History Repeating (1/4), lifein1973 Ficathon
Title: History Repeating
Author: jean_geanie
Rating: Blue Cortina
Length/Word Count: (2,800/ 10,200)
Notes: gen (although it's written with slash goggles, so feel free to use them)
Apologies as this isn't beta-ed, let me know if you see any errors!
Summary: Sam and Litton held hostage together, a pair of shoes, an old book.
Sam awoke with a groan, a splitting headache and only a vague idea of what events had transpired the night before.
Sighing, he pushed the blanket off his legs and dragged himself out of bed, stumbling blindly toward the bathroom sink. Turning the tap on, he splashed cold water on his face until he felt awake enough to hazard a glance in the mirror. As Sam studied his bloodshot eyes and haggard reflection he noticed the faint outline of scarlet lipstick on his cheek. After a few long moments of pained confusion, his memory finally rewarded him with the recollection of the chaste farewell kiss Annie had given him before allowing herself to be pulled away by her husband.
Sam cringed as the rest of the night started returning in flashes. It was Annie’s wedding and, from what he could remember, Sam had Gene to thank for his current state. The man had insisted on plying Sam with alcohol throughout the entire reception, refusing to believe that Sam wasn’t devastated over the loss of his “gal-pal”.
Just as Sam was fixing himself an instant coffee (with the bare minimum amount of water required for dissolving the coffee powder) and contemplating taking his first sick day, the phone rang. Setting the mug on the table Sam pulled a shirt on over his vest and picked up the phone from the bedside shelf.
“Hello?” he mumbled.
“Boss, you conscious?” Sam smiled.
“Didn’t know you cared Phyllis.” Balancing the phone on his shoulder he buttoned up his shirt and reached for his jacket.
“I don’t,” the voice on the other end snapped. “There’s a loony who’s taken two girl guides hostage down at number fifteen Queen street an’ the Guv told me to let you know that if you don’t get yer arse down there in the next ten minutes ‘e’ll have you crucified upside down by the bollocks.”
Sam cringed at the mental imagery.
“Err, thanks... fifteen Queen street was it?”
“That’s it, an’ anytime Boss.”
Putting the phone back down, Sam wondered briefly if it were possible for a voice to smirk before grabbing his keys and badge from the table. Casting one last longing look at his (still full) mug of coffee Sam left his flat, taking only a few seconds to lock it from the outside. Shoving his keys and badge inside his front jacket pocket he quickly made his way down the stairs.
When Sam got outside and saw a plod waiting for him in one of the unmarked cars he made a mental note to have flowers delivered to C.I.D.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the plod pulled the car over near Queen street Sam was relieved to see it had also been a dead-end street in seventy-three. He was, however, significantly less pleased to see the large group of people gathering at the opening of the road. Sam pulled out his badge as he stepped out of the car and used it to push through the crowd and past the officers that were holding them back.
When Sam had received Phyllis’ call he knew he would be the last of the team to arrive, but he hadn’t given much thought to how late he was until he noticed that the rest of the street had already been evacuated and that the team were now standing on the other side of a cordon (leaning back against the Cortina) and looking at what appeared to be a very large map. Gene was the first to notice Sam and waved him over with sarcastic enthusiasm.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Samantha. Rough night?”
Sam ignored him and instead turned to Chris, who shifted nervously on his feet.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Run me through the situation. How are the hostages? The hostage taker? Any injuries?”
Sam couldn’t help feeling slightly proud when Chris started leafing through the pages of his notepad.
“All still alive, Boss. Not shots fired yet. Accordin’ to the neighbours the hostage taker is a bloke in his fifties an’ we’ve got an eye witness who says he’s armed with one of those army issue pistols. Dunno much else, though. ‘e must be a bit of a loner if not even the neighbours know ‘is name.” Sam nodded vaguely and gestured towards the house.
“So you’ve already evacuated the street? And the surrounding flats?” Chris nodded.
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve already got the inner and outer cordons out.”
“Yeah, Boss.”
“...and is that what I think it is?” Sam asked pointing to towards the large sheet of paper now spread out on the Cortina’s bonnet.
“It’s a building plan, Boss.” Drawled Ray, a smug look on his face, “got it from the landlord.”
Sam blinked.
“That’s standard procedure!” Gene huffed.
“No need to sound so shocked Gladys.” Sam grinned.
“I’m not shocked.” He paused. “Might be dreaming though”, still grinning he reached over and patted Chris on the shoulder. Three pairs of eyes stared at him, all sharing a pointed look that seemed to question his sanity. Without warning Gene stepped forward and pinched Sam (hard) on the arm. Sam yelped.
“Still think yer dreamin’ then?” Sam glared at Gene while Chris and Ray laughed. “An’ if you’re almost done carryin’ on,” Gene paused to smirk at Sam who was still rubbing his arm, “the nutcase left you a love letter.”
“What?”
“The nut job threw a note out the window an’ yelled that if anyone but D.I. Tyler touched it they’d have more ‘oles in them than a can of ‘oops.” Gene clarified. Sam raised his eyebrows but just as he was about to say something Chris cut in.
“He didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout ‘oops Boss, but he was dead clear on you bein’ the person who ‘as to collect the note.” Standing beside Chris, Ray was smirking.
“So the next question is who was yer last boyfriend, Boss, and what the ‘ell did you do to piss ‘im off?”
Sam rolled his eyes as Ray took a bow while Chris grinned like an idiot and Gene looked amused.
“Well, don’t make us wait all day, Gladys. Fetch us the bleedin’ note.”
“With pleasure, Guv.”
Stepping around the Cortina Sam headed off in the direction of the house. It was a double story flat with a single window on each floor, red brick walls and a slated roof. It looked exactly like every other house on the street and most of the houses Sam had lived in as a child.
The note was lying a few feet away from him just below the window ledge, a perfect vantage point for someone inside the house to take a clean shot. Putting his hands up in a non-threatening manner Sam slowly made his way toward the note.
“Hello?!” he shouted, eyes scanning the window for movement, “I’m Sam, D.I. Sam Tyler”. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and was relieved to see Gene covering him with a gun aimed directly at the window. Clearing his throat Sam raised his voice. “I’m going to grab the note now.” He waited a few seconds but when there was no reaction he edged close to where the crumpled piece of paper was lying and grabbed it. The note now clutched in his hand Sam quickly moved away from the house and back behind the Cortina. Unfolding the note, he skimmed it quickly and winced. Looking up he saw Gene giving him a questioning look. Sam jerked his head slightly, motioning for the man to meet him away from where Ray and Chris were studying the map.
“What would you like? Good news or bad news first?”
Gene snorted.
“Surprise me.”
“Well, the good news is we now have the hostage taker’s name and a good idea of the motive.”
“So what, dare I ask, is the bad news?”
“The name is Angus Cole.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Gene leaned back against the Cortina and groaned.
“Tell me Tyler, why do I ‘ave this ‘orrible feelin’ you’re about to tell me somethin’ I’m not going to like?”
Sam gave him a sympathetic smile before continuing.
“Brother of Reginald Cole and the same Angus Cole who wrote C.I.D. a fair share of hate mail after Reg hung himself in his cell.”
“An’ there you go.”
Sam laughed bitterly.
“It gets better.”
“The suspense is killing me.”
“He’ got a vendetta against coppers.” Gene feigned shock.
“You’re kidding. An’ ‘ere I was thinking ‘e was going to invite us in for tea and Garibaldis.”
Sam ignored him.
“The note says that Angus is willing to exchange his two hostages for a D.C.I. of our choice.” Gene laughed.
“Right you lot!” he yelled over to Ray and Chris. “There’s a tenner and a Party Seven in it for the first man who can bring Litton back ‘ere.” He fished around in his pockets and brought out a five pound note. “Oh’ an’ an extra fiver if you can truss ‘im up like a turkey first.” As Chris and Ray made a mad dash for the Marina Sam waited until Gene’s attention was back on him.
“As I was saying before I was interrupted by a two year old with a badge,” he muttered. “He’s willing to trade the hostages for a Detective Chief Inspector of our choice and Detective Inspector Sam Tyler.” Sam paused. “He then goes on to say that he is unwilling to negotiate any other terms and that we have half an hour to respond or he suggests we begin searching for two miniature body bags.”
Gene gave a low whistle.
“Well, don’t you feel special?” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Somethin’ like that.” Neither of them spoke for a minute, and then Gene nudged Sam with an (unexpectedly gentle) elbow to the ribs.
“Sure ‘e won’t just take Litton?” he joked. Sam gave Gene a half-hearted smile and shook his head.
“Doubt it.” He handed over the note. “Take a look there,” he pointed, “even underlined my name.”
Gene took a cursory glance at the offending article and shoved it back into Sam’s hands; then, reaching into the folds of his coat, he pulled out one of his many hip flasks. Taking a quick gulp he held it out to Sam who accepted it without remark. Sam brought the flask to his lips for a much deeper swig than he would usually take (on or off the job) before handing it back to Gene, thankful for the comforting burning sensation that trickled down his throat to his gut. Apart from a mildly impressed look Gene was uncommonly quiet, saying nothing until Sam eventually broke the silence.
“So how long do you think we should wait before we go in?”
Gene looked at him with an incredulous expression on his face.
“Hold on, you’re not seriously considerin’ listenin’ to this loony are you?” Sam sighed.
“Not a minute ago you were all for the idea.” He reminded him gently.
“That was when it were only Litton’s safety we ‘ad to worry about. You’re not goin’ in there! What if ‘e decides to finish off what ‘is brother started?!”
“I’m counting on it. All we know about him is that he was fond of his brother an’ that he blames me specifically for his death. I’d be willing to bet you anything he’s only asked for a D.C.I. because he needs a high profile hostage to negotiate an exit strategy with after he’s killed me.” Gene shook his head.
“I don’t like it. Shouldn’t you be tryin’ to establish a rapper with the bastard then? Offer ‘im something for the release of one of the girls?”
“Rapport.” Sam corrected numbly, giving Gene a wry smile when the other man glared at him. “I don’t know. Apart from what he’s told us in the note he hasn’t demanded anything else yet. We’ll ‘ave to work around that once I’m inside.”
“Wait a minute. We’re still talking ‘bout getting those hostages out. Not giving ‘im another one!”
“It’s not about the hostages. He’s using them as bargaining chips. I’m the one he wants.” Sam barked back, frustration creeping into his tone.
“All the more reason not to bloody line up to get yer head blown in.” Gene hissed.
“Look,” Sam raised his hands in front of him, palms outwards, and tried for a placating tone. “The way he sees it, he’s trying to fulfil his duty to his brother by doing what Reg couldn’t. So it’s safe to assume that he’s going to want to recreate the moment where Cole had me at gunpoint. That means once we’ve gotten those hostages out we’ll have until two o’clock to stop him from following through with it.”
“And what happens if we don’t?”
“Better me than two girl guides isn’t it?” Gene stared at him but Sam refused to back down.
Gene looked at his watch and pursed his lips.
“What is it now?” Sam asked, exasperated.
“It’s twelve thirty.”
“So?”
“By the time we get you an’ a D.C.I in there it’ll be ‘bout one. That’ll leave ‘im about an hour to twaddle on about what a saint ‘is dear deceased brother was before shootin’ you in the ‘ead.”
Sam winced. “Optimistic aren’t you?”
“Tyler...”
“I know, I know.” Gene’s eyes widened.
“Bloody ‘ell that was quick!” Sam pulled a face.
“Now you’re being childish, it doesn’t always take me forever to agree with you.”
Gene waved at him dismissively.
“No, not that. Ray an’ Chris ‘ave already got Litton.” Sam turned around and sure enough, heralded by the overwhelming scent of cheap cologne, Litton was swaggering towards the two of them. From his oiled hair, to his pressed dark brown suit and thin little moustache, everything about him reminded Sam of a seedy car salesman.
“Buenos dias, gents. I hear that you’re in need of some assistance?” Sam rolled his eyes.
“It’s the afternoon.” Litton blinked.
“Your point, Inspector?”
“The correct greeting would be Buenas tardes.”
“Well, I knew that. I just er- lost track of the time.” He continued on hurriedly “Now, was there actually something you needed me for or did you only disturb me from real work for an Italian lesson.” Sam opened his mouth to correct him again but decided it wasn’t worth it, choosing to go with cheap flattery instead.
“We need a D.C.I. to infiltrate a hostage situation, we thought that as you have the most expertise in crisis management and, er ... avoidance situations you would-“
“What Tyler here is trying to say is that the spastic in there is willin’ to swap the two little girls he’s got hostage for Tyler an’ a D.C.I.” Litton blanched.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Don’t wet yerself, Litton. I need a D.C.I. ‘ere to lead the team while Tyler an’ I go in. Think you can manage that?” he asked with a sneer.
“Gene...” Sam tried to interrupt but Litton was already talking over the top of him.
“Oh no you don’t Hunt. This blag is mine! You got to play hero the last time!”
Both men turned to face Litton, equally shocked. Gene recovered first.
“If you ‘onestly think I give a rat’s arse abo-” but Sam cut him off.
“Guv, I think Litton has a point.” Gene stared straight at him, his expression torn between anger and betrayal.
“Right. Tyler. A word.”
“We’re in the middle of-“
“NOW!” Next thing he knew Sam was being dragged by his elbow to an area outside of Litton’s hearing range. “What the ‘ell do you think you’re doing?” Gene demanded his hands grabbing the lapels of Sam’s jacket and threatening to lift him from the ground. With a fair bit of force Sam pushed the hands away and stepped back, putting space between him and the enraged man. Gene was still glaring at Sam but was making no moves to attack him which Sam chose to interpret as a good sign.
“Guv, think about it. Last time Litton was the officer in charge of the situation he barged in like a fool and almost got us killed. If he’s the other hostage then you’ll be the one calling the shots out here and we might have a chance of getting out of this alive.” Sam watched Gene think it over and held back a sigh of relief as Gene visibly calmed.
That’s an awful lot of faith you’re putting in our team Sam.” Sam had to admit the doubt in Gene’s voice was less than encouraging.
“Not faith,” Sam corrected, “trust.” He smiled and Gene gave him an exasperated look.
“Dorothy.” Gene muttered as he spun around on his heel, stalking back over to Litton, yelling at the top of his lungs;
“Well did you ‘ear that Litton, you get to pretend to be a real copper for a day!”
Continued in Part 2...
Author: jean_geanie
Rating: Blue Cortina
Length/Word Count: (2,800/ 10,200)
Notes: gen (although it's written with slash goggles, so feel free to use them)
Apologies as this isn't beta-ed, let me know if you see any errors!
Summary: Sam and Litton held hostage together, a pair of shoes, an old book.
Sam awoke with a groan, a splitting headache and only a vague idea of what events had transpired the night before.
Sighing, he pushed the blanket off his legs and dragged himself out of bed, stumbling blindly toward the bathroom sink. Turning the tap on, he splashed cold water on his face until he felt awake enough to hazard a glance in the mirror. As Sam studied his bloodshot eyes and haggard reflection he noticed the faint outline of scarlet lipstick on his cheek. After a few long moments of pained confusion, his memory finally rewarded him with the recollection of the chaste farewell kiss Annie had given him before allowing herself to be pulled away by her husband.
Sam cringed as the rest of the night started returning in flashes. It was Annie’s wedding and, from what he could remember, Sam had Gene to thank for his current state. The man had insisted on plying Sam with alcohol throughout the entire reception, refusing to believe that Sam wasn’t devastated over the loss of his “gal-pal”.
Just as Sam was fixing himself an instant coffee (with the bare minimum amount of water required for dissolving the coffee powder) and contemplating taking his first sick day, the phone rang. Setting the mug on the table Sam pulled a shirt on over his vest and picked up the phone from the bedside shelf.
“Hello?” he mumbled.
“Boss, you conscious?” Sam smiled.
“Didn’t know you cared Phyllis.” Balancing the phone on his shoulder he buttoned up his shirt and reached for his jacket.
“I don’t,” the voice on the other end snapped. “There’s a loony who’s taken two girl guides hostage down at number fifteen Queen street an’ the Guv told me to let you know that if you don’t get yer arse down there in the next ten minutes ‘e’ll have you crucified upside down by the bollocks.”
Sam cringed at the mental imagery.
“Err, thanks... fifteen Queen street was it?”
“That’s it, an’ anytime Boss.”
Putting the phone back down, Sam wondered briefly if it were possible for a voice to smirk before grabbing his keys and badge from the table. Casting one last longing look at his (still full) mug of coffee Sam left his flat, taking only a few seconds to lock it from the outside. Shoving his keys and badge inside his front jacket pocket he quickly made his way down the stairs.
When Sam got outside and saw a plod waiting for him in one of the unmarked cars he made a mental note to have flowers delivered to C.I.D.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the plod pulled the car over near Queen street Sam was relieved to see it had also been a dead-end street in seventy-three. He was, however, significantly less pleased to see the large group of people gathering at the opening of the road. Sam pulled out his badge as he stepped out of the car and used it to push through the crowd and past the officers that were holding them back.
When Sam had received Phyllis’ call he knew he would be the last of the team to arrive, but he hadn’t given much thought to how late he was until he noticed that the rest of the street had already been evacuated and that the team were now standing on the other side of a cordon (leaning back against the Cortina) and looking at what appeared to be a very large map. Gene was the first to notice Sam and waved him over with sarcastic enthusiasm.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Samantha. Rough night?”
Sam ignored him and instead turned to Chris, who shifted nervously on his feet.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Run me through the situation. How are the hostages? The hostage taker? Any injuries?”
Sam couldn’t help feeling slightly proud when Chris started leafing through the pages of his notepad.
“All still alive, Boss. Not shots fired yet. Accordin’ to the neighbours the hostage taker is a bloke in his fifties an’ we’ve got an eye witness who says he’s armed with one of those army issue pistols. Dunno much else, though. ‘e must be a bit of a loner if not even the neighbours know ‘is name.” Sam nodded vaguely and gestured towards the house.
“So you’ve already evacuated the street? And the surrounding flats?” Chris nodded.
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve already got the inner and outer cordons out.”
“Yeah, Boss.”
“...and is that what I think it is?” Sam asked pointing to towards the large sheet of paper now spread out on the Cortina’s bonnet.
“It’s a building plan, Boss.” Drawled Ray, a smug look on his face, “got it from the landlord.”
Sam blinked.
“That’s standard procedure!” Gene huffed.
“No need to sound so shocked Gladys.” Sam grinned.
“I’m not shocked.” He paused. “Might be dreaming though”, still grinning he reached over and patted Chris on the shoulder. Three pairs of eyes stared at him, all sharing a pointed look that seemed to question his sanity. Without warning Gene stepped forward and pinched Sam (hard) on the arm. Sam yelped.
“Still think yer dreamin’ then?” Sam glared at Gene while Chris and Ray laughed. “An’ if you’re almost done carryin’ on,” Gene paused to smirk at Sam who was still rubbing his arm, “the nutcase left you a love letter.”
“What?”
“The nut job threw a note out the window an’ yelled that if anyone but D.I. Tyler touched it they’d have more ‘oles in them than a can of ‘oops.” Gene clarified. Sam raised his eyebrows but just as he was about to say something Chris cut in.
“He didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout ‘oops Boss, but he was dead clear on you bein’ the person who ‘as to collect the note.” Standing beside Chris, Ray was smirking.
“So the next question is who was yer last boyfriend, Boss, and what the ‘ell did you do to piss ‘im off?”
Sam rolled his eyes as Ray took a bow while Chris grinned like an idiot and Gene looked amused.
“Well, don’t make us wait all day, Gladys. Fetch us the bleedin’ note.”
“With pleasure, Guv.”
Stepping around the Cortina Sam headed off in the direction of the house. It was a double story flat with a single window on each floor, red brick walls and a slated roof. It looked exactly like every other house on the street and most of the houses Sam had lived in as a child.
The note was lying a few feet away from him just below the window ledge, a perfect vantage point for someone inside the house to take a clean shot. Putting his hands up in a non-threatening manner Sam slowly made his way toward the note.
“Hello?!” he shouted, eyes scanning the window for movement, “I’m Sam, D.I. Sam Tyler”. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and was relieved to see Gene covering him with a gun aimed directly at the window. Clearing his throat Sam raised his voice. “I’m going to grab the note now.” He waited a few seconds but when there was no reaction he edged close to where the crumpled piece of paper was lying and grabbed it. The note now clutched in his hand Sam quickly moved away from the house and back behind the Cortina. Unfolding the note, he skimmed it quickly and winced. Looking up he saw Gene giving him a questioning look. Sam jerked his head slightly, motioning for the man to meet him away from where Ray and Chris were studying the map.
“What would you like? Good news or bad news first?”
Gene snorted.
“Surprise me.”
“Well, the good news is we now have the hostage taker’s name and a good idea of the motive.”
“So what, dare I ask, is the bad news?”
“The name is Angus Cole.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Gene leaned back against the Cortina and groaned.
“Tell me Tyler, why do I ‘ave this ‘orrible feelin’ you’re about to tell me somethin’ I’m not going to like?”
Sam gave him a sympathetic smile before continuing.
“Brother of Reginald Cole and the same Angus Cole who wrote C.I.D. a fair share of hate mail after Reg hung himself in his cell.”
“An’ there you go.”
Sam laughed bitterly.
“It gets better.”
“The suspense is killing me.”
“He’ got a vendetta against coppers.” Gene feigned shock.
“You’re kidding. An’ ‘ere I was thinking ‘e was going to invite us in for tea and Garibaldis.”
Sam ignored him.
“The note says that Angus is willing to exchange his two hostages for a D.C.I. of our choice.” Gene laughed.
“Right you lot!” he yelled over to Ray and Chris. “There’s a tenner and a Party Seven in it for the first man who can bring Litton back ‘ere.” He fished around in his pockets and brought out a five pound note. “Oh’ an’ an extra fiver if you can truss ‘im up like a turkey first.” As Chris and Ray made a mad dash for the Marina Sam waited until Gene’s attention was back on him.
“As I was saying before I was interrupted by a two year old with a badge,” he muttered. “He’s willing to trade the hostages for a Detective Chief Inspector of our choice and Detective Inspector Sam Tyler.” Sam paused. “He then goes on to say that he is unwilling to negotiate any other terms and that we have half an hour to respond or he suggests we begin searching for two miniature body bags.”
Gene gave a low whistle.
“Well, don’t you feel special?” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Somethin’ like that.” Neither of them spoke for a minute, and then Gene nudged Sam with an (unexpectedly gentle) elbow to the ribs.
“Sure ‘e won’t just take Litton?” he joked. Sam gave Gene a half-hearted smile and shook his head.
“Doubt it.” He handed over the note. “Take a look there,” he pointed, “even underlined my name.”
Gene took a cursory glance at the offending article and shoved it back into Sam’s hands; then, reaching into the folds of his coat, he pulled out one of his many hip flasks. Taking a quick gulp he held it out to Sam who accepted it without remark. Sam brought the flask to his lips for a much deeper swig than he would usually take (on or off the job) before handing it back to Gene, thankful for the comforting burning sensation that trickled down his throat to his gut. Apart from a mildly impressed look Gene was uncommonly quiet, saying nothing until Sam eventually broke the silence.
“So how long do you think we should wait before we go in?”
Gene looked at him with an incredulous expression on his face.
“Hold on, you’re not seriously considerin’ listenin’ to this loony are you?” Sam sighed.
“Not a minute ago you were all for the idea.” He reminded him gently.
“That was when it were only Litton’s safety we ‘ad to worry about. You’re not goin’ in there! What if ‘e decides to finish off what ‘is brother started?!”
“I’m counting on it. All we know about him is that he was fond of his brother an’ that he blames me specifically for his death. I’d be willing to bet you anything he’s only asked for a D.C.I. because he needs a high profile hostage to negotiate an exit strategy with after he’s killed me.” Gene shook his head.
“I don’t like it. Shouldn’t you be tryin’ to establish a rapper with the bastard then? Offer ‘im something for the release of one of the girls?”
“Rapport.” Sam corrected numbly, giving Gene a wry smile when the other man glared at him. “I don’t know. Apart from what he’s told us in the note he hasn’t demanded anything else yet. We’ll ‘ave to work around that once I’m inside.”
“Wait a minute. We’re still talking ‘bout getting those hostages out. Not giving ‘im another one!”
“It’s not about the hostages. He’s using them as bargaining chips. I’m the one he wants.” Sam barked back, frustration creeping into his tone.
“All the more reason not to bloody line up to get yer head blown in.” Gene hissed.
“Look,” Sam raised his hands in front of him, palms outwards, and tried for a placating tone. “The way he sees it, he’s trying to fulfil his duty to his brother by doing what Reg couldn’t. So it’s safe to assume that he’s going to want to recreate the moment where Cole had me at gunpoint. That means once we’ve gotten those hostages out we’ll have until two o’clock to stop him from following through with it.”
“And what happens if we don’t?”
“Better me than two girl guides isn’t it?” Gene stared at him but Sam refused to back down.
Gene looked at his watch and pursed his lips.
“What is it now?” Sam asked, exasperated.
“It’s twelve thirty.”
“So?”
“By the time we get you an’ a D.C.I in there it’ll be ‘bout one. That’ll leave ‘im about an hour to twaddle on about what a saint ‘is dear deceased brother was before shootin’ you in the ‘ead.”
Sam winced. “Optimistic aren’t you?”
“Tyler...”
“I know, I know.” Gene’s eyes widened.
“Bloody ‘ell that was quick!” Sam pulled a face.
“Now you’re being childish, it doesn’t always take me forever to agree with you.”
Gene waved at him dismissively.
“No, not that. Ray an’ Chris ‘ave already got Litton.” Sam turned around and sure enough, heralded by the overwhelming scent of cheap cologne, Litton was swaggering towards the two of them. From his oiled hair, to his pressed dark brown suit and thin little moustache, everything about him reminded Sam of a seedy car salesman.
“Buenos dias, gents. I hear that you’re in need of some assistance?” Sam rolled his eyes.
“It’s the afternoon.” Litton blinked.
“Your point, Inspector?”
“The correct greeting would be Buenas tardes.”
“Well, I knew that. I just er- lost track of the time.” He continued on hurriedly “Now, was there actually something you needed me for or did you only disturb me from real work for an Italian lesson.” Sam opened his mouth to correct him again but decided it wasn’t worth it, choosing to go with cheap flattery instead.
“We need a D.C.I. to infiltrate a hostage situation, we thought that as you have the most expertise in crisis management and, er ... avoidance situations you would-“
“What Tyler here is trying to say is that the spastic in there is willin’ to swap the two little girls he’s got hostage for Tyler an’ a D.C.I.” Litton blanched.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Don’t wet yerself, Litton. I need a D.C.I. ‘ere to lead the team while Tyler an’ I go in. Think you can manage that?” he asked with a sneer.
“Gene...” Sam tried to interrupt but Litton was already talking over the top of him.
“Oh no you don’t Hunt. This blag is mine! You got to play hero the last time!”
Both men turned to face Litton, equally shocked. Gene recovered first.
“If you ‘onestly think I give a rat’s arse abo-” but Sam cut him off.
“Guv, I think Litton has a point.” Gene stared straight at him, his expression torn between anger and betrayal.
“Right. Tyler. A word.”
“We’re in the middle of-“
“NOW!” Next thing he knew Sam was being dragged by his elbow to an area outside of Litton’s hearing range. “What the ‘ell do you think you’re doing?” Gene demanded his hands grabbing the lapels of Sam’s jacket and threatening to lift him from the ground. With a fair bit of force Sam pushed the hands away and stepped back, putting space between him and the enraged man. Gene was still glaring at Sam but was making no moves to attack him which Sam chose to interpret as a good sign.
“Guv, think about it. Last time Litton was the officer in charge of the situation he barged in like a fool and almost got us killed. If he’s the other hostage then you’ll be the one calling the shots out here and we might have a chance of getting out of this alive.” Sam watched Gene think it over and held back a sigh of relief as Gene visibly calmed.
That’s an awful lot of faith you’re putting in our team Sam.” Sam had to admit the doubt in Gene’s voice was less than encouraging.
“Not faith,” Sam corrected, “trust.” He smiled and Gene gave him an exasperated look.
“Dorothy.” Gene muttered as he spun around on his heel, stalking back over to Litton, yelling at the top of his lungs;
“Well did you ‘ear that Litton, you get to pretend to be a real copper for a day!”
Continued in Part 2...