Three hours later I was sitting in the outer office of the police station, sipping really bitter coffee, and waiting for someone to let me talk to my prisoners.
They’re not your ‘prisoners’. For a start, they aren’t imprisoned. They’re suspects – yes, yes, we know they have been maliciously loitering, but they are officially suspects at this point. Although, without any evidence, I’m not sure what they can be charged with. A good lawyer will be able to argue that they were waiting for something at the Circus and then Anita fucking Blake jumped out with a bunch of armed guys. Unless it’s illegal to be parked in a parking lot, there’s not much the police can do. It’s just lucky the car turned out to be stolen and full of weaponry. *rolls eyes*
The dark-haired guy who’d been so sullen turned out to be ex-army, so his prints came up. Strangely, he had no criminal record.
Hold up, that’s impossible. The suspects have been in custody for three hours. Do you know how long it takes for a fingerprint result to come back? A day to three weeks, depending on backlog. The results would not be back this quickly!
Anita whines that she hasn’t seen Detective O’Brien – oh, the drama – and that she can’t see the suspects without a policeman present. She’s not been arrested, which she should be fucking grateful for, but she can’t do anything. The suspects have asked for their lawyers and they’ll be free in seventy two hours (slightly less now). The only way the police can keep them is if their fingerprints bring back any criminal warrants – feasible, in the time frame.
The local police weren’t happy with anyone with ‘federal’ as part of their title messing in local crime.
This is happening in St. Louis. You… you work with the St. Louis police force. They are YOUR local police.
A woman came to stand in front of me. She was about five eight, wearing a black skirt that was longer than it was stylish, but then, her comfortable black shoes weren’t exactly cutting edge either. Her blouse was a dark gold that looked like silk but was probably something easier to clean. Her hair had been dark brunette, but was so streaked with gray and silver and white that it looked like she’d streaked it on purpose. Natural punk.
Sorry, that was a kneejerk reaction to that ‘natural punk’ shite. Fuck off out of my subculture, shitstain.
Notice how this new female character is automatically framed in the most unattractive and negative way possible. She’s too poor for silk, she’s dowdy, she’s wearing old practical clothes, and she looks old. We must look down on her for being at work and wearing sensible clothing – not like Anita Blake’s mini-skirt and high heels. Blech. This is Detective O’Brien, and she wants to know whether Anita knew why the suspects were following her.
“Yet you felt the matter was so urgent that you deputized,” she checked her notes, “ten civilians to help you capture these two men.”
I shrugged and gave her pleasant, empty eyes. “I don’t like being followed by people I don’t know.”
“You told by officers on sight that you suspected the men of carrying illegal weapons. That was before anyone had searched them, or the car. How did you know they were carrying illegal weapons,” there was the slightest hesitation before she said, “Marshal Blake?”
I love Detective O’Brien.
Anita whines how she’s being made to feel guilty when she’s done nothing but told the truth. Whatever, Anita.
“That is the absolute truth. I wish I knew something to conceal from you, but I am as much in the dark on this one as you are.”
“Don’t try batting those big brown eyes at me, Ms. Blake, I’m not buying.”
“Are you accusing me of trying to use my feminine wiles on you, Detective?”
“Not exactly, but I’ve seen women like you before, so cute, so petite, you give that innocent face and the men just fall all over themselves to believe you.”
I looked at her for a second, to see if she was kidding, but she seemed serious.
You have done that. You DO do that. Shut up Anita.
“Whatever axe you’re grinding, find someone else’s forehead to sink it into. I have come in here and told nothing but the truth. I helped get two men off the streets that were carrying firepower with armor-piercing, cop-killing ammo. You don’t seem very damned grateful.”
Oh, I suppose those bullets pass through civilians without causing any damage at all. They only kill police officers. Fact.
She gave me very cold eyes.
What is Anita going to do with a frozen pair of eyeballs? Make eyes-cream?
“You’re free to leave anytime, Ms. Blake.”
I stood, then smiled down at her, and knew my eyes were as cold and as unfriendly as hers. “Thanks so much, Ms. O’Brien.” I emphasized the Ms.
“That’s Detective O’Brien,” she said, as I’d almost been sure she would.
“Then it’s Marshal Blake to you, Detective O’Brien.”
“I earned the right to be called detective, Blake; I didn’t get grandfathered in on some technicality. You may have a badge, but it doesn’t make you a cop.”
BLESS. BLESS. THAT’S 100% ACCURATE AND TRUE AND O’BRIEN IS BEING SET UP AS A SCARY SUE SO THIS IS GOING TO BE RUINED BUT SHE’S SO RIGHT SHE’S SO RIGHT I LOVE HER BLESS BLESSSSS
Jesus, she was jealous.
What, jealous of doing no work and yet being given everything you could possibly want? Who would be jealous of you, Anita? You don’t have a life. You have nothing of worth,
“I may not be your kind of cop, but I am a duly appointed federal marshal.”
“You can interfere on any case involving the preternatural. Well, this one doesn’t involve the preternatural.” She gazed up at me, face calm, but still showing signs of anger. “So have a nice day.”
Something awful is going to happen now, but that is another thing of beauty. Because she’s right. Anita has no authority, moral, legal, or otherwise. She’s a little girl playing dress up and throwing a tantrum because an adult has told her no.
Another detective runs in about how one of the suspects is a ‘international super spy’.
I grinned at the other detective. “Interpol came back with a hit, huh?”
He nodded eagerly. “The German guy is wanted all over the place, industrial espionage, suspected terrorism…”
- O’Brien’s point still stands. Anita still had no right to get herself involved in this shit.
- He’s a ‘super spy’. That involves no preternatural crime. Again, it’s nothing to do with you Anita.
- Is it just me, or does this guy sound like knock-off Hans Gruber?
- You should have had this guy had links to the Stasi or something.
- This is 2003. What kind of German terror group is running around Europe right now?
- He’s a terrorist. And now he’s coming after Anita. Yeah, whatever. Make him into a hitman, that would make much more sense.
This all equals SHUT YOUR FACE ANITA.
ALL OF IT. SHUT ALL OF YOUR FACE. RIGHT NOW.
LET ME RUB O’BRIEN’S AWESOMENESS IN YOUR FACE.
Anita graciously allows O’Brien to take the credit, while making O’Brien sound like a huge mega bitch. Now she’s been chastised and punished, Anita can like her.
I did not care for this chapter. At all. Quick, someone write me a fic where Methos takes Anita’s head off!
And then runs away with me. shush your faces