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Scene Title Regards
Synopsis A message is delivered.
Date March 12, 2021

The Breaking Pint, DUMBO, New York

The Breaking Pint is a quiet place tonight. Many of Daphne’s regular customers are five blocks away at Strikers Bowling Alley for the police bowling league tournament, while the rest man their beats. There have been rumblings about long hours of late, from the patrons of the bar, as they commiserate over pints of beer.

Isa Khan and Abby Muldoon know the fatigue that sets in with long hours, both from their days as beat cops and now as homicide detectives. Their precinct isn’t one with many murders to solve, but there is one “unsolved” case that always sits at the back of Isa’s mind and occupies her time and focus. Some might argue too much of it.

The focus of the Pint’s owner seems also divided today as well. Daphne Ayers stares off into space now and then as she tends the bar — more than once, her customers have to repeat themselves or raise their voices to gather her attention, which isn’t like Daphne. She shakes her head as if to clear it and moves back into her usual energetic mode for a time, but returns to that pensive, distractedness after a few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she says as she refills Isa’s and Abby’s beverages. “Got a lot on my mind. Who do you think’ll win the tournament, the Lickety Splits or the Harlem Hambones? I got money on the Splits.”

“We’re allowed to have off days, it’s okay.” Abby assures Daphne, a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her own eyes as she passes over her glass to be refilled with more sprite. She’s not here drinking drinking. She’s here because of late she’s been glued to the hip of her partner at the cost of home life. “You know. Guiterrez has a pretty mean curve, so if I did place bets, I’d probably place it on the Hambones. He's been out on the lanes practicing for the last two weeks. He even brought his bowling ball in to show it off.” Abby shakes her head. “Just halfway please.” She’s already reaching for her wallet so she can take care of the tip and looks to Isa.

"Huh?" Isa is off in la la land, daydreaming of Thalia, her failures. Wondering when she pops the next one. A daydream of a trip to the bathroom lingers in the detective's mind but she snaps out of it when her friends begin speaking.

"Yea, totally."

Gratefully taking another sip of her newly refilled glass and staring into the cup. "I could use a double actually."

At Isa’s request for a double, Daphne pours a little more, and then a little more on top of that. With people she likes, she has a heavy hand. “‘Off day’ is a hell of a euphemism, but I’ll take all the sugarcoating I can get when it comes to me and my faults,” says the usually cheerful bar owner, as she replaces the bottle.

The door opens, thudding softly closed behind the man who has entered it, and Daphne looks that way. She smiles and lifts a hand in welcome, before turning back to the two detectives. “And there’s that handsome husband of yours now,” she tells Abby.

It’s only a few seconds before James steps between Abby and the person to her left; his right arm finds the bar between Abby and Isa, gripping it as he leans in to brush his lips across his wife’s cheek. “Good evening,” he murmurs, giving a nod to both Isa and Daphne.

“You’ll be fine Daph. A bad day won’t define you. Penny fo-” But she’s halting her words when she looks over and yes. There’s James. “Indeed, there is my handsome man. No, you can’t have him. He’s mine all mine.” Abby grins, a dimple appearing and when he kisses her cheek, when he’s done, she’s brushing her lips across his. “Hello there stranger. Are we heading home or are the kids with Momma? Cause if they’re with momma, we could go have a late dinner and maybe…” You know. Spare time with their jobs and two young kids. Abby looks to Isa. “You should head home yeah?” Suggestion to her partner even as her hand slips into James’ and she draws it up to press a kiss to the back of his hand.

"I have a perfectly working husband waiting for me. Yea. I should haul ass." Isa nods at Daphne and stands while leaving money on the counter. "See you tomorrow girl!" The drunk as a skunk detective wanders off towards the exit. Leaving a strong smell of tequila in her wake.

Five Minutes Later

Outside, a windy night greets them; while not too cold, it’s strong enough shake the newly-budding trees that still look bare and skeletal in the dark, and it somehow feels more like autumn, like little children dressed as witches and vampires might come running around the corner to demand candy from them at any moment.

Muldoon squints up at the sky — it’s clear, without a sign of clouds anywhere, only a slim crescent moon hanging in the sky competes with the shine of the stars. Still, he says, “Going to be colder tomorrow.”

He wraps an arm around Abby’s waist and turns to Isa, with a gentlemanly dip of his head. “Have a good evening.”

“You can feel it in yer bones?” Abby grins up at him. “Just means I’ll turn the heat up a bit more and an excuse to lay in bed under the duvet instead of go to work.” She’ll go to work. She’s not one to normally lay about in bed on a day off. She looks to Isa, giving her a bit of a worried look but nods. “Take it easy.” She notes to her partner.” Her own hand wound around James waist and the other resting on the strap of her purse.

"Cold is nice!" Isabelle has drank quite a bit and her vision slightly blurred as she stands there wrapped in a coat though her body feels on fire from the spirits within.

That's why cabs are so amazing.

Hailing one with a sloppy wave, "Oh I'm gonna take it hard to my husband." The usually mostly surly detective laughs loudly as the cab screeches to a stop a few yards away. "Be good!"

Out of sight, a woman watches in silence. Her eyes narrow the trio, then on Isabelle — she doesn’t know the woman, but has memorized her face from a pair of photographs sent to her phone not more than an hour ago.


The photographs were accompanied by addresses — the first was to this bar and the second to the Le Rivage apartment, along with a message that draws a scoff and an eyeroll from Vor. She doesn’t need to be told how to do her job. She’s a professional.

Make it tidy. Dump the phone after.

She sighs when Isabelle emerges with the others; she’d hoped to have caught her on her own. She’d rather take the Khans separately, but she still has the element of surprise-

The night is pierced suddenly by the sound of a gunshot.

As the single report echoes in their ears, Abby finds herself being pulled downward, and only then does she realize that James has been shot. A spot of red, first small, dime-sized, blooms and blossoms like an abstract red flower in the center of his white shirt. He parts his lips, hands shaking as he reaches for her face. “Love…” he manages to say, blood already pinking his lips as he sinks slowly down to the pavement.

Across the street, a nondescript man in a nondescript car, the license plate no doubt removed, calls out, “John Logan sends his regards, Detectives,” before speeding away.

“Fucking poachers,” Vor grumbles, and a second later, she appears next to Isabelle, grabbing her by the wrist. “Can’t have you blowing your top here, darling,” she purrs into the detective’s ear. The two of them blink out of sight, leaving Abby to tend the wounded James Muldoon.

Time slows or at least the mind perceives it to slow. In truth it doesn’t really slow or at least not for Abby. One moment she’s bidding farewell to Isa, feeling safe that her co-worker won’t be imploding and looking forward to a night with James. Arm in arm, in love and even though things have been strange, it’s going to be okay. She just knows it.

Then she hears the sound. That sharp report that she instinctively knows what it is and for a moment she holds her breath and tenses up. She’s expecting to feel the blossom of pain. But there’s no pain. Just the weight of James’ arm around her waist and she’s sinking down to the ground and gaze going to the James, then to her partner to make sure there’s no hole in her. Her partner who is there and gone. Eyes wide, mouth open, her head turns to the shout and peeling car.

Breathe. She should breathe.

She should have her brain, tell her lungs to contract and expand. But her brain is too busy processing the red on white. The red coming from his lips where blood shouldn’t be coming from. The feel of his hand on the side of her face. Her eyes settled on his and the horror dawning.

“Help” It’s softly said, like she’s swimming through water. Like calling for help in a nightmare and you can’t talk louder than a whisper. Then hands come down to press down on his chest and the spreading red, his head resting in the cradle of her two legs, her knees to the back of his neck “Help!” More louder this time. “HELP!” She’s screaming now, no radio on her and unable to reach for her phone. Apply pressure all training indicates. Apply pressure, call for help and so she does. The little gold cross dangling between her face and her husbands and her breath curling out in faint clouds around it, trembling with every slight movement.

“HELP!” She screams, looking down at James. “Don’t leave us.” Her breath comes fast as adrenaline starts to course through her. “Don’t leave us. Don’t leave us. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” Tears start to trip over her bottom lashes. “I love you, don’t leave me. You don’t get to leave me. You stay here. You don’t go anywhere James you hear me. Stay with me, help is coming, I’ll get Isaac. Isaac can fix this. He can fix you. HELP!” She turns her face to the door, screaming in the hopes that the music will have a lull or someone will come out. Someone on the street will have heard the gunshot and be nosy.

The sound of a single gunshot can be explained away by the mind as many things, but the door to the Pint opens just as Abby cries out. Suddenly a flood of feet surround her, and she can hear like she’s underwater the sounds of urgent voices calling 9-1-1 and others, a dozen off-duty police officers shouting around her. Passing cars come to a stop, their drivers staring at the dramatic vignette on the sidewalk.

It’s all vague and dull in her numbness; James is the focal point as he stares up at her. He’s too pale already and she can see the blood pooling out from beneath him already. She can feel his heart beating beneath her hands, but it’s too fast and too weak at once. His skin is already gray, his lips already turning blue from a lack of oxygen.

“You’ll be fine,” he repeats, his eyes focused on hers. “I can go knowing you’ll be fine. I love you. I’m sorry. You were always too good for me, Abigail Beauchamp, but we both knew that.”

He smiles, a hand touching her face and it’s already cold. There’s no time.

She knows the signs. An ambulance will not make it in time. They’ll try. They’ll work on him as much as they can but she knows deep down these are his last moments. So she stops. She doesn’t try to keep pressure on the wound and instead she moves to beside him and a bloody hand cups the side of his face in mirror of his own on hers as she cries. Tears striking down on his face as fast as they fall from her cheeks. “Wait for me.” She tells him, the words wet and haggard. “Wait for me James.” The same words spoken in another timeline though the name used is different. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay. I’ll make sure they remember you and how much you loved them.” Their kids. And she tunes out the crowd, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

James parts his lips to try to say more, but a tremor runs through his body. He wordlessly works his mouth for a moment, but it’s a struggle. His eyes stay on hers, and he frowns, before finally managing, willing himself to say the words.

“I’ll wait.”

They rattle, frail and brittle, like he’s aged three decades in the span of those few, last, precious moments. She can see the moment the light leaves his eyes.

Is it a minute later or a hundred? It’s hard to tell. Red-and-blue light strobes over the pavement, reflected in the pool of dark blood, and the police and paramedics surround her. Someone pulls her away from James by the shoulder as the paramedics swarm in to bend over the fallen body of James Muldoon. They’ll try, but she knows it won’t do any good. She knows he’s gone.

“I know this is a shock, but can you tell us anything about who did this?” someone says in her ear.

“Give her five seconds to breathe, will you?” Daphne shouts at the officer. “Abby, who can I call for you?” she says more gently.

She’s just staring at him. Staring as button down is pulled apart and the paramedics do what they can, go through the motions. Abby just stares. “They say you have 10 pints in your body” She’s not staring at James. It’s all the blood that's seeped out and just there. Pooled. “You don’t-” She looks at Daphne, shock on her face. “You don’t realize how much that is until you see it all” She muses, a little lost, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Then it hits her. Hands come up to cover her mouth but stops since they're covered in blood. “Oh god” Staring at them. “I don’t know… I… Momna’s with Dean and Katherine. Isa… They took Isa” She looks at Daphne then the cop. “Oh lord. They took Detective Khan. They drove up and they shot James and they took Isa!” Horror dawning further. “John Logan.” Abby looks back down to James. “John Logan sent his regards”

Those words send a flurry of activity around the police officers, both on and off duty. Radios squawk, suddenly more alive with activity.

“I’ll go with you. Let me just let Corbin know,” Daphne promises, squeezing Abby’s shoulder even as one of the paramedics comes up to wrap a blanket around her shoulders.

It will be a long, long night for Abigail Muldoon, and the first of many without her husband.

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