tiredFandom: FAKE
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Dee, Ryo, Ted, Marty, OMC.
Rating: PG
Setting: Towards the end of the manga.
Summary: There’s nothing like chasing a suspect to get the blood pumping; it’s one of Dee’s favourite parts of the job.
Word Count: 1611
Content Notes: None necessary.
Written For: Challenge 177: Chase at
beattheblackdog. Disclaimer: I don’t own FAKE, or the characters. They belong to the wonderful Sanami Matoh.
There were a number of different aspects to being a cop, among the worst of which was the paperwork. It never seemed to end: arrest forms, incident reports, forensics reports, autopsy results, witness statements, victim statements, transcripts of interviews with suspects… even the most open and shut cases generated enough of the stuff to paper the office. The only thing Dee hated more than paperwork was when he had to inform people of the violent death of a loved one. As unpleasant tasks went, that one was the absolute pits.
He didn’t mind the taking of statements, and the interviewing of suspects, visiting crime scenes, gathering evidence, and following leads. He could deal with all the things that needed to be done in order to determine the perpetrator of a crime and bring them to trial. Of course at that point the investigating officers got to sit around in court until it was their turn to testify, and as far as Dee was concerned, the waiting was almost as bad as the paperwork, not to mention an even bigger waste of valuable time.
Searching for evidence, following leads, canvassing for witnesses, and fitting the facts together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle was usually kinda fun, or at least interesting, but for Dee’s money the best part of the job was undoubtedly that moment when the guilty party was identified. Then he and his partner got to take another scumbag off the street.
Sometimes everything went smoothly, the arrest was made with no fuss. Other times their suspect might put up a fight, resisting arrest, in which case Dee was perfectly within his rights to use whatever force was required to subdue and restrain them. If some idiot took a swing at him you could bet your bottom dollar Dee would retaliate. If he and Ryo brought suspects in looking a little mussed or even bloody, well, it was no more than they deserved, even if they probably wouldn’t agree.
The third option for perps facing imminent arrest was to make a run for it, which from Dee’s point off view was both a gigantic pain in the ass and one of the most thrilling parts of the job. Maybe that was a holdover from prehistoric times, when cavemen chased down their prey, but whatever the reason is sure as hell got his blood pumping.
“We’ve got a runner!” Dee snapped into his radio, reeling off a brief description of the fugitive, along with the direction he was heading, before taking off after the guy.
The streets of New York were hard on his feet, jarring ankles and knees and hips, the uneven surfaces causing him to trip and stumble from time to time, but Dee ignored all those discomforts and kept his eyes fixed on the fleeing figure ahead as he dodged pedestrians, darted through traffic, tried to lose himself down alleys… Dee knew he wasn’t the only one in pursuit; Ryo, Ted, and Marty would all be doing their part as well, the latter pair by car, endeavouring to get ahead and cut off the suspect’s escape route. Dee couldn’t see his partner, so focused on his quarry he couldn’t afford to spare a glance for his surroundings, but he knew Ryo wouldn’t be far away, running flat out.
At least this guy was unarmed so they didn’t have to worry about him taking pot shots at them, or worse, at innocent bystanders, causing panic and confusion, and making the task of rounding him up even more difficult. As it was, he was merely leaving behind annoyed people who’d been shoved unceremoniously out if his path, and the honking car horns of drivers who’d been forced to brake abruptly.
After several days of nothing but paperwork, interviews, and tedium, exhilaration sang through Dee’s veins, carried by a surge of adrenalin. This was what police work should be about, chasing down the murderers, rapists, muggers, abusers, abductors, home invaders, drug dealers, fraudsters, thieves, and every bastard guilty of a hate crime or violent assault, taking them down by any means necessary and making sure they’d never get another opportunity to prey on decent folks, preferably not for as long as they lived! If he’d had the breath to spare he might have whooped for the sheer joy of it!
Hurdling a display of fruit on the corner of a street to avoid having to go around it, Dee managed to dredge up an extra burst of speed. He was closing in on his target, barely ten yards behind him, and then Ryo was running with him, bursting out of an alley to Dee’s left, having taken a detour in an effort to gain ground.
Down the street, Ted and Marty’s car appeared, fishtailing as it swung around the intersection at the end of the block, Ted gunning the motor, siren blaring and light flashing. Seeing his escape route blocked, the suspect skidded, started to fall, one hand touching the sidewalk, feet scrabbling for purchase as he tried to change direction too quickly, then he was on his feet again, bolting out into the traffic, heading for an alley across the street.
With his faster reflexes Ryo dropped back half a step, cutting across behind Dee so as not to get under his partner’s feet. Dee turned a little slower but more safely than their quarry, so he didn’t stumble, and as he started across the street he was just in time to see Ryo practically vault one-handed over the bonnet of an oncoming car, winding up facing the wrong way and spinning around again almost before his feet hit the ground to take off again at a sprint. Dee never failed to marvel at his partner’s surefootedness; must be all his martial arts training.
In danger of getting left behind and not being in on the capture, Dee shook off his admiration and dredged up the last of his reserves, knowing Ted would already be driving hard in the hopes of blocking the far end of the alley. His heart was pounding in time with his feet hitting the concrete, his breath rasping in his throat, elbows pumping like pistons, long legs stretching… Amazingly he was gaining ground, Ryo now no more than three yards ahead, the man they were after leading by perhaps another five, and visibly tiring.
It wasn’t a contest, not really, but Dee still felt a pang of… not exactly resentment but certainly mild annoyance when Ryo dialled it up another notch, strides lengthening, pulling away, and it became clear he’d get to the would-be fugitive from justice first. After leading the chase from the start it was a bit of a letdown for Dee, knowing he wouldn’t be the one to finish it. Not that it really mattered who got the guy as long as somebody did; the bastard had held up a liquor store, stabbing the owner in the chest with a kitchen knife and seriously injuring an elderly customer in the process, all for a couple hundred bucks and a bottle of vodka. There was no way he wasn’t going to pay for his crimes.
Ryo was closing in fast, now almost in range to tackle the robber, but he didn’t have to. Almost spent, their quarry staggered, tripped on his own feet, toppled forward, slammed his head into a nearby dumpster, and dropped like a stone, out cold.
“Well that was a bit of an anticlimax,” Dee panted out, coming to a stop beside his partner.
“D’you think we should call an ambulance?” Ryo stood there, breathing hard, looking down at the man on the ground.
“Let’s cuff him first and make sure he’s breathin’; he might just be stunned. If he hasn’t come to by the time Ted and Marty arrive…” Dee left the sentence hanging, pulling out his cuffs and snapping them around the guy’s wrists behind his back. Ryo helped roll him onto his side and into the recovery position, then leant against the dumpster, catching his breath.
A few moments later Ted and Marty appeared, running down the alley, unable to drive down it because the presence of the dumpsters made it too narrow for their car.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Marty took one look at the unconscious man on the ground and addressed Dee with a frown.
“Hey, I didn’t lay a finger on him, and neither did Ryo, idiot did this to himself; all we did was chase him, it’s hardly our fault he decided to try head-buttin’ a dumpster!”
“He tripped,” Ryo explained. “Not really surprising.” He looked around the rubbish-strewn alley, littered with all kinds of things that could trip the unwary.
A pained groan came from their captive as he stirred. “Ohhh my head! What the fuck just happened?”
“Looks like he’ll live,” Dee drawled, crouching down, holding one hand in front of the suspect’s face and making a gesture that would have gotten him in serious trouble with Mother had she been there to see it. “How many fingers?”
“Uh, two?”
“Yep, no double vision so he’s probably not concussed. Looks like we get to haul his ass back to the precinct for interrogation.” Dee didn’t even try to hide his glee.
“Fuck.” There was no fight left in their prisoner, he seemed to have resigned himself to his fate.
Dee had no sympathy. “Looks like you’re screwed, sunshine, but that’s what ya get for tryin’ to run from the cops.” Hauling the prisoner to his feet, Dee began to read him his rights, a satisfied grin on his face; some days he really loved being a cop.
The End