Four Brothers
Apr. 7th, 2010 07:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veiledndarknessTitle: Strays 18/?
Author: veiledndarkness
Pairing: Bobby/Jack
Rating: R
Summary: What’s it all worth when you’re alone?
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made and no harm intended.
Notes: AU, the brothers were not raised together by Evelyn.
Please be advised that this story does contain language which may offend some readers.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
X
Evan watched Jerry pace the length of the room. He'd never seen Jerry look so flustered, so agitated ever before. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware of the rumors that had spread like wildfire when Ryan Mitchell's body had been found. A new wave of fear was spreading fast, Bobby's retribution was legendary. “How's it feel t' be on Mercer's hit list?”
Jerry laughed and the sound was sharp and brittle. “How does it feel? It feels like I'm livin' on motherfucking borrowed time!” He paced a moment more and then dropped into a nearby chair, in the sparsely decorated office space that Jerry owned downtown. “He destroyed that kid. Did ya hear me, Evan? He fucking destroyed him. Christ knows they'll be lucky to I.D him by dental records! I have t' get Camille outta here, I gotta get outta here.”
Evan nodded. “You'd best help find the kid then, 'fore Bobby finds you.”
“If I knew where he was, I would, don't you realize that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe, or maybe you're playin' your cards an' seeing how they fall.”
“You have just as much to lose, Evan. I know you an' Dwayne still meet up. You know how Bobby feels about traitors.”
“Compare me t' you, I think I come out on top,” Evan raised an eyebrow at him. “And y' see, Jerry, the thing is that maybe Mercer suspects ev'ryone, an' maybe he thinks we all wanna take him down. Truth is, too many do. Not me. I ain't cut out t' run shit but my own family. I got a few names for him, if you wanna play the hero an' give him the names, I won't pay no mind.”
Jerry stared at him. “You'd do that? What the...why?”
Evan took a cigarette package out. He shook one loose and lit it with his lighter, Jerry's gaze never leaving his face. He took a deep inhale and offered him a small smile. “Cause I don't wanna see no more deaths. This city's blood red. Mercer, God knows I work for him, but he won't stop, he won't listen, an' these young ones, they die first. Sweet brought this down an' we pay for it. Guys like me, we're dispensable. Forgettable. But my family, they ain't gonna let me be forgotten, so I'll do this. You promise me one thing, Jeremiah.”
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah anything, Evan.”
“Don't you let the kid die, you hear me loud n' clear?”
Jerry blinked and tilted his head. “That fucking kid,” he muttered. “You'd swear he was Jesus or somethin'.”
Evan smoked silently for several seconds. “He's an innocent. We all were once, Jerry, at one time or 'nother.”
X
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Fowler covered his mouth with one hand and winced. He stepped back from the side of the building. “That's fucking disgusting.”
Green knelt close to the beat cop, his face grim. “Burn marks along the cheekbones, most of the face, bruising on the neck, blade used on ears, mouth and eyes...using the lighter on the eyelids. Hands burned, self defense, held them up,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, frowning. “No prints, huh?”
“No sir,” the cop shook his head. His name tag bore the last name Fraser. He looked a touch queasy himself. “I'd say the perp wore gloves. There's bruising to indicate choking, finger-like shaped bruises but no prints visible.”
“Any I.D found yet?” Green jotted the details down on his notepad, the lines on his face deepening with each minute, his frustration growing at a rapid rate.
“No sir. Found a burnt wallet, nothing left in it but blackened cards.” The cop stood up and draped the sheet over the corpse.
Green stood as well. “Send the autopsy report to me, usual shit, y' know what to do.”
“Yes sir,” Fraser nodded.
Green flipped the notebook shut and tucked it into his pocket. “Ya need some tissue, Fowler?”
“Oh fuck you,” Fowler scowled at him. “That was nasty. What kind of sick fuck does things like that?”
“A sick fuck who's lost what fragile control he had,” Green muttered. He headed back to the car, dialing away on his cell phone. “Glen...yeah, it's me. What you got on the kid's name? You gotta give me somethin', he has t' exist somewhere...Yeah, alright, fine, email me, I'll pick it up soon.”
Fowler walked alongside him, wiping at his mouth. “Now tell me again why Mr. Mercer ain't bein' tailed? This is his handiwork, is it not?”
Green snorted, his breath puffing out in small white clouds, the wind cutting through his coat easily. “Oh it was him, all right. I know it like I know my name. I told you, no prints, no case. Nothin' to tie him to our victim.”
“But you know it,” Fowler persisted. “If you know it, half of Detroit knows it.”
“You can't stand the idea of Bobby bein' free, huh? He does so much good for the city, never mind the underground shit. Things could always be worse, my friend. Without Evelyn Mercer, Bobby would be worse than Sweet.”
Fowler rolled his eyes. “Worse than Sweet, I doubt that.”
“Get over the fact that Bobby runs the city an' you'll deal a whole lot better.”
“I'll deal when he's peddlin' his ass behind bars,” Fowler said as he got into the car.
Green slid in as well. “Big dogs start out bitches. Head t' the office, I got some info comin' in.”
X
Bobby walked up the alleyway, his eyes on the shadowy figure leaning against the dirty brick wall. He took quick steps, the sounds muffled by the thick layer of snow between the buildings. He palmed the gun at his side, ignoring the prickle of awareness that he supposed was his conscience, a voice in his head that sounded far too much like Evelyn. He set his teeth, ignoring it along with the pulses of pain radiating through his skull.
...anger and hatred...
He slipped his thumb over the gun, releasing the safety, stumbling for a half second.
...and vengeance leads to what, Bobby?
“Not now Ma,” he mumbled. He crept closer, bringing his hand up, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration.
...what's left after all the anger and hatred and vengeance, Bobby?
He swallowed the flurry of words that threatened to give away his position in the alleyway. “For him...”
...you'll hurt still...
Bobby pressed the gun to the exposed neck of the man before him, a horrible smile creeping over his face. “You shout, I shoot, clear?”
The man stiffened, a choked gasp catching in his throat. “...ungh,” he managed, staring straight ahead.
“I'm lookin' for somethin' real important,” Bobby wrapped his gloved hand around the neck of the man. He pressed the muzzle of the gun down harder. “Y' see, Victor Sweet took somethin' of mine. Stealin's very wrong, ain't that right?”
He nodded several times, his chest hitching. “I...Mercer...” he darted his eyes to the side, catching a glimpse of Bobby behind him. “Don't...look, I know someone, he knows some shit, I don't know much a nothin', y' know? Jus' shit on the street...”
Bobby pinched down with his fingers, cutting off the rambled speech. “Who?”
He gasped and waited, his eyes watering. "I...I..."
Bobby snarled and slammed the gun upside his head. The man dropped to the snow covered ground with a pained cry. “Don't....Don't fuckin' kill me, I got a kid comin', my girl's due soon,” he pleaded, shame and desperate fear etched on his face.
"Well then, it would be a damn shame, wouldn't it, if I found out y' weren't tellin' me everything I wanted t' know?" Bobby cocked the gun and smiled. "Answer me fast or your baby's never gonna know his daddy."
...Bobby...
“D-Dwayne...Dwayne Thompson!”
He glared down at the man and trained his gun on him. “Tell me where Dwayne is."
The man nodded, never doubting him for a second. “Y-yeah, yeah you got it, Mercer. He's...Dwayne's with Sweet's guys, they work the ten's an' l-lower, s'all I know, but he was talkin' shit 'bout some kid they took.”
Bobby hissed out another snarl, murderous rage clouding his face. “WHERE?!”
“I-I, don't...I dunno, Dwayne knows, he does, he does!” he yelped as Bobby backhanded him. “God, please, I'm fucking beggin' ya...”
“Get up!” he fisted his hand in the man's jacket and dragged him up to his feet. “We're goin' for a walk to see Dwayne.”
...history's mistakes come back to haunt us, son. It's how you deal with it that matters...
Bobby flinched. “I'm dealin', alright,” he spat.
X
“Tell me you got me something worth the effort I went to for you this time, Green.”
Green set the cup of coffee down on the desk and nudged it forward. “There ya are, premium roast, and that's worth it's weight in gold, in fact, so tell me I don't treat you good.” He grinned at the man across the desk. “You meet my rookie yet? This here is Fowler. Fowler, this is my man I rely on for what I need, the all mighty Glen Jacobson.”
“Your rook's looking a touch pale,” Glen sent a crooked grin back. “See any bodies lately?”
Fowler gave them both a sour look. “Hah fucking hah, ladies.”
Green tapped the desk with two fingers. “We got a call, has to do with this...business. Enough messin' around, tell me what you got, an' please say you got somethin' to go on. This body count is already too high.”
Glen leaned forward and took the coffee cup. He took a long swallow and sighed, satisfied. “Perfection. Alright, your boy, Bobby has a hard on for this kid, so, first I looked through my books, see if any faces matched your description.”
“I already did that,” Fowler huffed.
“But you don't got the connections I got, rook.” Glen took another sip. “I checked with my guy in Juvie files and we had a few dozen Jacks over the last twenty years. You know we don't get much outta them usually, but see, this Jack, oh people remember this Jack, indeed.”
Green blinked. “Remember him why?”
“This Jack got himself into a bit of trouble, quite the record or so I hear.”
“Wait a second, juvie records are sealed,” Fowler cut in. “How the fuck do you know about before?”
Glen watched him over the rim of his cup, amused. “I have my ways. Anyway, Jack indeed has a last name. He's got a record longer than my arm, in an' outta detention halls, foster homes, seems he never really fit in any place. The guy remembers him, scrawny lil' thing, had a thing with music, taught himself to play the guitar while my guy was working there. Pretty boy, you know the type. Older boys had a blast, I'm sure.”
Fowler winced. “Good God...”
“How wet behind the ears is this kid?” Glen jerked a thumb at Fowler. “You that new? You never watched 'Oz'?”
Green stifled a laugh. “So what happened that Jack stands out so much?”
“Something happened in the rooms one night, boys doin' what they will and Jack just...kinda lost it. They found him in the middle of the room, in a rage, he nearly killed one of the other boys. They kept him handcuffed till the morning cause he kept attacking anyone that came near him. Poor kid,” he shook his head and sipped his coffee, contemplating his words.
Green exhaled, rubbing his head. “Fuck...Bobby sure can pick 'em.”
Fowler clapped his hands once, nodding. “Ok, so that's that, but what in the hell does Victor Sweet have to do with the kid?”
“Pretty simple,” Glen shrugged. “Sweet wants what Bobby's got. Power, control, stuff like that. Guys like Bobby, like Victor, they're an awful lot like little boys. Only with a shitload of weapons. Makes them a whole lot fucking more dangerous, rookie.”
“So he steals the kid?”
Glen smiled and slurped the last of his coffee. He looked at the empty cup, regretful, and crumpled it, tossing it to the garbage can. “Looks like it.”
“Shit, I coulda told all you guys that,” Green pinched the bridge of his nose. “You might as well wave a fucking red flag in front of Bobby.”
"Yee haw..." Fowler drawled. "Let the pair of them kill each other."
"Damn it, Fowler! This is serious! Jack is what we need to keep Bobby from leveling the city! Sweet knew exactly what he was doin' when he sent his men out."
Fowler flinched at the furious outburst from Green and sighed, backing down . "So what do we do? How do stop the one guy that even the cops won't touch? And how many of you guys are on his pay roll anyway?"
Glen smirked. "More than you'd think."
"Blows my damn mind..."
Green looked out the window of the cramped office, fresh snow falling in lazy swirls outside. "Thanks Glen, I really appreciate you doin' all this so fast for me."
"Anytime Green, anytime. Long as you bring the coffee."
Fowler and Green stood to leave. "Oh before you go," Glen said casually, " The kid's last name is Donnelly."
Green froze mid-step. "Donnelly..."
"Yep."
"You're sure?"
Glen raised one eyebrow a little. "When am I wrong, huh?"
"Donnelly..." Green all but whispered as he hurried from the room.
"You mind tellin' me what the fuck is going on, Green? Why do you look like someone goosed you good?"
Green reached back and yanked on Fowler's arm, bringing him up fast beside him. "Walk faster."
"I'm not asking again, man."
"Shut up for a minute!" He turned a corner and pushed open the door to the left, rows of gunmetal gray filing cabinets, each marked alphabetically. On the one marked with series of D's, Green pulled the drawer open and rifled through the files. He selected one and slapped it into Fowler's hands. "C'mon," he said, hurrying back to his own office.
Fowler jogged to keep up with him, grumbling all the way. "Alright, enough with the drama, what the hell is going on?"
Green searched through his own files on his computer, ignoring him. He typed out a message, his fingers pounding over the keyboard. He sent the message and sat back, his eyes wide. "The Donnelly's don't ring a bell, you woulda been a young teen back then, what, like twelve, thirteen tops? You never heard of them, ever?"
He sat down on the chair by the desk and opened the folder. "I wasn't raised here, not downtown at least."
Green gestured to the folder. "Read on. The Donnelly's were what Victor Sweet wishes he was. They ran parts of the city, had run-ins with other gangs, turf wars, blood wars, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Fourteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of downtown. Took out a few warehouses, and two slum buildings. Christopher Donnelly, leader of the gang, had a son. He was the only survivor. Cops found him a few blocks away from the blaze."
"And...?"
"That fire wiped out the gang effectively. Any people that were left were taken under the wing of someone else, someone who had intentions on controlling each and every gang, in one way or another. The kid, the only one left from the family was tossed into foster care. Jack, Jack Donnelly."
"I repeat...and?"
"D' you think that fire was accidental, Fowler?"
Fowler lifted his gaze from the folder. "Lemme take a stab in the dark and say no."
"Chris Donnelly and Bobby Mercer never saw eye to eye on how things should run."
"But...that's...Bobby would have been...he's not that old? Right?"
Green gave him a weary smile. "Yeah, he was all of sixteen and already had a rep for bein' a fire bug."
X
Author: veiledndarkness
Pairing: Bobby/Jack
Rating: R
Summary: What’s it all worth when you’re alone?
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made and no harm intended.
Notes: AU, the brothers were not raised together by Evelyn.
Please be advised that this story does contain language which may offend some readers.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
X
Evan watched Jerry pace the length of the room. He'd never seen Jerry look so flustered, so agitated ever before. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware of the rumors that had spread like wildfire when Ryan Mitchell's body had been found. A new wave of fear was spreading fast, Bobby's retribution was legendary. “How's it feel t' be on Mercer's hit list?”
Jerry laughed and the sound was sharp and brittle. “How does it feel? It feels like I'm livin' on motherfucking borrowed time!” He paced a moment more and then dropped into a nearby chair, in the sparsely decorated office space that Jerry owned downtown. “He destroyed that kid. Did ya hear me, Evan? He fucking destroyed him. Christ knows they'll be lucky to I.D him by dental records! I have t' get Camille outta here, I gotta get outta here.”
Evan nodded. “You'd best help find the kid then, 'fore Bobby finds you.”
“If I knew where he was, I would, don't you realize that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe, or maybe you're playin' your cards an' seeing how they fall.”
“You have just as much to lose, Evan. I know you an' Dwayne still meet up. You know how Bobby feels about traitors.”
“Compare me t' you, I think I come out on top,” Evan raised an eyebrow at him. “And y' see, Jerry, the thing is that maybe Mercer suspects ev'ryone, an' maybe he thinks we all wanna take him down. Truth is, too many do. Not me. I ain't cut out t' run shit but my own family. I got a few names for him, if you wanna play the hero an' give him the names, I won't pay no mind.”
Jerry stared at him. “You'd do that? What the...why?”
Evan took a cigarette package out. He shook one loose and lit it with his lighter, Jerry's gaze never leaving his face. He took a deep inhale and offered him a small smile. “Cause I don't wanna see no more deaths. This city's blood red. Mercer, God knows I work for him, but he won't stop, he won't listen, an' these young ones, they die first. Sweet brought this down an' we pay for it. Guys like me, we're dispensable. Forgettable. But my family, they ain't gonna let me be forgotten, so I'll do this. You promise me one thing, Jeremiah.”
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah anything, Evan.”
“Don't you let the kid die, you hear me loud n' clear?”
Jerry blinked and tilted his head. “That fucking kid,” he muttered. “You'd swear he was Jesus or somethin'.”
Evan smoked silently for several seconds. “He's an innocent. We all were once, Jerry, at one time or 'nother.”
X
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Fowler covered his mouth with one hand and winced. He stepped back from the side of the building. “That's fucking disgusting.”
Green knelt close to the beat cop, his face grim. “Burn marks along the cheekbones, most of the face, bruising on the neck, blade used on ears, mouth and eyes...using the lighter on the eyelids. Hands burned, self defense, held them up,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, frowning. “No prints, huh?”
“No sir,” the cop shook his head. His name tag bore the last name Fraser. He looked a touch queasy himself. “I'd say the perp wore gloves. There's bruising to indicate choking, finger-like shaped bruises but no prints visible.”
“Any I.D found yet?” Green jotted the details down on his notepad, the lines on his face deepening with each minute, his frustration growing at a rapid rate.
“No sir. Found a burnt wallet, nothing left in it but blackened cards.” The cop stood up and draped the sheet over the corpse.
Green stood as well. “Send the autopsy report to me, usual shit, y' know what to do.”
“Yes sir,” Fraser nodded.
Green flipped the notebook shut and tucked it into his pocket. “Ya need some tissue, Fowler?”
“Oh fuck you,” Fowler scowled at him. “That was nasty. What kind of sick fuck does things like that?”
“A sick fuck who's lost what fragile control he had,” Green muttered. He headed back to the car, dialing away on his cell phone. “Glen...yeah, it's me. What you got on the kid's name? You gotta give me somethin', he has t' exist somewhere...Yeah, alright, fine, email me, I'll pick it up soon.”
Fowler walked alongside him, wiping at his mouth. “Now tell me again why Mr. Mercer ain't bein' tailed? This is his handiwork, is it not?”
Green snorted, his breath puffing out in small white clouds, the wind cutting through his coat easily. “Oh it was him, all right. I know it like I know my name. I told you, no prints, no case. Nothin' to tie him to our victim.”
“But you know it,” Fowler persisted. “If you know it, half of Detroit knows it.”
“You can't stand the idea of Bobby bein' free, huh? He does so much good for the city, never mind the underground shit. Things could always be worse, my friend. Without Evelyn Mercer, Bobby would be worse than Sweet.”
Fowler rolled his eyes. “Worse than Sweet, I doubt that.”
“Get over the fact that Bobby runs the city an' you'll deal a whole lot better.”
“I'll deal when he's peddlin' his ass behind bars,” Fowler said as he got into the car.
Green slid in as well. “Big dogs start out bitches. Head t' the office, I got some info comin' in.”
X
Bobby walked up the alleyway, his eyes on the shadowy figure leaning against the dirty brick wall. He took quick steps, the sounds muffled by the thick layer of snow between the buildings. He palmed the gun at his side, ignoring the prickle of awareness that he supposed was his conscience, a voice in his head that sounded far too much like Evelyn. He set his teeth, ignoring it along with the pulses of pain radiating through his skull.
...anger and hatred...
He slipped his thumb over the gun, releasing the safety, stumbling for a half second.
...and vengeance leads to what, Bobby?
“Not now Ma,” he mumbled. He crept closer, bringing his hand up, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration.
...what's left after all the anger and hatred and vengeance, Bobby?
He swallowed the flurry of words that threatened to give away his position in the alleyway. “For him...”
...you'll hurt still...
Bobby pressed the gun to the exposed neck of the man before him, a horrible smile creeping over his face. “You shout, I shoot, clear?”
The man stiffened, a choked gasp catching in his throat. “...ungh,” he managed, staring straight ahead.
“I'm lookin' for somethin' real important,” Bobby wrapped his gloved hand around the neck of the man. He pressed the muzzle of the gun down harder. “Y' see, Victor Sweet took somethin' of mine. Stealin's very wrong, ain't that right?”
He nodded several times, his chest hitching. “I...Mercer...” he darted his eyes to the side, catching a glimpse of Bobby behind him. “Don't...look, I know someone, he knows some shit, I don't know much a nothin', y' know? Jus' shit on the street...”
Bobby pinched down with his fingers, cutting off the rambled speech. “Who?”
He gasped and waited, his eyes watering. "I...I..."
Bobby snarled and slammed the gun upside his head. The man dropped to the snow covered ground with a pained cry. “Don't....Don't fuckin' kill me, I got a kid comin', my girl's due soon,” he pleaded, shame and desperate fear etched on his face.
"Well then, it would be a damn shame, wouldn't it, if I found out y' weren't tellin' me everything I wanted t' know?" Bobby cocked the gun and smiled. "Answer me fast or your baby's never gonna know his daddy."
...Bobby...
“D-Dwayne...Dwayne Thompson!”
He glared down at the man and trained his gun on him. “Tell me where Dwayne is."
The man nodded, never doubting him for a second. “Y-yeah, yeah you got it, Mercer. He's...Dwayne's with Sweet's guys, they work the ten's an' l-lower, s'all I know, but he was talkin' shit 'bout some kid they took.”
Bobby hissed out another snarl, murderous rage clouding his face. “WHERE?!”
“I-I, don't...I dunno, Dwayne knows, he does, he does!” he yelped as Bobby backhanded him. “God, please, I'm fucking beggin' ya...”
“Get up!” he fisted his hand in the man's jacket and dragged him up to his feet. “We're goin' for a walk to see Dwayne.”
...history's mistakes come back to haunt us, son. It's how you deal with it that matters...
Bobby flinched. “I'm dealin', alright,” he spat.
X
“Tell me you got me something worth the effort I went to for you this time, Green.”
Green set the cup of coffee down on the desk and nudged it forward. “There ya are, premium roast, and that's worth it's weight in gold, in fact, so tell me I don't treat you good.” He grinned at the man across the desk. “You meet my rookie yet? This here is Fowler. Fowler, this is my man I rely on for what I need, the all mighty Glen Jacobson.”
“Your rook's looking a touch pale,” Glen sent a crooked grin back. “See any bodies lately?”
Fowler gave them both a sour look. “Hah fucking hah, ladies.”
Green tapped the desk with two fingers. “We got a call, has to do with this...business. Enough messin' around, tell me what you got, an' please say you got somethin' to go on. This body count is already too high.”
Glen leaned forward and took the coffee cup. He took a long swallow and sighed, satisfied. “Perfection. Alright, your boy, Bobby has a hard on for this kid, so, first I looked through my books, see if any faces matched your description.”
“I already did that,” Fowler huffed.
“But you don't got the connections I got, rook.” Glen took another sip. “I checked with my guy in Juvie files and we had a few dozen Jacks over the last twenty years. You know we don't get much outta them usually, but see, this Jack, oh people remember this Jack, indeed.”
Green blinked. “Remember him why?”
“This Jack got himself into a bit of trouble, quite the record or so I hear.”
“Wait a second, juvie records are sealed,” Fowler cut in. “How the fuck do you know about before?”
Glen watched him over the rim of his cup, amused. “I have my ways. Anyway, Jack indeed has a last name. He's got a record longer than my arm, in an' outta detention halls, foster homes, seems he never really fit in any place. The guy remembers him, scrawny lil' thing, had a thing with music, taught himself to play the guitar while my guy was working there. Pretty boy, you know the type. Older boys had a blast, I'm sure.”
Fowler winced. “Good God...”
“How wet behind the ears is this kid?” Glen jerked a thumb at Fowler. “You that new? You never watched 'Oz'?”
Green stifled a laugh. “So what happened that Jack stands out so much?”
“Something happened in the rooms one night, boys doin' what they will and Jack just...kinda lost it. They found him in the middle of the room, in a rage, he nearly killed one of the other boys. They kept him handcuffed till the morning cause he kept attacking anyone that came near him. Poor kid,” he shook his head and sipped his coffee, contemplating his words.
Green exhaled, rubbing his head. “Fuck...Bobby sure can pick 'em.”
Fowler clapped his hands once, nodding. “Ok, so that's that, but what in the hell does Victor Sweet have to do with the kid?”
“Pretty simple,” Glen shrugged. “Sweet wants what Bobby's got. Power, control, stuff like that. Guys like Bobby, like Victor, they're an awful lot like little boys. Only with a shitload of weapons. Makes them a whole lot fucking more dangerous, rookie.”
“So he steals the kid?”
Glen smiled and slurped the last of his coffee. He looked at the empty cup, regretful, and crumpled it, tossing it to the garbage can. “Looks like it.”
“Shit, I coulda told all you guys that,” Green pinched the bridge of his nose. “You might as well wave a fucking red flag in front of Bobby.”
"Yee haw..." Fowler drawled. "Let the pair of them kill each other."
"Damn it, Fowler! This is serious! Jack is what we need to keep Bobby from leveling the city! Sweet knew exactly what he was doin' when he sent his men out."
Fowler flinched at the furious outburst from Green and sighed, backing down . "So what do we do? How do stop the one guy that even the cops won't touch? And how many of you guys are on his pay roll anyway?"
Glen smirked. "More than you'd think."
"Blows my damn mind..."
Green looked out the window of the cramped office, fresh snow falling in lazy swirls outside. "Thanks Glen, I really appreciate you doin' all this so fast for me."
"Anytime Green, anytime. Long as you bring the coffee."
Fowler and Green stood to leave. "Oh before you go," Glen said casually, " The kid's last name is Donnelly."
Green froze mid-step. "Donnelly..."
"Yep."
"You're sure?"
Glen raised one eyebrow a little. "When am I wrong, huh?"
"Donnelly..." Green all but whispered as he hurried from the room.
"You mind tellin' me what the fuck is going on, Green? Why do you look like someone goosed you good?"
Green reached back and yanked on Fowler's arm, bringing him up fast beside him. "Walk faster."
"I'm not asking again, man."
"Shut up for a minute!" He turned a corner and pushed open the door to the left, rows of gunmetal gray filing cabinets, each marked alphabetically. On the one marked with series of D's, Green pulled the drawer open and rifled through the files. He selected one and slapped it into Fowler's hands. "C'mon," he said, hurrying back to his own office.
Fowler jogged to keep up with him, grumbling all the way. "Alright, enough with the drama, what the hell is going on?"
Green searched through his own files on his computer, ignoring him. He typed out a message, his fingers pounding over the keyboard. He sent the message and sat back, his eyes wide. "The Donnelly's don't ring a bell, you woulda been a young teen back then, what, like twelve, thirteen tops? You never heard of them, ever?"
He sat down on the chair by the desk and opened the folder. "I wasn't raised here, not downtown at least."
Green gestured to the folder. "Read on. The Donnelly's were what Victor Sweet wishes he was. They ran parts of the city, had run-ins with other gangs, turf wars, blood wars, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Fourteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of downtown. Took out a few warehouses, and two slum buildings. Christopher Donnelly, leader of the gang, had a son. He was the only survivor. Cops found him a few blocks away from the blaze."
"And...?"
"That fire wiped out the gang effectively. Any people that were left were taken under the wing of someone else, someone who had intentions on controlling each and every gang, in one way or another. The kid, the only one left from the family was tossed into foster care. Jack, Jack Donnelly."
"I repeat...and?"
"D' you think that fire was accidental, Fowler?"
Fowler lifted his gaze from the folder. "Lemme take a stab in the dark and say no."
"Chris Donnelly and Bobby Mercer never saw eye to eye on how things should run."
"But...that's...Bobby would have been...he's not that old? Right?"
Green gave him a weary smile. "Yeah, he was all of sixteen and already had a rep for bein' a fire bug."
X
no subject
Date: 2010-04-08 01:37 pm (UTC)What about the people who were loyal to Jack's family?
What happens when word gets 'round on who he is? Do they come out and try to help him?
More importantly what does Bobby do?
MORE SOON!!
~shadow
no subject
Date: 2010-04-09 11:09 pm (UTC)