best men on the job

Who: Danny and Brett
Where: ECPD
When: early afternoon

“I need my best men on this McKinnon.”

That was always some sort of fucked up compliment that got laid at his feet. It was good to be considered one of the best, even if he’d just drank lunch, but because he was the best it meant he was stuck with Trent. Whom he was pretty sure he hated. Fucker. The debrief on what was going on made sense. These were Trent’s old crew from when he was supposedly undercover. This was something to watch tightly and if he could be believed then it was a hit, and an unexpected one. Scowling Danny had taken the assignment, hoping for a quiet Sunday that doubled as an excuse to not be at church with his wife, but seeing that go out the window as he made his way to Brett’s desk. “Wanna tell me where we stand with this Vladivostok murder?” he half demanded once he was there.

“Glad to see you could finally make the party, McKinnon,” Brett said, without looking up, instead reaching for a file on his desk and opening it up. Only then, when he was at the right place, did he raise his eyes tot he other man as he pushed some photos round. “Fyodor Vladivostok, thirty two years old. Been in town for six years and worked for the Syndicate for five and a half of them, if reports are to be believed. Which they generally are, in this case.” Since these particular reports came straight from Brett himself, who had talked to the guy about his history one evening last year. “Newest floor manager at the Kitten Club, ‘Vostock took his money and ran a mainly clean show - long as you ignore all the underhand dealings going on. But, he had nothing on the side, didn’t do anything to rock the boat and did what his masters told him. Until he was shot with what basically amounts to a fucking stake first thing this morning by an unknown assailant. I’ve cross matched with it every known assassin and mobster we got books on-” As well as a few more he’d just caught rumours of, “-and we got nothing. This has all the markings of a professional hit, but if that’s what it is, then it’s not from any known shooter. What we have, is a mystery guy. And that’s not good news. So welcome - you’re late for the party, but there’s already a shit pile of crap to go through, so roll up your sleeves and dive right in. Either that, or go for coffee. We’re running low.” Brett had been at this for several hours now. He didn’t know where Danny had been, or how long it had been between Brett saying he needed back up for this one and Danny being called in. But hell, from past experience, Danny didn’t like him anyway. And Brett didn’t curry favour. he did his job and he expected to be judged on that - not on his personality. Especially not when he’d been up half the night playing dollies in a fucking penguin suit.

Danny had to bite back the “fuck off” that jumped to his mind, but he managed and focused instead on what Brett had laid out on the desk. After the explanation he pulled his jacket off, tossing it over a spare chair and sitting down opposite Brett. The coffee comment was ignored. “Better late than never,” he grumbled, eying the damage of the guy’s head. “You think the families picked up new blood then? Or is this outside?”

"Less there's something we're not seeing, the Syndicate had nothing to gain by taking this guy out. Records indicate he had no real ambition. He was happy enough where he was, wasn't looking to go elsewhere. Which means if anyone was looking to take him out, it was the other players in town. But nothing obvious on them either. Nothing points to a finally connection here." Brett reached across and dumped a pile of files, both thick and thin, in front of Danny. "These are files of every known shooter - proven and whispers in the wind - in this shirt hole of a city. You probably heard of most of them. But look through them all, maybe there's something we're missed. Because it's either that, or there's some new player in town, and he's not fucking around."

Danny scowled at the stack of folders in front of him, but this time it wasn’t just because Brett seemed to be talking down to him. If the Syndicate didn’t take this guy out and no other family did, they ran the risk of dealing with a vigilante. No wonder they wanted Danny on the case. He hated the unyileding turn for the worse that his city seemed to be going through, but he really hated vigilantes. The law existed for a reason, not so someone could make a mockery of it. “Anything besides a stake to look for MO wise?”

Brett considered the question carefully. "Like I said, he doesn't fit the profile of anyone known to us, but whatever that stake actually was - and that's still a question - it was fired from a distance. We got no witnesses to anything other than bloody death. So, someone with that kind of ability - sharpshooter of some description maybe. So far, looks like the weapon was custom made, so a guy with resources. Or skills. We're doing a full check of this victim's background anyhow, in case anything's been missed."

“Or a sniper,” Danny mused, reading through the names on the sides of the first five folders and setting them aside. He knew their names, those burdened with larger folders and none were gunmen. They like close up kills, which was why they had actual folders on them. People remembered faces. “Military background maybe?” he suggested. “Can’t imagine they teach sharpshooting at the mob family picnics.” He raised a steely eye to Brett, waiting for some confirmation as Brett was the one with a history in the mob families.

Brett met Danny's eye, aware of the reason for the question. "No - not as far as I'm aware," he said, after a moment or two. After all, he was meant to have been there entirely legitimately, everyone knew his supposed background, and right now, it was a pretty big asset to being able to get this investigation off the ground, instead of chasing down hours work of dead ends. "But that doesn't mean that nobody involved in organised crime has ever served," he added, making a note of 'military' on his pad. Problem was, they were in the middle of a war. there were more than the usual number of military types hanging around, of one sort or another.

“No, but it gives us something else to look for,” Danny pointed out, not sounding amused, but not because they were making progress. He still didn’t trust Brett, useful insight or not. Going through another part of the stack he pulled out four more folders, three knife guys whose folders he set on the side pile and one that he set aside all together. “This guy we locked up last month,” he said. “And this guy’s dead.” Danny removed another one setting both of those aside. The stack didn’t look that much better, but it was a start. “Who in a family do you let serve in the military with a war going on?” he asked, again the question was pointed, but he was curious. If there was a chance of dying it didn’t make sense to send someone expendable. Not someone useful.

"Not everyone's family," Brett told him, reaching through another file to leaf through. "Especially not if you're looking at the Syndicate. The O'Malleys were an exception there, but generally, anyone can join, long as they're willing to work their way up. They take all comers, if you like. And someone with a disciplined background and the kind of training you can get in the military could go a long way in an organisation like that. if we're looking at military, and still thinking they have ties to one of the mobs, given your reasoning - which seems sound - it's unlikely to be anyone central. No daddy's boys or blooded sons. Someone who either worked their way in, or a by blow. Someone disposable."

At least they agreed on the disposable aspect of the person. That helped narrowed something down as well. He flipped through another folder, hitting on a case he’d worked on when he was a street cop. Woman dead in the streets, who seemed like no one and turned out to be some big wig’s daughter dressed as a street worker. “What about a cop?” he asked, glancing up at Brett again, eyes colder this time, but again, it was a valid question.

"That a serious question?" Brett asked, aware that the other people working in the room had stilled a little, and that if they hadn't been listening before, they sure as hell would be now. No cop, straight or crooked, liked to think they were being suspected of anything. And, generally speaking, you suspected one cop, you suspected them all. that was the brotherhood for you. That was why ranks closed up so firmly when one of them got hurt, or killed. Brett honestly didn't know if the question was serious, or a test for him. His dealings with the O'Malleys hadn't been the only ones affected, cops on the take had been caught up in that one as well.

Danny held Brett’s gaze for a while, not wavering. He had nothing to worry about. He was clean. Brett though, Brett hadn’t proven himself otherwise beyond some documents that showed his supposedly innocence. “No,” Danny said after a moment shaking his head and looking down at the folder in his hands again. Not now at least. Later it might be.

Brett took the response as confirmation that had been some kind of a test. Or, at least, a message. If Danny wanted him to take something from it, then he failed. "Well, let's just stick with what we have evidence and suspicion for then, should we?" he suggested, almost lightly, though Brett was the most generally suspicious person around, and he wasn't in actual fact going to discount someone just because they had a badge. It was one thing to think that and a totally different thing to announce it to a department which already had reason to be wary and uncertain of him.

It wasn’t the reaction Danny expected, but he had to give Brett something. He didn’t get defensive, which most would. It made Danny wonder if the guy felt anything at all, but that wasn’t the concern here. He could be a sociopath all he wanted provided he played for the right team. “Sure thing,” he said just as lightly, tossing one folder aside and reaching for another.

Brett definitely had feelings, but he also had priorities and the ability to control his temper when it was absolutely necessary. And there had always been something about working a case that made that easier. He needed to be able to make things work here, and picking a fight would help nothing. He wouldn't go out of his way to make friends, but he wasn't out to make enemies here either. He just wished they had more of a starting point.