They Just Fade Away, Part I



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Scene Title They Just Fade Away, Part I
Synopsis One month after the arrest of Tyler Case, NYPD Detective Richard Myron finds that no matter how much things change, some things stay the same…
Date May 4, 2009

NYPD 5th Precinct, Chinatown

"Pfft, yeah, you and every other beat-cop in this precinct!" The belly-laugh accompanying those coarse words originates from a man who was once the laughing-stock of NYPD's 5th Precinct – Detective Richard Myron. Seated at his desk, feet kicked up and a coffee settled on the bulge of his stomach, the weary and aged detective watches the young officer in the doorway with a crooked smile.

"Hey, come on, if you can nab Tyler Case, then there's hope for all of us would-be detectives, right?" Arms folded and leaning against the doorframe, Officer Oliver Wilson has never truly seen this look of contentment on Myron's face. All it truly took was one good case to settle everything down, to put the score back in order, and for Myron to truly consider the unthinkable – retirement.

Grimacing, Richard swings his feet off of his desk, rising up to stand as he chugs down the last few swallows of coffee in the paper cup. "Wilson," Myron begins, flashing him a sarcastic smile as he lobs the empty cup towards the waste basket near the door, "the day you replace me as detective, is the day Lau smiles and means it."

Officer Wilson immediately grimaces, letting out a hissing sound as if the very notion was poisonous. "Oh man Myron, that's harsh – Come on we all know if Lau smiled she'd break mirrors or something." Noticing Richard's intent to head out of his office, Wilson begins moving himself, a few meandering steps out into the pit of desks where phone quietly ring. "But seriously, I've been hearing all sorts of rumors about you retiring… any of that true?"

"Maybe." Myron grumbles, reaching for his fedora on his coat rack, settling it over his balding head as his eyes flick towards the young officer. "We might've gotten Case off of the streets and put Chang Ye in a bodybag, but his crazy kids are still out there. I dunno if I can settle into retirement knowing that you'd be the one trying to chase down the terrible twins."

"Hey come on," a hand slaps on Myron's back, "you gotta' give me some credit, right? Besides, the Chief wants me to place in SCOUT, but to be honest I don't like the idea of getting in with them, it's like – I'm not all about the guns and glory, and lately Lau's been putting everyone on SCOUT on missions like they were members of SWAT or something."

Myron halts, looking over his shoulder to Wilson, "Did you hear about Marks?" Every bit of joking tone drains out of Myron with those words, and Wilson's face hangs, eyes closing as he nods his head. "She was one of the best cops I know, her and Harrison make you look like a preschooler, and don't even get me started on Grimes. That boy could run circles around you in crime scene investigations…"

"Hey, hey—I wasn't saying I was going to try and show them up, I just—" Wilson raises both of his hands defensively, "You know, I want to make sure the Fifth isn't empty without you, Myron. For all the shit the boys give you, they really respect the amount of time you've put in here, man. Plus, I mean, you did help nail Tyler Case."

Finally, Myron looks away from Oliver and begins walking between the rows of desks, head hanging a little. "That whole shit-storm still doesn't sit right with me, Wilson."

"What, Tyler Case?" It's a natural question, but Officer Wilson can't put his finger on why Myron wouldn't be happy with a closed murder case, especially one that garnered him as much fame around the precinct as this one did.

"Just the way it got settled is all, maybe I'm just getting old…" He pauses in mid-stride, turning to look back at Wilson. "You know, some times it feels like the world's goin' around and changing, and I'm standing still, watching everything change around me…"

A silence passes between the detective and the officer, both unsure of what to say next. But finally it's Myron that caps his own tense sentence off. "Maybe you're right, maybe it's high time this old horse gets sent off to pasture to let the fresh faces in… Evolved cops, it's the wave of the future, right?"

"Now wait a minute, just being born different isn't any replacement for good detective skills. All I got is thermal vision, Myron, I ain't no Houdinni like Rebecca down at CSI." Clearing the distance between himself and Myron, Oliver lays a hand on the old detective's shoulder. "There's a place for people like you too…"

Something sly begins to creep up in Oliver's expression, "I think it's called Florida." Myron's eyes narrow to slits, tongue rolling across his cheek as he leans in towards Oliver, who can no longer contain the laughter spilling out of him, but before Myron can launch into a joking diatribe against the younger officer, something breaks the camaraderie.

"Fuck!" A shout from across the office, "What the fuck the whole network just went offline!" Raising both hands up over his computer, Officer Dillon looks over to the other NYPD officers at their desks, noticing a flickering flash of photographs and information rapidly being processed over their screens as well.

A din of loud, confused voices begins to rise up in the bullpen, and Myron breathes out a deep sigh, "Ain't never over, is it?" As he and Officer Wilson begin to turn for the malfunctioning computers, a wiry looking man with swept back brown hair steps out of the office nearby, his door slamming against the wall from the speed in which it was flung open.

"Jesus Christ what the fuck is going on with the phones? Dispatch just called up to tell me that every automated service on our network is shitting bricks!" Chief Allonso Valenzetti is a man of capricious nature, a tempestuous attitude, and a mouth that would put a Nun into a coma. "Wilson, Myron! What the fuck are you two doing just standing slack-jawed?"

Before any response can be formed by Myron, he catches something on one of the screens out of the corner of his eyes. A photograph pulled up from the NYPD's records of a dark-haired young man with hollow cheeks and a severe look in his eyes. The placard held in his hands in the mugshot reads WIGHT, NILES. Dark brows furrow together, and Myron pushes the confused officer at the desk out of the way as he watches further images begin to stream across the screen, along with flashes of database entries and arrest records.

"Wilson," Myron makes a waving motion, and Oliver glances up to the Chief, giving him a helpless shrug before slipping over to lean in over Myron's shoulder.

"What'm I looking at?" Trying to keep up with the flow of pictures, maps and records is staggering, almost inducing a sense of vertigo from the speed at which they're accessed. Myron leans to one side, grabbing Oliver by the collar to drag him closer to the screen.

"Look at all'a these faces showing up. Harrison, Grimes, Marks, me, Case… someone's digging into the Case file." Blue eyes narrow, and Myron looks to the officer at the desk, "Can you pull the plug on this shit?"

"Uh—" The officer looks up to Myron, eyes wide, "No it—everything here is wirelessly handled. I'd have to get to the router to shut—" Myron slaps a hand on top of the officer's head lightly, then nods and turns to Wilson. A snort comes from Myron, followed by a shake of his head. But almost as soon as he starts coming up with another plan, all of the data flow stops and the computers revert back to the desktops that they were displaying before.

"Jesus Christ." Wilson whispers, "Someone just—fucking downloaded our whole criminal database from the looks of it." Rankling his nostrils, Myron resettles his hat on his head, then notices a vibration in his pocket. One dark brow rises, and a weathered hand moves down to reach to the phone at his hip, withdrawing it slowly to flip it open. It's—a text message.

Myron's eyes narrow. He doesn't have a texting plan.

"What—" Oliver leans in, trying to look at the phone, "Who is it?" Richard breathes in deeply, then looks up from the screen to Oliver.

"How bad do you wanna' be a detective, Ollie?" The question makes Officer Wilson hesitant, seeming a bit taken aback as he looks over to where the Chief is interrogating technical support staff members, then back to Myron.


"Because, kid." Myron turns the phone around, revealing the text message on the screen, "I think you're about to get yourself a nice trial by fire." Oliver's eyes almost cross as he reads the message, looking up to Myron and then over to the Chief, then finally back to the detective.

"Are—you actually going to do what that says?" Richard can only grin broadly at Oliver's question, stubbled chin tilted up and eyes lowered to assess the officer more carefully, "Nope. Because you're coming too. This, Wilson, is what I like to call a lead."

Wilson breathes in a deep, tense breath, then exhales sharply, "We're going to get suspended for this…"


I know what happened to Tyler Case.

Your work isn't done.

Beneath the Queensborough Bridge, Roosevelt Island. Tomorrow. Sunset.

Come Alone.


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