(no subject)
Title: First Day
Rating: PG (lots of swearing)
Warnings: none
Summary: "Frankie Ferchetti introduced us about five months ago."
His first day on the job, Marvin Nash knows that there is no way in hell he's going to remember all of the names he gets told. There are a ridiculous number of people who work out of his precinct, and there is simply no fucking way he's going to be able to remember them all. Still, he smiles and shakes hands as Frankie Ferchetti introduces everyone to "the new kid".
For the most part, they're all vaguely friendly. Marvin gets a lot of nods and promises of catching a drink later. That much he believes - he grew up watching cop shows, and cops always have their own bar that they go relax in after cleaning the streets of scumbags. He can almost picture all of these guys relaxing with beers, sleeves rolled up and ties loosened, as they swap stories of chases over rooftops and back alley shootouts.
Okay, so he also knows that he's being an idiot. Police work is going to involve way more traffic tickets and paper work than adventure. But, hey - who didn't grow up wanting to be Starsky and Hutch, right?
They come around the corner, into a room full of desks belonging to the detectives. These guys are the big time - drugs and homicide and that sort of intense shit - they guys who get to wear suits instead of uniforms and are badass motherfuckers. Next to him, Frankie curses under his breath.
Following the older man's gaze, Marvin spots a kid in a leather jacket leaning up against one of the desks. He's probably a few years younger than Marvin, but he's got insolent confidence just oozing off of him. It's there in the lazy, loose-limbed way he sprawls against the side of the desk, the easy flick of his lighter, the smoke rings he blows disinterestedly towards the ceiling. It's probably all an act, but damned if Marvin isn't a little impressed by the kid's gall.
He wonders who the fuck left this guy just sitting there, not cuffed or supervised.
Then, to his surprise, Frankie calls over to the guy.
"Jesus, Freddy, fuckin' smoke outside, alright? Last thing we need is you setting all the goddamned files on fire."
"Yeah, yeah," Freddy says, but he's smirking slightly as he drops the cigarette into the cup of coffee sitting next to him. There's a sputtering, sizzling sound that says whoever it belongs to wasn't done drinking it yet. They are now.
"You seen Holdaway?" he asks. "He said he had a few things for me to look over today."
"I'm sure he's around, then," Frankie says, brisk tone not doing much to mask his dislike of the younger man. Still, he introduces Marvin. "Freddy, this is Marvin. Marvin, Freddy Newendyke."
"Just out of the Academy, huh?" Freddy asks, shaking his hand. The handshake is firm, fast. "Man, that shit sucks."
Marvin's not entirely sure if he means the Academy or being the new guy on the force, so he just shrugs, and says: "It's alright."
He's thinking about saying more when Frankie makes as though to usher him away. "C'mon - more to see."
"Nice to meet you," he says, and Freddy gives him a half-salute half-wave, already distracted by looking through the stacks of papers on the desk.
When they're out of earshot, Frankie tells Marvin seriously: "You want to stay the fuck away from that one, and the rest of the undercover guys. They're good at what they do, no question, but maybe a bit too fuckin' good, if you get me. Holdaway picks 'em young, he picks 'em reckless, and he picks 'em to be guys who have nothing to lose. It's playing with fire. That cocky little bastard is going to wind up bleeding in some back alley somewhere, and you do not want to be there when it happens."
Which is probably more than fair, even if it is a little exciting to think about. That's the kind of danger that cool fuckers like Baretta deal with.
Marvin glances back for a moment. The kid is already lighting another cigarette.
Rating: PG (lots of swearing)
Warnings: none
Summary: "Frankie Ferchetti introduced us about five months ago."
His first day on the job, Marvin Nash knows that there is no way in hell he's going to remember all of the names he gets told. There are a ridiculous number of people who work out of his precinct, and there is simply no fucking way he's going to be able to remember them all. Still, he smiles and shakes hands as Frankie Ferchetti introduces everyone to "the new kid".
For the most part, they're all vaguely friendly. Marvin gets a lot of nods and promises of catching a drink later. That much he believes - he grew up watching cop shows, and cops always have their own bar that they go relax in after cleaning the streets of scumbags. He can almost picture all of these guys relaxing with beers, sleeves rolled up and ties loosened, as they swap stories of chases over rooftops and back alley shootouts.
Okay, so he also knows that he's being an idiot. Police work is going to involve way more traffic tickets and paper work than adventure. But, hey - who didn't grow up wanting to be Starsky and Hutch, right?
They come around the corner, into a room full of desks belonging to the detectives. These guys are the big time - drugs and homicide and that sort of intense shit - they guys who get to wear suits instead of uniforms and are badass motherfuckers. Next to him, Frankie curses under his breath.
Following the older man's gaze, Marvin spots a kid in a leather jacket leaning up against one of the desks. He's probably a few years younger than Marvin, but he's got insolent confidence just oozing off of him. It's there in the lazy, loose-limbed way he sprawls against the side of the desk, the easy flick of his lighter, the smoke rings he blows disinterestedly towards the ceiling. It's probably all an act, but damned if Marvin isn't a little impressed by the kid's gall.
He wonders who the fuck left this guy just sitting there, not cuffed or supervised.
Then, to his surprise, Frankie calls over to the guy.
"Jesus, Freddy, fuckin' smoke outside, alright? Last thing we need is you setting all the goddamned files on fire."
"Yeah, yeah," Freddy says, but he's smirking slightly as he drops the cigarette into the cup of coffee sitting next to him. There's a sputtering, sizzling sound that says whoever it belongs to wasn't done drinking it yet. They are now.
"You seen Holdaway?" he asks. "He said he had a few things for me to look over today."
"I'm sure he's around, then," Frankie says, brisk tone not doing much to mask his dislike of the younger man. Still, he introduces Marvin. "Freddy, this is Marvin. Marvin, Freddy Newendyke."
"Just out of the Academy, huh?" Freddy asks, shaking his hand. The handshake is firm, fast. "Man, that shit sucks."
Marvin's not entirely sure if he means the Academy or being the new guy on the force, so he just shrugs, and says: "It's alright."
He's thinking about saying more when Frankie makes as though to usher him away. "C'mon - more to see."
"Nice to meet you," he says, and Freddy gives him a half-salute half-wave, already distracted by looking through the stacks of papers on the desk.
When they're out of earshot, Frankie tells Marvin seriously: "You want to stay the fuck away from that one, and the rest of the undercover guys. They're good at what they do, no question, but maybe a bit too fuckin' good, if you get me. Holdaway picks 'em young, he picks 'em reckless, and he picks 'em to be guys who have nothing to lose. It's playing with fire. That cocky little bastard is going to wind up bleeding in some back alley somewhere, and you do not want to be there when it happens."
Which is probably more than fair, even if it is a little exciting to think about. That's the kind of danger that cool fuckers like Baretta deal with.
Marvin glances back for a moment. The kid is already lighting another cigarette.