Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation ❯ Page V - Steps Down an Unlit Path ( Chapter 36 )

Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation

How these 4 `s' words are intertwined

By Masamune Reforged

WhenShootingStarsFall.com

Warnings: Yaoi (tons of pairings, but mostly 1x2, 3x4 and implied former 13x6. Lemons amuck.), cursing, drug use, violence, angst, insanity, cameos, AU, lunacy, racism. All the bad shit you'd expect in real life.

 

Page V: “Steps Down an Unlit Path”

Part A of Page V

“106th Precinct Nets Massive Drug Bust”

Zech's POV

 

“And then, and this is the best part...!”

 

I had to hand it to Walker; he'd done one hell of a job.

 

“And then I threw off the hat, pulled out my gun and screamed, `GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!' ”

 

The enthused officer's voice boomed off the walls of the surprisingly quiet precinct as he recounted for his buddies. Almost everyone in the entire 106th Precinct was surrounding Walker's desk. He cocked his thumb and pointer finger at a 90 degree angle in the classic 'five-finger six-shooter', acting out his epic bust.

 

I frowned and spat out the scalding, first sip of coffee from my mouth. The beans had gone stale.

 

What I wasn't so sure about were the methods Walker had employed. Withholding the matchbook-the initial lead-was a trifling matter. Nobody even knew it existed, certainly not that I knew about it. The fact that the official report omitted the link between the failed Gotham Harbor raid and the strip-club, which ultimately had led to Walker's bust; that wasn't going to make me lose sleep at night.

 

However, the guy I had had to go out and personally pick up, the one who had supposedly assaulted Walker, was more of a concern.

 

“My client says that it was Officer Walker who approached with threats and struck first,” the defense lawyer had told me. “If what he says is true, then a lawsuit could be brought against your precinct and the entire city. Abuse of police power, unprovoked assault, holding a citizen on false charges...”

 

The girls at Candi's had unwittingly helped Walker locate the owner of the matchbook, a grunt allegedly working in a smuggling ring, a simple mover and transporter who posed as a fisherman and bribed the harbor inspectors into leaving him be. But at this point the trail had gone cold. Despite several off-the-clock stakeouts, Walker hadn't been able to dig up anything solid.

 

He'd jumped the man on a sheer hunch. After his regular work at the docks, on the 9th of March, Walker noticed the man didn't go to the bars or liquor store as usual. Instead, following him home in his own personal vehicle, Walker had waited outside and watched through the partially closed blinds as the man took several phone calls, microwaved a late dinner, and then set out around 10:30 at night.

 

Walker had assured me that nobody had seen him follow the man from his home, or see him pull him into the alley, pummel the man until he spilled the beans, and then stalk over to the garage where the deal had been going down. Walker swore that he would never do anything to bring trouble to me or the force. I trusted him... But, could it be possible that someone had overheard the yelps and shouts for help that the man had gotten out before Walker gagged him? Could a doctor figure out that the man had been bound and then beaten? That the wounds weren't inflicted in self-defense? If the crim's appeal started an investigation, then what?

 

“It's my word versus his,” Walker had whispered over the phone. “He's a fucking low-life. Nobody's going to listen to scum like that. It won't be a problem.”

 

I could only hope so.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“Captain Merquise, how did Sergeant Walker discover the large cache of contraband?” The reporters were like insects, buzzing around the feasts and the carcasses.

 

“Good, honest detective work,” I'd replied.

 

“What were the size and types of drugs seized?” another buzzed. Cameras flashed.

 

“The Evidence Analysis Department is still researching that.” Here I could be truthful. “Among the crates found in the truck we found cocaine, heroin and as-of-yet unidentified designer drugs.”

 

“My first month in office and you're already making me look good, Zechs,” Treize had phoned to congratulate. It had been a long time since I'd last talked with him.

 

The newspapers had jumped on the long friendship Treize and I shared. The reporters were constantly outside my door, home and office, asking if I had anything to say about Metro City's newest mayor. I was a good civil servant and fed them the sound bytes that had been e-mailed to me.[1]

 

Treize's first few speeches had all been filled with rhetoric and vague promises, the kind of crap voters and the press eat up like candy. The new mayor and District Attorney Robert Darlian were very different people, but they were a force to be reckoned with when united. The City Council was expected to pass almost all of Darlian's proposed reforms. However, the compromise between the two had meant excluding some changes. Those that had been stricken (to ensure the new, already beloved, mayor's signature) included harsher penalties for white collar crime, tax evasion, insider trading. Protect the friends in high places.

 

“We are going to clean up Metro City!” Treize's first speech was by far his most impressive. The man had a commanding presence and could rouse the crowd while keeping his composure. “We will stop violent crime. We will end the oppressive reign of gangs and criminal networks We will get rid of the drugs, the prostitutes, the hoodlums. This always has been, but we will ensure that people have no doubts when they say that Metro is the largest and finest city on the planet!”

 

Yadda yadda yadda. Politicians do sure love to talk... Or, rather, maybe it's the people that love to hear them talk; that want- no, need, someone to tell them that everything will be alright; that tomorrow will be brighter, that it's getting better all the time. It can't get no worse.[2]

 

Bigger police force. Improved schools. More criminals caught and imprisoned. Deeper investigations into the mobs. More street patrols. Better public transportation. Jobs, good, honest jobs that you can raise two kids and a dog on. Better sanitation services. Faster, more efficient social service agencies. Better public housing. Better medical care.

 

The catch? Hahaha. No catch. Not yet...

 

But don't be surprised when this time next year taxes are being raised by double digits.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Sorry, I was digressing again... I seemed to have acquired the bad habit of dwelling too much on the activities of others. It was especially bad when the `other' happened to be my old friend and mentor. I paid more attention to him than I did to myself. His issues became more important than my own. Good dog, have a biscuit...

 

But the bird I'd dragged home this time for my master had left a bad taste in my mouth. I couldn't get rid of it, that nagging feeling, the `this is too good to be true' feeling.

 

“And when I had them open up the back of that truck!” Walker was positively glowing. He always loved listening to tales of glory and victory. I suppose the same disposition leans towards telling them as well. “Holy shit! I'd never seen anything like it. Stacked to the fucking ceiling with crates and crates of the stuff. The entire truck! Like they had no fucking brains to try to disguise it as something else.”

 

That's what was bothering me, the stupidity, more like unbridled boldness, of the handlers. The four men arrested were all Nuova Cosa, the 'New Thing'. Not a single one had uttered a word since being brought in, but their criminal records spoke for them. Nuova Cosa, Metro City's Mafia, survivors of the oldest, richest, and most ruthless syndicate in the known crime world, the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, were usually so slippery that you couldn't even catch the ghost of where they'd been.

 

An entire truck, a massive eighteen wheeler, loaded with drugs. Taking it right down Triphammer Boulevard, almost right past a- my- police precinct. No disguises, no extra escorts, not even a fake crate to show to an officer. Only two of the men were carrying guns.

 

Why put all the eggs in one basket? Why not assign more guards? Why my precinct?

 

“Captain?”

 

“Huh?” I snapped out of the daze, glancing around the office. Walker was doing paperwork, the crowd listening to his story had dispersed. How long had I been-

 

“Is everything okay, Captain?” Maiser asked me.

 

I nodded, blinking away the fatigue and stress. “I'm fine, Maiser. What is it? Are you already done analyzing those drugs from the bust?”

 

Maiser looked around, uncharacteristically looking nervous. “About that,” he lowered his voice, “I need to talk to you, but not in front of everyone.”

 

Maiser was another one of those guys I trusted. He wasn't much to look at; slightly overweight, crew cut brown hair, brown eyes, showered infrequently. He was two years younger than I and worked for A-Sector.

 

A-Sector was the name of Metro City Police's Analysis Department. I wouldn't lie and say I had a clue as to what they did there, or how they got it done. But I had gotten to know Maiser pretty well, as he, Walker and Otto were all buddies. I had specifically requested that Maiser head the inquiry into the contents of Walker's bust. I always requested him for the important ones... Every precinct had a small analysis lab, but A-Sector House[3] was located at the 111th Precinct, across the bridge in Metropolis. For Maiser to come all that way to speak personally wasn't a good sign.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“You have no idea what it is?” I repeated, dumbstruck. We were in my office now, door closed. I'd never heard Maiser say he couldn't break something down.

 

“I've never seen anything like it,” Maiser spoke fast. He had this mixed expression of anguish and joy on his face, like a kid stuck on a puzzle that he can't wait to finish. “It's not like the crude, shitty substances we usually net from busts like that. I honestly don't even know if it's contraband. Hell, I don't even have the slightest clue what it would do to the human body if it was ingested or snorted or injected. It has this mass of-”

 

“Wait.” I put up a hand. Maiser's chatter had been known to cause massive headaches, especially for me. It was almost impossible for me to follow his train of thought, let alone deal with all the jargon he could spit out. “Wait, they're not drugs?”

 

“Well, the analysis is still in the very early stages, but I don't think so. The chemical makeup, at least from the first time I took a look at it, doesn't fit any descriptions on Federal's Controlled Substances list. So it's possible that it's not even illegal.”

 

“Then why would Nuova Cosa be transporting it?” I asked aloud. It didn't fit. Drugs that weren't illegal were usually pretty harmless or so new that the government hadn't identified them yet. If a serious group was involved in anything this risky, it had to be profitable; so I was almost willing to bet that it was the latter-

 

I gave Maiser a hard stare. He was looking up at the ceiling fan, biting his nails and mulling something over in that Newtonian brain of his. He didn't even notice I was staring at him.

 

“What did you mean by `the first time' you looked at it?” I asked.

 

“Hm?” Maiser shook his head, a cuticle stuck to his lip. “Oh, that. Yeah, well, the substance is really volatile. Not dangerous or anything; it just keeps mutating is all.”

 

“Mutating?” I tried not to think what that might mean. A dull pain started up at the back of my head.

 

Maiser nodded. “God only knows what it'll look like tomorrow!” He added gleefully, “Right! That's what I came here to ask you about.” Maiser leaned forward. That faraway look in his eyes left. “I want you to request that I continue the analysis at the 109th Precinct.”

 

“Why?” The headache started kicking in. I was going to have to pull a Big Brother[4] to get Maiser temporarily transferred. Noin would have no problem doing me the favor, but Une at the 111th, the head of the police force, always seemed to bear a grudge against me.

 

“They can get access to the University labs, where there's equipment that I think would help me figure this thing out,” Maiser said. “Also, I...” He trailed off.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well, it's... Someone tried to break into the lab yesterday at the 111th . It was late at night and I was in the bathroom,” Maiser frowned. “Only other officers can get that far into the building. I crapped my favorite pair of boxers chasing the guy out. No clue who it was.”

 

“Did you report this to Une?” I asked. I already knew the answer, but it was regulations to go through one's superior officer in those cases.

 

“No. You're the first person I've spoken to about it except for Otto,” Maiser replied.

 

Otto...

 

“How's he doing?” I found myself asking. I hadn't gone to visit him for almost two weeks now. That was bad of me, as a comrade and as a superior. As a friend it was terrible.

 

“Says he'll probably be out of the hospital in the next few days,” Maiser spoke, faintly smiling. “Apparently he's got this project he wants to start on, can't wait to get out of that place. He'll have to do physical therapy and... and he's going to be confined to a wheelchair, probably for the rest of his life...”

 

“You'll get the lab at the 109th, and extra security. We're going to get to the bottom of this,” I was surprised how serious and heated my words sounded. It made no sense, but for some reason I felt like figuring out this case, maybe giving a black eye to Nuova Cosa, would somehow make up for never finding the bastard that crippled Otto.

 

“We're going to go visit him the day he gets out, throw him a big party,” Maiser said. “I know he'd love it if you were there. I know you're busy though.”

 

“I'll be there.”

 

-end Zechs' POV

-end “106th Precinct Nets Massive Drug Bust”

Part A of “Steps Down an Unlit Path”, Page V in the Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation arc.

 

Next: Bad Habits - Wufei's - Stealing from the Old Alma Mater

 

Notes:

[1] You'd be shocked how often this actually happens in the real world. People told what to feed the press...

[2] This is a direct reference to the Beatles' song “Getting Better”

[3] A `house' is what some police officers call precincts.

[4] A `Big Brother' is a term for when an officer `pulls rank', getting a friend in high places to do some favor for them or get them out of trouble. In this case it's Zechs' going through Treize to get Maiser transferred.

 

Also, did you catch the inverse-reference to Goonies at the very opening?

 

ID Notes:

Maiser - Maiser is the OZ mechanic who secretly repairs the Wing Gundam after Heero self-destructs it in Siberia, so that Zechs can have his wish of dueling with him again. Since there are no Gundams here I figured why not make him a lab jockey?