Stupid Luck and Happenstance, Thread III
- Thread starter Peabody-Martini
- Start date
Because the guy who Fleming later named Q after wrote in to chide him for Bond using such a light gun
Spelling please, it's Beretta. Couldn't have been that bad, it was in production for some 57 years or so.
Part 137, Chapter 2347
Chapter Two Thousand Three Hundred Forty-Seven
4th January 1975
Los Angeles, California
For everyone there comes an inflection point.
A moment comes where a decision gets made and afterwards nothing is ever the same again. For Ritchie, that came when he was drinking coffee while at loose ends in a 7-11 parking lot while watching the early morning crowd pass through the busy convenience store. His recent promotion to Sergeant had not come with an assignment just yet. Mostly he had resumed his duties in Patrol Division in the Central District without missing a beat. The difference was that he was now the senior Officer at nearly every scene he responded to and took on a supervisory role. He also didn’t have Big Mike in the passenger seat, whose presence he missed. This happened to be the first time that he had been in a patrol car without a partner present, which felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Despite having told dispatch that he was taking a meal break, he hadn’t really bothered. Just getting a cup of mediocre coffee instead. Ritchie figured he would eat when he got home in a couple hours after his shift ended. He was half listening to the radio as dispatch sounded bored with the usual reports of the various minor nuisance crimes that occurred throughout Los Angeles and all times, but especially in the early morning hours. The neighbor kid keeping the party going that should have ended hours earlier. That sick fuck up the block prowling around your yard again. Someone spotted taking a leak in an alley. And the like. It never really ended.
That was when the call came in, Code 30, Officer needs help, urgent, shots fired, followed by a location just across the Ten in South-Central. Then something curious happened. A second call went out overriding Dispatch, 10-3, stop transmitting. Ritchie realized that had just nixed the entire response even as the Code 30 grew more frantic. There were rumors that this might happen if someone with a lot of juice in the Department wanted somebody dead and they had contrived to let the street do it for them. And any investigation would be unlikely to focus beyond the immediate scene of the crime.
For a second, obeying orders, the thing that had been drilled into him from the minute he had first entered Army Boot Camp was in conflict with the ethos of every outfit he had been in. Something that John Casey had told him years earlier about being able to look at yourself in the mirror came to mind and leaving someone in a dangerous position was possibly the most shameful thing imaginable. Putting Frankenstein into gear was an automatic reflex as he turned the siren on. The crowd in the 7-11 watched agape as he tore out of the parking lot gaining speed as he slewed into the intersection and accelerated hard as the tires gained traction on the pavement.
Ritchie only paid attention to the traffic to the extent that he needed to dodge around it. He shouted into the radio that he was responding, ignoring the call for radio silence. If anyone had a problem with that, they could get bent as far as he was concerned. He didn’t know if anyone else was responding but realized that he didn’t care. If they had any pride at all they would be right behind him.
Ritchie rounded a corner, the tires screeching as two tones of steel barreled through the intersection. There had been a few times in the Green Beret where Ritchie had been dialed in and it was like seeing everything in slow motion, aware of every detail as he slammed on the brakes. He was in that mode as he saw a young man wearing blue and black with a pistol turn and fire at Frankenstein, the window turning to a shattered cobweb instantly. As it turned out, that was a huge mistake by the shooter because the instant the Dodge stopped, Ritchie sprung from the driver’s side with the Winchester shotgun that had been strapped to the center console. In the back Ritchie’s mind, he was aware that they were wearing gang colors as he fired a 12-Gauge at the shooter. The man had a look of surprise on his face before a blast of buckshot erased it.
The other members of the gang became aware too late that a higher level of predator was among them as Ritchie started taking them out as fast as he could pump shells into the breech. He had to take cover behind a parked car as they belatedly started shooting back as him as he fired the last shell, drew his pistol, and resumed shooting, continuing to take out anyone who dared to point a weapon remotely in his direction. It was when he ricocheted a bullet off the street below a parked car hitting the gang member sheltering behind it that the others realized they were overmatched by one man. It was a detail that would enter the lore of the surrounding neighborhoods and grow with retelling. Ritchie wasn’t concerned by that as he heard the approach of the belated response.
“What the fuck?” Tony asked as he stepped out the building he had been hiding in, saw what Ritchie had just done and was shocked by it. The small Italian pistol in his hand what would be expected for someone in his undercover role. It was totally inadequate for the situation that he had found himself in with a street gang looking to skin him alive.
“You really must have pissed someone off” Ritchie replied, “They sicked these guys on you and delayed the response.”
“That wasn’t what I was talking about” Tony said as he stared at the dozen bodies in the street with a look of horror on his face.
Some outfits in the Army only take you if they know you are a killer and would act without hesitation, which was something that was seldom mentioned. Few people were aware what happened when those they asked to do violence on their behalf went to work.
4th January 1975
Los Angeles, California
For everyone there comes an inflection point.
A moment comes where a decision gets made and afterwards nothing is ever the same again. For Ritchie, that came when he was drinking coffee while at loose ends in a 7-11 parking lot while watching the early morning crowd pass through the busy convenience store. His recent promotion to Sergeant had not come with an assignment just yet. Mostly he had resumed his duties in Patrol Division in the Central District without missing a beat. The difference was that he was now the senior Officer at nearly every scene he responded to and took on a supervisory role. He also didn’t have Big Mike in the passenger seat, whose presence he missed. This happened to be the first time that he had been in a patrol car without a partner present, which felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Despite having told dispatch that he was taking a meal break, he hadn’t really bothered. Just getting a cup of mediocre coffee instead. Ritchie figured he would eat when he got home in a couple hours after his shift ended. He was half listening to the radio as dispatch sounded bored with the usual reports of the various minor nuisance crimes that occurred throughout Los Angeles and all times, but especially in the early morning hours. The neighbor kid keeping the party going that should have ended hours earlier. That sick fuck up the block prowling around your yard again. Someone spotted taking a leak in an alley. And the like. It never really ended.
That was when the call came in, Code 30, Officer needs help, urgent, shots fired, followed by a location just across the Ten in South-Central. Then something curious happened. A second call went out overriding Dispatch, 10-3, stop transmitting. Ritchie realized that had just nixed the entire response even as the Code 30 grew more frantic. There were rumors that this might happen if someone with a lot of juice in the Department wanted somebody dead and they had contrived to let the street do it for them. And any investigation would be unlikely to focus beyond the immediate scene of the crime.
For a second, obeying orders, the thing that had been drilled into him from the minute he had first entered Army Boot Camp was in conflict with the ethos of every outfit he had been in. Something that John Casey had told him years earlier about being able to look at yourself in the mirror came to mind and leaving someone in a dangerous position was possibly the most shameful thing imaginable. Putting Frankenstein into gear was an automatic reflex as he turned the siren on. The crowd in the 7-11 watched agape as he tore out of the parking lot gaining speed as he slewed into the intersection and accelerated hard as the tires gained traction on the pavement.
Ritchie only paid attention to the traffic to the extent that he needed to dodge around it. He shouted into the radio that he was responding, ignoring the call for radio silence. If anyone had a problem with that, they could get bent as far as he was concerned. He didn’t know if anyone else was responding but realized that he didn’t care. If they had any pride at all they would be right behind him.
Ritchie rounded a corner, the tires screeching as two tones of steel barreled through the intersection. There had been a few times in the Green Beret where Ritchie had been dialed in and it was like seeing everything in slow motion, aware of every detail as he slammed on the brakes. He was in that mode as he saw a young man wearing blue and black with a pistol turn and fire at Frankenstein, the window turning to a shattered cobweb instantly. As it turned out, that was a huge mistake by the shooter because the instant the Dodge stopped, Ritchie sprung from the driver’s side with the Winchester shotgun that had been strapped to the center console. In the back Ritchie’s mind, he was aware that they were wearing gang colors as he fired a 12-Gauge at the shooter. The man had a look of surprise on his face before a blast of buckshot erased it.
The other members of the gang became aware too late that a higher level of predator was among them as Ritchie started taking them out as fast as he could pump shells into the breech. He had to take cover behind a parked car as they belatedly started shooting back as him as he fired the last shell, drew his pistol, and resumed shooting, continuing to take out anyone who dared to point a weapon remotely in his direction. It was when he ricocheted a bullet off the street below a parked car hitting the gang member sheltering behind it that the others realized they were overmatched by one man. It was a detail that would enter the lore of the surrounding neighborhoods and grow with retelling. Ritchie wasn’t concerned by that as he heard the approach of the belated response.
“What the fuck?” Tony asked as he stepped out the building he had been hiding in, saw what Ritchie had just done and was shocked by it. The small Italian pistol in his hand what would be expected for someone in his undercover role. It was totally inadequate for the situation that he had found himself in with a street gang looking to skin him alive.
“You really must have pissed someone off” Ritchie replied, “They sicked these guys on you and delayed the response.”
“That wasn’t what I was talking about” Tony said as he stared at the dozen bodies in the street with a look of horror on his face.
Some outfits in the Army only take you if they know you are a killer and would act without hesitation, which was something that was seldom mentioned. Few people were aware what happened when those they asked to do violence on their behalf went to work.
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Richie is going to be slated to be on the revamped Tactical Squad after this as it looks like no civilians were hurt in the shootout.
What is more the brass of the LAPD can not shunt him aside and ignore him while the rank and file street (white) officers will give him the respect that they didn’t have before because he is “ Beaner from the Barrio”.
Parker is an aspiring screenwriter and Richie already knows a producer, so no worries about shifting through any offers for his story.
What is more the brass of the LAPD can not shunt him aside and ignore him while the rank and file street (white) officers will give him the respect that they didn’t have before because he is “ Beaner from the Barrio”.
Parker is an aspiring screenwriter and Richie already knows a producer, so no worries about shifting through any offers for his story.
Whoever set Tony up for that hit will initially be pissed that Ritchie intervened by doing his damned job. Then they'll be pissed because, unlike many of their victims, Ritchie has extremely high level political and military connections, TTL Richard Nixon being one of them. This will make it extremely hard to force him out, and any attempt to set him up ala Tony will probably fail, because I don't see ANY of the LA gangs wanting to cross his path. Ritchie is probably going to get the reputation of being the poster-boy for what a police officer should be: honest, honourable and incorruptible. I'd even go as far as saying he could be TTL's inspiration for one "Judge Joseph Dredd".
As for whatever Tony has done and/or uncovered that caused the hit to be put on him, that could be a political powder keg, capable of causing a scandal that could shake LA to its knees. Without the typical involvement of an earthquake.
As for whatever Tony has done and/or uncovered that caused the hit to be put on him, that could be a political powder keg, capable of causing a scandal that could shake LA to its knees. Without the typical involvement of an earthquake.
How many Gang members are DAS, How many DOA at Hospital and do any survive to implicate someone in the LAPD for fingering the under cover officer? This could get very messy politically very quickly. Also are these gang members, Black, Latino, Caucasian, or a mixture that is going to have ramifications on its own. Like wise with twelve gang members taken out in one go will that leave a vacuum and pontentialy spark a turf war? There are so many possibilities that our esteemed author has thrown down for us to follow!!
It's when Tony is found to have evidence of a Blue Taxi service.
In fact maybe they don't want Tony dead yet, they just want him burned as UC.
Corrupt police. Police permission. Police escort I think....
Something Along those lines.
Something Along those lines.
In my home state of New South Wales (Australia), the equivalent of the 'Blue Taxi' was the 'Green light' - where corrupt police allowed certain criminals to keep operating as long as they informed on other crims - worked well for both parties. If you can get this show (Blue Murder) on Apple TV, watch it - so controversial that those of us who lived in NSW were unable to view it for a decade after it was made.
Oh I love that TV show. Richard Roxburgh as Roger Roberson....