Nothing Special V, page 4
part #5 of Nothing Special Series
“That was awfully heroic of you with that kid. I didn’t see him.”
“You should pay attention where you’re going. Especially in residential areas.” Steele barely opened his mouth when he spoke. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Especially with him. The guy’s perfect haircut, impeccably pressed navy blue suit and red striped tie screamed do-gooder.
“I was distracted by that piece of crap tin box you live in. But you’re right, I should’ve been looking. You move fast. One second, you were on your porch and the next second, you were across the street. That’s amazing… especially being three sheets to the wind. You smell like a distillery. I’d be intrigued to see what you could do if you weren’t wasted.” The man turned a cocky grin at him and Steele had a mind to knock that smug look off his adolescent face.
“How old are you, kid?” Steele tossed his small cigar out the window, watching the scenery of Atlanta’s busy streets fly by.
“I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-five.” The guy balked, his frown almost making Steele laugh in his face. Was that his mean look?
“What exactly do you do for my dear old uncle, huh? Besides pick up his hard-headed nephew?”
The guy didn’t respond, as if Steele had hit a soft spot. Instead, he turned the corner hard onto Trinity Avenue and pulled into the parking lot of the Atlanta City government building. Tall oak trees surrounded the building, the once green leaves already turning their bright reds and oranges. Steele walked through the cold, heartless lobby, ignoring the disgusted looks of the distinguished gentlemen that milled about, and went straight to the bank of elevators on the north hall. He overlooked the classic beauty of the historical building, its tall columns and grand staircases, no longer interested in the magnificence of things. He wasn’t here on a field trip – he’d been summoned.
Steele paused, staring at his uncle’s last name on the glass double doors. The name his father held, grandfather, great grand…, and him. Instead of using the brass handles, he placed his large palm over the word Councilman and entered the city official’s office. He walked across the thick carpet, stopping in front of the only individual behind one of three desks that made up the reception area. A petite blonde smiled brightly and gave him a courteous greeting before she asked how she could help him.
“I’m here to see Councilman Steele.”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, flipping open a bulging black calendar book.
“Nope,” he replied curtly, sticking a well-chewed toothpick that he’d pulled from his coat pocket in his mouth.
The woman gave him a look that barely masked her revulsion. “I’m sorry. The councilman’s calendar is full for today, but I’d be happy to take your—”
“Not a problem, I’ll come back when he’s not busy.” He winked and turned to leave. He was almost home free when he heard a sharp, “Stop right there. Don’t even think about it.”
Steele stopped midway out the door and took a couple steps back, letting the glass close in his face. No matter how much he’d like to, he couldn’t ignore that voice or its tone. One that sounded exactly like his father’s.
“Come on, Edwin. Inside.”
When he turned around and looked his uncle in those light eyes, his chest ached with a need to see his father just one more time. It was his twin standing in front of him, but if he closed his eyes, he’d swear it was his dad. That Estonian accent lingering just barely on the tip of his tongue but overshadowed by the extensive time spent living in America.
“Please hold my calls, Renee. Thank you.”
Steele walked past the wide-eyed receptionist, her face showing her confusion. Confused that the regal councilman would consort with such a vagabond. His uncle closed the door and walked up to him, pulling him into a hug. Steele didn’t have the strength or willpower not to hug him back. He embraced his father’s twin with the ferocity of needing him to make everything not only right in his life but right in the world. Life was screwing him too hard and he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Vennapoeg.”
Steele knew some of his family’s native language, but he didn’t speak fluent Estonian, had always run when his father started up lessons, not wanting to miss a second of having fun with his isa instead of learning. But he knew the word nephew. It’s how his uncle always greeted him. Steele held on and closed his eyes while his last remaining family member tried to comfort him.
“You’re going to be okay. You will. You’re strong, vennapoeg. You are your father’s son. You will pull through this.”
“I’m tired of fighting,” Steele whispered painfully, clutching his uncle’s expensive suit jacket in his fists.
“You’ve just begun.” His uncle pulled back and placed his hands on his cheeks, looking him in his sad gray eyes.
“I can’t fight for that city anymore. I won’t. They let him die… they just ignored his call for help. I know they did.” Steele felt the need for a drink. The weight of living with his battalion’s death, and now his partner’s death, ate at him. Even though he’d never felt comfortable in Oakland and he and his partner never got a chance to form a more definitive bond, Steele knew his partner had been a good cop.
“I’ve done everything I can, Edwin. I can’t prove that unit could’ve got there in time to save him,” his uncle said sadly.
Steele gritted his teeth to keep from cursing up a storm. He’d never humiliate his uncle in his place of business. “Those bigoted bastards,” he hissed. Shaking his head, his voice strong again. “I’m not going back.”
“I know you’re not. Because god help ‘em all if they hurt you too.” His uncle spoke in that fear-provoking tone that all the Steele men were notorious for. “I’ll be in prison for the rest of my life. Don’t let the suit fool you, vennapoeg.”
“It never has, onu,” Steele answered. He absolutely knew of the power beneath that suit. His uncle was still a warrior – only now he had to fight from this office because of the metal plate in his hip – he’d fought right alongside Steele’s father in many protests right here in the United States before joining the Marines to fight abroad. It was in their bloodline. His great, great grandfather was a general in the Estonian Defence Forces – a peacekeeper that participated in the 1921 forming of the League of Nations. A man loved and respected by his countrymen until he saved the life of an American soldier that was being tortured by Estonian commanders.
As far back as Steele could remember, the men in their family stood up for those weaker than themselves, stood for what was right, no matter the cost. It’d not only cost his great, great grandfather his position in the military but the love of his homeland. It was a blessing his grandfather wasn’t too proud to leave, wasn’t afraid to call America home, that’s why they fought for it.
Steele himself was a third generation Marine Force Recon lieutenant. He performed sixty-two successful black ops missions before taking bullets in the ribs and the thigh, ending his military career. The Navy doctor said he’d walk with a limp the rest of his life and would never be battle ready again.
He may have lost his unit, but he’d never stopped living for them. Living for Ackerman. Until this day, he still hadn’t chased a man that could out-run him. It took him three years to heal fully, but he did it.
“Why’d you call me here, onu? Not only to your office but to Atlanta.” Steele stared out the tall window, looking down on the parking lot full of official vehicles.
“Because I believe you need new surroundings. Because I believe if you stay in Oakland, you won’t stop digging into Ramos’ death. They’ll never admit to stalling on the call, Edwin, and neither you nor I have any way to prove it.”
“I can beat them until they confess.”
“Now you’ve answered your own question.” His uncle stood next to him, his firm hand resting on his shoulder.
“Ramos had a family. A husband, children, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews who loved him. Now he’s gone. Why? Because he chose to have a husband instead of a goddamn wife. He was a good cop. He didn’t deserve it.”
“That type of hate is never deserved, vennapoeg. But I can’t have you blaming yourself for it all. He was off duty. He tried to stop a store robbery. He lost his life, but he saved two others before he did. He did his job, and it wasn’t your fault, Edwin.”
“I’m still done,” Steele repeated. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince his uncle or still trying to convince himself.
“Oh, you’re far from done. Joseph told me what you did when he was pulling up to get you. Your instincts, your reactions, your need to do good is in here, vennapoeg.” His uncle held his shoulder and placed his other hand over his heart. “There’s no quitting in here. There’s no quitting who you are. You’ll fight until your last breath, and that’s a long time from now. What do you think you’re going to do without your shield or a platoon? Become a Walmart greeter? Or become an alcoholic?”
His uncle’s gray eyes hardened and blazed with anger, his voice a menacing snarl. “Drowning yourself in the bottom of a bottle is beneath you. You will not disgrace your father… my brother. I won’t allow it. You are not tired, you’re not weak. It’s impossible,” he hissed, close to Steele’s face. “Your last name is Raud. Iron… steel. You think your great grandfather changed the meaning of our family surname… he only translated it to English. You are unbreakable. And I demand you act like it.”
Steele didn’t speak. His uncle was right. He’d let hurt and injustice control his actions.
“Believe me. I understand loss. I’ve experienced my fair share. My biggest hurt was losing my brother. He was a part of me, a part I’ll be without from here on. But I’ll work hard every day to continue fighting for what he believed in. He believed in this country, Edwin. Keep fighting, son. You just need a team you can fight with.”
Steele snorted. “Yeah, right. Who the hell can handle my shit, onu?”
His uncle smiled that crooked grin, the same way his father used to whenever Steele’d fall into his trap. “I think I know someone. Come over here and sit down. I want to show you something.”
Steele sat on the low back suede couch in the sitting area in his uncle’s large office while he turned on a flat screen television sitting atop a cherry oak TV stand. Immediately, a black and white grainy video began playing. His uncle didn’t watch the screen, instead, he watched for Steele’s reaction.
He saw a column of big SUVs lined up in a row and men – firearms drawn – getting into position for something big. As he watched the video play out, his jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand what this was. An execution first… then maybe a hit. Twenty or so men – gangsters – were firing in one direction. “What the hell is this, uncle?”
“Just keep watching.”
Steele wanted to pull out another little cigar but he knew better. Instead, he stroked the rough stubble on his jaw, looking like he wanted this footage to stop until he saw a huge garbage truck roar up the narrow street and mow down the men that were shooting. “Jesus Christ.” He watched a man appear from the back like Houdini, firing machine guns like he was in Desert Storm. It was two of them. They moved as a synchronistic unit like they could read each other’s thoughts. Quickly and efficiently, they took out every thug they aimed their weapons at.
His uncle pushed a button on the remote. “This is film taken from the back side, at another angle that was caught by a chopper. It’s pieced together, but check this out.” The image flickered a few times before another feed began. “This is the rear view. The gangsters that we just saw were in the front; this is the back of that house.”
There were at least ten to fifteen men back there firing. “All these guys are firing at one house?” Steele said disbelievingly. “They were probably wasting ammo at that point.”
“Nope. The officers inside were still returning fire,” his uncle said with a determined expression. “Only three of them.”
Steele stood up and moved closer, unable to take his eyes off the screen. There was no audio to the video, but he could almost feel the chaos of that battle inside him. A silver truck appeared around the corner – taking the curve like a NASCAR driver – with undercover police vehicles trailing it. He watched a man slide out the passenger window and perch his ass on the door, firing an automatic rifle over the top of the truck while the driver spun it in a perfect three-sixty, bright flashes of explosions erupting from his own handgun. A Desert Eagle. It was one of Steele’s favorites. He could easily recognize that flashbang in the dark night. The man firing over the hood was an expert, a marksman. Nothing could shake him.
“Goddamn. Who is that?” Steele pointed at the man looking down the scope and knocking off men as the truck spun him in a circle.
“That’s Detective Austin Michaels.”
Steele pointed to the driver, a behemoth of a man who was now darting across the road – he could move fast – towards the house, both arms raised, shooting anything in his path. Wielding those massive firearms like a true beast… like a soldier. “And him. Who the hell is he?”
“That’s your new boss. Lieutenant Cashel Godfrey… they call him… God.”
God
“I don’t like this captain. I choose my team, it’s always been that way. My team is built of qualified men I can trust. You’re telling me I gotta take some blacklisted cop from the West Coast, who lost the respect of his entire department. His partner’s killed and he flees. Fuck that. Find him another department. Homicide or robbery.” God was never disrespectful to his captain, but this was going too far. A new member. He didn’t put in a request to recruit. What the hell was this? Was someone trying to sabotage his department… set him up? “I don’t like this… something’s off.”
“Well, he sure looks good as hell on paper,” Syn put in, flipping pages of the thick file that had been forwarded to them. “Came into law enforcement rather late, though – but graduated top of the class after annihilating a few records there. Took the detective’s exam three years later and aced it. But there’s a ton of information back here that’s blacked out.”
“That’s from his military career.” The captain sighed, rolling up the sleeves to his dress shirt. He looked as tired as they were.
It was already after six, a Sunday evening. God had called his team in at the captain’s order for an emergency meeting, only for the older man to tell him this bullshit. He and Day were supposed to be home watching football right now. Enjoying their last evening off.
“It’ll take time for me to get him trained… time I don’t have. And what about all the evaluations and psych screenings, does he really get to bypass all that?” God argued, his fist clenched tight on the armrest.
His captain chuckled. “You mean these two actually passed psych evals?” He pointed at Ruxs and Green.
“Fuck no! But at least we were prepared for them to fail,” God barked.
Green tried to cover his laugh but failed at that, too.
“I’m glad y’all are finding this amusing. But I don’t see the humor.” God glared at them.
“Why’s he coming to us, anyway?” Day finally spoke, standing behind God, massaging his shoulders to keep him from jumping up out of the chair and throwing shit around.
“This is coming from higher up, Day. Not exactly sure who, but higher than the chief. Believe me, I fought this. I’ve been on the phone with every connection I have, but there’s no one that can override this decision. It’s done.” The captain sat up a little straighter and motioned for the file from Syn. “I’m kind of optimistic, Godfrey. This guy was a Marine for twenty years, Special Forces for eleven of them. He had top-level security clearance, has three Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star, and countless commendations and…” the captain scanned some more pages. “Holy shit… this can’t be right. No way. God, am I reading these initials right?”
God took extra notice now, his captain rarely cursed. God looked at what his captain was pointing at. This guy had received a lot of awards, but his captain’s finger was hovering over the initials MH, and it gave him pause.
“What is it?” Green asked. “Damn, now I’m intrigued.”
“What is it, God?” Syn squinted at him.
“He received the Medal of Honor in ‘09 from President Clinton.” God tossed the file back on the table. “Still doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“It means he’s trustworthy. That’s the highest military medal there is. They don’t just give those to anyone, and you know it. The guy’s a certified winner on paper… let’s see if he fits in with you miscreants. You say you only want the best.” The captain stood up and took his jacket off the back of the chair. “I think you just got him.”
God watched the captain leave, his word final. He couldn’t refute this. He’d have to give the guy a shot. If he was a cowboy and refused to take orders, God would go all the way to the mayor if he had to. He wouldn’t put his men in harm’s way.
“The Medal of Honor.” Michaels raised his eyebrows and whistled. “That’s heavy.”
“What’s it awarded for, exactly? I’m not from a military background and I don’t feel like googling it,” Syn asked.
“It’s awarded for valor. Going above and beyond the call of duty. Only given by the President,” God informed his team. “Alright, enough stroking his dick, the guy hasn’t even gotten here yet. Syn, I want you to tell Tech to get in here early tomorrow and see what else he can pull up on this guy before he arrives. Also, tell him to get the simulation programs together; let’s see this guy in action.”
“No problem,” Syn said, pulling on his thick denim jacket.
“No need to sit here and be pissed Cash. Let’s go home. Got a long week ahead of us.” Day stopped touching him and just that fast the pain in his neck returned.
Tech
It was still dark when he pulled his Tahoe into the station parking lot. The shift change didn’t start for another two-and-a-half hours so he was able to get a space close to the door, which started his early morning off right. He’d had a really good session with his personal trainer on Saturday and for some reason, when his muscles ached it made him feel strong, like the men in his team.
