Prompt 183 - "Tell Me a Secret"
Tell you a secret? No. Not my style. What do you mean, trust exercise? Fine. But it's a secret, not necessarily mine. Nope, no changing the rules on me. Anyway, I was there, and I haven't told anyone else who wasn't. You're gonna have to forgive the third person, because I wasn't the guy who wrote it down...
Someone Else's Stories
It was a slow day at the two-seven; this in itself was unusual, and that wasn't a good thing in Mike Logan's opinion. It was exactly the kind of day you didn't want to spend trapped indoors, but here he was, stuck behind a desk, staring at Lennie Briscoe's ugly mug.
"Goddamn, Lennie. At least do something interesting besides type."
"Sure, kid," Briscoe pecked out another line of a report. "You wanna hear about the opera I saw last week, or the floor show I put on after?"
"No thanks. If I want to hear made-up bullcrap, I'll watch TV."
"This was more like cinema verite, and it certainly wasn't suitable for prime-time."
"I don't even know why I ask."
Pulling the finished sheet out of the typewriter, Briscoe grinned over at the younger detective. "Oh, yeah. I forgot you're havin' a run of bad luck, Tiger. It's just you and the idiot box these days."
"You can say that again. I'm so bored I'm watchin' cop shows. I even watched that crap Order for All"
"I hear a lotta people like it," Briscoe shrugged. "No accountin' for taste. Just like your ties. Hey - I've been meaning to ask; is your couch plaid, too?"
Mike glared. "I got a really good deal on it."
Tony Profaci strolled by. "You mention Order for All? Man, Shirley loves that show. I tell her it's not all hittin' guys with trashcan lids and one liners. There's paperwork and forms..."
"And donut runs," Lennie added.
Profaci made a face, but continued. "It ain't all glamor, but noo, she just watches the wise-crackin' cops solve it all in half-and hour, and flip their hair around like they can afford hair gel..."
Grinning over at Lennie, Mike said "Hell, some of us, like Don Cragen, can't even afford hair."
"And then, ya get on the computer and see alla this junk onna newsgroups, stories and drawings...I tellya. Some people." Profaci shook his head.
Briscoe raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Mike leaned forward. "What kind of stories?"
"You don't want to know. Trust me. You can't un-read them."
------
Ten minutes later, the three were crowded around the department computer.
"This is sick," Logan groaned.
"Tell me about it," said Lennie. "These people ever hear of grammar?"
"I mean, that show's unrealistic enough, but this?" Mike flinched at a particularly graphic scene.
"Toldya," Profaci said.
"Jeez, who acts like this?" Mike ran a hand through his hair. "No cops I know."
"Me neither," said Lennie. "No lawyers, either. Looks like the same guy writes all of them."
They peered at the tiny green letters of the username.
"Lennie," said Mike, "Is that..."
"I think so," Briscoe nodded. "Mack McJoy? I think someone's got a lot of explaining to do."
"Yeah," Mike swallowed, "I don't think I want to hear it firsthand, though."
"Well, Profaci," Lennie clapped a hand onto Tony's shoulder. Mike had already fled. "Looks like you're elected. A policeman's lot is not a happy one. Oh, and when you do reach him, remind him that "excitement" only has one 'i'." Whistling cheerfully, Lennie left.
Someone Else's Stories
It was a slow day at the two-seven; this in itself was unusual, and that wasn't a good thing in Mike Logan's opinion. It was exactly the kind of day you didn't want to spend trapped indoors, but here he was, stuck behind a desk, staring at Lennie Briscoe's ugly mug.
"Goddamn, Lennie. At least do something interesting besides type."
"Sure, kid," Briscoe pecked out another line of a report. "You wanna hear about the opera I saw last week, or the floor show I put on after?"
"No thanks. If I want to hear made-up bullcrap, I'll watch TV."
"This was more like cinema verite, and it certainly wasn't suitable for prime-time."
"I don't even know why I ask."
Pulling the finished sheet out of the typewriter, Briscoe grinned over at the younger detective. "Oh, yeah. I forgot you're havin' a run of bad luck, Tiger. It's just you and the idiot box these days."
"You can say that again. I'm so bored I'm watchin' cop shows. I even watched that crap Order for All"
"I hear a lotta people like it," Briscoe shrugged. "No accountin' for taste. Just like your ties. Hey - I've been meaning to ask; is your couch plaid, too?"
Mike glared. "I got a really good deal on it."
Tony Profaci strolled by. "You mention Order for All? Man, Shirley loves that show. I tell her it's not all hittin' guys with trashcan lids and one liners. There's paperwork and forms..."
"And donut runs," Lennie added.
Profaci made a face, but continued. "It ain't all glamor, but noo, she just watches the wise-crackin' cops solve it all in half-and hour, and flip their hair around like they can afford hair gel..."
Grinning over at Lennie, Mike said "Hell, some of us, like Don Cragen, can't even afford hair."
"And then, ya get on the computer and see alla this junk onna newsgroups, stories and drawings...I tellya. Some people." Profaci shook his head.
Briscoe raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Mike leaned forward. "What kind of stories?"
"You don't want to know. Trust me. You can't un-read them."
------
Ten minutes later, the three were crowded around the department computer.
"This is sick," Logan groaned.
"Tell me about it," said Lennie. "These people ever hear of grammar?"
"I mean, that show's unrealistic enough, but this?" Mike flinched at a particularly graphic scene.
"Toldya," Profaci said.
"Jeez, who acts like this?" Mike ran a hand through his hair. "No cops I know."
"Me neither," said Lennie. "No lawyers, either. Looks like the same guy writes all of them."
They peered at the tiny green letters of the username.
"Lennie," said Mike, "Is that..."
"I think so," Briscoe nodded. "Mack McJoy? I think someone's got a lot of explaining to do."
"Yeah," Mike swallowed, "I don't think I want to hear it firsthand, though."
"Well, Profaci," Lennie clapped a hand onto Tony's shoulder. Mike had already fled. "Looks like you're elected. A policeman's lot is not a happy one. Oh, and when you do reach him, remind him that "excitement" only has one 'i'." Whistling cheerfully, Lennie left.