983. Chapter 983

After Under the Gun

Episode 3.3

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: I own none of it. Rating: K Time: See above. And below.

Author's note: Sharp eyed readers will note that this takes place years before Under the Gun.

I had seen her once at the annual police picnic and got a look at her legs and ass. She had on a pair of running shorts that she must have last worn in high school they were so tight. She usually didn't dress like that, having enough trouble being the "hot rookie", but she was in the spoon and egg relay race that day so I guess she figured she had to wear shorts.

Anyway, I could tell from a block away that it was my partner, Officer Kate Beckett. Tonight, she was dressed to kill though in a miniskirt that was damned near nothing but a wide belt, and some kind of backless tee shirt. I was glad to see she was out and about since she hardly had any social life. Since I was technically off duty I decided to let her go and have a nice time.

Do you know what happens when a cop looks at the scenery instead of keeping his head on a swivel and watching out for bad guys? Yeah, the bad guys get the drop on you. The first I knew they were there was when something smashed into my back and drove me to the ground. Then someone kicked me in the ribs.

"Look who it is. Why, it's Officer Royce. Thanks for dropping by, asshole. We can have some fun now,"

I looked up and what I saw scared me. Beckett had turned around and was heading straight for us. "Run, Kid. Call 911."

"Hey, it's the slut cop. Now we'll really have some fun."

I punched a knee as hard as I could and then someone hit me on the head. I fell to the pavement and everything went black.

"Officer Royce?"

Everything was blurry, but I got off a punch at the guy. As woozy as I was, I missed him by a mile and I probably couldn't have knocked over an anemic kitten the way I felt.

"Hey, Royce. Settle down. It's a paramedic."

I recognized the voice. "Walt?"

"You bet, buddy. Man, you really got in a fight."

"Tell me about it. Did you catch the bastards? Where's Beckett? Is she okay?"

"Did we catch them? Hell yes, we did. The paramedics are taking the four of them to the ER now. You really did a number on those four."

"I did? I was knocked out."

Walt Collins laughed. "You must do your best work that way. Tom Street has four broken ribs, Dave Dallas has his arm busted in three places, George Webber has a busted jaw and about two teeth left and Micky Moe has a concussion."

"It must have been Beckett. She was headed this way when I got conked on the head and knocked out."

"She wasn't at the scene when we got here. Some citizen called 911."

"Cutie Pie did that to those bums?" That was Greg Olsen who was always coming onto Beckett even after being told politely and not so politely to stop.

"Yeah, so remember that the next time you think about "accidentally" grabbing her boobs. We could end up calling you Officer Hook."

I tried to stand up and almost made it. The paramedic grabbed me.

"Easy, Officer Royce. We're taking you to the ER. You got concussed."

I checked myself out of the hospital against medical advice and went home. I got up early the next morning to go talk to Beckett. As usual, she was at work an hour early, I sat down beside her in the squad room.

"Why'd you take off last night, Kid?"

She gave me an odd look. "Take off? Take off from where?"

"I was in midtown looking for some of Sweet Jimmy's boys and they found me. The last thing I remember was seeing you coming to my rescue and then I woke up, the paramedics and cops were there, Sweet Jimmy's boys were headed to the ER and you were gone."

"It wasn't me, Mike."

"The hell it wasn't. I saw you."

"What time was this?"

"Just about nine on the dot."

"Mike I was here in the precinct. I was helping Mrs. Kerensky go through mug books looking for the guy who shot that clerk in the Bodega on 41st. Ask anyone. I was here from 7PM to after ten."

That made no sense to me. "You sure?"

Beckett gave me a look. "Duh! You think I'd lie to you? What were you doing in Midtown going after Sweet Jimmy? Leave that to Narcotics."

"Narcotics my ass." I grumped.

Sweet Jimmy Gough was a slimeball, but a smart one. He was the drug dealer to Manhattan's financial elite: Bankers, lawyers, stock brokers and the like. His street level dealers were other bankers, lawyers and such. Young guys who were just getting started and wanted to help their bosses by providing a little cocaine, pot or other pharmaceuticals to the troops. When we managed to bust one for possession with intent they showed up in court with a whole law firm representing them and everyone saying what a great guy the accused was. The judges always decided to send the bums to some drug diversion program. They even got the ones that ran at night so their careers wouldn't get screwed up. We had one judge bitch at us for arresting some nice young lawyer instead of going after real criminals. I could have puked.

So, I told Beckett my story. "And it was you came to my rescue. Unless you have a twin."

She shook her head. "I don't have a twin, or any sister, or a brother who goes around in drag or anything else. Look, Mike, you got hit pretty hard and you saw a tall woman with dark hair coming to you and you thought you saw me. It's as simple as that, because I wasn't there."

"Then how did one woman your size beat up four goons?" I wondered out loud.

Beckett shrugged. "She had her four boyfriends right behind her and they all had baseball bats. How would I know? If you want to know, go ask them. They were released from the ER and are in holding."

That was a good idea, so I went to holding. Naturally, they lied to me. Insisted that I had taken them all out. I should have known thugs like that would never admit to being beaten up by a woman.

But if it wasn't Beckett, who was it?

I waited a couple of days and then went out after my shift again. I went through Midtown on foot and completely wasted my time. I didn't see so much as some guy littering. I went home.

The next day I had an idea. When it was time for lunch break, I asked Beckett if she'd like Chinese.

"Sure, I love Chinese. But won't it take too long to eat?"

"Nah, I know a great place." I drove across Lexington and stopped in front of a Chinese restaurant. "You go in and order. You know what I like. I'll be with you in a minute."

I got out of the car and discovered Beckett was right by my side. "Are you going to order us lunch?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm going with you. You're up to something, Mike."

I laughed. "I don't understand why you haven't made detective already, Kid. I'm going to a martial arts studio. I know the owner. I figure the woman who saved my ass the other night has to have been some kind of martial arts type, and pretty good, too."

Mr. Park was a Korean-American who'd been born and raised in the US. He walked toward us with a smile on his face, then stopped and bowed. "How may I assist you, oh, great warrior?"

"Great warrior?" That was Beckett.

"Sure. Mike here took out four bad guys the other night. You must have heard about it."

I blushed slightly, which Beckett pretended not to notice. "The thing is, that wasn't me. I was out cold on my face. Some woman beat those guys up. At first I thought it was Beckett here, but she was at the precinct. Do you know any local martial arts folks who sort of look like Beckett here?"

Park took a good look at Kate, then shook his head. "No, but this is New York. She could have been from anyplace in the world and she could be a practitioner of any one of dozens of martial arts. No one I know looks even vaguely like Officer Beckett here, and I know a lot of people, but not everyone."

Well, it was a chance. "Okay, thanks. I thought that…."

"I may be able to help you, though." Park said. "I can give you the web addresses of a whole bunch of martial arts websites. Most of them have photos and bios of their best members. Maybe you could find her that way."

I spent two nights looking over those websites and got nothing. The third night I went out looking in Midtown again. By ten o'clock I had seen nothing and was about ready to call it a night.

The redhead staggered out of the alley and fell to her knees moaning. Her blouse was torn open and her skirt was ripped.

I sprinted to her. "Ma'am, I'm a cop. Can you tell me what happened?" That was as far as I got when my whole body felt like it was on fire. I had been suckered again. Someone had hit me from behind with a taser. When the tasing stopped, I was grabbed from behind and pulled back into the alley. Then some thug started working on my ribs with his fists.

The redhead followed us and pulled out a switchblade. "You beat the crap out of my boyfriend, pig. Now, you're going to find out what that feels like and more."

"No, he isn't." Said another, familiar voice. It was Beckett, or was it? She looked like Beckett, dressed in black skinny jeans and a black leather jacket, but her hair was a bit darker and a lot curlier. And she had some kind of accent.

The redhead turned to face her. "The bitch cop partner. Now we can all have fun."

The other woman shook her head. "No fun tonight for you." In a second she'd grabbed the woman's knife hand and I heard the crack of a bone breaking. Then she punched the redhead so hard that she flew in to the three guys who had me. They dropped me and I was face down again. The next thing I knew, the woman was lifting me up.

"How are you, Officer Royce?"

"I'm okay. But what happened? Who are you? Why are you following me and helping me?"

She winked at me. "You should call 911. Those four will need a trip to the ER."

She walked down the alley and was gone.

I made the call and when the cops got there, I told them exactly what had happened. No one believed me.