD Blue Fanfiction
Maggie's Fanfic
Detective Greg Medavoy
Part 1
Greg
is getting ready to go to the office. He has coffee perking in the coffee
maker, eggs in the skillet and toast popping up in the toaster. There is a
slight murmur of the radio sounding like NPR. There is a small cat weaving
between Greg's legs purring and meowing softly. Greg calls the cat by the
name of Simon and feeds him as his breakfast is almost ready. Once the
breakfast is ready, he carries it to the small table by the window, and sits
down.
Greg looks around the small apartment. He really doesn't mind living
alone. He has three built-in bookcases filled with books, cds, record
albums, an old stereo with speakers and a turntable and a small cd player.
There is an assortment of overstuffed furniture to sit on that Greg has located
at thrift shops, garage sales, and Ebay. There is an eclectic selection of
lamps, picture frames filled with the girl's photos, and pictures hanging on the
wall of Norman Rockwell prints.
There is a small bathroom with a heavy robe hanging on the door. The tub
is a clawfoot tub with gentleman's selection of bath items, a dispenser to heat
shaving cream, and an electric toothbrush. There are several potted plants
that love the hot, dampness of the bathroom.
Greg's bedroom looks more like a library or office. A small computer desk
is over by the large window, there are more bookshelves overflowing with books.
There is a large waterbed in the middle of the room.
On the bedside table is a picture of Greg Medavoy and Donna Abandondo taken when
they at the ice rink.
Greg decides to walk as much as he can to get to work. It's
the usual battle with weight but the Greg finds that the walk makes him feel
better, happier, more chipper. He decides to stop at the newspaper stand
to buy a newspaper. He hands the money to the clerk and the clerk hands
him The Boston Globe, New York Times and New York Daily News. It's what
Greg sees on the front page of the Boston Globe that catches his attention.
NY DETECTIVE BREAKS CASE OVER WEEKEND. GREG MEDAVOY IS A HERO.
Reuters
Boston: New York's best detective was in our city for the hockey game this weekend when stumbled upon one of Boston's oldest whodunit murders. Mr. Medavoy, a detective at Manhattan's 15th precinct was in Biddy's Antiques when he became interested in what appeared to be a replica of impressionist art from the 19th century. Unable to disclose details the artifact hidden in the painting at this time, it is believed that what lay under the impressionist print is worth six or seven figures. It was stolen years ago in London from the Kensington Palace. With working with Detective Medavoy, Boston Police and Scotland Yard, more details as to who had access to the artifact brings to light suspicions that are hard to swallow. The suspicions brought up by Detective Medavoy led Scotland Yard to Bahrain to a house containing three terrorist masterminds with links to Bin Laden. They were going to unveil the artifact and sell it in the larger auction houses to finance terrorism worldwide.
Part 2
Larry
King is in the New York studio tonight getting ready to interview Greg.
King looks like himself in a light blue long sleeve shirt with suspenders.
Greg is sitting across from him in his NYPD uniform sans gloves and hat.
Larry King: We welcome Detective Greg Medavoy from Manhattan's 15 precinct.
Over the weekend, Detective Medavoy became a hero. Did you work today?
Greg looks serious and nods: Yes I did, Larry.
Larry King: You come from a celebrated bunch with Andy Sipowicz and Bobby
Simone both working there.
Greg: Absolutely. They are New York's finest.
Larry King: Is Bobby Simone's widow still on the force?
Greg: That would be Diane. Yes, she works for Special Victims.
Larry King: So you were in Boston for the big hockey game this weekend.
How did antiquing for impressionist art come into play?
Greg: My daughter and her husband recently built a home in New England and
my daughter and I have the same tastes when it comes to art. It was a
frame pictured, and when I took it to the sales clerk's cash register, it
appeared heavier than it should. We loaded it in the trunk of my car and
it wasn't until I took it to my hotel room that I started looking over the
painting and realized that there was something underneath it. I had paid a
rather handsome sum for it so, I took the frame off and found the artifact.
Larry King: Can you say what was underneath?
Greg: All I can tell you is it is dated back to Louis the fourteenth.
Larry King: Did you know that at the time?
Greg: No. Sotheby's in London told us that.
Larry King: So what happened when you unveiled it?
Greg: I saw what it was because I do considerable antiquing in the New
England area, New York City and in Village. I then called back to New York
and they put me through to the right people in Boston. The detectives in
Boston came right over and we were all very surprised by the outcome.
Larry King: How much is it worth?
Greg: More than originally estimated. In the millions.
Larry: That's incredible. Will you be receiving any recognition?
Greg: I don't know about what our bureau has planned. The press has
been very nice indeed.
Larry: Are you married?
Greg: No, I am divorced and have two lovely daughters. They are
grown now and I have a grandchild on the way.
Larry: I hear you play clarinet in the village and have played with Woody
Allen.
Greg smiles: That was a treat. There are a bunch of us who started
playing in the village in coffeehouses and we struck up a band. Now we
play together at several coffeehouses and taverns there.
Larry: What kind of music do you play?
Greg: Mostly jazz and some blues.
Larry: It's my understanding that you teach adults to read.
Greg nods. At the public library not far from the preceint house.
Reading is such a joy to me that I want others to learn. If they learn to
read, they can get better jobs, and perhaps climb out of poverty. And,
reading is a great adventure.
Larry: It's a pleasure to meet you, Greg. There is so much bad news
these days that is great to hear good news.
Greg: It's been a pleasure to be interviewed.