Munch's Rabbi & Keeper of His Deepest Secrets
Group: Admin
Posts: 3,879
Member No.: 23
Joined: 13-August 06
|
Sarah felt the key-card in her pocket and debated what to do next. She longed so much for John right then, she knew Danny was a dangerous substitute. Unprotected sympathy sex wasn’t her style, after she’d been caught out once with her then-husband. It had all ended in a tragic miscarriage, which only further ruined her marriage. A hard lesson learned. A life lost. The guilt over it all still stung her, one of many issues fueling her PTSD.
She’d rather get popped in the gut by a perp with a .45 caliber than cheat on John Munch, her frequent lover, her sometimes-partner, always her friend. She blew out a breath and walked back into the hotel bar. Another coupon, another martini. Another thought of John and how much she missed him. How much they missed each other.
If she smelled Drakkar on Stranahan, she’d lose her mind…what was left of it at the moment. It wasn’t fair to her, to John, or to Danny – who would be confused, unprepared, left with guilt over what they once could have had, and the fallout would be fatal to their friendship. No, she couldn’t go back to their room until she was utterly exhausted.
Which happened about two hours later, around midnight, when the day’s events and the martini had both caught up with her. She dragged back to the room, slipped her key-card into the lock and opened the door softly. Danny was sound asleep and snoring. Snoring. Like John did. Most women hated it when their men would snore, but she found it calming. When John snored, it was even sort of sexy. She’d cuddle closer to him and listen to his snoring, as she drifted into deep sleep.
But not this night. It wasn’t John, and Danny’s snoring could rival that of a 767’s engines in pre-takeoff mode. She took her Glock from its holster and placed it on the nightstand. If she’d fired it, it wouldn’t have been heard over his sawing logs.
Sarah went into the bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth and decided she couldn’t win. Stranahan’s bottle of Drakkar Noir was on the counter. She could detect the subtle scent in the small room. John. The cologne was heavenly when Munch wore it.
Moonlight entered the room from behind the sheer drapes and Danny looked positively angelic as he slept, as she’d recalled from their years together. Long dark lashes brushed against his lightly tanned cheeks, a shock of nearly-black hair falling across his handsome face. It took every bit of her remaining reserve to not brush his hair back.
To touch him now would bring her to tears. For all the wrong reasons. He’d awaken and want to talk her through her heartache, as he’d done a million times past; she’d be so confused and guilt-ridden all she’d be able to do would be to sob against his muscular chest. No. She’d find a way to make it through, alone. After all, she was a cop – she had to be physically and emotionally strong to survive.
When John slept, every one of the lines in his face relaxed and he, too, had an angelic look. She thought of him with her body pillow, trying to fall asleep with her essence all around him. Time and distance were having their way with them both.
She didn’t bother getting out of her clothes, because she was technically still on-call. Nor would she undress in any way while sharing Danny’s bed. She found an extra blanket and pillow in the dresser drawers, carefully placing the pillow at the head of the bed. She wrapped the blanket around her and lay down carefully on top of the bedspread, facing away from him on the edge of the bed.
She lay there, still awake, thirty minutes later when Danny unconsciously draped his arm over her. He was sound asleep and had no idea what he’d done, but she was…stuck. To move meant waking him, and she would have gladly taken a bullet to allow him a well-deserved night of sound rest. She shrugged, wrapped her arm over his and fell asleep.
* * *
It was five-thirty in the morning and Dan Stranahan was in the shower.
Zelman awoke to the sound of running water in the bathroom. She got up and stretched, trying to coax some range of motion into her back and neck once more. She’d hugged the edge of the bed so completely, she was stiff and sore all over. It would be her turn to shower soon enough, but her initial thoughts were of John.
Sarah knew Munch was an early riser, by five o’clock it would be certain he was awake. Once more, she punched his number into her cell phone and waited. C’mon, honey, answer your phone, she thought.
“Munch,” he answered, the sound of a microwave – hers – in the background. “Sarah?”
“Good morning, sweetie,” she began. “I don’t have long, but wanted to call and tell you I miss you.” She listened as water continued to run. Danny was probably shaving as he showered. “Did you sleep?”
“I got a little sleep, I guess… I miss you, too,” John said, wishing he could touch her. Mornings at her place usually meant he awoke to a wonderful breakfast, made with care. This morning, he had tea warmed over in the microwave and a bowl of cold cereal. Using soy milk wasn’t quite as bad as he thought. “Is everything going okay?” he asked, trying to sound conversational instead of desperate.
“So far, so good,” she replied. “If everything goes as planned, I should be back around two this afternoon. Allow extra time for the bus to drop us off, and then I’ll get the perp through booking.” She sighed. “After which, depending upon what happens, I’ll see you.”
“Couldn’t be too soon,” he admitted, taking a sip of warm tea. “How was last night? Dare I even ask?”
She could imagine the look on his face, simply from his tone of voice. “Oh…agonizing,” she blurted. Sarah listened and knew Danny was still in the bathroom. “He snores like a jumbo jet with a bad engine, he swung his arm over me in his sleep and I had about an inch of space along the edge of the bed,” she reported, cringing at the memory of clinging to the bed all night. “Aside from that, life was just peachy for five whole hours.”
“I’ll take pity on you and let you sleep tonight,” Munch offered, “as long as it’s in my arms.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she replied. “The water just stopped… I should go – my turn next for the bathroom.” As usual, neither of them wanted to be first to end the call. “Hey…”
“Hmmmm?…”
“Have a safe shift, John,” she finally said. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay…I will. Please, Sarah, take care,” he whispered. “See you at the house.” He snapped his cell phone closed and stared into his mug of tea, watching the swirls in the liquid. God, how he missed her.
* * *
“Okay, let’s do this thing,” Zelman said curtly. She got up from the breakfast table and Stranahan almost had whiplash, she’d gone from dear friend to all-business cop so rapidly. “Danny, I need a windbreaker with D.O.J. on the back. Got an extra one handy?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered, “but you can’t have it – you’re NYPD, not D.O.J. You can’t impersonate a Marshal, just like someone in New York isn’t allowed to impersonate a cop.” He folded his arms across his chest, and watched as she held her Transitions lenses to the light, to darken them.
“If I have to fly con-air, I’m not going in as NYPD,” she asserted. “First perp who spits on me will get a face full of Glock.” She stared at him, her dark eyes glared into his crystal blue orbs, slamming home her point. “Now, we can play this the easy way, or you can make my life difficult and watch me go bad cop on an entire friggen plane of perps. Your choice,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Sarah, why do you have to be this way? You know I’m perfectly capable of putting the perp on the jet, then you can come in once the cage is locked.” He was using his most patient tone of voice, because he knew her opinion of con-air flights. She was always hyper-aware of everything, as any cop would be inside a plane-load of violent criminals. He also knew he was patronizing her, but – as usual – he didn’t care.
“I’m not going to sit back and let you do all the heavy lifting on this, so cut me a break,” she replied. “I’m capable of putting the perp in the cage, just like I can put him on the bus when we reach target.” She wished they’d already done this thing and had landed at the airport. D.O.J. flights were put on a separate runway, with a secured jetway. A specially-designed bus would be standing by to deposit perps at their respective jurisdictions.
Danny reached into his bag and pulled out a couple windbreakers, emblazoned with D.O.J. on the back. “There. Now you’ll look like you’re from the Department of Justice,” he said flatly. “Still time to join me for real, if you want to. The Marshals would take you in a heartbeat and you’d see all the action you could ever dream of.” He shrugged into his own windbreaker and left a tip to cover the free buffet coupons they’d been given.
“You have all the subtlety of a Black Talon bullet, Danny.” She stood. “Thanks, but I’ll stay with NYPD,” she said. “I get enough action. Twice as much, actually – sometimes, I’m solo, sometimes with Munch or Tutuola,” she explained. “I clean my gun probably as much as you do,” she jabbed.
She cleaned her gun after each time it was fired; she wanted to be safe and keep her partner safe, no matter whom she worked with. She put on the windbreaker and it guarded her bad-cop attitude. She flipped some bills on the table and walked out of the restaurant, beside him, not behind him.
Earlier that morning, she had checked the clip and made sure her nine-millimeter Glock was loaded and ready – one chambered up. Just in case. Granted, she’d inspected it when they went through security at LaGuardia, but she left nothing to chance.
“I’ll make a couple of calls, to be sure they’re ready for us to pick him up,” Stranahan said. “Meet you in the lobby in about twenty minutes?”
“You’re on. See you then – you’re driving, by the way,” she said.
“You know I am, because it’s still my show,” he retorted, walking off to a secluded spot to make calls.
Zelman took the opportunity to call Munch, since she had time to kill. Before she punched numbers into her cell phone, she watched the passers-by look oddly at her, having seen the lettering on the back of her jacket. Their eyes said it all: Fear. The police were around, therefore they had a reason to fear something or someone.
Be afraid, she thought as they walked by – be very afraid, because I haven’t had enough coffee yet and my partner on this little soiree is being an ass.
She called John and heard him snap, “Munch.” It didn’t sound like his morning was starting out so well, either.
“Hey, it’s Sarah,” she said softly. “You okay?”
“Good morning,” he began, his tone meaning, ‘I have to get somewhere quiet, before we can talk.’ She heard his footsteps and the background noise gradually disappeared. “I need you back here pronto,” he said. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she replied. “I miss you, too. What’s up?” She could tell he’d caught a case and it was a challenge. “Catch a hot one?”
“You always know…” He respected her intuition. “It’s a rape case – young female Yeshiva student,” he explained. “I remember when women couldn’t even go to Yeshiva.”
“I remember those days, too,” she said. “Hey, I considered becoming a rabbi once. When there was only one female Conservative rabbi in the entire United States,” she mentioned. “How are you doing with the vic?”
“I’m going along as cautiously and carefully as I can, but I think she’d rather talk with you. She seemed to open up a bit more when I told her you’d be back soon. She understands that we work together. She needs to talk with a woman, one who identifies with her culturally and spiritually,” he said, his words tumbling out almost as fast as he could think. “Rape kit came back positive, as expected.”
“Do whatever it takes to make her feel more comfortable, more in control of her situation,” Sarah said. “I’ll chat her up as soon as I get to the house, which should be this afternoon. When I get there, call her in and we’ll see what we can accomplish together.”
“I’d like to put this one down quick, in case we have a serial rapist at the Yeshiva,” he said urgently. “Bad feeling about this one. Need you,” he added. “In more ways than one.”
“Need you, too,” she said quietly. “More than you’ll ever know.” She sighed, watching Stranahan coming off the elevator with his bag and hers. “I have to go. Have a safe shift, John. See you as soon as I can.”
“Okay… Careful on con-air, all right?” He worried about her and she was where he couldn’t protect her, increasing his worry exponentially. “See you at the house soon.”
“Have some coffee ready for me, would you? This stuff at the hotel is dishwater.” They chuckled and she felt triumphant when she got him to laugh.
“I’ll make it strong enough to strip off varnish.” They laughed again, softer, their own twisted sense of humor something else they had in common. Habit. Predictable. Comfortable. “Bye for now.”
“See ya.” She closed her cell phone and sagged against the wall for a moment. One deep breath later, she was all-cop again.
* * *
Stranahan came into view and she looked up hopefully. “Mounties ready for us?”
“Yep, time to ride.” He got out the keys and they went to the rental car. A Crown Victoria. “Don’t say anything about the rental, Sarah. Some habits die hard.”
They shared a laugh over his choice of vehicle. Typical cop car. “All we’re missing are the lights and siren.”
“Too bad that option wasn’t available, or I would have paid for the upgrade,” he quipped.
Danny scanned the radio for a jazz station and they listened to Pat Metheny and a host of others as he drove them to the airport. They’d meet the Mounties at the Customs Center, sign off on the paperwork to transfer the perp, and by then the con-air flight would have landed to greet them for the flight to New York.
“Got perps to take down to Miami, too? Or is New York the big stop on the tour?” Sarah asked, curious.
“Got some for Atlanta, afterward down to Miami,” he answered, “then I think I’m home for a couple days. If you need me, I’ll be in the office – or you could always page me.”
“Don’t worry, Danny,” she said, patronizing him for a change. “I’ll find a way to keep you in the loop.”
* * *
Zelman walked down the jetway, the perp between her and Stranahan. It wasn’t the first time she’d flown con-air and it wouldn’t be the last, just her stinking luck. The perp was in chained cuffs and hobbled by leg and ankle shackles. He’d been cavity-searched by the Mounties and again by Stranahan, who hated doing body cavity searches even though they were part of the job. The perp was clean, nothing concealed, clad in an orange D.O.J. jumpsuit; he stood silently between them, wondering what his future held.
At the jet’s door, they stopped. “I’ll go first,” Danny volunteered. His collar, his turn to cage the perp. Or so he thought.
“Bullshit you will,” Zelman said, yanking the perp with her. “Your collar, but I’m putting him in the cage. You can talk shop with the crew.” She hated it when he tried to objectify her as less than capable – she deserved better than that, she could hold her own with anyone or almost anything. Munch, Tutuola, Stabler, even Cragen would back that up. “C’mon, let’s put you in the cage with the other animals,” she said, stepping onto the plane.
A cacophony of whistles, catcalls and heinous insults stormed her when the other perps saw her come onboard. She was more than ready for it. “First fuck who pisses me off this morning gets a reward – a Glock to the back of his skull,” she yelled at full volume, drawing her firearm. “If you push me, I’ll throw your rancid ass out at thirty-thousand feet and save the taxpayers some money.”
Stranahan sighed and shook his head. Bad cop, no donut, he thought, knocking on the cabin door. It was just as well he was going to shoot the breeze with the pilot, co-pilot and flight engineer, because he didn’t want Sarah to see him watching her.
Something in him rebelled at how tough she could be when she did her job. Something deep inside him almost surfaced, begging her to stop being a cop and remain a beautiful, albeit strong, lady.
Zelman led the perp to an empty seat in an empty row. “Sit,” she said curtly. He did as he was told and she secured his chains. “Leg chains are clear – lock ‘em now!” she yelled, watching as Danny threw a lever and everyone’s leg chains were forced to the floor. No escape now, she thought. She bent over in each row, performing what would normally be a flight attendant’s version of cross-check, to ensure each perp was locked down.
As she bent over a row toward the front of the plane, a perp across the aisle elbowed her backside and everyone laughed. She smiled, stood and leaned over him. “Way funny, aren’t you Chuckles?” she said, her tone as friendly as a rattlesnake.
“Nice ass, lady,” he said with a grin. “Looking good.” He hadn’t seen a woman so up close and personal in years, she knew.
“Really? Thanks. Nice of you to notice,” she said, suddenly backhanding him hard across his smile. “Next time, asshole, you get to feel my nine-mill applied to the back of your head. Don’t push the luck you don’t have.” She drilled him with a glare and could see fear dilate his pupils. “I told you before, not to fuck with me.” He shrank back in his seat, his hands in his lap.
“Hands to the front, girlie girls!” she called, keenly aware they were all men. Some of whom had a foot of height and at least one hundred pounds over her, but she refused to be intimidated. She didn’t have the luxury. As she expected, she felt something wet against her jacket. ‘Chuckles’ had spit on her while he moved his hands into position. “I warned you, Chuckles…you’re a bad monkey. Now it’s my turn.”
She raised her Glock and smashed him so hard in the back of the head, he gasped in pain and surprise. “If you think I’m kidding, ladies, it will only get a hell of a lot worse – now, hands to the front! I’m late for my donut break, you miserable pieces of detritus!”
They didn’t know who she was, but after she slammed one of them, they all fell silent.
She knew just how hard she could hit, without leaving a mark or causing someone to bleed. Stranahan was speechless as the prisoners complied with her instructions. “Hit it!” she called out.
He moved another lever and their hands were restrained within locked chains and cuffs. Zelman made one last check, followed by a Marshal’s inspection as a fail-safe, and then moved to the very front of the plane with him.
“Final lockdown,” she commanded, as a metal cage door stretched across where the curtain would have been during a first class flight. Once it was firmly locked in place, only then did she holster her weapon.
“Good to go?” Danny inquired, watching her carefully.
“Clear,” she snapped, strapping into the jump-seat next to him, as the second Marshal did the same. “We’re ready for take-off.”
“You have a real way with people, Zelman,” he quipped. He looked at her and shook his head. “Deal’s still on the table. Interested?”
“You’re just after me for the recruitment bonus, which you’ll use on cheap women and expensive liquor,” she retorted, giving him a wink. “I’m happy where I’m at,” she asserted. “If I’m ever unhappy, I’ll let you know.” Her tone forbade further comment.
“Hey, at least I tried. Give a guy some credit!” Danny flashed a huge smile and she laughed, despite herself.
“Granted, you tried… But I’m a hard-ass, remember?” They elbowed each other and she took in a sharp breath as the jet left the taxi-way for the main runway. “I hate this part.”
“So much for being a hard-ass,” he chided her softly. He scooted a bit closer, to calm her without it being obvious. “I know how you get,” he whispered. “It’ll be fine, darlin’…just take a deep breath and try to relax.”
“It will be fine, especially when we land,” she said, closing her eyes, willing her stomach not to lurch. That night, she’d be with John again…and it certainly would be everything she wanted it to be. Then, and only then, would she finally relax.
* * *
As they circled lower over LaGuardia, Sarah could feel the inmates’ apprehension as they began to grow anxious.
There was a raw, rainy storm front moving through the New York metro area again and the plane’s wheels skidded as it touched down, slowed and the engines roared in reverse to bring it gradually to a halt. They taxied to a specially-secured jetway and rolled up to chocks, as an agent signaled the pilot with orange batons. The jet’s engines didn’t stop completely; it was a short turn-around and then on to Atlanta.
“We’re here,” Danny said, releasing his seatbelt and standing. “It’s been fun, Zelman. If you ever change your mind – about anything – give me a call.”
She knew exactly what he meant and didn’t give in to his needling. “You’ll hear from me once he’s been arraigned. I’ll keep you updated, Stranahan – thanks for everything. Next time you’re in town, I’ll buy the beers.” Zelman released her seatbelt and stood. “Me or you?” she asked him, wondering which of them would take the perp from the cage.
“My turn this time,” he replied firmly. “Step off and I’ll bring him to you.” The look on his face said he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer this time; he was hungry for action even though it was simply moving a con. He opened the plane’s main door and she stepped onto the jetway, feeling cold damp air all around her. Almost home.
A moment later, she was again reciting Miranda rights to the perp to make sure he wouldn’t be released on any technicality, leading him to a New York Correctional Center bus. She seated him, this time in relative silence compared to their flight, and locked the cage behind her. It was her pleasure to call her captain with the good news. After a couple of stops, the bus pulled behind the Sixteenth Precinct and she realized they had a welcoming committee for the perp walk – Cragen, the Chief and Hizzoner the Mayor.
“We’re back and I’m taking him in for booking,” Zelman said, giving them a good look at him before she pulled him alongside her and into the building.
“Fine work, Cragen,” the Mayor commented, “I’m pleased.”
“Your department dollars at work, gentlemen,” Don replied. He allowed himself a slight smile. He’d take Sarah and John to lunch later that week; she’d made him look terrific in front of the brass and John had been the one who located the perp at the start.
“Great job, Donnie,” the Chief said warmly, shaking Cragen’s hand. “Get your people to put him away forever, now that we’ve wrestled him from Canada and the Feds.”
“You can count on it, sir,” he replied. “You won’t be disappointed.”
* * *
“Well, hell, look who joined the D.O.J.! I knew it!” Fin almost yelled, seeing Zelman in the windbreaker she’d borrowed from Stranahan. “Girlfriend, don’t even come in here wearing that contraband crap, unless you’ve jumped ship to the dark side,” he teased. He stood up and reached out, shaking her hand. “Great collar,” he said admiringly.
“I was simply the courier,” she said, “John did all the heavy lifting to get him. Munch deserves the credit.” She saw his empty desk and looked quizzically to Fin. “Reading room?”
“No, Cragen’s office,” Munch said, behind her. “Welcome back, Zelman.” He tried to hide his joy and relief behind his dark lenses, but she could practically feel his pulse jump at the sight of her. She longed to turn around and hug him, but knew she couldn’t. “Do us all a favor and burn the windbreaker, won’t you? I wouldn’t want the influence of a government agency to rub off on you,” he quipped.
“As if I hadn’t worked for the Bureau for years, or did you forget?” she retorted. “Hey, it worked – no one knew I was NYPD and they thought they were spitting on a Marshal,” she said, pulling out of the lightweight material. “I think I will burn this…can’t send it back.” She dropped it in the trashcan and hoped it would be gone by the next morning.
“They spit on you?” Munch asked, his head back. “Really?” He cringed at the thought. “Damned animals.”
“Ask Stranahan… Yes, one of them spit on me and I gave him a Glock to the back of his empty head,” she said, glad she’d asserted her authority in front of the D.O.J. “No one gets away with that on my watch.”
“That’s our girl,” Fin said, pleased. “Like he didn’t know you could hold your own with anybody.” He let out a disgusted huff. “He’s lucky you didn’t start shooting.”
“Sorry you had to endure all that,” John said, concerned. “Was Dan surprised at how bad a cop you could be?” He laughed softly, having seen her at her worst. At least twice, he’d had to pull her off a perp when she got too angry on a case.
“So surprised he chatted up the pilots while I locked ‘em all down,” she admitted. “I’d bet a paycheck he’d think twice before he patronizes me again.” She shook her head, thinking back to Danny’s expression as she caged the perp.
Cragen came out of his office, poured himself a cup of coffee and said, “Munch, Zelman – my office. Now.” He walked into his office as they followed. They couldn’t see the grin on his lined face. Every now and then, he enjoyed keeping them guessing, if only for a moment or two.
“Crap… C’mon, I haven’t even had time to get coffee yet,” Sarah groused, glancing longingly at the coffee maker.
“Isn’t this how everything got started?” Munch asked, hoping they could finally put their latest VICAP case to rest.
“Whatever it is, I swear there is no way I’m going to flip you for it,” Zelman said ruefully.
* * *
Cragen stood as Munch opened the door to his office. He walked in first, followed by Zelman. “Have a seat,” Cap offered. “Let’s chat about what we just accomplished, shall we?”
John looked at him through the top of his lenses. “Something wrong?”
“Not at all,” he said, finally smiling, “I just thought you might have a little something to say about it.”
“We didn’t have to shell out for a hotel,” Sarah volunteered. “John told you?”
“He did. That must have been awkward,” he replied bluntly. “You and the Marshal get along okay?”
“Aside from his being the prince of passive-aggressiveness, we were good. The job got done, which is all that matters,” she said, watching Cragen’s expression. “Dan Stranahan can be a royal pain in the ass, but we compromised.”
“You’re both in here because you did very well,” he admitted. “I’m quick to give an ass-chewing when it’s necessary, but in this case I’d like you both to be my guests for lunch. You can decide where – it’s on the Chief, technically.”
“Sarah?” Munch had an evil grin on his face.
“You’re choice, John – you did the hardest part.” She saw the look on his face and immediately blurted, “No! Don’t you dare!”
“Steak or Bistro, Sarah? Flip you for it!” Before she could snatch it from his hand, Munch’s quarter was airborne, gleaming in the light. He and Cragen laughed as she gave John a withering glare. Munch and Zelman knew that wherever they ended up, it would be a good time – because they were together again at last.
# # #
--------------------
Happiness is: A third-generation Glock 34 (9-mill),
with 5 extra nine-shot clips and a speed loader!
* * *
Avatar courtesy LSMunch. Thank you, LSM! *squee*
* * *
Dissent is the highest form of patriotism.
|
"Right Here Waiting", Reposted and Finally Complete!
