The Rage of Denver (ic, closed)

Meanwhile, the gang leader, Neal Rollins, was holed up in his home clear across the city. Neil had been busy trying to keep a low profile with the authorities, especially since he ordered a possible new member of his to kill an innocent person. Hopefully that new member wouldn't be the one reveal him to the police. However, that was the last thing he expected since the actual killer would be at fault. In fact, Neil was usually too high out of his mind to even care about what happened. This new member would only become a lackey like the rest of his followers. One thing Neil was more worried about though, was the profit that was coming in. Money was starting to get tight, so he began thinking of a plan to increase income by a lot, and increase it quickly.

Neil sat at a long table in the main foyer of the house with a small group of men, discussing business as usual. "So....first things first, the new guy. What's his status? Was he successful, or did he punk out?" Luis, Neil's bodyguard had nodded. "I've gotten word that he went through with it. I suppose he's in. I have my doubts about him though." Neil shook his head. "As do I. But a deal is a deal. He is in. I almost feel sorry for the poor lady, getting gunned down like that. Oh well. Hopefully she's in a better place now. What a cruel world this is...." Neil took a sip of his drink and continued on. "Next order of things, and I think this may be it. Where is the money? I have not seen any briefcase, or sack of money in weeks. What's going on?"

"Well....umm...we haven't done anything worth increasing our profits lately. We've just been doing small time. Of course you know, small time is small amounts." Neil's advisor, Nicholas thought about the expenses and what they were currently doing. "We're really supposed to be selling drugs, not using it up on ourselves." Neil looked up at him with a blank look in his eyes. "You're talking about me, aren't you?" Nicholas quickly shook his head. "N-no, just in general. Everybody in this gang, or syndicate, whatever you wanna call this, does drugs, and uses it up. We can't sell what we don't have." Neil frowned and sighed, leaning in his chair. "So what do you suggest we do? Rob a bank or something?" Nicholas shrugged. "Maybe. That sounds like it could work. Pretty risky though. It just can't be any small bank. It has to be something a lot larger. Like a National bank." Neil thought for a moment and nodded. "Alright fine. If that's what its come down to, then so be it. We will rob a bank. I won't, but you guys will. I haven't been out on an operation in months. And I'm not gonna start now. Also, I have too much heat."

"When are we going to do this whole bank heist thing?" Luis furrowed his brow, not feeling very sure about the whole idea. "Soon. We've gathered too much suspicion. So we'll let that die down, then we'll strike when no one is looking. In the meantime, I'm going to search the web for a nearby national bank and draw up some plans, and I'll get back to you all." "Alright." Everyone nodded and left the room to continue on with their business.

Neil returned back to his room and turned on the television and saw the story of the murder being reported by the local news. "Hmm....well. I think I may have a future hitman in the house. Well alright then. I'll make sure to keep a close eye on you, buddy-boy." Neil smirked and turned off the TV.

Diana Landers, a middle class twenty eight year old woman with flowing auburn hair and glowing blue eyes, worked at a publishing company reviewing editorials for a living. It was where she spent her time from eight in the morning to sometimes six at night from Monday to Friday, and on the weekends she would frequently be enthralled in her work while glued at her husband, Xander's, hip. The latter had a similar working schedule, with the difference being that he worked from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon and even at home and on weekends he was always looking for more to contribute to the newspaper. Given their busy schedules, it made perfect that neither of the two had really paid attention to the news caster that was broadcasting on their television while they sat in the living room reading that night.

Diana and Xander had a special kind of relationship where they could be in a room together without ever acknowledging each other and yet still manage to hold some sort of conversation - of course, the conversation spanned over long gaps of silence and three word sentences. They were sitting across the room from each other with thick wads of paper in their hands and their noses pressed inside the pages, absently obscuring the low murmur of the TV with each page that they turned, and after a long while of doing this, Xander managed to bring up some words.

"How was work?"

A pause as Diana finished the paragraph she was on. "Fine." She replied distractedly, starting into her next paragraph with another pause before she added, "What are you working on now?"

He gave a grunt in reply of acknowledgement, one that may as well have been code for 'let me finish this sentence I'll remind myself what you just asked'. "An article about some local gang activity that's been increasing, seems the crime rates are increasing."

"Ah." She noted plainly, skimming over the contents of another two pages. "You know, the newspaper is becoming obsolete dear."

"We've been over this before, Diana." He responded in a drawl of a warning. He parted his lips to add something else, but her phone began to ring and interrupted his chance.

The both of them lowered the papers they had in their hands away from their faces, and Diana glanced at her cell phone on the coffee table curiously. Her brow tilted slightly, and as if reading her husband's mind she sat back and lifted her papers back up to resume her reading. "It's my brother in law, I'm sure it can wait until morning."

"Ah," Xander responded as he sat back and did the same. "Yes, the corrupt cop."

"Oh hush now, Xander. He's not corrupt. Honestly I've no idea why you dislike him so much."

"The guy's unscrewed, Diana." He responded quickly, firmly, as if he truly believed so and was willing to testify it. "I'm just waiting for my chance to prove it."

Diana heaved a sigh and gave a soft shake of her head behind her papers as she started reading once more. "Why won't you just come off it already?" She said softly in a sigh. Xander didn't respond, merely he went back about his reading, and she did the same.

Cecily Norris was doing drugs at the time that Gloria was being gunned down. Cece, pronounced Sess, knew all about the little initiation that was supposed to be taking place. Knew that her friend would do it. Along with that, Cec even knew who the female he was going to gun down was! She was an innocent or, as innocent as Cec could ever imagine. Sometimes Cec even seen her, as she made her useless rounds around some of the better off neighborhoods and tried to entrance some of the little kiddos to take some of the drugs she had for sell.

A cops wife, and not just any cops, either. A homicide cop, one who she just knew wouldn't be able to rest without looking, and then taking, his revenge on the poor sop who had killed his wife. So she was going to get as high as a fuckin' kite and forget that feat that had begun to grow in the pit of her stomach, turning the delicate organ upside down with her worry. If he shot her, he'd be in the gang (which, Cec figured, was better than not being in it), But then he'd have a homicidal, psychopathic, cop after him. If he didn't shoot her, though.. That was the bad thing, the wrong thing to do. He was going to have to do it. It was not a hard choice to make. Become a member, or die. At least, that's what Cecily figured.

Cec paced back and forth along her dirt cackled apartment floor, her dark gaze flickering around before comin to fixate upon a small, boiling, pan on the dirty, grease caked stove. Several small, used, syringes lay on a brown speckled plate besides this rapidly cooling, hot, liquid. There was a single, medium sized half filled with the beautiful liquid. Working her loose t-shirt up her shoulder, Cec tightly wound a tourniquet around her upper arm and tightened it, to force the veins to stand out, prominent with their track marks.

She shoved it into her vein, pushing the plunger down and letting them go through her entire form.

With the second dose of the hour, Cec was far into becoming the blissful heroin-queen of some far out universe. The woman, without a television, would miss the news of Gloria's death. With tweaking so god-damned much, she'd miss their leaders ever-so- important meeting. What bad luck.

The situation felt almost exhilarating in its own unique and twisted way.

The feel, no more like the weight of it pressed against the inside of his throat. The thought, that maybe in a couple of days the landlord would come by to demand his rent, and when no response was given, would kick down the door, only to find Norman's body. The thought that maybe the police would be all over his body, before writing it off as one of those many suicides before recording his DNA and telling his parents…were his parents still alive? He didn't know, but he could gauge their reactions. The mother, leaning against the father for support, unable to respond to the police through the flood of tears staining the new cotton shirt she got off the rack just yesterday (oh what a deal that had been!); the father comforting the mother for support, knowing that he'll be crying himself to sleep for years afterward, unable to respond to the kindly officer (who was surely oh so sorry for their loss) through the guilt.

Guilt at having yelled, guilt at having shoved the kid onto the street with only his clothes, some toiletries and enough money to pay for a month’s rent; guilt for having disowned him, yelling out that he had no sons. He had caused all this, hadn’t he? His son was dead because of him; wasn’t that the right thing to assume? Maybe the bottle of gin on the counter would help ease his pain. The mother would protest, but it was the only thing that dulled the father’s guilt. The mother…the mother…

It was the thought of the mother that finally allowed for Norman to remove the pressure, to remove the feel of cold plastic residing n his throat. The mother wouldn’t have liked him dying like that. Where was the mother living right now anyway? He had heard talks the father had put forward of the mother having schizophrenia. Maybe the mother was holed up in a cool, soulless metal building; would the mother even know if he had killed himself, or would she reside in delusions of her own creation, unaware of the world around her? It was not a comforting thought, and it made Norman want to replace the pressure, but he did not have the stomach to do so.

Instead, he decided he was going to visit Cece, the drug addict who live around the slums of Denver. He knew were she normally resided, and maybe he could catch her in a rare moment of clarity. If not, at least the walk over would give him a chance of think over his deeds. He was now a member of the Stacked Deck, which hopefully meant no more scars. No more feeling the knife dig into his skin over and over, it seemed for an eternity and oh please dear god MAKE IT STOP.

At least he had the gang to protect him again in case he was threatened. They would protect him, simply because he was a part of them, as evidenced by their logo proudly displayed on the jacket he wore as he exited his apartment with the Beretta. He walked slowly down East Street, past the hookers selling their service for pennies, past the various drug addicts crying that they could see the future, and finally past the homeless.

What had he done exactly? Sure he had killed someone, but he had killed a policeman’s wife! He was going to get shot by the cops if he was lucky, or sent to prison for life if he was unlucky. He hadn’t really wanted to do it, but he personally knew the punishment for not doing what the gang asked.
(Oh dear god, why won’t it just END)

He sighed heavily, flipping a quarter to one of the beggars on the street, before proceeding to Cece’s place. He could ask her for her opinion on what he should do. He almost pitied the girl in a way (he could see the needle pricks on her arms, which reminded him of his scars), though sometime she offered some wisdom in between her moments of unbelievable highs. He finally got to where Cece lived, and he knocked on the door. “Cece, are you in there? I’d like to talk with you about something.”

The next morning was the hardest thing to wake up to. Laying with one leg out of the covers and his arms laying flat over the blanket was a very depressed Derek Fawn who was living in absolute terror. His absent mind was searching for a reason to actually be coherent and help him get up to do something. Derek's faded green eyes flickered slowly open as he finally decided to wake up for the day. He turned his head in mid-yawn and noticed that it was a little later than 10:00 A.M. A short sigh escaped his lips and he forced himself into a sitting position. This was the second worst day of his life. Second, only because it was the day after he had seen his wife -- dead -- infront of his house. Of course, yesterday was the worst day of his life, no doubt.

There was absolutely nothing worse than seeing a dead spouse, especially one that was dramatically covered in her own blood. Derek was well out of bed now and showered, dressed in some weekend clothes that were nothing other than a fitted tee, a pair of cargo pants, and some sandals. He slumped around his house and into the kitchen where he pulled out a leftover sub from a couple nights ago. He threw it in the microwave and waited for it to be heated. As he waited, he slumped to the front door and opened it to retrieve the newspaper from the front porch. Derek oepened the door and let out a loud sigh as he stared down at the haunted walkway of death leading up to his front door. His eyes began to swell with heavy tears, but he blinked them away. He shook his head slowly and headed back to the kitchen to grab his sub that the microwave beeped ready.

A while after he ate, Derek was laying on the couch with Rusty, obsessively watching the news and flipping channels to see if anything new had happened or been found out with the murder case. He was extremely sad and he really didn't know how to feel.

Perhaps a getaway was in order.

Derek reached over to the cordless receiver and dialed his boss to file a paid vacation away from his home for a little while, maybe a week or so.

"Sir, I thought about your proposal and would like to accept a week away from my home. I only want a hotel in the city, nothing too far, if you don't mind..." Derek said with a low, monotone voice.

"That's not a problem, my friend. I wish you well and hope you can find a way to settle down about all of this. Again, sorry for the loss. I'll let you know when I book one of the best hotels in Denver." Chief Leonard replied with a dull tone.

Derek nodded, although his boss couldn't see, and replied with a short comment. "Thanks," and hung up the phone.

---

A couple hours later, Derek decided to take a drive around town to clear his mind. As he drove through some places that weren't near his neighborhood, he thought about his conversation with Chief Leonard about wanting to participate in his wife's murder case. He drove through some run down neighborhoods and took long glances at the homeless people laying out on the damp streets. He passed a couple of people standing on corners and making passes, indicating they were obviousy drug dealers. He shook his head at the disappointment of this part of the city and kept driving.

A few moments later, he pulled up to an old apartment building where he remembered growing up in. He parked his car out front and locked the doors, turning down the radio. He could hear nothing but the sweet silence and the small little quirky noises of his car settling. He rested his head back against the head rest and sighed softly. He was an awful mess. He still didn't know what to do, and he was extremely confused.

He sat there thinking about how his life was before he had met Gloria. He was the average young adult - the kind you saw playing basketball at parks, the one who went the movies every Saturday night with his friends, the kind that sometimes didn't listen to his parents or do his homework because he was too lazy. He lived quite a modern life, but something automatically changed about him the second he saw her lying there on the walkway.

A sense of darkness fell upon him and he felt the need to want to get back at the person who murdered his wife. He looked at the events that could have led up to her death... No wonder there was so much noise around the neighborhood lately. For many nights around his nice, rich-styled neighborhood, there had been a lot of reports on the news about shootings and drive-bys. Maybe her murder was one of those stupid drive-bys. She was obviously walking to the door when she was shot. So, what was the reason she was shot?

---

Derek sat there in his car for a long while until someone came up to his car window, knocking on it -- disturbing his peace. He shook his head from his deep thoughts and looked at a local thug grilling him from outside of his car. The guy looked to be of hispanic ethnicity and was wearing a long, white, plain tee with dark, saggy blue jeans on. He continued to pound on the window and Derek gave him a deep glare and started his car up. As the car started, the thug pulled out a gun and started shouting at Derek's window. This was the time to get out of the 'hood'.

Derek quickly screetched out of the area, his car being shot at as obscenities were being shouted through the dead area. Nearing a subtle civilization a few miles down the road, Derek slowed down from his extreme speed and caught his breath. He parked somewhere else to recuperate and bring himself together. What was even going on. He shook his head and started his car again, and then left the area.

He continued to drive around aimlessly until he finally wound up back at his house. As he pulled into the driveway, he got a call on his cell phone from his boss, but decided to let it go to voicemail. He got out of the car and headed up the walkway, making sure to walk around the spot where his wife laid. He noticed the dried blood had been washed away by the CSIs after they were done with the crime scene.

After he walked inside, he checked the message on his cell phone and listened to what it said:

Chief Leonard: Hey Derek, just called to let you know that I set you up in Holiday Inn Express just a couple streets away. It's not too far away, but it works for the budget and for you to at least get away. Like you wanted, I set you up for a week. Enjoy.

The message ended and Derek hung up his phone and set it down on the counter. He walked slowly to the couch to turn on the television and see what was going on with the world at this time at night. The same thing as last night was on the news: they were still doing the investigation.

Derek was so very curious of how his wife was killed. Nothing added up, still, but he was even more interested in finding out who would do this and why. He sat there for a while on the couch, pondering how he was going to figure this out. Surely, his boss wouldn't allow him to actually participate in the case, so he would have to do it secretly. This would be an adventure in itself, but he was more than determined.

Tomorrow, he would go to the hotel for his first night's stay, and take his dog with him while a co-worker watched over his house. From there, he would plan how he was going to take part in this case without getting any officials involved. He was going to have to become a part of the gang.

There was a knocking on the door. Once, twice- three times. Quick, steady knocks, as if the person knew her, was expecting her to come to the door, expecting her to open it and show them in- expecting, expecting, expecting. Cec shook her head, her lips pressed tight together, the flesh becoming a simple, pink line of tight flesh. She was angry suddenly. So angry at this- this person, whom she did not know, demanding, expecting of her! He shouldn't, she shouldn't, or they shouldn't. Whatever it was.. Hah!

Cec padded to the door, her feet hardly leaving the ground, those muddy hazel orbs taking in everything- and nothing. She saw the building for what others did not see it. For the female the entire dirty, nasty, place was a wonderful, loving, environment. She loved it, she enjoyed it, she worshiped it. It was horrible, but with the drug slipping through her veins, the sweet amber liquid, the place was heaven. A sweet sort of heaven.

Fingers clenched the door, tugging it backwards, opening it. She stared at him- This Norman, this friend of hers, and all this- anger, apprehension, drained away. A dazed smile curled her lips upwards, her fingers trembling as she snaked a hand out to wrap around his wrist and tug him inside of her home, slamming the door shut behind her.

"I'm glad you came, you're alive, she's dead, you live!"

Giggles exploded from within her slight form, body shaking, head thrown back, thin hair brushing along her dirty clothing. Happiness. She was so happy, so happy, so-- not happy.

"You're going to die, you know that, right? He's going to kill you."

She managed to nod, her face serious, her eyes stone, glancing at him, though they were a bit glazed over. It was like she knew it for certain- and that's what she'd been trying to escape. Tossing herself back against the couch, Cec considered another hit, and another, and another. She'd ride te train to he--..

Now was not the time, no, now was not the time. "What do you need, Normy, what do you need? You're covered in blood, loveh, in blood."

More giggles, more laughter, all the side-effects of being higher than she had been a few moments before, but not higher than she wanted to be.

Norman sighed as Cece opened the door and replied in her incredibly speedy voice you usually only heard from Spanish mice. He glanced quickly around her apartment, uncaring of whatever babble she was spewing at the moment. The place looked like a trash heap, almost literally. He cvould see trash bags (no doubt filled with broken needles) nestled in various corners of the apartment. He also managed to find a needle shoved into an electrical socket. How that thing had got there he had no idea. He eyed the pinpricks on her arms and he wondered for the thousandth time why she wouldn't
(someone make it)
stop taking her drugs. He knew for a fact she could only barely afford for them at the best of times. From her speech she was most likely taking heroin again, though for all he knew it could be any kind of cocktail of other drugs. Suddenly, something she said shot through his body light a lightning bolt.

"You're going to die, you know that, right? He's going to kill you."

He understood immediately who the "he" Cece was referring to was. The husband of the woman he just killed. She was a cop's wife! Out of everyone in the city, why did he have to kill someone related to a cop. The only thing worse than that to a cop was killing another cop. He'd be hunted down, gunned on the streets like a rabid dog, and nothing could stop it from happening; nothing! He rushed towards the nearest sink in Cece's house (which happened to be the kitchen sink) and vomited once, twice, three strikes you're out! He felt the meager lunch he had had before the shooting escape from his bdoy and vanish down the drain when he turned on the tap. He wiped away the remaining vomit on his chin with his sleeve and turned towards Cece.

"I know Cece, I know. If I'm lucky, he'll shoot me quick. If I'm not, he'll drag it out, and then I might go crazy from the pain. I can't handle more pain Cece, I just can't! Not after what happened last time!"

He suddenly noticed a knife on the counter beside the kitchen sink, and immediately shied away from the cutting object, putting a hand to his mouth. Remembering the horrid memories, he vomited again, though this time it managed to land on the already filthy tile floor of Cece's kitchen. With one hand he grabbed a towel on the counter and used it to slap away the knife into the sink, being careful to avoid touching the knife itself.

"No more knives."

Neil stood at the large window of his office, staring out into the city watching the sun. He nodded off some as his the bags under his eyes were forcing him to close them. The center of his desk was lined with crushed up drugs, evident that he just got finished using. However, he thought that it was making him think more clearly about certain things. Although it made everyone who used it think more 'clearly'.

The deadline for payday was coming soon, and he had already sent men out to their fronts to collect their profit. However, that wasn't the only thing he was worried about. Typically, there was a lot to worry about, but he selectively chose to reflect on the drug trade and much other organized crime he participated in. At the top of his list was the Denver Police Department, and whether or not they were beginning to close in on him. He'd been hiding away from them for years now and sent people to do his dirty work for him.

Times were changing.

It was beginning to be the time where you had to do things yourself to make progress. He grabbed his pistol and his jacket, tucking the weapon away in his pocket and quickly left the office. He proceeded downstairs into the main room, looking very suspicious. “Where are you heading off so fast?” One man asked, wondering if he could come along. “Out.” Neil quickly responded, heading out the door.

The man and some other people followed. As they got outside, Neil frantically searched his pockets for his car keys. “Damn, where are my keys?” He muttered, looking around. “Don't worry, I'll drive you wherever you need to go, boss.” Another member led them to an old-looking, 4-door sedan parked nearby. “You'd better have enough gas in here. We're going for a long drive.” Neil jumped in the front seat as all the doors unlocked. “Where to?” The driver asked, starting the car and putting it into ignition. “We're going to scope out a few banks, check up on our businesses....you know. Like a profit run.” He nodded, looking out the window of the passenger seat. "I hope you don't mean 'scope out a few banks' as in 'rob a few banks'." The driver began to look a little worried as he placed his hands on the leather steering-wheel. "Does it look like we're doing a bank robbery? Are we even prepared for something that complicated and difficult?"

The driver said nothing and put his foot on the accelerator pedal as the car began to roll down the hill and into the street leading into the urban area of Denver. "Just drive and you'll see what I am talking about."

It wasn't until the following morning that Diana received the message from her brother-in-law about the tragedy that had struck her sister. She and her husband had gone to bed early the prior night, exhausted from the work they had completed and equally sick of reading. She had awoken at six o'clock AM, just one hour after her husband had risen and gotten himself ready to leave for work, and it was simply one of those mornings that she felt plagued by laziness and lack of desire to go in to work. As she rolled over in the bed after turning off the alarm clock, Diana spotted a note of paper that Xander had left for atop his pillow; he brows quirked, and she snatched it into her right hand before squinting to read the blue, scribbled handwriting.

Don't forget to see what your brother-in-law wanted and bring that manuscript into work; it's on the coffee table. Love you - Xander

A curve traced her lips as she crumpled the note and let it drop onto the top of the mangled blankets where he'd left the right side of the bed unmade, and a long sigh escaped through her nose. A long yawn caused her muscles to twitch as she stretched out her legs and arms, and then she lethargically climbed out from beneath the covers and padded barefoot into their bathroom. It wasn't until an hour later that she emerged in a cloud of warm, moist steam while wrapped up in a towel. I'll just call in to work and express that I am feeling ill, she thought to herself as she approached the bedside table and lifted her cell phone. Her interests shifted as she glanced at the 'New Voicemail' icon at the bottom of her screen, and she decided it was best to check the message Derek had left her sooner rather than later - who knew, perhaps it would change her mind about going in to work.





A gasp emitted from Diana's throat as the phone slipped from her fingers, the overly cheery voice of the recorded operator fading as the phone fell away from her and bounced onto the bed. Dead? Her sister? A shooting? Dead? It didn't seem to make any sense at all, in fact, it made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Gloria was a wonderful woman - kind and caring and polite - she wasn't the type to get herself into trouble, especially not being married to a man who upheld the law. But then... Derek was a policeman; it was a well known fact that the gangs in the area were bitter toward the police, but it still didn't make any sense. Derek hadn't made any arrests in the recent few months that would have set a gang into a vendetta, not that Diana was aware of and not that Gloria had ever mentioned to her over the phone.

The phone. Diana hadn't pulled in a visit with her sister and brother-in-law in over a month, having been so caught up in her work and her husband having such a distaste for Derek; it made her stomach churn with the guilt and sorrow of things she couldn't change, mistakes she couldn't right, and the sister she could no longer chat with or invite to dinner. And yet, as if some twisted way for her mind to attempt to cope for the time being, the first thought that came into her head was, at least now I have a valid excuse not to go into work.

---

Come five o'clock that night, Diana had settled herself into the couch in she and Xander's living room, curled up safely in a fleece throw with the TV turned on to a low volume and the local news station. She'd avidly watched for the duration of the day to find out information regarding her sister's shooting, unable to keep herself from shedding tears at some points, and growling in impatience and anger at others. How could the police have no updates? How could they have no leads? What was the world coming to when the people who were supposed to uphold safety and the law didn't put a stop to the very gangs that threatened it? Question after confused, frustrated question turmoiled in her mind as her stomach reeled in the effects of her sudden emotional torrent, and she couldn't even bring herself to cry anymore.

Her husband would be home in about an hour, and she knew that if she was going to talk to Derek at all, she would have to call him prior to Xander's arrival. Her fingertips trembled as she pushed herself to lean over the couch and lift her cell phone from the edge of the coffee table, and as she sat back she felt as if she were trapped underwater without an oxygen tank. A long sigh escaped her nose as she tilted her head back against the cushion on the backrest, and she closed her eyes lightly in order to collect her thoughts and composure. She tipped her head back forward as she languidly slid her eyes back open, her thumb blindly pressing the keypad to dial Derek's cell phone number, and as she pressed 'Send', she lifted the phone to her ear and leaned her head back once again.



It rang three times through before she heard him answer on the other end, and she didn't even allow him the opportunity to speak.

The following dialogue was discussed and coordinated with Akita wrote:"Derek?" Her voice constricted with her throat, sounding near to hoarse and evident that she'd been crying. "What on earth is going on? What happened? Are you alright? Do you need me to go over there?" She was going to get dizzy if she didn't stop speaking, and she figured he would too, so she closed her lips and waited anxiously for his response.

"Diana? Wait, ho, wait, calm down....What?... Oh... Gloria...She's...Well, just come over and I'll explain everything.... I'd like to see you..." Derek said with a strong hoarsness in his voice. He choked back some tears at the thought of his wife. "I... Just think it would be best if you came over."

The woman nodded mutely for a second before she was reminded that he couldn't see it. "Alright." She said quickly. "Xander will be home in about an hour, and then we'll head over. Have you eaten anything?" She gave a soft, concerned moan as she lifted her free hand to rub at her cheek. "I bet you can't even function right now, of course you haven't eaten. We'll pick you up something on the way over - in fact, I'll just go into the kitchen and make something quickly so that we don't waste any time."

"Diana, that's fine. Could you please not bring Xander? I just kind of want to talk to you about it. I'll be better if I'm not around a lot of people right now..." Derek moaned with a sorrow tone.

Again, she gave a soft nod, and again, she needed to remind herself that he couldn't see her actions. "Alright, I'll go on and make up something for you to eat and head over as soon as I finish. I'll be there in about twenty minutes or so, alright? Let me just call Xander and let him know so he doesn't worry. I'll see you soon, Derek."

Derek gave a relieved sigh and shook his head at the phone. "Thanks, Diana. I appreciate it." He then hung up the phone quickly.

A long, shaky sigh escaped from Diana's parted lips as she removed herself from the couch cushions and gained balance on her feet. She wasn't surprised by his lack of desire to see Xander, being as the two had an equal disposition and distaste for each other, and this was no where near a scenario that Xander needed to involve himself and his opinions in. Removing the phone from her ear, she fixed her gaze on the glowing screen as she padded quickly toward the kitchen and dialed her husband's phone number. He wouldn't be pleased if she disturbed him at work, and she knew that quite well, but she also didn't care if he got upset or not, he would understand the situation anyway.

"Is there any particular reason you're calling me in the middle of the end of my shift, Diana?" Xander sounded impatient, and the agitated breath he drew in only reinforced that conclusion.

"Gloria was shot and killed yesterday," She replied flatly, a chill to her voice as the words sank even deeper than they had already throughout the day. "I am going to reheat some of last night's lasagna and then I'm going over to see Derek and talk about everything."

Xander was in shock as he sat back in his desk chair, his eyes wide the unexpected news as he fumbled for words. He drew in a shallow breath through his lips and let it escape deeply through his nostrils before he responded. "Alright... Um, Well then when I get off I'll just head on-"

"Home." Diana interrupted firmly as she entered into their kitchen. "You'll head home. Derek is not in any position to be bombarded by indirect family members and forgive my saying, but the distinct disposition you have for him wouldn't help in the slightest, even if this is a crisis. I love you, I'll see you later tonight."

Xander was silent once more, his eyes blinking with minor surprise at his wife's sudden interruption. She was right, of course, but it was a bit disheartening for her to think that he would be an irrational or even rude person in the time of a family emergency and more importantly - death. But he couldn't argue the fact that Derek had expressly stated he wanted no other company, and despite his slight discomfort with the idea, he gave an idle nod. "I, love you too..." He said slowly. He was about to add a last remark, but the line went dead, and he was left to finish out the last fifteen minutes of his shift in deep thought and concern.

Diana, in the meantime, filled a large container with lasagna and rigatoni that the couple had eaten for dinner the previous night, heated it thoroughly in the microwave, and then wasted not even a single second to get out of the house and inside the car. She kept the radio on low, tuned to an AM news station so that she could continue to avidly listen for details and updates about her sister's murder, and despite her distant relation to a police officer, she drove at least ten miles over the speed limit.

Derek was still slumped on the couch, sprawled out over the reclined foot rest and surrounded by pillows and blankets. He was in an extremely horrible position at the moment due to his emotional overload of his wife's death. His heart didn't even hurt - in fact, he couldn't even feel his heart. He couldn't hear his thoughts, and it was surprising that he could even feel himself breathe. He was just sad. Supposedly, that was a pretty good reason to feel almost dead. Being sad, that is.

The television was at a decent volume, just loud enough for Derek to hear it, but was interrupted by a loud ring that came from the counter. 'Is that my cell phone?' Derek thought, and groaned as he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet, knocking off the pillows and comfortable blankets. He slouched over to the counter to retrieve his ringing phone and answered it with a tired moan after looking at the caller ID indicating it was Diana.

Following dialog was discussed with KirstieKaos wrote:Derek: "Hello....?" he answered with a low, tired tone.
Diana: "Derek?" Her voice constricted with her throat, sounding near to hoarse and evident that she'd been crying. "What on earth is going on? What happened? Are you alright? Do you need me to go over there?" She was going to get dizzy if she didn't stop speaking, and she figured he would too, so she closed her lips and waited anxiously for his response.

Derek: "Diana? Wait, ho, wait, calm down....What?... Oh... Gloria...She's...Well, just come over and I'll explain everything.... I'd like to see you..." Derek said with a strong hoarsness in his voice. He choked back some tears at the thought of his wife. "I... Just think it would be best if you came over."

Diana: The woman nodded mutely for a second before she was reminded that he couldn't see it. "Alright." She said quickly. "Xander will be home in about an hour, and then we'll head over. Have you eaten anything?" She gave a soft, concerned moan as she lifted her free hand to rub at her cheek. "I bet you can't even function right now, of course you haven't eaten. We'll pick you up something on the way over - in fact, I'll just go into the kitchen and make something quickly so that we don't waste any time."

Derek: "Diana, that's fine. Could you please not bring Xander? I just kind of want to talk to you about it. I'll be better if I'm not around a lot of people right now..." Derek moaned with a sorrow tone.

Diana: Again, she gave a soft nod, and again, she needed to remind herself that he couldn't see her actions. "Alright, I'll go on and make up something for you to eat and head over as soon as I finish. I'll be there in about twenty minutes or so, alright? Let me just call Xander and let him know so he doesn't worry. I'll see you soon, Derek."

Derek: Derek gave a relieved sigh and shook his head at the phone. "Thanks, Diana. I appreciate it." He then hung up the phone quickly.

Derek flipped his phone closed after ending the call and stood there for a brief second before putting his phone back down on the counter. He sighed softly and drew in a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. 'Gloria, why did this have to happen?' he thought, his mind a jumbled mess.

Aside from being sad, Derek was as tired as he's ever felt in his entire life. It could be, that because he was so depressed, all he wanted to do was sleep. He didn't want to do anything else right now but sleep. However, with Diana on the way over, he figured it was best to at least make himself look somewhat presentable. Derek headed slowly over to the bathroom located by the kitchen and stared at himself in the mirror. He flicked the light on to get a better look at his grungy self. Disappointment flowed throughout, leaving him wondering exactly what he was going to do with this large, beautiful vista and his lonely dog. It was just him and Rusty. Is this how he was going to live his life, now? Maybe he'd move out and sell most of his things, but keep Gloria's? He shook those thoughts away.

He was still a mess. So he washed his face with some warm water and a wash cloth and brushed his teeth slowly. He went to the bathroom and then went back out to the couch, where he just stood there, behind the couch. Staring at the front door. He bent over the back of the couch and rested his elbows on the back of the sofa, and continued to stare at the front door. The TV was on and still pretty noisy, but he couldn't take his focus off of the door. So he sat there, for twenty minutes.

---

A knock on the door startled Derek's blank focus and he jumped up slightly, his distraction dead now. He let out a heavy sigh and walked slowly to the door.

"Hold on, I'ma...comin'..." he yelled towards the door, hoping she'd hear. "Come on in...." he said, inviting her in with a motion of his arm and holding the door for her and waited for her to walk in.

"Thanks for the food, you can just ... set it on the counter.." He felt very awkward, Diana hadn't been in his house for at least a month or longer so he really didn't know what to say when he saw her. Especially that the official bond between them had been destroyed the minute Gloria died. He stared at the ground for a brief moment, and then looked up at Diana.

Following dialog was discussed with KirstieKaos wrote:Diana:"Oh Derek," Diana choked out, her voice hitching with emotion. She met his eyes for a short second, and a rush of sorrow filled her before she lifted her arms and threw them around his neck without warning. She pulled close to him, her arms locked tightly around his shoulders as she tucked her face against the top of his arm, the container of lasagna clutched tightly in her fingertips as she drew in a long, heavy breath. "How are you holding up dear?" She asked softly, almost brokenly.

Derek: "Umph," Derek grunted as he was pulled into such a tight squeeze by Diana. He reluctantly put his arms lightly around her and gave her a couple light pats on the back and shortly pulled away. "I don't know, honestly. I mean, I haven't killed myself yet, so I guess that means I might be doing good." he said with a low, monotone voice.

Diana: "You best not get any ideas like that across your head, Derek." Diana told him firmly, her eyes meeting his as she took a step back. Her nose was pink, and her eyes were still partially swollen from the tears she had shed earlier in the day, but she held herself together, at least as an attemt to hold her brother-in-law together. A slow and soft sigh left her lips as she looked away from him, a chill crawling up her spine as she eyed around the interior of the house. It seemed even the house itself was mourning her sister's death. "I hope you like lasagna..." She said in a quieter voice.

Derek: "Don't worry, I may be depressed, but I'm going to get that mother fucker who killed my wife." Derek said with a harsh, serious tone. He turned around to Diana, who offered the lasagna to her. He nodded his head slowly and reached out to accept the lasagna in the container she brought over for him. "And thanks for the food, I haven't eaten a thing all day." He put the lasagna on the counter and opened the container, setting the lid on the counter. He pulled a fork from his silverware drawer and stuck it in the lasagna, and then looked at Diana. "I'm going to track down this person who killed her, you know. Go on a private investigation." he said, wiping off some sweat from his chin.

Diana: "Don't get yourself into trouble, Derek," Diana warned carefully as she leaned back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest. Her brows lowered over her gaze a tad, but she didn't appear angry or upset with him in any way. "I might not be employed in law enforcement but I know you're supposed to stay out of these things. It gets tricky when it's personal..."

Derek: "Diana, I'm going to find this person. But don't worry, I won't get involved with the actual case. It's sort of like....free-lance work. It'll be a stich, just sit tight." Derek reassured as he took a hefty fork-ful of lasagna to his mouth and gobbled it up. "Just don't tell anybody." he said with a sour tone.

Diana: She swallowed thickly, giving him a slow nod as she allowed her arms to sink back against her sides. "Derek, you know I wouldn't tell anyone, of course I wouldn't. But, isn't this compromising? Can't you get into trouble if you get caught for it?"

Derek: "Don't worry, Diana. Everything will be okay. I'll find the guy who killed her, do away with him, and that'll be the end of it. Plus, I've got a partner. His name is Samuel Nickels. He's a good guy, a long time friend of mine. He started in the police force after me, but I pretty much showed him everything he knows." Derek explained confidently, trying to make it seem like it would be better if he had a partner.

Diana: The sound in his voice gave her a bit of an uneasy chill, and she met his eyes nervously as her brows furrowed. "Derek," she said slowly, "what do you mean, 'do away with him'? You're not going to, you know, take the law into your own hands are you?"

Derek: "Of course not. I'm going to...Take his life..into my own hands...and do away with it." he said with a flat tone and stared at her with a heavy gleam in his eyes. "And so help me god, Diana, if you try to stop me...Well, just don't. Just don't try to stop me." he warned, forking more lasagna in his mouth. He sighed softly and swallowed it. "Anyways, you didn't come here for that kind of news. You came here to know what happened to Gloria. She was shot outside on the walkway in the head and the police department suspects it was a drive by, so they're doing an investigation. But I'm going to make sure that mother fucker pays for it." Derek said with extreme seriousness in his tone.

He stood there staring at Diana for a long while as he continued to consume her lasagna. Once he was done, he placed the container in the sink and leaned against it, feeling the heat of distaste that Diana was giving off. He knew she wouldn't like his plan, which is why he should have avoided telling her, but it didn't matter at this point. He was going to get ultimate pay back.

"Diana, I'm going to bed. Thanks for the food. If you'd like, you can stop back over tomorrow. But I'll be in a hotel tomorrow...So I'll give you that address." Derek said with a monotone voice and headed over to the door and let her out.

Derek needed to make a phone call, and he couldn't do that with Diana standing right there. He would wait till morning to do that. So after Diana left and was long gone, Derek would go to sleep feeling sorry for himself, and tomorrow would be a new adventure.

All it took was that nasty, icky, smell of acidic bile to make Cec loose her high- although, not physically. Her body still shook with the sweet tremors that the drug gave her, her eyes still glossed over. The woman let out a slight groaning sound, recognizing the splash of bile upon tile. She, herself, had been there multiple times due to being forced to go through self-imposed rehab. The male's vomiting affected her enough that she slumped, dragged her small form forward, and rested a hand upon the male's back, letting blank orbs take in his actions with the knife, his words, the feelings that (she imagined) he was going through.

Small fingers tucked those dark strands of greasy, thin, hair behind her ears, patting the man a little bit and curling her arms around the man and giving him a small tug, leading him to her dirty couch, covered with a thick blanket. She didn't have a bed- not anymore. Sold it to make sure she could pay their boss as well as get her drugs, but that's not what mattered. What, currently, mattered was that her friend was severely hurt, at least, mentally. And that's what mattered.. Well, that and that if he left, or felt better, she could go and get even more high.

"Come on, Norman. It could be, it probably will be, worse some day."

Of course it might not be what the man wanted to hear, but it was something, something that could make him feel better.

"If you don't want to be alone..Go ahead and stay here, for a while, at least. We can. Speak."

She looked around. A dirty, nearly broken, television set, but it worked. Got a few channels, of course. And a dvd player, cheap. They could. Watch DVDs, she could attempt to lie to him. There was something- intimate, about them being there, about her not lying to him. At least, not lying to him yet.

The time would come for that.

The old sedan rattled a little as it pulled up to a traffic light in a small district near the Downtown area. Down the street was a small, china shop run by a few elderly people. “Our first stop is going to be at the old china shop down the street. We're going to collect on our profit.” The driver nodded as Neil told them the plan. At the green light, the car slowly creeped down the street until it came to a stop at the very front of the store. Neil waved to one of the co-owners who was sweeping up a mess on the sidewalk.

“Hello there good sir!” Neil swung open the passenger door and walked over to the man. “Shit.” He muttered to himself. “What was that?” Neil asked, folding his arms. “Nothing, um...how are you today, Mr.....Neil, sir?” Neil shook his head and sighed. “Who is Neil? My name is John.” He said, elbowing the man lightly, trying to play it off. “Umm....” The man was obviously confused. “So, where's my cut?” Neil asked, holding his hand out. “Oh, your cut? See.....about that...” Neil lowered his eyebrows at the man, instantly getting irritated. “Oh, just cut it out old man. You obviously don't have my money. Just say you don't.” The man shook his head. “No. I don't.” Neil 's eye began to twitch a little at those words, wishing the man did come up with some fake excuse. “Well, where is it? What happened to it?” Neil asked, growing impatient. “It's not here. But trust me, it all went to a good cause.” “What other good cause is there besides me?” The old man looked around, and glanced at the store. “Umm...the store?”

"Oh, the store huh? I'll show you.....what I think of this god awful store!" Neil picked up a small stone and violently threw it into the glass window of the store, also hitting a few china collections on the shelves. "What are you doing!? My store!!" "It's the end of the month, and I want my money, dirtbag!" Neil picked up another stone and threw it through another window. "Stop smashing up my store! I'm calling the cops!" The man ran into the store, looking for the telephone. "Have my cut in 3 weeks, or I'm blowing this bitch up!" After throwing one last stone, Neil hurried back to the car and jumped in as it began to speed away from the scene. "Hurry up, and drive!" Nearby pedestrians gasped, screamed, and tried to avoid being hit by the car.

"God, that was a rush!" Neil grinned evilly as he stared out the window, looking back at the store he just smashed up. “Yeah, if you keep having those 'rushes' you'll get our asses thrown in prison.” “Oh no, I'm not going back. Denver will have to send the military after me to take us down. I would rather die than go back. Right?” “Uh, huh....yeah...sure. So where are we going next?” “We're going to go check out this bank a few minutes from here. It's local though. But, it would be worth it to see how it is.”

Norman visibly shook from the shock to his system caused by the dual vomitings. His body seemed to slip out of his control for a few seconds, and for those brief seconds his mind was completely and utterly procupied with one solitary thought
(Why am I here?)
that filled his head to bursting. Finally regaining control of his body, he seemed to register Cece's actions towards him. He almost shirked away before realizing why his father had kicked him out in the first place. He would not skirk away from her, because that was not in any conceivable way who he was. True, she was a depraved junkie who would do anyone or sell anything to get her next fix, but she was the only person he knew who treated him like he was conceivably a human being. He deserved to stay here for a little while longer, at least to let his mind clear; he had his cell if someone wanted to call him, and he would leave it on in case of that but right now he just wanted to talk.

"No, I'm not sure it could ever be worse than this day. Have you ever felt hunted, not sure if one morning you're going to wae up from bed to see someone out for revenge standing over your head? Have you thought for a whole hour that you should kill yourself with the weapon you used to murder someone else? Frankly, I'm not sure it could get any worse."

He reluctanlty walked towards the filthy couch she had lying in the room, and sunk himself into it. As he sat, he could swear he heard beetles scurry out from underneath it. He hung his head between his hands in shame and began to weep. It was not a hysterical cry, reserved for children who have lost their favourite toy; it was not a cry of sadness, reserved for family members lost; it was not a warrior's cry over a comrade falling to an enemy; it was a simple quiet cry of pain. Finally, he tore himself from his hands, and gave the loudest sigh of his life. Pulling himself together, in a few quick moments he was sedate again, ready to speak.

"Yes, I'd like to talk, if you don't mind. I've never killed someone, though I think that's apparent from my...reaction." He gestured to the pile of vomit on Cece's kitchen floor. "It's just...I've been rejected once, and I didn't want it to happen again. It was too painful then, and I just...did not know what else to do, you know. I guess, I'd just like to know why he picked that one woman. Out of everyone else, why that woman? I'd like to think it was random, but you don't send someone to kill a policeman's wife just because you feel like it."

"What exactly do you mean, 'acting weird' Diana?" Xander's tone was nearing a dangerous combination of lava, ice, and incredulity as he stood in their bedroom later that night. He was in the process of drawing the covers back on the bed and adjusting his pillows, having already gotten changed into his pajamas, and Diana was in the process of changing. The two had been partially arguing and partially discussing her sister's death and the visit she had had with Derek for about an hour now, and though Diana was refusing to fork over the full details of the brief conversation she'd had with Derek, Xander just knew that there was something.. off about Diana - almost like she was scared or nervous. He could understand to a large degree of course - her sister had just gotten killed in a horrible display of what seemed like gang violence and that in itself was very unnerving even for himself, but Diana was acting beyond the expected behavior, and even being worried about her brother-in-law didn't seem to quite fully fit either.

"I mean just that, Xander," she replied him, her own tone heavy and edging sarcastic assault. "His wife was just murdered violently and judging by the news is seems that his own police force isn't doing much at all to solve the issue. Why, I wouldn't be surprised at all if they were all just sitting around on their behinds drinking black coffee and eating munchkins while laughing about some stupid basketball game."

"Diana!" He hissed back, his eyes boring in her direction before she turned and met his gaze darkly with minimal surprise. She parted her lips as if to say 'what sharply at him, but he interrupted her opportunity. "That. Is. Completely out of character for you to say and you know for a fact that that is not what the police are doing. They are investigating, Diana. This isn't television - it isn't some sort of crime over-drama and it certainly isn't crime over-drama book either. This is real life. The police can't just go running around with SWAT teams and guns blazing whenever someone gets killed or there's gang violence. They have to be careful, they have to abide by the real rules and laws here; they have to have search warrants and probable cause and leads and evidence and everything else. They're not just going to go running around to every rumored gang safe-house in the city because someone was shot - regardless of whether it was your sister or one of their own's wife or not. I'm sorry to be so blunt and cold here but that is the truth and the facts and last time I checked Diana, you are a rational, level-headed, realistic person - unlike--"

"Don't even say it, Xander!" There was fire in her eyes, and she was hardly even looking at him as she crossed the bedroom floor, having finished dressing into her pajamas. She pulled her own side of the covers bitterly, not even hinting at a glance in his direction as she sat on the edge of the mattress and lifted her legs, tucking them in underneath the sheets and comforter.

Xander was left in shock as he stared after her, but like the 'obedient' husband he was, he remained silent - despite the roars of questions and rebuttal that were going across his mind. He turned onto his own side, heaving a deep sigh of annoyance and discomfort, and closed his own eyes. The light from the lamp glowed through his closed eyelids, causing his to give a loud, irritated grumble as he sat back up in hurry and reached out to flick it off, leaving the two in the silence of the darkness.

Cec's nose wrinckled up a tiny bit, the words 'hunted' registering in her brain. The woman wiggled a bit, setting her shoulders straight, and fixated those dazed orbs upon the male, an eyebrow arching. Cec knew what it was like to be hunted- she knew a lot. Infact, there was some distant sort of reason behind the reason she had become an addict to - whatever it was that she was shooting up at the time, but she doubted that Norman, in all of his issues, really wished to hear about -her- past, so, instead, she made a small noise and patted him on the head. Like one would do to a dog.


As if to say that he was just another part of her life- something she liked there, but it wouldn't matter if he was dead, though those were not the words that were going to spew from her mouth.

"It will be fine, you're part of us- our gang.. You'll be good, I swear. Or, something close to it.." She nodded and managed to curl her lips upwards in something that was a smile, flashing a set of yellowed teeth. The woman, listening (a bit) to his words, continued the 'soothing' pats, bending forward a bit more and crinkling her nose upwards.

It smelled like vomit for some reason. Cec spent two moments wondering why, then stared at Norman. "I don't know. I mean.. It's not as if they had money- or did they? Maybe the cop didn't pay up- how would I know, I'm just another drug-whore."

Derek awoke slowly to the sound of his annoying and ear piercing alarm, and quickly shut it off. He looked on the other side of the bed, Gloria's side, and sighed heavily. He could feel a headache coming on from all of the strain that was recently put on him from all of the tragedy and traumatization. His thoughts wandered to what today would have been to them: A normal day waking up, going to work at their semi-interesting jobs, coming home, relaxing, and then possibly going out to dinner for a little while. That is what would have been how today went. But, alas, that is not the case here. Instead of waking up to what was his beautiful wife greeting him with a kiss, Derek Fawn woke up next to a fixed bed sheet and a cold set of extra pillows. Instead, today, he would go to the hotel to "get away" from the city for a while, and was more than thankful his boss was paying for it.

Derek slowly climbed out of bed and jumped in the shower. After that, he gussied himself up, doing a half-ass job of that anyways, and threw one of his old baseball caps on his head. Sometimes it felt good to look 'ordinary.' He was dressed in khaki shorts and a green t-shirt that had a "Chicago Bears" logo on the back of it. After he was satisfied with how he looked, he ate a quick breakfast of Frosted Flakes cereal and picked up his phone to dial his good friend and partnet, Samuel Nickels.

"Hey buddy, I need you to help me with something. I'll be staying at a hotel for the next week. The address is 4855 Sancrest Ave. Be there around noon today. We got business to do." Derek said quickly and in only one breath as soon as Sam picked up the phone.

Derek quickly hung up the phone without really letting Sam say anything back, and made sure he had all of his stuff packed. He put his bags into the trunk of his stylish black crown victoria and lead his old German Shepard, Rusty into the back seat. "Don't worry, buddy, I'll only be gone for a week." he said as shut the door to the car and jogged slowly back to the front door of his house to ensure the safety of his home by locking the front door and arming the alarm system. Derek walked hastily back to his car and went on his way to the hotel.

---

After dropping his dog off at an animal daycare, he arrived at the hotel around 10:45 A.M. and checked himself in under a reservation. He received his keycard and headed up to his room, where he half-way unpacked his bag and turned on the T.V. to watch the news. He didn't see anything on the news yet about the investigation, so at this point, he figured he would just wait and see what happens. Derek reached down to his bag and pulled out his laptop and plugged in the charger and the loose ethernet cable sitting on the table next to the bed. He started searching the internet for local gangs, gang members, and searched the police database for recent suspects for the murder case. This was going to be interesting.

"Some more reports for you, Samuel." The kind secretary, Mary they called her, set a stack of reports on his desk. He sighed, taking them with a smile in her direction. Since Derek had been out, Sam found himself falling into the usual routine of doing paperwork and sucking up. Flipping open one of the reports, he sat up, pouring over the details. The little folder entailed some details on a few gang members suspected of drug dealing, along with several other complaints. These were the guys that were suspected of the recent gang violence in Denver.
"Thanks Mary!" Sam called out after the secretary, looking over the documents one more time. He was supposed to file these away all nice and proper, and he intended to do as such, instead of using these to build an independent case against these guys.
His phone rang as it always did, adding to the cacophony of noise ever present in the station. Lifting the receiver, Samuel gave a small sigh inside, wondering who wanted what with him when he had such pressing matters to deal with.
"Hey buddy, I need you to help me with something." It was Derek! He hadn't called around here in a while, and he expected him not to, what with his wife and needing time off. "I'll be staying at a hotel for the next week. The address is 4855 Sancrest Ave. Be there around noon today. We got business to do."
"Hey, Derek, yo." The phone clicked on the other end. The call was over, and had left Samuel with almost nothing to butt in with.
Leaning back in his chair, Samuel looked over the stuff on his desk, wondering how much trouble he would get into for taking a break. Probably a lot.
"Hey, Mary. Think you could cover for me? Derek called, says he needs some help."

Slipping out of the station, the man would fit his hat to his head, flicking out the keys to his cruiser. "I'm off to see the wizard!" He sung, hopping into the car, trying to remain carefree. Somehow he suspected this state would not last much longer after the trip to the hotel.



The trip to the hotel wasn't too bad, aside from the fact that it was near to impossible to NOT drive through a hoodlum filled neighborhood. Almost every other block was filled with gang members, drug dealers, and the occasional hooker. All of them looked so worn, so tired, and so starved. Perhaps, that was because of the mass amount of drugs polluting their systems. Even more of a reason for Samuel to zoom through these neighborhoods.

Finally arriving at the Broken Lily Hotel, a small pinpoint of light in the dreary cityscape, red carpet spilled out from the double doors enlaid with brass, leading down to the valet with the bellhops running luggage up and down from the building. Spying Derek's car further off in the lot, Samuel bypassed the valet and parked himself, rather close to his friend's ride. Nobody came close to cop cars for some reason, so they wouldn't come close to either of their rides.

Samuel put the car in park and climbed out, locking the doors with the battery-operated handheld keychain attachment that came with the keys. He started towards the main entrance at a liesurely pace, keeping an eye out for any possible suspicious acts. The people at the door gave him a nervous smile and a quick 'Moring Officer'. Samuel gave a wry grin and continued inside to the front desk, where he asked for Derek's room number.
The secretary gave him a curious look, as if she was guessing what crime he was going to go stop, and which one had gone down in the hotel.
"Room 203, officer. Second floor on the left hand side." Samuel accepted the extra key from the secretary and made his way towards the elevator, riding it up to the second floor. A short trip, and he was around the corner, knocking at Derek's hotel room door.
"Hey, Derek, it's Arnold." He said, rapping at the door again, leaning close to be sure that there wasn't any noise coming from the other side.

After waiting a few moments and hearing some ruffling on the inside, Samuel knocked hard on the door and waited again, a hand on his holster.

---

Kaiya/Akita and Eastep discussed and coordinated the following scene wrote:
Derek moved slowly towards the door, after he finished freshening up in the bathroom, and looked out the peep hole. He grinned some and unlatched the chain lock, unlocked the top lock of the door, and opened the door slowly. "So, you finally made it here. Good timing, my friend." Derek said, giving Samuel a bit of a hard time. He figured Sam wouldn't get there for at least another two hours, and was rather shocked at his time of arrival. "Come in, we need to have a little chit chat." Derek said, opening the door wider, inviting his good friend inside.


"Yeah, I don't mess around when I get a call like that from my partner." Sam stepped inside, removing his hat and running a hand over his scalp. As he had predicted, the sense of ease that he had leaving the station had begun to evaporate. He didn't like it when Derek talked like this, it meant that he was planning something that wasn't going to go down well with the chief, if at all.

"Good, I'm glad. It's about 11:30, we need to get down to business." Derek's voice was somewhat shaky, and he felt under pressure at the moment, considering he was about to break the law and become something he never thought he'd be: a cold-blooded murder. "There's something I need you to help me with. You see, I want to catch the mother fucker that did this to my wife." He kept his voice low, and closed the room door as he spoke. He turned around and sighed softly, looking at his friend with grief clouding his eyes. "What say you, Sam? You in?"

"The Station's got every guy that ain't on the usually beat, Derek. We don't have any more resources to stretch, city hall decided the new road took importance over extending our budget..." Samuel wasn't quite catching on to the full nature of what was being asked.

Derek shook his head and sighed again at his friend's failure to comprehend the reality of the situation. "Picture it like this, man. Your wife gets killed and you're not even there to protect her, much less say goodbye to her and hold her in your arms while she's dying on the sidewalk infront of your house. This is the kind of shit our station needs to look at and act out on. Instead, what do we have? Stupid mother fuckers who don't know what they're doing, CSIs who take their time in their workplace, and a police force that take 5 god damn years to find ONE person. I'm not going to let that happen here, okay? My wife was murdered THREE days ago, and these idiots have not one leading suspect. What the fuck am I supposed to think? My own team is letting me down! So, I'm going to do what any insane person would do, and go after these bastards myself. Does that spell it out for you?" Derek huffed after spitting out all he needed to get out in one whole breath. He felt somewhat exhausted after his rant, and felt he needed to sit down to calm himself. "You want a drink? I got vodka shots in the mini-fridge...I could fucking use one..." He stated, plopping himself down on one of the recliners next to the bed.

Samuel stayed quiet for a minute, not doing much more than idly staring at his polished black shoes. What Derek was talking about... he wanted to be a vigilante? It never got anything done, and just ending up hurting innocent people.
"Vodka sounds good, man." Samuel decided to head into the kitchen, lost in a flurry of thoughts. This could not end well, no matter what had happened to Gloria, or to anyone.
Returning with the small glass bottles of clear liquid, he tossed one to his friend.
"Derek, this won't fix anything." He whispered quietly, not taking his eyes off his bottle.

Derek looked up, quickly catching the small bottle of alcohol in his right hand and popped the top off, downing half of it. He drew in a quick breath, shocked from the stinging liquid flowing coarsely down his throat. He cleared his throat and let out a loud sigh. "Of course it will, Sammy. It'll fix uhh..You know, that mother fucker's face that did this to my wife. All I'm going to do is shoot him. And if anyone gets in my way, well, I just feel bad for them." His sentence ended short as he took the second swag of the small bottle of vodka. He threw it across the room and luckily made it into the small waste bin sitting near the dresser. "I just need someone who's ballsy enough to help me, which is why I called you in the first place. You know just as much as I do, that if you were in this predicament, I'd help you out in a heartbeat. Why are you tryin' to talk me out of something I've already got my mind made up about?" Derek asked, his voice growing louder with each ending word.

Samuel reluctantly removed the cap of his own bottle, taking a sip and grimacing. Well, at least it would get him drunk, and quick.
"Derek..." He faltered and gave up. "What kind of documents do you need?"

Derek blinked a couple times and blankly stared at Samuel for a couple moments. He cleared his throat once more and stood up from the chair, making his way towards the mini fridge in the small kitchen. "No documents. Just time. Your time. I've already asked you twice. I'll ask you again. Are you going to help me?" Derek said bluntly while he grabbed another small bottle of vodka and an orange juice from the fridge.

Samuel finished off the rest of his bottle, setting it on the table for now. If he pledged to help Derek, he would eventually be dragged into anything. But it wasn't like he had anything to do anyways, or anything to lose.
"If it weren't for you and Gloria, I would never have made it so far in this job, or in anything. So yes, I'm in bro." Samuel turned to face him, giving a warm, yet serious smile.


Derek's face lit up with a short grin and he walked over to Sam after mixing his drink. He held out his hand to his good friend and nodded. "Excellent. I knew I could count on you. The first thing we need to do is do some research on the local gangs around here, since I'm pretty sure that's who it was anyways. There's been a lot of people driving around at night with no headlights, and the next day, there's a murder. That's only because the idiots who flash them to turn their lights on get followed and killed for initiation killings. That's where my main lead is. What do you think?" Derek asked, and sat on the bed, sipping at his screwdriver.

"Gang activity has been up for the last two months, with more initiations... I just saw such a report on gangs this morning man. If anything we should start asking around in the shady spots for gangs that have been looking for recruits." Samuel was getting a bad feeling about all of this. If gangs were recruiting this hard, then something was up in the criminal world.
"Gang wars..." He found himself muttering.

---

Norman gave a sigh as he listened to Cece's words. She was right of course; she was a simple drug addict, it was unreasonable to expect she knew anything about the reasons behind why he had had to kill that woman. Still, he needed a pick-me-up after that event, and Cece had been the likeliest of candidates to give it to him. He patted the holster at his hip more out of habit that anything else; he didn't believe Cece would steal his gun out of some misguided attempt to get more drug money, but he was comforted to know that the pistol was still there just in case. He stood up, freeing himself from Cece stroking, making an attempt to not look at the kitchen for fear of vomiting again. He didn't want to throw up again as the smell was finally starting to hit him.

"Thank you Cece, for your words. They're just what I needed, but I also need a reason for all this. My brain is trying to make sense of all this, and to do that it needs a reason. I'm going to go to our HQ, see if Niell will give me an answer, and if he won't well...guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. However, if you manage to find out anything, please let me know. Leave a message at my apartment or something. Again, sorry for troubling you Cece and here" he tossed the woman a dollar coin as he left "use that in whatever way you like. See you."

He closed the door behind him gently, then set out to the HQ. He jostled many people, but he didn't seem t notice. The knife in Cece's kitchen had brought back memories best left buried, and he was currently reliving one of those memories as he made his way down the poor district of Denver. While his body was heading towards the HQ, his mind was left elsewhere. It wasn't as painful as the other memories, but what it meant still pained him, and he had a feeling he was going to live through the memory whether he wanted to or not.

In his memory he was currently working at a movie theater downtown. He had managed to finally nail down a job after almost a year of flying from different minimum wage occupations. He had a feeling he could use this job, maybe get into a small college . Not one of those prestigious upscale universities, maybe a community college. That could work, if he was diligent and worked hard enough. Maybe he could pull it off after all. He was wearing a red jacket with his name-tag and the word "Denver Pictures" stitched into the fabric in gold coloured thread. Today had been a slow day, not much new releases, but that meant more time to clean and to impress the higher-ups with his diligence.

As he sweeping the floor, someone walked in. He was a male, around 6 foot 3, brown hair tanned skin and blue eyes. Norm didn't know him, maybe he was new in town. He hurriedly finished off his section of the floor so that he could greet the customer. His manager always said that he shouldn't appear as if the person didn't matter to him, and doing something other than helping the customer certainly applied. He stuffed the equipment underneath his station, and turned to address the new arrival.

"Hello sir, what movie would you like to see?"

"Oh, jeez, I think I forgot on the way over here. Can you tell me the ones that are playing soon, maybe it'll help jog my memory."

"Alright sir, well showing in around 20 minutes will be Nit Wit Alley, Friends with Benefits, and the newest one is Dragon War."

"Ah, I'll take one for Friends with Benefits. How much are the tickets?"

"$13.45 including tax."

"Alright, here's the money, keep the change."

The guy walked off, leaving a stack of bills totaling 14 dollars on his station. Looking down, he also saw a strange little note with "Matthew 720-234-4567 Call me" Written on the note. That was where the memory ended, and Norman suddenly found himself on the streets of Denver, on his way the HQ the memory already forgotten.

The engine of the sedan rumbled as the car came to a stop infront of the building. It was a relatively small building made of concrete. The top had large letters on it, spelling out 'Bank of Denver'. "Is this the place?" The driver asked. Neil pushed open the door and examined the dingy-looking bank. "I suppose so. Doesn't look like it has much money in here though. But after all this is local. I wouldn't want to track too much attention stealing from a national bank." The driver shrugged. "We're still robbing a bank though. So I don't see how that makes a difference." The driver quickly climbed out of the car as Neil shot him an evil glare. "Stop being a smartass and go hold up the bank teller while I get ready." The driver pulled his ski mask over his head until the two holes made it around his eyes and proceeded to to walk into the building with his sawn-off shotgun loaded up.

He screamed at the top of his lungs "Okay everyone! This is a robbery! Everyone on the floor now, or die! The choice is yours!" The inside of the small bank was suddenly filled with screams and panic as the driver walked over to the window where the bank teller was. The woman began to reach for the alarm, but he already had his gun aimed for her head. "I believe the button you should be wanting to touch right now is the one that opens up the back room where the money is. Unless you want to be one of the first to die." Neil suddenly barged in the room firing his Desert Eagle pistol at the ceiling, causing bits and pieces of it to fall to the floor. Everyone screamed again, trying to protect themselves from getting killed. "That was just a warning shot to let you know that we will definitely shoot you in the event one of you decide to become brave all of a sudden and try to stop us." Neil looked around for any security guards but didn't see any. "No cops protecting this place? What kind of bank...." "The police will be here in no time!" Neil fired his gun again. "No talking either!" He walked over to the bank teller window and shot through the glass, attempting to scare the people behind it. "Open the door so my partner here can go and grab the money! Then we'll be outta your lives forever. That is, if you still have them when we're finished here." The woman pressed the button to unlock the back room where all of the bank's money was kept.

Neil signaled for the driver to go and collect the money while he monitored the hostages. He suddenly sirens wailing outside the bank. "Damn it, cops....." He went over to the window to see how many of them were out there. There was only one squad car parked outside across the street. "They're probably responding to a domestic disturbance or something. We still gotta hurry though." He continued to watch the window and the hostages, switch back and forth between the two every so often. The two policemen outside walked around the area, looking for anything suspicious until they saw a witness hiding nearby. They quickly ran over and interrogated them. "What's going on here? We got a call about shots being fired." The witness wiped a bead of sweat from their forehead. "There's people in that bank over there stealing money!" The officers exchanged surprised faces and prepared themselves to approach the crime scene. "This is Officer Wilson to HQ, we're going to need backup. There is a robbery in progress at a Bank of Denver branch in the Downtown area. Suspects are armed." The dispatcher responded "Backup is on the way, officer."

The driver finished collecting the money in the back room, but suddenly stopped on his way out the door. He began to realize that he would get no part of the money from this heist, especially with Neil being extremely selfish. He had to take the money for himself. Neil shouted back to him, rushing him to finish getting the money and come out. However, he refused. The driver hoisted the bag over his shoulder and sneaked out the back emergency exit. Little did he know, the two officers were observing the perimeter of the bank. He saw Officer Wilson with his pistol held tightly in his hands, hiding around the left-wing of the building. "Oh shit....." he quietly walked over to the right side of the building where he saw the other officer observing the area. A few more police cars showed up, as well as the task force. The driver began to run the other way, alerting the two officers and a few others that just arrived at the scene. "Hey! Police! Freeze!" One of the officers yelled and pointed their gun at the runner.