Calm Before the Storm

[Robbie C.]

This one's more of a backgrounding experiment than anything else. Finding the voice of a younger Tubbs is tricky, and I hope it worked.

 

Rain hammered on the roof of the unmarked police Ford and rain streamed down the windshield, making it almost impossible to see. The two men inside peered through, trying to make out a building across the street. It might as well have been miles away.

“To hell with this, man. I’m turning on the wipers.”

Ricardo Tubbs reached out and caught his partner’s wrist. “Don’t. We’re too close to blow this one.”

“Come on, man. They hit two stores in this neighborhood already. What makes you think they’ll go for a third?”

“They’re lazy. Most crooks are. Hell, you know that better than I do.” He smiled, showing white teeth and bright eyes. “But it’s more. They know this neighborhood. They know when the place is busy and when it ain’t. Which clerks might fight back and which ones won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s plain as the nose on your damned face. Now shut up and keep watching. If they stick to their routine they’ll be hitting it any minute now.”

Victor Sanchez threw up his hands. “Ain’t no reasoning with you, man.”

“Naw. I got that from my dad.” About the only thing I got from the old son of a bitch. But it’s helpful here. He looked down at his watch, listening to the drumbeat of the rain. They’d be soaked the moment they stepped out of the car. “And any minute now…”

Squinting through the streaming water, he saw two figures in long coats heading for the bodega on the corner. They walked together, glancing around like their heads were connected to live electrical wires. He couldn’t see their hands through the rain, but it looked like they were in the pockets of the long coats. Grinning, he looked over at Victor. “Showtime.”

“Aw, shit, man. My feet just got dried out.” Sighing, Victor pulled out his issue .38 snub nose and gave a thin smile. “Let’s get the party started.”

Cold water splashed off the door frame and ran down Rico’s neck, making him shiver out of reflex. His own .38 was up and ready before his second shoe touched the pavement, and he could see the men through the slanting rain, their posture changing from confident to confused in the bat of an eye. “NYPD!” he shouted, badge in the other hand as he started across the street. “Show me your damned hands!”

Victor was right there, gun in one hand and badge in the other. “Don’t be idiots! Show us your hands!”

The men froze, staring at the two cops splashing across the street. Weighing the odds. Rico could almost hear their thoughts. See them in little bubbles over their fool heads.

“Think it over, chumps! Fifteen for armed robbery or life or the chair for trying to kill a cop? What’s it gonna be?”

The one on the left shrugged and raised his hands, palms open so they could see he had nothing. The second hesitated, staring from his partner to the two cops and back again. Then Rico saw his posture change. “You ain’t takin’ me in, pigs!” His right hand flashed up, filled with what looked like a small semi-automatic, and shots cracked out, the muzzle flash like sunflowers painted in the rain.

Rico didn’t even think. Didn’t pause. His training kicked in, running through his mind and converting to commands sent to his muscles. He felt the Smith & Wesson kick back in his hand once, then twice. His vision narrowed until all he could see was the man with the pistol, watching the gun drop from fingers losing connection to a dying brain. The splash and spray of water as the body hit the sidewalk. Then he regained control of his voice. “Keep those hands up! Victor! Call a bus!”

Somewhere behind him Victor groaned. “Now we got Goddamned IAB paperwork. Thanks a lot, Tubbs.”

 

“So you told him not to move?” The sergeant from IAB looked at his notebook and then back up at Rico, his eyes bored and glazed.

“Yeah. His friend complied with our instructions. The dead one shouted something about not being taken in and pulled his pistol. I returned fire.”

“You mean the Star semi-automatic recovered at the scene?”

“Yeah. He used a semi-auto. I saw that much. He fired at least twice. Then I engaged the suspect.”

The IAB sergeant looked at his partner, who shrugged. He added another note to his scrawl and snapped the notebook shut. “I’d say we can close this one, Tubbs. Seems like a good shoot. Your second, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Rico nodded, thinking back to his first shooting over a year ago. That one had been messier, and it took him weeks to get his balance back. This time? This time he didn’t feel a damned thing. And that bothered him.

Victor was waiting for him outside. “What did they say?”

“Cleared me. A good shoot, they called it.” He shook his head. “Is there such a damned thing, Victor?”

The older cop just smiled. “Any shooting you can walk away from and the other guy can’t is a good one, partner. Trust me.”

He wanted to call Rafael. To tell him what had happened and that he’d come through his second shooting without a scratch. But there was no guarantee his brother wasn’t deep undercover somewhere doing all those flashy deals Narcotics detectives got to work. He shook his head. Maybe someday he’d make it there. That or Homicide. But for now Armed Robbery was a step up from Patrol, and he intended to make the best use of the opportunity.

The 49^th Precinct was busy as usual, flooded with cops going about their business and wrapped in a fog of stale cigarette smoke and burned coffee. Sergeant O’Mally looked up from his desk and took them both in with a practiced sneer. “You ladies done dancin’ with IAB, then, are ya? Well good. Get back out there and give me some more arrests. The shot ones don’t count, Tubbs. The bosses want live ones to parade in court, you see.”

Victor bumped Rico just enough to keep him quiet. “Be happy to get on that for you, sarge. But we just closed our case. You got a new one for us?”

O’Mally eyeballed them, trying to decide if Victor was messing with him or not. Deciding the Puerto Rican’s motives were pure, he pulled a folder out of the stack on his desk and tossed it to them. “Get a lead on this crew an’ shut them down quick.” He waved his hand. “Now off with youse both.”

“What I want to know,” Rico said in a low voice as they walked through the squad room to their desks in the far corner, “is how the hell that moron made sergeant.”

“The same way they all do, boyo. He’s got the right last name and no gag reflex.”

Rico chuckled. “So what piece of crap did he hand us?”

Victor flipped through the pages and whistled. “Not a bad one, really. Another crew. This one’s more ambitious, though. Likes pawn shops and check cashing places. Might even be connected to that armored car heist over by the park.”

“Well, damn.” Rico flopped down in his chair, reading the message card someone had stuck in the keyboard of his old IBM Selectric typewriter. “Meet me at Finnegan’s at seven. R.” He laughed, forgetting for a moment the red river running away from the dead man’s body. Water didn’t wash away blood; it just spread it over a wider area. “Looks like I got plans, Vic.”

“You and your damned brother.” Victor snorted, tossing the file in his cluttered in box. “Well if you’re gettin’ the hell out of here, so am I. We can start in on those chumps in the morning.”

“Chumps. That’s a damned good word for ‘em, too.” Rico turned the word around in his head, liking the sound. He’d used it many times before without a thought, but now he decided there was weight to it. Any damned street cop could call a bad guy a skell, and most of them did. But chump? That was different.

It was still raining as he hailed a cab loitering outside the precinct house. The driver reeked of stale cheap cigars and even cheaper aftershave, but nodded when Rico said “Finnegan’s” and slammed the cab into gear with refreshing speed. Rico sat back on the cracking vinyl seats and tried to relax. Finnegan’s was a cop bar, one of the better in the precinct, and he was looking forward to telling Rafael about the shooting.

Rafael Tubbs took more after the Puerto Rican side of the family in his looks. Lighter skin and a very Latin cast to his cheekbones and nose. He sat toward the back of the crowed bar, easy to spot in his tan trenchant and dark felt hat. A glass of scotch sat on the table in front of him, and he looked up with a smile as Rico approached. “Hey, little bother. I don’t like water with my scotch so you’d better wring that jacket out over there before you sit down.”

“Screw you.” Rico grinned, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from his older brother.

Rafael grinned, and then his eyes changed. “I heard about the shooting. Are you cool?”

“IAB cleared me.”

“That’s not what I mean, little brother. Are you cool?”

Rico nodded, motioning to a passing waitress for a drink of his own. “I think so, Rafael. Course the first one didn’t hit me right away, either.”

“Sometimes they don’t. This is your second, right?”

“Yeah. All those years on patrol and I didn’t draw down on anyone until the end. And then went a year in Armed Robbery without anything. Flash the badge and they back down.”

“Nothing wrong with that, Rico.” Rafael’s eyes were distant and unreadable. “Nothing wrong with that at all. But the rat squad cleared you?”

“Yeah. In record time. Kinda surprised me, really.”

“They need cops on the streets. Mayor’s big anti-crime speech and all that.”

“Yeah.” Rico winked at the waitress as she dropped off his scotch and took a deep sip. “So how’s your case?”

“Good.” Rafael lit up. “Toony’s this close to setting me up with a meet with that Calderone cat.”

“The dealer from Columbia? You’ve been after him for months.”

“Yeah. I finally talked the captain into some real buy money and Toony about creamed all over himself.” Rafael grinned at the memory. “What about you?”

“Sarge handed us another crew. This one’s a bit bigger than the others, and might be tied to that armored car job.”

“Be careful. That was a nasty hit if it was them. Two guards killed and another two wounded.”

“Yeah, but Vic and I are ready.”

“That’s right. You’re riding with Victor Sanchez. He talks smack, but he’s a cop’s cop. Learn from him, little brother. No better school out there if you want to make detective.” He drained his glass and waved for a second. “And we’ll drink to shots fired that missed, and shots fired that hit.”

Rico smiled, remembering the toast they’d made up just after Rafael had his first shooting. A way to try to ease the pain that always came with taking a life.

They were partway through the next round when Rafael asked THE question. “You heard from pop?”

“You know I haven’t. He hasn’t spoken to me since I got accepted to the Academy. Mom calls now and again, though. Never says much, though.”

“Yeah. It’s tough. He barely talks to me, but I’m the oldest son so he feels some kind of damned obligation.” Rafael sipped his scotch, that faraway look in his eyes again.

“I wish he’d just accept that our paths are different than his. I know he had a rough time with cops back then, but I went on the Job to change that.”

“So did I, little bother. But he doesn’t think things can change, even when they do right around him.” He chuckled and changed the subject. “You still seein’ that bit of tail over in Org Crime?”

“Valerie? Sort of, I guess.” Rico signed for another scotch as the last drops slid out of his glass onto his tongue. “It’s complicated.”

“Come on. All that means is she’s not into you like you’re into her. That’s what complicated means, little brother.”

“I don’t know, man. Some nights she’s all about me, and then others she’s got to wash her damned hair or something. It’s like she’s two different ladies, and I never know which one’s gonna answer the phone or the door.”

“Take my advice, kid. Cut your losses now. That kind is nothing but trouble.”

Rico nodded, but knew he’d ignore his brother’s advice. Valerie. There was something about the lady that tugged at parts of his soul he’d never known existed before he met her. They blew hot, cold, then hotter again in random cycles. He’d seen less of her since she’d moved to Organized Crime, though. Maybe that was for the best. Or maybe…

“I know that look. You’re gonna call her, aren’t you?”

“Probably. You know me too damned well.”

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do, because you’d just do the opposite. But do me a solid, little brother? Be careful there. There’s something…I just get a bad feeling about her. But I’m also an over-protective big brother.”

“No, man. I value your opinion, Rafael. Always have and always will. Even when you told me not to join the force I listened. But I just can’t see myself doing anything else. And one day soon I’ll be out there with you working the big cases.”

“Any case you get is big, Rico. Never forget that. The second you think something different, you start taking foolish chances. And then I have to explain to mom why she’s getting a flag instead of a son to hold.”

Rico looked at the bottom of his glass. He wanted another, but knew he couldn’t afford to show up tomorrow morning with a hangover. Victor would make his life miserable, and the sergeant was bad enough when he was stone-cold sober. “I’d love to have a couple more, bro, but…”

“I know. Duty calls me, too. Look, I might need a hand with something in the next few days. Keep your ears open, ok?”

“I will. And congrats on the move with Toony. I hope you land your chump. You been tryin’ to reel that one in a long time now.”

It wasn’t far from the bar to his simple walk-up, and Rico trudged through the thinning rain instead of hailing a cab. The fresh air did him good, clearing some of the whiskey fog from his brain and letting the day’s events fall into place. He was pretty sure he’d see the dead man in his dreams for the next few nights, though. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

The apartment was little more than a couple of rooms with a small kitchenette and walls so thin they could have been stunt-doubles for Kleenex. Locking the door behind him, Rico started to go through to the small living room when he looked at the phone. Telling himself he wasn’t going to do it, he picked up the cool receiver and dialed a number he’d committed to memory two years gone now.

When she answered her voice was foggy. He couldn’t tell if it was from sleep or something else. “Hello?”

“Val? It’s Rico.”

“Rico? What the hell.” He could hear another voice in the background. It sounded like a man. “I’m working right now. Can you call back later?”

“Never mind.” He slammed the receiver down, knowing what he’d heard but trying to convince himself it had only been the TV or a radio. But he knew better. There had been another man over there, and she was trying to pass it off as work. What cop brought a skell to their apartment? But it wasn’t the first time.

She always had a reason. It was an informant. Another cop. Someone she knew from the Academy. And always she’d accuse him of not trusting her. Every time he caved, buying whatever line she was selling because he thought he had to if he wanted to keep her. Slumping down on the small couch, Rico stared at the dark TV screen and listened to rain tapping on the window. When the phone rang he ignored it, amusing himself by counting the rings. It stopped after twenty, then started again and went for ten before someone finally gave up. “Not this time,” he muttered. “I’m not playin’ this time, Val.”

 

Morning found Rico slumped at his desk, coffee in hand, going through the file they’d gotten the previous afternoon. Victor came in, raised an eyebrow at his partner’s condition, and then poured his own coffee.”Any flashes of brilliance this morning?”

“Just that these chumps are tough and armed for bear. They’ve used shotguns at every heist, and if they took down that armored car at least one of them has an automatic weapon. Ballistics said it was a 9mm, so it could be an UZI or something like that.”

“Damn. That’s heavy artillery for a street crew.”

“Yeah. If they did all these jobs we’re gonna need backup to take them down.” Rico shook his head. “Hurts to say, but it’s true.”

“Never a crime to ask for backup. The crime is not asking for it when you know you’re going to need it.” Victor chuckled. “Lots of funerals when you do it that way, and usually they’re for the wrong guys.”

“I know. Squad’s thin as it is, though. I don’t wanna bother anyone till we’re sure.”

“I’ll make that call, if it’s ok with you?”

“Sure.” Rico laughed. “I was just thinking out loud’s all, Vic. “

Before his partner could answer, Sergeant O’Mally stuck his head out of his office. “You girls mind getting a move on? We got a call over on Van Nest. Bodega just got hit, and it sounds like your boys did the hitting.”

“God damn it, move!” Rico pounded his fist on the dash in disgust as the car in front of them failed to move for the flashing light or siren. Finally it grudgingly pulled just to one side, the driver glowering as they shot past. “What the hell is wrong with these chumps!”

“Typical New Yorkers. They got a case of the ass.” Victor guided the big Ford through the snarled traffic, bulling through any opening he could find. It wasn’t far form the precinct to Jaimie’s Bodega, but it still took upwards of ten minutes.

A radio car was already on scene, its rollers painting the surrounding buildings alternating stripes of red and blue. Two bored uniforms stood outside the door, doing what the Patrolman’s Guide orders: secure the crime scene until the investigators arrived. As soon as the car screeched to a stop, Rico clambered out and walked over. He recognized one of the uniforms from his Patrol days and smiled. “What you go for us, Roger?”

“Dead guy inside.” The older cop jerked his thumb toward the inside of the store. “Wounded guy already got moved by a bus. They got here before you did, and you know those paramedics don’t listen to no Patrol cops. Homicide’s on their way to look at the stiff, but we called you, too since we got the bulletin about the crew working over this way.”

“Solid. Thanks, man. Say hey to Curtis for me.” Rico turned back and relayed the information to Victor, who grimaced. “I’ll get on the radio and have someone interview the vic. They probably took him to Jacobi, and it’s right next door.”

Victor nodded. “You do that. I’ll go tromp around inside before the Homicide boys get here and try to kick us off our own crime scene.”

Rico made the call and joined Victor inside. The acrid smell of spilled blood and death filled his nostrils at once, chased by the lingering stench of burned gunpowder. The register, an old-school cast iron monster, was open on the counter, its contents long gone. Behind the wide counter was the clerk, or what was left of him after absorbing a shotgun blast at a range of two feet judging from the powder burns on his clothes. One of the display racks had been kicked over, and broken glass and bits of what might have been pickled pigs’ feet covered the floor.

“How much you think they got?”

Victor looked up from his examination of the counter. “Not much. Couple of hundred at the most, but that’s a guess. We’ll know more once we look at the books, or talk to the wounded man if he actually worked here.”

Rico looked up and smiled. “You see what I see, partner? We might have just gotten lucky,.” He pointed to fresh screw holes high in the wall, and the new video camera they held secure in its perch. A wire ran from the camera to a hole in the wall between the store and what he assumed was an office.

“Let’s go see if it’s for real and not just show.” Victor looked at the door and sighed. “And just in time. Homicide’s here.”

Rico turned to see two big men in tailored suits bulling their way through the door. At least we got our look first. The bigger of the two looked Rico and Victor up and down like he’d just seen two cockroaches scurrying across the floor of a five star restaurant. “What are you Boys doing here?”

“Our jobs.” Rico felt the anger rising in his chest and tried to calm it. “This is an Armed Robbery investigation. The MO matches a heavy crew working this area.”

“Did you touch the body?”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “No, asshole. It’s still virgin for you. Now you can go grope it…I mean search it.”

The man balled his fists. “I oughta…”

“Do your damned job, chump.” Rico let the anger touch his eyes, feeling the weight of his Chief’s Special at his hip. “Just like we’re doin’.”

The other Homicide detective touched his partner’s arm. “Easy, Roy. Sorry, guys. He gets a bit hyper when there’s a case on. You do your bit, and we’ll do ours.”

“Solid.” Rico turned and headed into the office, his hand close to his pistol just in case Roy had an attack of the stupids and tried something. In his mind he saw that big cop again, beating his father with a nightstick until his head turned red. Rico had been six at the time.

Victor was still fuming as they rewound the tape. Even finding a functional surveillance system didn’t improve his mood. “Goddamned racist asshole. I get his name, I’m gonna file on the son of a bitch. No one calls me Boy.”

“I hear ya. But then we might jam up his partner.”

“Yeah, and Derek’s good police. I don’t know how he got stuck with that asshole. Still, man, I can’t let it lie.”

“Damn hot-blooded PR.” Rico laughed. “Look, the chump pisses me off, too. I was ready to shoot the bastard if he tried anything. But the only way to hurt that kind is to break his case. We catch these guys before he does, he looks like a chump.”

“I know. Still…don’t you ever want to kick one of those bastards in the balls?”

“All the time, Vic.” Rico thought back to that night again. The way the streetlight reflected from the end of a nightstick slick with blood. “All the damned time.”

 

“It’s our boys. No question.” Rico tossed the stills from the video tape on the sergeant’s desk. “We got ‘em right here. Even have shots of them killing the clerk and shooting that customer.”

“Does Homicide know?”

“Not yet. It ain’t their case. It’s an Armed Robbery case, sarge. You gave it to us yourself.”

O’Mally nodded, chewing on his lower lip. “But I know Homicide wants it…”

“Look, how many cases do they steal from us a year? And only if they think they can break them fast. Otherwise they let us take the rap for not closing them out.” Rico leaned in, turning on the charm. “Let’s hook them up for a change, sarge. Close one and leave those chumps swinging in the breeze. It would look good in your jacket for sure.”

O’Mally nodded, the motion making his chins jiggle. “That and it would certain. Get to it, boyos. Bring them in.”

Out in the squad room, Victor started chuckling and couldn’t stop. “Are you serious? ‘Look good in your jacket for sure.’ You actually said that shit and didn’t throw up?”

“It was a close-run thing, let me tell you. Much more and I would have puked all over. But we had to sell him on it or he was gonna gather the whole mess up and turn it over to those assholes with a smile and a kiss.”

“Still, it was a hell of a sales pitch. You ever think of doing undercover stuff? If you can bullshit the sergeant that easily, you’d be a hit with the scum of the city.”

“Maybe someday.” Rico grinned, not admitting his greatest dream was to parter with Rafael in Narcotics. “Who knows?”

“That day might come sooner than you think.” Lieutenant Henderson ran Bronx Armed Robbery. A tall, thin man with gray hair that could have been any color before it turned, he had a habit of turning up when least expected in the various Bronx precinct houses.

“I…I don’t understand, lieutenant.” Henderson made Tubbs nervous for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. The man was approachable enough, but almost unnaturally quiet. And aware. Rico had never met a man more aware of his surroundings in his life.

“This crew you’re after is tough and careful. We need to get to them before they leave any more bodies for Homicide to trip over and try to plant on us. That means we need someone on the inside. I see form your jacket you’ve been through the basic and advanced drivers’ training, correct?”

“Yeah, I mean yes, lieutenant.”

“And you did some plainclothes work when you were with Patrol, right? Used the name Prentiss if I remember right.”

“Yes, lieutenant. Teddy Prentiss. A Jamaican looking to score some weed.”

“Good. I’ll have tech services work you up a cover. We’ll get you close to them as a driver. Word on the street is their usual man got hit by one of the guards with that armored car and is out of commission for a few more weeks.”

“And I show up as available?” Rico turned it over in his head a few times. “I can get it to work.”

“Good man. They’ll have your cover by this afternoon, and then you’ll brief me on your concept tomorrow morning. Thanks for taking this on, Officer Tubbs. You’re doing the city a solid.”

Victor just stared at him. “What the hell just happened?”

“That, my friend, is what I think they call luck. And we just caught a whole barrel of it.” Standing by his desk, Rico did a little dance. “We are movin’ and we are shakin’, partner!”

“Man, save that crap for the next Soul Train audition you get thrown out of. We got work to do.”

“That was a misunderstanding! I was workin’ security for them!” Rico grinned and did a little more footwork before grabbing the file.

“Yeah, yeah.” Victor sighed. “Let’s see what else we can did out of that damend thing before something else happens.”

They ate at their desks, sloppy sandwiches one of the other Armed Robbery guys brought up from Verraco’s down the street. Rico opened the bread and sniffed, squinting at the insides. “You think he traps squirrels in the park and uses ‘em for this?”

“Naw, man. Spare parts from Jacobi. Everyone knows. That’s why I get the hot sauce on mine. Kills the formaldehyde taste.”

“Man! That just killed my damned appetite.” Rico set the sandwich down and grinned. “But I’ll eat the damned thing anyhow. Lord knows when we’ll get a chance again today.”

“There a Tubbs around here?”

Rico raised his hand and a uniform came around from the desks by the hallway, a manila envelope in his hand. “Lieutenant Henderson asked me to drop this by. He said he’s sorry about the name, but it was the best they could do on short notice.” He shrugged. “No idea what the hell that means, but it’s what he said.”

“Solid. Thanks, man.” Rico took the envelope, sandwich forgotten, and popped the wax seal off the flap. “Serious shit. I wonder if he’s got some ring with the NYPD seal he uses on that wax?” He slid the cover sheet out. “Man, the lieutenant wasn’t kidding. Marcus Jefferson! Is that the best they got?”

“Tell me he’s got an uncle named George.”

“No such luck, asshole.” Rico chuckled. “Be funny if he did, though.” He flipped through the papers, checking the driver’s license and other pocket litter. “They made Marcus a bit of of bad ass. Time in Rykers for assault…GTA…” He looked across the desk at Victor. “Makes me wonder if I can pull it off.”

“Sure you can, partner.” Victor grinned. “Look, working undercover is like plainclothes on speed. You get that anger you got flowing right, you can pull off Marcus no problem.” He paused, looking at something far away. “What you gotta be able to do is turn it off again.”

“I don’t follow.”

“When you get into character, you go all the way. You think like he does, move like he does, the whole bit. Like with that Teddy punk? You were talkin’ the talk and walkin’ the walk right down to the ya mon crap. But it wasn’t for very long and you could drop it quick. This is different. But you gotta know when to turn it off, and how to turn it off. Some cops can’t, and they go down in flames working undercover.”

“Didn’t you…”

“Yeah. And I had a hell of a time turning it off.” Victor gave him a thin smile, and his eyes were sad. “Hector Perez. That was his name. Nasty little PR punk with a thing for switchblades. It was back when I was working Burglary. We had a crew hitting high-end apartments and they needed an in. So I went out all full of myself, running a real street punk game. Problem was, I couldn’t turn it off. Almost blew the case when I stabbed a CI because he insulted me…I mean Hector.”

Rico whistled. “Damn.”

“Yeah. So I stepped back. I just couldn’t turn him off when I needed to. And you gotta be able to do that if you’re going to work undercover. We’ll work on your character, but you gotta figure that part out for yourself.”

“Thanks, man. I didn’t know…”

“Not something I advertise. You might want to hit up your brother, too. He’s a genius at UC work. One of the best I’ve ever seen. And this one’s gonna be tough because that crew will come at you. Hard. You gotta be ready to come back at them, but then flip that switch and do your job for the Job.”

They took over one of the interview rooms and spent the rest of the day working through Marcus’ background and how Rico should move. He’d seen plenty of thugs growing up, so it wasn’t hard to slip into that skin. And he’d always had a temper. It was a matter of standing just so, keeping his eyes hooded until he wanted to make a statement, and being ready at an instant to answer anyone with his fists.

“You don’t want a weapon out there.” Victor nodded toward the papers on the table. “They got ol’ Marcus here fond of his fists. They see anything else it will throw the image. And it’ll throw you off.”

“Solid.”

“And you want a couple of lines you can just repeat. Something to fall back on.” He shook his head. “Woulda been better if they could have given him the same first name as yours, but we gotta work with what we have. Just get used to hearing Marcus when you’re in character.”

Rico nodded. “We’ll do it now. Start calling me Marcus when we’re working the case. Help me stick in in my head better.”

“You got it, Marcus.” Victor chuckled. “Now how you gonna meet these cats?”

“Impress ‘em. I’m the baddest mofo on the block when it comes to bein’ behind the wheel, and I can hold my own in any damned fight you bring. Finish it, too.”

Victor nodded. “Good. It’s coming together for you, Marcus.”

They worked into the evening, and then Rico raised his hand. The air in the interview room was close and almost dripping with humidity, and his head was spinning. “I gotta call time, man. You wore me the hell out.”

“It’s getting damned good. I’d talk to your brother, though, just to get some more pointers. Try Marcus out on him and see what he thinks.” Victor scratched his chin, narrowing his eyes again. “You got a gift, Rico. I’ll say that much.”

Rafael answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me, bro. You got some time?” Rico sat on the small couch, listening to Charlie Parker blowing his horn on his small stereo. Anything bigger got complaints from the idiots around him.

“Sure. You want me to come over?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of work time.”

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. Rico squared his shoulders, angled his head just so, and snapped, “Don’t break the damned thing down! It’s open!”

Rafael stepped in, the confusion on his face changing to something close to approval. “Who the hell are you?”

“I ask the questions, asshole! Who the hell are you an’ what the hell do you want?” He took a step closer, fingers balling into fists, his chest thrust out to take up more space in close. “And Marcus don’t ask twice!”

Rafael looked him up and down, and then started clapping. “Nicely done, kid. You need to work on the stance a bit, but you got the street thug talk down. Who’s this Marcus supposed to be?”

“Wheelman and all around thug. Did time in Rykers for assault. General drain on society. They want me to use him to get inside that crew I told you about.” Rico sat down with a sigh. “Victor and I went over him all afternoon, and he said I should call you and get some pointers.”

“Good move on his part.” Rafael sat down, ruining the crease on his perfectly-tailored pants. Rico always admired his older brother’s fashion sense and tried to copy it when he could. “It’s a good start for sure. Fool someone who didn’t know you, at least for a while. What’s the plan for getting you inside?”

“Far as I know this is it.” Rico raised his hands. “Get me pretty, dangle me out there, and see if they bite.”

“This is Henderson’s gig, right? He’s smart for someone who ain’t in Narcotics. He’ll have a plan, even if he told you to make one up yourself. And let me guess, you have.”

“Kind of.” Rico chuckled and got up, turning the disk over and starting more jazz moving through the room. “Helps me think,” he explained, sitting back down. “So I figured I’d check the intel, see who they rolled near, and hit those cats up. Let ‘em know I was out and available. They must need a wheelman or they wouldn’t have built the cover that way.”

Rafael nodded. “You’re thinking. That’s good. Keep thinking and you’ll be fine. I’m sure Vic gave you that speech about knowing how to come out of cover. He’s dead right about that. But you gotta keep yourself in mind even when you’re in cover. Know where the lines are. You can bend them from time to time, even break one or two, but you’d better have a damned good reason for it. That’s why you can’t go too deep.”

They talked until almost midnight, going over things again and again. Rico yawned, fighting sleep and not wanting Rafael to leave. It was the first real talk they’d had in years about anything serious, and he didn’t want it to end.

Rafael sensed it. “I don’t want to stop either, bro, but you need your sleep. So do I, actually. Got a meeting with Toony again tomorrow and I need to be up for that. He’s a pain in the ass to deal with, but the end result is worth it. At least that’s what I keep telling myself every time he shows up wearing a whole damned bottle of Polo.”

“At least it ain’t Old Spice.” Rico stood up and threw an arm around his brother. “I’ll let you know how it goes, man.”

Rafael retuned the half-hug. “You do that, bro. I want to know. Just keep your head on straight and you’ll do fine.”

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Rico kept focusing on bits of Marcus; how he’d say one thing or what he’d do if someone stepped to him. All the possibilities kept replaying in his head, and it only seemed like seconds between when he fell asleep and the alarm went off. Staggering out of bed, he showered and wrapped a towel around his waist before heading to the closet. He’d at least try to dress like he figured Marcus would dress, too.

Victor looked up from his cup of coffee and blinked. “What the hell happened to my partner?”

“His bitch ass got taken out. Just like yours gonna be if you keep messin’ with me.” Rico shifted, his hands at his sides ready to ball into fists. He tilted his head back just a hair so it looked even more like he was looking down at his partner.

“Better. A lot better. You gotta do something about that t-shirt, though. Makes you look like someone’s date at Rykers, not someone who ran the block there.”

“It was what I had.” Rico shrugged. “Suit and tie’s more my scene. Dressin’ up instead of dressin’ down. But ya gotta do what ya gotta do.”

“We’ll find you something. Both otherwise it looks good. Sounds good, too.” He looked up. “Don’t look now, but the lieutenant’s here.”

“Tubbs and Sanchez. Outstanding. Let’s go talk, gents.”

Rico found it hard to suppress a smile when the lieutenant kicked sergeant O’Mally out of his own office. Once they were settled in, the big blonde opened his briefcase and pulled out folders. “You’ve seen the run-down on this crew, but there’s more to them. One thing. We have a CI close to them, but the guy doesn’t want to risk blowing his own cover so he won’t out them. But he’s agreed to give you an intro, Tubbs, once you make your mark.”

“What happened to their wheelman, lieutenant?”

“Good question, Tubbs. You been reading ahead?” Henderson smiled. It was a genuine thing that put Rico at ease in spite of himself. “We don’t know, honestly. I think he caught a round or two from the armored car guards, but in any case he’s out of commission. Our CI told us that much. Also said they’re looking for a…” He looked down at the notes in the file and chuckled. “A cat with balls to drive for them. Sounds like Marcus to me, don’t you think? Except for that shirt.”

Victor chuckled. “We’re working on that, lieutenant.”

“Good. And I got your way in.” He tossed two folders on the desk. “Meet Lamonte and Darius, driver and enforcer, respectively, for a rival crew working the Bronx. Our CI says our boys are looking to poach Lamonte away from his crew, so you find him and kick the crap out of him. Lets them know there’s a new player in town and gives our CI an excuse to introduce you.”

“And that’s all the CI will do?”

“Yes. We could pressure him for more, I guess, but that puts him at too much risk.” Henderson leaned forward. “You got to take care of your CIs as best you can, unless they try to screw you. Then you take them down. But a good CI’s worth their weight in gold. I never burn one unless it’s absolutely necessary, like to save a cop’s life. Or if they try to burn me. Then it’s all over for them. That’s how you keep CIs honest and get better CIs. You can bet the hoods know how we treat ‘em.”

Rico nodded. “Then what?”

“Get close to that crew, learn their plans, and we bring them in. You, too, if you want. Just to preserve the cover.”

He thought about it. “Yeah, I’d like that. Marcus seems like a cat we could use from time to time.”

Henderson nodded, and Rico thought he saw a glint of approval in the big man’s eyes. “I’ll get Patrol looking for our two patsies. Be ready to move fast once we spot them. I’ll get the CI briefed as well. You’ll get more on him just before we go. Sanchez, you’ll be his rolling backup. Stay close, but not too close. You know the drill.”

“That I do, lieutenant.” Victor smiled. “We’ll get little Rico here a better shirt and wait for instructions.”

“I still don’t see what’s wrong with this shirt.” Rico shook his head. “The man’s a genius, Victor.”

“Yeah, but no bad man’s gonna wear a Michael Jackson t-shirt. Even if it is black. Look, we’ll find you some crap with a skull and crossbones on it. Or Yankees gear. Hoods love their Yankees gear.”

“Get me something with Ricky Henderson and I’m in. Goes back to my need for speed behind the wheel and all that.”

Victor snapped his fingers. “Yeah! And you could be a real prick and refer to Marcus in third person sometimes, too.”

“Marcus don’t like that you be makin’ fun of him.”

“I think we got him nailed down, partner. You go through those files on Lamonte and Darius and I’ll go see about a jersey or some shit.”

“Hell, even one from the A’s would be good. Shows they gotta import talent to run with the big boys.”

Two hours later they were almost ready. Rico, sporting his new A’s jersey, closed the two folders with a sigh. “Think I know enough about those two to last me a lifetime.” He shifted his posture a bit. “And Marcus knows just how he’s gonna kick their punk asses to the curb.”

“It works. Just don’t get too comfortable in it.”

“You got nothin’ to worry about there, Vic. Hell, I’d miss my suits and my dance moves. Marcus ain’t exactly a get down kinda guy.”

Victor was about to reply when Lieutenant Henderson’s voice cut through the babble of the squad room. “You two ready? We got work to do.”

Henderson’s unmarked smelled of stale Marlboro reds and last year’s sweat. “I’ll drop you close to where Patrol spotted our two lovelies. They’re killing time outside some dive called Red’s.” He showed Rico a picture of a skinny black man with a pockmarked face and one gold front tooth. “That’s our CI. Goes by, wait for it, Goldie. He’s in the area and will show after you stomp those two. It’s on you from there.” He turned, looking at Victor before starting the car. “You’ll have an unmarked nearby. Keep a loose tail on them and stay off the radio unless you can’t help it. We think these punks use a scanner. Goldie, bless him, drives a three-tone Pinto. You can’t miss him. I’ll have another unmarked out there, too, and I plan to stay close as much as I can. We want these guys bad.”

“What’s my signal? I ain’t got a wire.”

“No. Too risky. The CI’s wired, but they don’t let him in on the jobs. Here’s how we work it. He says they got a job coming soon, maybe even today. We’ll be in visual wherever you meet, so turn the ball cap backwards if you want us to sweep you up. If not, don’t move the hat and we’ll play it cool.”

Rico nodded, tugging on a dark Yankees cap. “Works, I guess.”

“It’s not idea,” Henderson agreed, guiding the big car through traffic. “But it’s what we have time for. These guys have killed before and sure as hell will kill again unless we take them down. Armed Robbery at its finest, gents.”

Henderson dropped Rico a block from the dive bar. “Give me five minutes then head over that way. Sanchez will be in his car by then, and we’ll be set to cover. Just walk up on those two and take them out. Don’t kill them, but anything else is fair game.” He grinned. “You ready to do this?”

“Marcus is ready to rock and roll, pig. You can bet your last greenback on that.” Rico smiled a nasty smile and got out of the car. He could feel the role slipping over him, his body changing posture to accommodate the more threatening style of Marcus. His walk. The way he held his head. Rico normally sort of sauntered along, imagining he was in a fine suit with a beautiful lady on his arm. Now he swaggered like he owned the whole damend block, ball cap on his head and jersey proclaiming his ambition as loudly as a megaphone. Oh, yeah. I’m ready do this!

He waited the five minutes, lounging in the shade provided by a grated-up entryway to what had once been a corner store. A faded ‘for rent’ sign competed with rainbow graffiti spray pained across the metal, and he allowed himself a last Rico grin before letting Marcus slide onto his face.

Stepping out of the shadows, he swaggered down the street. Stepping out in front of a car, he shot the driver a stone-cold glare, daring the man to hit him. When the car stopped he snarled, “That’s right,” and crossed over. Heading for the flicking neon on an overhang marking Red’s bar. He knew he had the right place when he saw the older Camero double-parked in front and two brothers leaning against the wall like they were holding up the world. Time for the new dance he thought, swaggering a touch faster.

When he drew even with Darius he went into action. Stopping, he looked the man up and down. “Marcus don’t like being eyeballed by punks,” he announced.

Darius chucked, pushing himself away from the wall. “That so?”

Rico had boxed a bit in his younger days. Mostly because Rafael wanted to make sure he could look after himself on the tough streets of their neighborhood. He still took a turn at the speed bag from time to time, and now he was glad for the practice. His hands flashed up and out, one-two, the first smashing Darius’ nose and the second taking him on the side of his jaw, snapping his head sideways. He saw the bigger man’s eyes flutter and knew he’d landed a KO even before he folded like a sack of grain. “Yeah,” he said, looking down. “That’s so.”

“Who the hell you think you are?”

“Marcus already said, didn’t he? You some kind of moron? You need help remembering?” Rico took a step forward, then another. Closing the distance so fast Lamonte didn’t have a chance to go for a knife or gun. “And now Marcus is tired of your shit.” The hands flashed out again in the basic one-two, and Lamonte fell across Darius without as much as a groan.

“Damn…” A skinny man with bad skin emerged from the darkness of Red’s door. “That was some serious shit, man.” He looked down at the two men, grimacing at the blood flowing from Darius’ nose. It was then Rico saw the single gold tooth glittering in his mouth. “And they was supposed to be bad dudes.”

“Marcus don’t give a shit what other dudes say.” Rico looked the CI up and down, not liking what he saw but trusting Henderson’s judgement. After all, what choice did he have? That was one thing Victor and Rafael had never mentioned about undercover work. You were always having to trust someone else, even those who didn’t deserve trusting.

“Marcus, is it? You know these dudes?”

“Talk said the one was a wheelman. He’s a chump. Marcus is the best. Anything else is a lame-ass punk.”

“Do tell. Well, they call me Goldie for obvious reasons.” He smiled, showing the tooth to its questionable advantage.  “I was here to offer them dudes a job, but since you kicked their asses I’m thinkin’ the job’s better goin’ to you.”

Narrowing his eyes, Rico took a step closer, feeling a pang of satisfaction as Goldie flinched. Damn! That’s a powerful feeling. “Who said Marcus needed a job?”

“No…no one, man. I ain’t meaning any disrespect. But these dudes I’m with are the best. Bad cats. But they need a wheelman. And Lamonte was supposed to be good.”

Rico pointed at himself with his thumb. “See that number? That’s Ricky Henderson. King of the stolen base. Think of Marcus as the Ricky Henderson of cars. Ain’t no cat faster in a getaway than Marcus Johnson. And I can take care of myself.”

“That you can.” Goldie made a show of making up his mind, even though both men knew the deal had been done hours before. “Tell you what, Marcus. You want to meet these dudes? If they ain’t in your league, then no harm, no foul. Deal?”

“Sure. Marcus will give ‘em a look. Maybe we can work with each other. If they’re as good as you say.”

“Oh, they are, man.” Goldie walked around the groaning bodies and headed for a Pinto that was even uglier than Henderson had made it sound. “Hop in. They ain’t far.”

They made the drive in silence, Goldie keeping his eyes fixed on the busy street. Rico sat, his posture the casual slouch of Marcus, trying to put his thoughts in order. The fight had been one thing, nothing out of the ordinary all told, but the rush he got when Goldie cringed at his approach was another. And he found Marcus suited him in many ways. He was quick to take offense, and quick to strike out if he thought he’d been wronged. The pride and just restrained anger struck a chord in him, too. Yeah. I could get too used to Marcus.

The Pinto ground to a halt in front of one of the many nondescript brownstones scattered through the Bronx. Rico couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary about the building except for the cars parked along the street. They looked to be in better condition than you might expect in this neighborhood, and at least one of them had been hopped up. He could tell from the hood and exhaust.

Goldie followed his gaze and grinned. “They got top rides.”

“They better. Marcus is used to the best. So where are these bad dudes?”

“You wait right here. I’ll go tell ‘em what’s up.”

“You screw with me, Marcus will find you and when he’s done with you you’ll have to shit that gold tooth out if you want to see it again. You read me?”

“Loud…loud and clear, Marcus. Won’t be long. I swear.”

Goldie disappeared through the entryway, and Rico went back through what he knew about the crew from the folders. There was Tyrell, the brains. Gator, a big bruiser who liked kicking the crap out of people. Antoine and Vernon, the two gunmen they’d gotten on tape at the bodega job, and the wheelman, Shawn, who was out of action somewhere. He’d seen Antoine and Vernon on tape, and they looked like they knew their way around weapons. Gator, from his picture, was a big, mean dude who’d take a lot of punishment before he went down. And Tyrell was one of those big guys who people always thought were stupid until it was too late to correct the mistake. Individually they were bad enough, but in combination they were damned dangerous. Dangerous enough to mount an operation like this on the fly and hope for the best. He’d been a cop long enough to recognize that was exactly what Henderson was doing.

Still, he stayed Marcus. Leaning against the Pinto like he didn’t have damned care in the world, eyeballing everyone who walked by with those nasty, slitted eyes that made them look away. From time to time he slide his eyes over the building, sure he’d seen blinds on the third floor move more than once as someone checked him out. Probably making calls to see if anyone had heard of him. But Henderson’s work looked good. Those calls would hit people who’d swear Marcus Jefferson was a BAD man and good behind the wheel. He had to trust the backstory.

Five minutes crawled by. Then ten. He started to pace. No, Marcus started to pace. Rico could sit all day in a stakeout without moving, but Marcus wasn’t that kind of dude. Making him wait was disrespect, and he’d only take so much. He felt the anger building in his chest, and didn’t try to stop it. After ten minutes he kicked the passenger door of the Pinto. Hard. The sheet metal dented under his boot and the crash echoed between the dying brownstones. “I had about enough,” he shouted at the windows. “Marcus got better things to do that wait out in the street like a bitch.”

“Yeah.” The stoop door opened and a big man loomed out of the shadows. Rico guessed from the bulk it was Gator. “You can come the hell upstairs and not break Goldie’s car. Little bitch can’t afford no better.”

“Lead on.” Rico swaggered up the steps and followed the big man up stairs that creaked under his bulk and smelled of mold. When they reached the third floor Gator turned right and opened one of the doors. “Some folks want a word.”

“I’ll bet they do.” Rico swaggered through, scanning the place with a quick glance. He saw Tyrell by the window, the long scar on his face unmistakable, and Vernon sat at a small kitchen table. That left Antoine. Goldie was over by the hall, grinning like a fool and obviously wishing he was somewhere else. “So. Here we be.”

Tyrell looked him over, the dark eyes appraising. Rico returned the examination with interest, and the man chuckled. “So you’re Marcus. Goldie says you kicked the shit out of Lamonte and his minder. I wanted to hire Lamonte. So it sounds like you damaged my property.”

“Marcus don’t bow down to no man. Best get that straight now. And you didn’t own them chumps. If you did you bought inferior goods, and Marcus ain’t gonna insult you by thinkin’ you did. Goldie there says you need a wheelman, and I’m the best there is. Just like the jersey says.”

“Talk’s cheap.”

“And I ain’t. You want a show? Toss me the keys and come along for the ride.”

Tyrell looked him up and down, and for a moment Rico was afraid he’d overplayed his hand. But Marcus wouldn’t run it any other way. Then the big man smiled and he knew he’d played it just right. Reaching into a pocket, his hand came up in a flicking motion. Rico caught the keys and grinned. “Well, Marcus. Show us what you got.”

The car was a Mustang. Old school, and tuned to perfection. Rico grinned at the roar as he cranked the key. Tyrell sat next to him, with Vernon in the back. So far Vernon hadn’t said a word, just looked at him, careful not to look too long or present an open challenge. “Hang on,” Rico announced as he slammed the car into gear and floored the gas.

They shot away from the curb in a cloud of burning rubber. Hoping the tail cars would see what he was doing and not try to follow, he shot in and out of traffic, heading for a major artery. The light was just turning yellow as he shot through, cranking over in a hard left that left streaks of black behind as the tires scrabbled to maintain their hold on the pavement. He cut around a cab, cut off a city sanitation truck, and split more than one lane on his race in a large circle leading back to the brownstone.

His pursuit training merged with Marcus’ native aggression, and he was cutting corners tighter and tighter, a big smile plastered across his face. He could feel his heat sending blood though his veins, and the sun glittering off the windshield seemed extra bright. He did a fast downshift to grab more horsepower and then cranked it back up, sending the car rocketing through an intersection just ahead of another light change. And he could almost smell the fear on the other men, a physical presence in the car almost as soon as they’d pulled away from the curb.

Twenty minutes and a lifetime later he eased the Mustang back into its parking spot. He heard distant sirens, knowing they’d find nothing. He’d been moving too fast and too randomly for any pursuit to work. Looking over, he grinned at Tyrell. “So, is Marcus fast enough for you?”

“Damn…” The single, drawn-out word came from the back seat.

Tyrell nodded, and Rico could see the streak streaks on his face. “Yeah. You got balls, Marcus. That was some driving. And you good with your fists, too. Let’s get back up an’ have a drink and talk some business.”

Rico noticed with satisfaction that both men’s legs were shaking and they had to use the handrails on the climb up to the third floor. He kept the Marcus swagger going, but let the silence hang in the air. Let them make the first move now.

Once inside, he noticed a fourth man sitting in one of the chairs by the window. Antoine. Goldie was gone, and he felt a sharp stab of discomfort. Goldie had been his safety net, at least in his head. Now he was on his own.

Tyrell jerked his head in Rico’s direction. “Marcus here can drive.”

“That ain’t no shit. Hell, he’s better than Shawn.”

Antoine’s voice was flat. “Ain’t no one better.”

“You weren’t in that damned car. This cat’s better. Ain’t no knock on Shawn. It’s how good Marcus is.”

“And Marcus don’t work for free.” Rico leaned against the wall by the door, taking up as much space as he could. “What’s the score?”

“He always talk like that?”

“Seems like, but it don’t matter to me if he talks in damned Swahili. Cat can drive. That’s what we need. His trail check out?”

Antoine nodded. “Had a dude in the percent run his name. Comes up with assault, GTA, time in Rykers. Legit stuff.”

“Then how come I ain’t heard of you?”

“See the jersey? I been workin’ out of town. Got a little too hot here, so I took a few jobs in Jersey. Went as far out as Detroit before I came back. Jobs ain’t big enough out that way. New Yorkers think big, just like Marcus.”

Tyrell chuckled. “We got a job comin’ up later today and we need a driver. Pay’s solid. Three grand a heist.”

“Make it four and you got Marcus.”

Tyrell looked at the others. Antoine shrugged and looked out the window. Gator gave a slight inclination of his head that could go either way. But Vernon nodded. “Hell yes. The way this dude drives ain’t no one stickin’ to us.”

“I’m in. What’s the plan?”

“Hardware’s in the trunk. Safer that way. We’re hitting the bank down on Williamsbridge and Rhinelander. You know it?”

“Cased it a time or to myself back when. Never ran with a crew that could take a bank, though.”

“You’re movin’ on up, then.” Tyrell smiled at his own joke. “They get branch deposits in today in thirty minutes. We hit ‘em five minutes later.” He looked at the other men. “Looks like job’s a go.” He turned to Marcus. “You’ll get a cut of that action, too. More if you stick with us.”

“Marcus likes what he sees so far. Let’s roll.” He reach up and spun the ball cap so it was backwards. “Lead off hitter comin’ through.”

“You’re a funny cat, you know that?” Vernon chuckled.

They hit the street, and for a minute Rico worried he’d moved too late or the backup had been called off. But then rollers flooded in from all sides and doors crashed open. “NYPD! Show us your hands!”

He spotted Victor coming in strong and made his play. “Screw you, pig! Marcus ain’t goin’ back down!” He swung, pulling the punch just enough to make it look good without making contact, and Victor grinned as he swung his nightstick hard around, pulling the blow just before it reached Rico’s ribs. Gasping for effect, he grabbed at his side and went down, flinching each time Victor’s foot swung out and back, trying to sell the beatdown for all it was worth.

Around him he could hear shouts and thuds as men fought, but he didn’t dare look. Soon enough he felt cuffs clamp cold around his wrists and Victor hauled him to his feet. “Keep that crap up and you’ll be in booking with broken ribs. Get in the damned car!” His partner’s hand locked around the cuff chain, and Victor perp-walked Rico to the car and stuffed him in the back seat. Henderson was already there, keeping low so the crew wouldn’t see him.

Once they were a block away, Victor tossed the key to Henderson. “Might as well cut this one loose. I think he already made bail.”

Rico grinned and rubbed his wrists. “How long you been waiting to do that? Anyhow, they were gonna hit a bank, lieutenant.” He filled them both in on what he knew of the plan. “Victor seems like he’s the right-hand man if Tyrell don’t…doesn’t break right away.”

“How was it? That little race you put on damned near sent us into a panic, but Goldie came out soon after you left and clued us in.”

“Yeah. There was no way I could pass the word. But I had to sell myself…I mean Marcus…to them and that was the only way I could think of.”

“And it worked. You’ve got good instincts.” He slapped Rico on the shoulder. “Go home and get some rest. You can write the report in the morning. Your partner and I can deal with the booking. And it’ll give Sergeant O’Mally something useful to do for once.”

They dropped him off outside his apartment, and Rico walked up in a daze. Marcus still had hold of part of him, and he put on some Coltrane to break the spell. Good jazz always brought him back to himself, but this time it took longer. He sat, looking out the window, replaying everything he’d done as Marcus. How it had felt. Especially the rush he got when he saw men feared him.

He picked up the phone on the sixth ring. “Yeah?”

“How’d the case go?” Rafael’s voice filled his ear. “Just heard some gossip.”

“Good. We got the gang and made Homicide look like pricks. So everybody wins.”

“You ok, little brother?”

“I will be. Just coming down from being Marcus is all.”

“Good. Look…you free tonight? I need someone to run cover surveillance for me. The regular team’s already tasked, and Toony just called. We’re meeting with Calderone tonight to seal the deal.”

“Hell yes I’ll cover you!” Rico grinned, his tiredness forgotten. “Just name the time and place.”

“Out by the docks. You know that spot where you did surveillance on that gang of container thieves last year?”

“Yeah.”

“Set up there. You’ll have a good view of us. The meeting’s at ten, so you’ll want to set up at least an hour before that in case they have security. You need any equipment?”

“Naw. I’ve got what I need.” He thought back to the binoculars and other gear in the bag in his closet. “I’ll be there, big brother.”

“And when we’re done I’ll buy you a drink. Toast your first undercover operation.”

Rico was still grinning as he hung up the phone. He’d had a successful undercover operation and he’d get to work with his brother tonight. Digging out the bag, he went through to make sure he had everything he’d need. He just knew he’d never forget this day.

[mjcmmv]

Wow...the Tubbs voice is perfect. And his undercover dude was great-good for New York. He'd have to ditch it for Miami, though!

It's a good background story for the MV pilot. You definitely gave us the picture of how close the brothers were. And top that off with seeing the flare he had for undercover. 

Loved it!!

Edited August 10, 2019 by mjcmmv

[Robbie C.]

Glad you liked it. I mentioned Marcus in TMTC and just had an urge to go back and see what he might have looked like. For those who might not know, Ricky Henderson is famous for referring to himself in third person...something Rico brought into the cover.

I guess writing Vice fiction is like potato chips...you can't do just one...

[Kladdagh]

Thanks again @Robbie C. ...

Great story again !!! 

[Robbie C.]

3 minutes ago, Kladdagh said:

Thanks again @Robbie C. ...

Great story again !!! 

Glad you enjoy them! It's always nice to see people reacting to something you write. I appreciate it!

[Kladdagh]

Just now, Robbie C. said:

Glad you enjoy them! It's always nice to see people reacting to something you write. I appreciate it!

You deserve it !!! You are a GREAT story teller and it is with pleasure I read your works 

[Robbie C.]

1 minute ago, Kladdagh said:

You deserve it !!! You are a GREAT story teller and it is with pleasure I read your works 

Thanks again! I just get the ideas and go where they take me. I really am glad you enjoy them, though. 

[vicegirl85]

11 hours ago, Robbie C. said:

They dropped him off outside his apartment, and Rico walked up in a daze. Marcus still had hold of part of him, and he put on some Coltrane to break the spell. Good jazz always brought him back to himself, but this time it took longer. He sat, looking out the window, replaying everything he’d done as Marcus. How it had felt. Especially the rush he got when he saw men feared him.

 

11 hours ago, Robbie C. said:

Rico was still grinning as he hung up the phone. He’d had a successful undercover operation and he’d get to work with his brother tonight. Digging out the bag, he went through to make sure he had everything he’d need. He just knew he’d never forget this day.

Great stuff!  I think you have Rico (and his first cover) nailed!  And the spiders were running up and down my back at the last few lines.

Thought I chose another line to quote but not sure what happened to it...

 

[Robbie C.]

Glad you liked it! And yeah...it leads right into what we see in the flashbacks in Brother's Keeper. I didn't quite start out with that in mind, but it just flowed so well I left it in.

[RedDragon86]

You are very talented at this. You must to be a screenwriter.

[Robbie C.]

3 minutes ago, RedDragon86 said:

You are very talented at this. You must to be a screenwriter.

Naw, nothing like that. Just a guy who's been writing too much for too many years. Glad you're enjoying it, though!

[RedDragon86]

10 minutes ago, Robbie C. said:

Naw, nothing like that. Just a guy who's been writing too much for too many years. Glad you're enjoying it, though!

I sure did 

[sdiegolo78]

Another story, like 'rear view mirror' that set the context for the pilot. And how Calderone was starting to affect both Crockett & Tubbs lives.