Miami-Dade Homicide

Wed, 21 Sep 2005 22:38:08 GMT

Who: Tim
Where: Tim's
When: A week or so after the Nico beatin'

Frank had a case of beer with him when he pulled up in his car. That was his Texas type peace offering. If he knew if Speed had a grill or not he would have brought two big ol' t-bones as well but for now the beer would have to do. Tripp was a bit nervous as to his reception by Speedle after KOing him at the beach but it had to be done. No way he was letting Speed loose himself. Let that piece of crap win even in defeat.

So here he was, popping his bubble gum, looking nervous as he knocks on Tim's door. His jeans were baggy, little bit dotted with paint as he had been painting the fence. He was getting the house fixed up. Things done he meant to get done with Maryanne and the kids had been alive but never had time. Productive things.

Frank had actually passed his pysch exam a few days ago and been declared fit to return to duty. A true achievement after hitting rock bottom with the lab shoot up incident. He had been working at it though. Actually doing what his shrink recommended, making a new routine for himself. And he was relieved to be getting back a purpose to his life. Wearing the brass on his hip again.
It would be strange not working with H though. His next pet project would be nagging the red head to either go back to CSi or join him on the H squad.

Mon, 01 Aug 2005 08:07:57 GMT

Who: Tim
When: After the Nico/Greg/Nick/Tim scene
Where: Tim's apartment

Frank had let himself in. Spending the bulk of his life as a detective and on the beat he knew a thing about getting around locked doors. He sat in the dark, smoking. Using a dirty cup on the table as an ash tray. He had on worn jeans, a dark plain t shirt. The old revolver he took from Horatio at his hip on his belt. He had been tailing Speedle lately. Using his years or experience to hopefully stay under his radar. He knew Tim was messing around doing God knows what with Ray Caine, the dity cop piece of shit. Knew he'd been involved with Nick with Nico. Speedle was leaving him in the dark about his plans with Nico and Frank was getting angrier and angrier. His own mind was in turmoil over the fate of the Colombian- in paticular what his part in that fate would be. Whatever it was he wanted to just get it done, so he could move on with his life.

Tripp had followed Speed at a distance to the scene on the waterfront but only lurked a moment. Long enough to see Nick and Nico meet Tim and then left. Now he was waiting. He wanted to know what was going on. Sick of being in the dark. Part of him would be relieved if Speed had handled Crow and part of him would be disappointed. He stood up, pacing, his massive frame hunched over. Whatever they were going to do they had to do it soon. No, NOW. There was no more waiting. No more putting it off. It was driving him mad. Frank snuffed out his cigarette. Sitting back down on the couch. Come on Tim. Get home.

Tue, 14 Jun 2005 09:19:14 GMT

Frank kept loading and unloading the pistol he borrowed from Horatio. It seemed heavy in his hands, heavier each time. Increasing exponentially like the weight on his shoulders, the tightness in his chest. This was his chance to kill Nico. He knew exactly where he would be. Exactly. He did not know just when, but he would find out soon as the Colombian killer got there. He still had his contacts and friends and sympathisers among the unforms.

Frank held the gun, hefting it in his hand. And it was heavier even still. He had been a cop his whole life. He had used deadly force before but that was in the line of duty. It was not a premeditated taking of a life. He sighed. If you stacked up a life to a life he had the right to take Nico's four times over and yet...he was troubled. Feeling cold and numb. Is this what he had really become? Trying to justify murder to his own heart.
He made sure the cats were all accounted for and safe inside and decided to go for a walk to try and clear his head. If that was at all possible.

---

It was cool. Oddly cool. Or maybe he was feeling a chill in the midnight air that was not there. Things were so fucking complicated now. They were never so complicated before. Get up, go to work, come home to be annoyed by the kids and nagged at by the wife, go to sleep. Repeat.
He knew exactly what was right and wrong just a short time ago and now his whole life was fuzzy, his morals and beliefs and even his sense of reality was blurry around the edges. He was chasing shadows and memories and trying to catch ghosts just to try to get back on his feet. It was a stupid, painful way to live and he hated it. Despised it. Despised having to face his fears and dwell on his feelings and come to grips with being the one left behind. Always the detective and never the victim, but now the tables were turned and he realized that all those of telling people they would survive, they would get through it was a lot of bullshit. You don't survive or get through it. Someone does who wears your clothes and your face but it's not quite you. Not quite the person who exsisted before. And now he was struggling trying to figure out just who this new person. Were they a killer?

Frank knew if he saw Nico he would be. He would rip him apart with his bare hands if he had no weapon. If he made the conscious decision to go to the lab while Crow was working with Horatio and Nick there would be no turning back. So now he had to make up his mind. Go and be a murderer or not go and loose the chance to stop Nico once and for all. And, yes, to get his revenge. To try and wash his grief away with the blood of the guilty.

He did not get very far before he he felt too tierd to go any further and he turned to trudge back home. There was no minivan in the drive now, he had given it to the YMCA. There was just his car and the empty space, bare and cast with the streetlight's ugly unnatural orange glow. Tripp sighed, letting himself back inside. He went to his bedroom to lay down, careful not disturb Buckskin and Dun and his mother who had claimed the end of the bed in a furry heap. He saw the pistol laying on his bedside table and he turned away, rolling over onto his side. His hand reached out, gently stroking Maryanne's side of the bed. She should be there, alseep with the night. Hair splashed across the pillow and her shoulders, nape of her neck bare. Skin soft and smelling like that perfume she always wore. Flowery and fresh, sort of like the orange blossoms in the Spring. He could remember it vividly. How she smelled, how her skin felt, how fast her heart beat was against his chest when they made love. The way she laughed and the couple freckles she had on her shoulders. He used to put his fingers on each one, sort of connecting the dots, which drove her crazy but he liked to do it anyways.

Frank closed his eyes. God, he missed her. And the family they had together.
Why had he been such a shitty husband? Why had he taken her so for granted? Always working late, never helping around the house or enough with the kids. Drinking too much beer and arguing just for the sake of picking a fight to win because he was bigger and louder and could make her afraid. Because otherwise she was smarter and stronger-willed than he was and he would have never won an argument on wits or mettle alone.

He could feel the tears in his eyes so he tried to think of anything except what he had lost. The local sports scores. The weather report for tommorow. How to make his father's famous BBQ ribs. It was no use. So he went for his sleeping pills that Dr. Chetticamp had prescibed him after he pestered her enough for a refill when his shrink wouldn't. He took three. Two more than the dose but he wanted to be out. Not even dreaming. Missing MaeMae and angsting over Nico would have to wait for another day. Tonight he just could not handle it. So Tripp curled up in his bed, not even bothering to undress, and let the drugs lull him off for as long as they could keep his troubled mind from working.

Wed, 25 May 2005 07:09:10 GMT

Dun had two companions when Frank was released tentatively form Bayview. The bereaved detective had adopted two more cats, an old, calico, one eyed female stray who was Dun’s mother and another male kitten he saw while picking up the older cat. He was a beautiful lilac point Siamese, purebred, and absolutely insane. He had been bought from a pet store, sold again in the paper and then dumped at the pound because he was too hyper for his new owners to handle. He became Buckskin. Dun’s mother became Dapple and all three were starting their lives over.
Three times a week Frank was checked on at home by his therapist or doctor and he was not supposed to leave the state without getting permission first from one of those two professionals. It was not that he was not allowed to leave, they just did not want Tripp disappearing when he was still very much under the care of the State. Though it was agreed by the panel of mental health professionals at Bayview who signed for his release that he was no threat to others and if he continued progressing as he was they doubted he was even still a threat to himself.

Rain beat down steady on the roof and windows. Dun and Dapple were curled up sleeping on the couch, Buckskin was amusing himself jumping straight up in the air and trying to climb up Frank’s seated back. Not quite able to get the height by launching himself straight up. If he ran and jumped it would have been easy but, thankfully for Tripp, the kitten was either not that smart or enjoyed a challenge. The bald detective was seated at the antique banker’s desk in the corner of the living room where his wife had handled the bills and answered mail. He had a big stack of sympathy cards, addresses, and he was making a list to respond to. He started sifting through the drawers, looking through the countless greeting card boxes for ’thank you’ cards. Maryanne had been a card writing fiend so he knew there had to be thank you cards, he just had to find them. The problem was just because the box said birthday cards or Christmas cards did not mean that was what was actually inside. He was utterly engrossed in looking for the damn cards, having no luck and eventually he threw his hands up in the air, slamming drawers, bellowing for his wife.
“MaeMae! MaeMae, where‘s the thank you cards?”
No answer. He snorted and glanced out the window, minivan was in the driveway that meant she was home.
“MaeMae! Where‘s the fucking thank you cards? Mae?”
He got annoyed there was still no answer and stood, walking towards the kitchen. But as soon as he glanced around the open partition it all came flooding back in a horrible vision of memory-painted shades of black and white and crimson red. He covered his mouth, tasting bile at the back of his throat and he sunk down to his knees, leaning against the wall. He cried. He just sat in a heap and cried until Dapple came over and curled up in his lap, purring her loudest, trying to soothe him the same way she did with her kittens. Tripp stroked her gently with his giant hands, half smiling because he knew she was doing all she could to calm him down and it was pretty damn sad when the cats were worried about you. He sighed.
“You gonna be my new therapist Dapple?”
He cuddled her, slowly getting to his feet.
“Maryanne aint going to answer me. You know why she aint going to answer me? Because she‘s dead. Throat cut from ear to ear, blood all over the fucking kitchen floor instead of in her. Then burned to a little pile of ash, shoved in a glorified plant pot and buried six feet under.”
He sat the matron feline back onto the couch and Dun woke up and rubbed against her before they both settled back down. Buckskin was literally climbing up his leg so he unhooked the tiny claws from his pants and snuggled him for a while, his hand getting batted at in the process.
“Now to me, Buckskin, that sounds sick. Like a sick fucking thing to say but to my doctors and therapists that‘s a good thing to say. That‘s acceptance. Which must be why they got the a fancy degrees and I just got twelve weeks at the police academy, right?”
Buckskin climbed up on his shoulder and he grinned at him, scritching under his chin.
“You‘re the cat that needed to be at Bayview, not Dun.”
Frank avoided looking at the floor as he wandered through the kitchen and out to the hallway to get his coat and car keys. As soon as he started walking Buckskin had hopped off his shoulder and on to the couch to rouse Dun for some play time.

He locked the door behind him and headed out to his car, parked in front of the minivan which he kept meaning to sell or donate to the local Boys And Girls Club. But he liked it being in the drive because whenever he drove up or glanced out the window and saw it there for a split second his mind told him MaeMae and the kids were home. For a brief few moments he had everything back again. Of course that was ’unhealthy coping’ and he was trying to eliminate unhealthy coping mechanisms like taking a handful of sleeping pills in the middle of the day, smoking, drinking, going to the lab and trying to get someone to blow his head off. Those sorts of behaviours had to go if he was going to ever live his life again. He allowed himself one self-destructive obsession though, killing Nico Cuervo. Whether Tim Speedle had a problem with it or not he was going to do it. And he was going to be smart about it too. Not get caught. Hell how many murders had he worked? He knew the mistakes people make, he knew how they got caught. He wouldn’t make them. And he had a feeling that when Crow turned up dead no one was really going to be looking for the killer anyways. They’d just be counting their blessings and move on. Back to life as abnormal in Miami-Dade.

He headed out to the drug store to get thank you cards to send to all those who had sent him their sympathies or been nice to him through his loss. He intended to send one to everyone who’s address he had and also to the Police Family Association, Crime Lab and Homicide Squad each as a whole. Make sure he didn’t miss anyone. The rain was steady and his windshield wipers beat a dreary rhythm as they cleared the accumulating drops away. It was evening, the city was cast in a dim grey light. He could see people rushing on the side walks, trying not to get wet. If he didn’t think it would land him back at Bayview he wanted to get out and talk to one of the young couples he saw running together under a shared umbrella. Tell them to savour every drop that fell because they could share it together and that was more precious than they could ever imagine. He had to sigh, all this grief and loss had turned him into a fucking pussy. Thinking about love and fate and getting teary over photographs and memories. Next thing he knew he’d be a pansy. Worrying about the drapes matching the carpet or something. He’d become a crazy old cat drag queen in lieu of being a crazy old cat lady.

It was funny, he thought as he pulled into the Shopper’s Drug Mart parking lot, when they were first married, just after Logan was born they had been laying in bed, just laying together. And it was a sunny afternoon, big skewed square patches of light on the floor from the windows and he had mentioned how it made it look like Logan was in a cage because of he shadows cast by the bars of the crib. They had laughed long and loud about that. Their own little wild animal in footie pyjamas with duckies on them. Then out of no where, as they were laying on their sides, face to face, and he brushed the strands of hair that fell across her forehead back and tucked them behind her ear he had asked her what she would do if something happened to him. If he was killed in the Line of Duty. At first Maryanne had told him to hush, not to talk like that but he had insisted. What would she do? Would she remarry? She had stalled in answering asking if he would be angry to hear the truth but he said he would not be no matter what the answer. She told him, to his surprise that yes she would go on, remarry if she ever fell in love again. She would never stop loving him but she was not about to spend her whole life alone and miserable. He was angry at first, for whatever stupid masculine reason, but it faded. No he wouldn’t want her to be alone just because he was gone. And she told him she wouldn’t want him to be alone because something happened to her. Which at the time he thought was ludicrous, what could possibly happen to Maryanne....

But here he was starring blankly at a wall of Hallmark cards and wondering if you get a discount if you buy like...thirty. His mind was still lost in that sunny afternoon. Thinking of what it means to go on. Is it just existing after loss? Eating and sleeping and breathing- which he had learned was actually damn hard to keep doing But what about thinking and figuring shit out and creating and feeling which were all the extra things that made being Human a unique experience on Earth. At what point of ’going on’ do you actually get to live again? If ever.
Frank picked up a card and opened it up. Crap. He sighed and put it back. Picked up another. He was really still thinking about that afternoon, of course the rest of that memory was not exactly the kind to be recounting in a public place. He picked up another few cards, finally settling on the ones he wanted for the lab, his squad and the PFA. For the individuals he bought two sets of less expensive smaller cards, more typical for thank you notes. At the cash a young attractive teen with a dark tan and snow white eyeliner rang him in. She was chewing gum and it had him craving a cigarette.
‘Wow, looks like you have a lot of people to thank.’
He fished out his wallet from his coat pocket.
“Yeah. I lost my wife and kids. Lotta people been real nice to me. Patient, understanding, kind, you know.”
The cashier stared at him wide eyed. Whoa, wife and kids? Ouch.
‘I...I’m really sorry.’
He hmmed.
“Don’t be, aint your fault. Just don’t take the people you love for granted. Never know when they‘ll be gone..”
She nodded and handed him his change and the bag of cards in a little bit of a stunned silence. Tripp thanked her and left.

Outside the rain had stopped for the most part. The cloud cover was broken by black velvet and diamond dust patches of clear night sky. Across the asphalt of the parking lot and street were shallow puddles, their surfaces reflecting the ambers and garish whites of street lights and store signs. It was another night in Miami that would drift away into another day.
He started his car and headed home. He took out his phone and dialled CT Camden in Narcotics, leaving a message on his voice mail.
Hey Joel this if Frank. I’m out of Bayview and I had this idea about working outreach and youth offenders with Narc. I know it’ll be a while before I’ll be fit for duty again but I really wanted to run a few things by you. Please give me a call on my cell, or at home. Thanks buddy.

Frank Tripp was starting his life over. Among the drizzle and the skyscrapers and the stormy sea blue waters he was finally ‘going on‘.

When the light begins to fade,
And shadows fall across the sea,
One bright star in the evening sky,
Your love's light leads me on my way.

There's a dream that will not sleep,
A burning hope that will not die.
Though I must go now with the wind,
And leave you waiting on the tide.

When I leave and take the wing,
And find the land that faith will bring,
The brightest star in the evening sky,
Is your love waiting far from me.

Is your love your waiting far from me...

Wed, 04 May 2005 09:29:05 GMT

Frank had not expected any visitors and he really did not care, he was numb, closed off to the world around him. He had not spoken even a word since he arrived a week ago. He was dangerously thin. No amount of coaxing could get him to eat or drink anything. And a drip could keep you alive but it was no way to thrive.
Frank Tripp was existing merely in the sense of his continued physical presence than in any other way.

Calleigh had wanted to bring something for Frank but she was not certain just what. Flowers did not seem right nor did a stuffed toy. What if it reminded him of his kids? She could not even think of a card that would seem right. Hallmark had no ‘sorry you went crazy and shot at your co-workers because your family was brutally murdered’ section. She baked him some cookies with white chocolate and macadamia nuts and while she waited for them to finish up she gave some more thought to something she could bring. She glanced down at Millimetre’s food and water dishes and got an idea. Frank loved animals. He grew up on a horse ranch, volunteered at the local animal shelter(not that he ever wanted anyone to know) and he drove to the parks and left food for the stray cats. He loved cats but Maryanne had been allergic. It gave her a wonderful idea.
She went and got her kitty’s carrier crate and sat it out. Millimetre had been a stray she actually adopted through Frank when she first arrived in Miami. She had been chit chatting with him on a scene about how her apartment seemed so lonely and he had mentioned how at one of the parks he had been feeding a beautiful silver tabby tom cat who was very loving and needed a good home. Once she went with Tripp and met the cat she fell in love and together they caught him and got him to the vet. Some years later, fixed and spoilt rotten, Millimetre was now incredibly fat and seemed to have no ill effects from his early years on the streets besides a missing ear. He spent his days happily snoozing under Calleigh’s bed and getting even fatter. Frank sometimes asked after him, he had been very fond of the little stray and Cal was happy to give him an update on the animal’s sizable girth. Millimetre was a very easy going cat and Calleigh had no trouble coaxing him into the carrier with some treats. She was not certain if the Bayview nurses would let her take him in but she would explain the story to him, explain that the cat meant a lot to Frank and maybe it would help.

At the ‘mental health centre’ Calleigh explained about the cookies and the cat. The receptionist called down Det. Tripp’s doctor and he met with the Southern blonde. He explained how Frank was doing poorly, not eating, was unresponsive. Cal seemed saddened. She offered the cookies to the staff since even if Tripp did suddenly want to eat again cookies would not be a great first meal. The doctor laughed and said they would all be glad to have them. Now the cat the doctor was excited about, he stroked him through the grate at the front of the carrier and Millimetre purred, unphased by his trip. Calleigh told the story of how she had gotten him, how Frank was very fond of kitties and especially this one. The doctor commented that animals were amazing healers and that they even used animal visitors here at Bayview for long term patients and in particular troubled children. He took Calleigh and Millimetre down to Tripp’s room and let them in. The room was nicer than she expected, less...sterile. Frank was sitting still and silent on his bed. Just starring at the wall. Cal gasped a little. He looked awful. Sunken, pale, defeated, thin and sick. The doctor left the two of them alone and explained that a worker would be outside, all she had to do was knock to be let out.

Cal sat the carrier down and knelt in front of the massive Texan detective.
‘Frank? Hey, how are you doing?’
No answer, she was not even sure he was looking at her. She gently stroked his hands with her thumbs.
‘I just wanted to stop by and say hi.’
She smiled up at him brightly.
‘And I brought a friend.’
Calleigh went and opened the crate, clicking her tongue to call out Millimetre. The obese feline lumbered out and started right away sniffing everything in sight. He took a few moments to acclimatise and than happily plopped himself on the ground, asking for a belly rub. She hefted him up off the ground and sat him in her friend and co-worker’s lap.
‘Look, I brought Milli-bugbug to see you.’
Surprisingly the cat, normally aloof to anyone but Calleigh, cuddled up to Tripp. He seemed to remember the man who for all intents saved his life. Or at least remembered the man who used to feed him. Millimetre rubbed his head against Frank’s hands trying to be petted, purring loudly. Calleigh sat next to Tripp. For the first time in over a week he actually said something.
“Hey gypsy boy. Never though I’d see you again.”
He petted the cat’s head, and got a loud, rumbling purr in response. Cal beamed, she watched Frank, with his huge hands, being sweet and gentle with Millimetre. The cat stretched up it’s neck to snuggle under his chin and he actually smiled.
“Who‘s a good boy now? Who‘s my pretty boy?”
She touched his arm and he looked over at her.
‘When he heard I was coming to see you he insisted on coming.‘
She chuckled softly and Tripp leaned his head against hers.
“Thanks Cal. Thanks for coming by. For bringing him here to see me.”
Millimetre was all settled for a nap in Frank’s lap and Calleigh was content to let him stay a little while. The tall detective’s weight was heavy against her petite frame but she let him lean against her.
‘Well I brought cookies too but they wont let me give them too you.’
He brushed at the bandage on his unbroken arm where the drip was attached when needed.
“It‘s okay. I‘m not real hungry.”
Cal nodded, but bit her lip.
‘You should eat, hon. You gotta eat Frank.’
He sighed.
“I know. I just feel like it aint worth it. Nothin‘s worth anything.”
‘It is though. It is worth it. The force needs you back. And your friends all miss you. And I need someone to keep my swear jar full of money.‘
She tried to hold his hand but Millimetre insisted that both Tripp’s hands, even on his sore arm, were engaged petting him. Frank cracked the ghost of a smile, the good ol‘ swear jar, he must have given Cal like $100 in quarters by now.
“Everyone must hate me now. I fucking shot up the damn lab.”
She grimaced.
‘Well...no one’s happy about that. Or the fact you had to be shot. Or that the things happened that lead up to it happening happened. But I think everyone’s more worried about you.’
He gazed out over the window.
“Maryanne would kick my ass for doing something so stupid. And now I have one hell of a long hard, road back. Trying to get anyone to trust or respect me again. How do I know I wont just snap another time?”
Calleigh squeezed his shoulder.
‘You’ll know Frank. You’ll know when you’re starting to feel okay again. You just take the time you need, long or short as it might be, and get all the help you need.’
He bobbed his head.
“I can‘t promise anything but I‘ll try Cal, I really will.”
He gently sat Millimetre back on the floor. Frank was feeling sleepy, he wanted to actually sleep, not some drug induced haze.
“Please tell everyone how sorry I am. Especially Officer Lewis. Oh and please tell Delko thank you. Thanks for trying to talk some sense into this big bald head of mine.”
Calleigh smiled. She eased her cat back into his carrier and gave Tripp a tight hug.
‘I’ll come back and see you soon. And I’ll bring this big ol’ kitty back too, okay?’
He pursed his lips and gave another hoarse thank you before he laid down on his bed.

She knocked to be let out and Frank’s doctor asked how it went. Calleigh smiled brightly and told him he would ask Frank himself. He shook her hand, and thanked her, and her four legged friend, for coming.

When he let himself into his patient’s room he saw Tripp laying back against the bed. Frank opened his eyes slowly and asked if the doctor had time to talk.

He had some things he really needed to talk to someone about.

Fri, 29 Apr 2005 05:10:15 GMT

Frank awoke groggily at South Dade hospital. Although she was off two hours earlier after a twelve hour emergency shift Shona stayed to keep an eye on Tripp. Somehow she felt a connection with him after that night his parents brought him in. Hell his mother had even called her before she went back to Texas to say how much better her son was doing. Yet here he was shot by police after waving a gun around like a madman. Poor Frank. Obviously he had been hiding just how bad things were, how badly he was doing.
Dr. Chetticamp gave him a bright smile when she saw he was awake but he was non-responsive, empty. Frank was back to the way he had been the night he came home and found his family dead. He was numb. No thinking, no feeling, no speaking.
Shona took the hand of the arm in which he had not been shot and so was not broken and squeezed it. Still nothing, not even a movement of his eyes. She knew he was awake he was just ignoring her. Ignoring everything.
‘Oh Frank, why didn’t you call me? Talk to someone, anyone. Why’d you go and do this?’
Silence.

Dr. Chetticamp sat with Tripp for an hour before the attendants from Bayview came to get him and settle him there. His therapist had been called and recommended it, commenting that Tripp had been going down hill the last few days he had spoken with him. His parents leaving had been bad news. Frank shouldn’t be alone so the supervised care at the mental health centre should be good for him. He also suggested adding anti-depressants to his regiment of narcotics but it would be up to the doctors there to make any final decisions. See what would be best for him over time.
Shona said good bye to Frank as he was taken out in a wheel chair. He didn’t reply but she knew he heard. It made her desperately unhappy to see him so badly off. She was hoping and praying for him.

At Bayview he was set up in a private room. It was not utterly sterile. He had a personal stereo, a television, comfy bed, a dresser, bookshelf, little bathroom with shower stall, even a little mini fridge built into the wall. It was like a hotel room, except the window had it’s glass behind a metal grate to keep it from being smashed and used to cut oneself, just a small plastic mirror. All electrical cords where housed in the wall or in bolted boxes. No way to pull them loose to try and hang yourself.
Adele Sevilla brought him some things from his home- books, clothes, some of his favourite movies to watch, as well as some shampoo, deodorant, conditioner. The razor she brought was refused, she hadn’t even given it a thought until the nurse explained politely that it would be held on to and given to Mr. Tripp when he was feeling better. ‘Feeling better’, she thought that was a nice way of saying it.
Adele considering bringing him a photo of his family but decided against it. Now might not quite be the time. She put the stuff she had brought away for him, Frank sat silent and still on the edge of his bed just kind of staring into space. His arm was in a sling. He had crutches to help him get around, not the he seemed to have any inclination to move at all.
Det. Sevilla knelt in front of him, taking both his hands in hers.
‘I’ll come back soon and visit, okay? Just be honest with IAB when they come talk to you.’
Frank didn’t even look at her as she spoke to him or as she left. He just sat in the quiet stillness of his room. The pain killers made him drowsy and eventually he dozed off, but it was restless, fitful sleep.

Tue, 26 Apr 2005 09:32:30 GMT

Frank had called like four different escort services until he found the just right girl. She needed to have brown eyes and long naturally blonde hair. Slim, long legs. Half Latina-half white.

He’d been drinking.
He was lonely.
He offered to pay extra if she would answer to ‘Maryanne‘.
...

Frank sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow. There was the buzz of afterglow clouding his mind as he tried to catch his breath but he was feeling more the cold lump of his guilt in his stomach than anything else. Jesus. What the fuck had he done...In their own bed. Jesus. He closed eyes, rubbing his forehead. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He felt a delicate hand on his shoulder and he flinched away.
“Can you please go?”
A pair of pretty brown eyes tried to meet his blues but he avoided her gaze. The ‘escort’ got to her feet, letting the sheet slip off her body as she stretched lazily.
‘Alright, alright. I’m going.’
She gathered her clothes in her arms and walked towards the bathroom to get cleaned up and changed. She paused, picking up a photo that sat on what was Maryanne’s dresser. It was a family portrait of the Tripps from a few months ago, around holiday time. It was odd. When she came inside there was only her client. There was signs others had lived there but no sign of the rest of the family themselves. So she assumed he must be a recent divorcée. She turned around, holding the picture.
‘Where are your wife and kids?’
He gritted his teeth. He hated himself for bringing this woman here, sleeping with her, and now she was asking question about his life. Frank sat up, perching his massive frame on the edge of the bed. He grabbed his pack of smokes from the bedside table and lit up a cigarette.
“Six feet under.”
Tripp spoke dryly, coldly. The call girl sat the photo back on the dresser and she pursed her lips.
‘I’m sorry. What happened?’
Frank just shook his head. Not looking at her.
“You got your money. Get the fuck out.”
She was a bit taken aback. Frank had been nice to her up until then, sweet even since she arrived. It was a little weird that he had been calling her what she now knew as his dead wife’s name but you do what you have to do to survive in the messed up world. The six hundred fifty dollars was fished from her purse and she tried to give it back.
‘I can’t take this from you. Besides, until you yelled at me just now I had a nice time.’
He took a long drag and looked up at her.
“Jesus, you earned it. And I don’t need your pity. I feel enough like shit right now.”
The detective turned away.
“Please, just go.”
She nodded, putting the cash back in her purse.
‘Okay, and call for me any time. I like bald guys.’
She winked at him and disappeared into the washroom to get ready to leave. Frank just felt sick.

He snuffed out his cigarette some time later on the bed stand and rolled over to lay on his back. He saw something from the corner of his eye and sat up, staring at the bedroom doorway. Maryanne?! She was starring at him, tears in her eyes. A look of horror, shock, sadness in her eyes. He sat up.
“Maryanne, I‘m sorry!! I thought you were gone! Maryanne!”
The vision was strange, he narrowed his gaze. He saw blood on her. It seeped down from her forehead. He jumped out of bed, running towards his wife. She kept getting bloodier and bloodier, he saw the gaping wound in her neck. Frank stopped where he was. He sunk to the floor, clenching his eyes shut. When he opened them again the apparition was gone. He started to shake, hyperventilating. What had he done. He touched his forehead to the carpet. What had he done?
...
He ran the shower and scrubbed his skin raw. Tripp couldn’t get feeling clean no matter what he did. Dripping wet he went into the bed room and grabbed the sheets and blankets, de drug them to the shower and threw them under the water. He sat leaning his bare back against the ceramic tub. He wasn’t crying, he was too numb. Eventually he wandered back in to the bedroom and pulled on his jeans. He walked over to the closet and reached for something on the top shelf. It was a small plastic lockbox with a combo. Tripp lined up the rollers with shaking hands, 9-1-1. Fitting since he kept it for emergencies. He flipped open the revolving chamber and loaded six shots with the ammo he kept in the case with the firearm. It was his old beat firearm, the classic if you can’t do it in six you can’t do it at all police revolver.
---

Frank sat a long time in his kitchen. On the floor. Where it had once been a pool of blood. He held a bottle of scotch in one hand and the gun in the other. He drank the booze down as time wore on. He’d been drinking all evening, all night. A few small shooters of vodka. Some red wine. Half a bottle of dark rum left over from the holidays. Between his grief, his racking guilt and the liquor Frank was a mental mess. He wept for a while. The hours of the night creeping away. The grey, cold fingers of dawn strangled away the darkness and his rage started to build. It started in his chest, a tight hot pain. It was a mix of his desperation and anguish. Driving him crazy. The massive man hauled himself to his bare feet and went digging for his car keys in the drawers and cupboards. The lab. He had to get to the fucking lab. That’s where Speedle who killed the fucking dogs was. Alexx who put his family on metal slabs and ripped out their guts to fucking weigh them. Horatio who didn’t catch fucking Nico after Eric, after Wolfe. And everyone, everyone who just stared. Who didn’t say a fucking word. They could have just said something, anything.

Det. Tripp was way too drunk to be driving, but he didn’t care. He sat his gun on the passenger seat beside him and put his bottle of scotch between his legs. The rays of light that shone over the sunrise-gilded blue horizon of Biscayne Bay stung his tear and liquor sore eyes. He was bleary, he backed into his mail box and garbage cans. He took a meandering path to the Crime Lab, lingering on the side streets, weaving through traffic on the highway. Drunk as he was he still knew the way, and he would make it there no matter what. he was no longer feeling so much angry as just destroyed. Broken. Empty. His large hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. he’d show them how he loved her. How he loved his kids. he couldn’t live without them and f it took blowing his damn brains out in the lobby he’d show it.
Frank fingered his old revolver. Running his hands over the well worn grip.

It was Nico’s fault. It was his fault. It was there fault. He just needed them to see, everyone to see...

Sun, 17 Apr 2005 09:05:23 GMT

After a slow, swerving trip back to where he and his parents were staying Frank was finally able to rest his weary bones. Or so he thought. But when he arrived his parents were dressed in their blacks, ready to go to the funeral. He sighed.
“Listen I am not going. It‘ll just cause trouble.”
‘Frankie! It’s your wife, your children you have every right to be there..’
He interrupted his mother.
“No! Ma listen to me. If you and Dad need to go for whatever spiritual reason you go but I‘m not. I‘ll say goodbye how I need to say goodbye.”
Tripp and his mother bickered back and forth, his father, a man of few words, stood silently nearby. Frank felt his anger rising. His mother just would not understand he could not go, he was not ready to accept the finality of it all just yet.
“MA! LISTEN!”
Then things went blurry. He staggered back as the world spun. Frank was trying to call up energy he just did not have. His reserves were dry and he passed out. He heard his head crack hard against floor when he landed but it did not register as the sound of his skull meeting the ground. It was just a distant knell, lost as he fell into unconsciousness.

He awoke slowly, eyes taking their time to come into focus. Frank felt a mild itchy pain in his arm so he reached over to stiffly scratch at it only to realize it was an iv. He glanced around. White sheets. Iv drippy set up. Plastic bracelet thingy. Hospital. Tripp rolled his eyes and sat up. He saw his father sitting silently in the corner and as soon as his mother realized he was awake she was doting on him. A glass of apple juice was pressed to his lips and he drank a little bit and then waved his mother away. Frank leaned back and groaned, he rubbed the back of his head and felt a bandage over a sizable lump.
“Fuck...ow...geeze...And why the fuck am I in the hospital?”
‘Don’t cuss in public Frankie.’
“Sorry Ma. What happened? What time is it?”
‘Nearly nine, now you just rest.’
He blinked, surprised. Nearly nine pm? He must have been out for hours.
“Christ, nearly nine? You two been here that whole time? You shoulda gone back to the hotel.”
Mrs. Tripp touched his hand lightly.
‘Oh well we had dinner in the cafeteria. It was very good. I don’t know why people complain about hospital food...’
His mother was off on a ramble and he only half listened. He sat back up and shifted his legs over to the side, ready to get out of bed when he realized he didn’t have on any pants. Or anything that normally went under pants. He slapped his cheek and dragged his hand down his face.
“Shit. Who the hell took off my pants?!”
His mother gave his a sour look. The swearing.
‘The doctor needed to give some tests.’
He eyed her.
“Yes...and who took off my pants?”
‘I did Frankie, I’m your mother. I’ve seen you n-’
The detective put his hands in the air, cutting his mum off short.
“Okay, okay. I get it Ma. I get it”
He noticed his pile of clothes by his father.
“Dad, can ya pass me my skivvies?”
His father looked over to his mother to check with her first and she shook her head. Frank snorted, annoyed but before he could loose his temper there was a knock on the room’s door. A pretty Indian doctor with dark onyx eyes, wavy black hair and a stained lab coat poked her head in. She smiled when she was Tripp was awake and sitting up. Tripp on the other hand gave her an absolutely spiteful look. He hated doctors, dentists. Hell he’d knock a tooth out with a hammer before going to the dentist.

The doctor gave a warm look to his parents.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Tripp, I was wondering if I could talk to your son for a little bit?’
His parents nodded, his mother hugging her and thanking her for taking such good care of her son and his father giving her a polite tilt of his head as they both headed outside to the waiting room. Frank crossed his arms across his chest and flopped back against the pillow. He had forgotten about his aching head and he winced when it connected. Even just against the bed it was sore.
The dark haired doctor reached out and touched his arm.
‘Be careful Frank. Take it easy.’
He glared.
“Detective Tripp.”
She corrected herself.
‘Be careful Detective Tripp. Better?’
“Yeah, thanks.”
He scratched at his arm with the iv.
“Can ya take this damn thing out so I can get the hell outta here?”
She pursed her lips, flipping through his chart.
‘I’d rather you stay for one more bag. It’s just a saline solution. To help with the dehydration.’
“Well I‘d rather not stay for one more bag so take the damn thing out.”
His voice was curt, not raised but certainly not in leaving any room for discussion. The doctor went around to the other side of the bed and pulled on a pair of gloves. She reached for some cotton and a piece of gauze tape.
‘There’ll be a little sting when I pull it out.’
He grunted an acknowledgement and she slipped out the iv needle and pressing on the cotton ball. She smiled at him.
‘I’m Dr. Chetticamp by the way. But Shona is fine.’
Detective Tripp noticed Doctor Chetticamp smiling awfully sweetly at him and he squirmed, uncomfortable. He watched her put pressure on the cotton and after a minute tape it on.
‘All done.’
Frank nodded.
“Good, can ya pass me my clothes now please?”
‘Sure. But I really wish you would stay over night.’
She passed him his pile of clothing and Tripp shook his head.
“Hell no. get me out of here. No offence.”
Shona lazily waved her hand.
‘None taken.’

They stared at each other a long moment before Frank finally cleared his throat.
“Can you, uh turn around so I can, you know. Get my clothes on?”
She laughed and walked back around his bed and faced the door.
‘Want me to close the privacy curtain?’
When he saw she had turned away he pulled the gown over his head and slipped on his shirt.
“No, no. It‘s fine. Just don‘t peak. Not that you‘d wanna.”
Dr. Chetticamp laughed, she heard him rustling around as he finished getting dressed.
‘No, I don’t think I would. No offence.’
Tripp sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks and laced up his shoes now that the rest of his clothes were on.
“None taken.”
Shona cracked a half smile and came over and took a seat on the bed.
‘Frank, Detective Tripp I need to speak to you. Okay?’
This time there was no room in her tone for discussion. He sighed and sat his massive frame wearily on the bed. He dwarfed the petite woman.
“Do I have a choice?”
She sighed.
‘You do. If you want to slowly waste away, starve yourself to death. But you’ll just end up back here.’
A slim dark brow was lifted.
‘Some how I don’t think you want that.’
He shrugged and nodded, not looking at her. She took his hands in hers, white skin against soft brown.
‘I spoke to your parents and your therapist. I know what happened and I’m sorry.’
Frank rolled his eyes, narrowing his gaze at the wall afterwards.
“I wish people would quit feeling sorry for me. I don‘t want that.”
Shona nodded.
‘I know how that feels.’
Tripp glared over at her.
“Oh? You do? And how would you know how it feels?”
Her dark eyes met his and were soft, gently she squeezed his large hands.
‘I lost my husband. Fourteen months ago. An accident.’
She pursed her lips.
‘He was coming home from a late shift here- we were both doctors. A drunk driver crossed the centre line, hit him head on. They both died instantly.’
Frank felt a lump form in his throat. She did understand.
“I‘m sorry.”
Dr. Chetticamp lifted her brows at the hulking detective, parroting him.
‘I wish people would quit feeling sorry for me. I don’t want that.’
He looked over at her, shaking his head. Giving her a weak smile.
“Okay, Okay. I got ya.”
This time he squeezed her hands. She looked up at him.
‘I didn’t know what I was going to do. How I would live without him. I thought that by going on with my life somehow it was saying to the World that I didn’t love him. For a long time afterwards every time I smiled or laughed, was happy even for a moment I felt guilty. But then I realized we got married because we made each other happy. So why would being sad prove I loved him? I do feel badly sometimes still about being happy when he’s not here to share it, but I’m not stopping myself from feeling anymore.’
Tripp listened to her. Hell she was better than his damn therapist.
“Thanks. I think I get what you‘re saying.”
Shona smiled. She reached in her pocket for a prescription pad and wrote down her name and number. She was just about to put the pen away when she jotted down ‘Dr.’ in front of her name. Just so it did not seem like she was just giving him her name and number for the sake of giving it to him.
‘Listen. If you ever want to talk Frank you just call me. This is my home number. I work weird hours but leave a message I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Maybe in a few weeks when you’re feeling better we can have a coffee. Talk about what you and the therapist have been dealing with. What you’re feeling. I can tell you what I went through. How therapy helped me. Maybe it can help you too.’
He took the number with a little trepidation.
“Sure, why not?”
She was pleased and she patted his hands and stood.
‘Listen, now your eating disorder is a big problem. We have to deal with that. I gave your parents a prescription and explained it to them. It’s a gag suppressant, take it before you eat and it’ll keep the food down now matter how badly you want to bring it up. It’s a heavy duty narcotic so only take it once a day and make sure the meal you eat is a nutritious one. I think your Mum is more than happy to take care of that. But this stuff is going to knock you out for a few hours. So the food stays down long enough to be useful.’
Shona narrowed her gaze.
‘But if you abuse these you’ll get addicted and that’ll be big time bad. And not to go and give you ideas but it only takes a few to OD so be careful. I told your Mum and Dad to keep the bottle some where you don’t know about.’
Tripp was about to be offended, he furrowed his brow but the annoyance eased away. He sighed sadly.
“That‘s...that‘s probably smart.”
Dr. Chetticamp gave a solemn nod, she placed her hand on his shoulder.
‘I know. I know how it feels. But you need to hang on, hang in there. Okay? Just promise me you’ll try. As long as you try that‘s all anyone can ask of you.’
He placed his hand over hers. Standing slowly. Already with the saline in his body and few hours of sleep he was feeling better.
She bit he bottom lip.
‘Take care of yourself. And I need you to sign some forms down at Admitting, since you are leaving AMA.’
Frank moved towards the door.
“I will. And I will.”
He cracked a half smile.
“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate everything.”
He folded the paper with Shona‘s information on it and slipped it into his pocket.
She smiled back.
‘You call me, okay? If you need to talk. Bye Frank.’
Shona shoved her hands in her pockets.
‘I mean Detective Tripp.’
Frank just nodded and headed out the door, barraged by his mother’s questions the instant she saw him. He said nothing as he walked towards the admitting desk to fill out the releases. When they were heading out into the night air to the parking lot he looked down at his mother, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
“I think...I think things might just be okay.”
And as he stared for a moment up into the starry sky his heart told him that might just be the truth.

Mon, 04 Apr 2005 11:22:52 GMT

Frank had left the Club Ice scene in turmoil. He had no idea that before taking off Nico had left him a parting gift. A shot at the most ‘together’ of Horatio’s friends and team. Besides you take away Nico’s children then someone else is going to loss theirs, four legged or two.

Tripp arrived at the hotel where his family was supposed to be. There was no guard out front. Nothing. Frank furrowed his brow. He went inside and asked, showing his ID, but they were not there. The detective snorted and got the number of the Special Ops officer that was supposed to be in charge. Dialling his cell phone and stepping outside the hotel lobby so he could do a suitable amount of swearing.
As calmly as the officer could when faced with a very angry Frank Tripp he explained that Maryanne had insisted on going home. Her daughter was sick and needed to be home in her own bed, resting. Frank fumed, but the officer was not at fault. They could not keep his wife prisoner in a hotel just because they thought it was best. But after that the ball had been dropped. No escort home, no watch on the house, not even a drive past to check things out. The Special Ops officer understood the detective was pissed off but, hey, they had a major sting going down across town, they weren’t going to take men off that to guard a house that the owner didn’t want to be guarded. Frank lost it. He shouted and screamed until he was hoarse, getting out all the bottled up frustrations of the day. When the officer eventually just plain hung up Tripp kept stewing. Now he was angry at his MaeMae for being so damn reckless. Normally she was so level headed but he guess he had made such a fuss over this she just wanted to be strong. Show him things would be alright, life would go on after Nico Cuervo. He got in his car and drove home, his hands tight on the wheel and foot heavy on the gas. Frank flipped on the radio to his favourite ‘oldies’ station. It was The Association and he scowled and went to change the station but he stayed. He knew he would not be able to stay mad at Maryanne after listening to it but he let it play anyways. He was supposed to be staying more calm to help his hypertension anyways.
You ask me if there'll come a time when I grow tired of you,
Never my love...
You wonder if this heart of mine will lose it's desire for you,
Never my love...
He sighed, relaxing his grip on the steering wheel. Just thinking of his wife with her pretty dark brown eyes and dark blonde hair, with a soul so bright, so clever, so kind, made the troubles of the day melt away. And she choose him. Maryanne chose to be Mrs. Frank Tripp. Out of all the men in the world she picked him. The bumbling, hot tempered, already balding at 28, kind of pudgey junior detective. And now they had built a life together, a house, three amazing kids. Sure the rugrats were trouble but all kids were. That’s what made you a kid. You had to learn the ropes of living.

The radio droned on.
What makes you think love will end, when you know that my whole life depends on you?
You say you fear I'll change my mind, I won't require of you.
Never my love...
Never my love.
The song was not quite over but he changed the station anyways. Frank could only handle so much romantic crap at a time.

He pulled in home some twenty minutes later and saw that sure enough the mini van was in the driveway. Frank shook his head. Reckless. When he stepped out of the car he felt sweat on the back of his neck, beaded up from his surge of emotions earlier. Tripp headed for the front door and glanced in the kitchen window but saw none of his family despite the fact the light was on. Of course it was late so they should all be in bed. He thought that perhaps Maryanne was up with their sick daughter. He reached for the door knob but noticed that Logan’s scooter and Gracie’s bike were by the doorstep, where they had been left since yesterday afternoon. Frank grumbled and moved the vehicles. He leaned them against the siding where they should have been in the first place and went back to the front door. That was when he noticed a mark on the straw ‘welcome’ mat- a foot print. At first glance the partial print looked muddy but on closer inspection it was blood, defiantly blood. The lump of bile that rose at the back of his throat was swallowed with difficulty. He saw a thin beam of light escaping into the dark night and realized the front door was just slightly ajar. His hand moved to his hip, for his pistol. Shaky fingers around the grip and he toed open the door. Foot prints on the floor, facing forward but leading back towards the kitchen. There must have been an accident, one of the kids must have cut themselves. A rivet of perspiration oozed down from his brow and stung his eye before he managed to blink it away. He stood silently, breathless, listening. No sounds, not the creak of a floor board or ragged breathing. Tripp stayed where he was and called out.
“MaeMae? Maryanne?!”
No answer. He licked his dry lips, his whole mouth felt parched and he could not seem to swallow to take a decent breath. The stench of too much blood in too small a space assaulted his nostrils. All of a sudden he just did not want to breath.

Frank turned the corner and peeked into the kitchen. The next few moments were a blur. Reaching down to his wife, cutting the duct tape that bound her hands. Hopelessly cheeking the gaping cleft of crimson, splayed flesh that used to be her neck for a pulse. Around what was left of it was a dog collar. Her left eye was missing. His hands shook, his whole body starting to convulse in abject horror. He crawled though the thick pool of blood around Maryanne that melded into his eldest son’s. He turned over Logan, who was face down, similarly bound. Same slit throat, left eye gone same dog collar. Gracie was a few feet away, tied to a chair. He stood, nearly slipping in the slowly coagulating puddle of blood, and stumbled over to her. Her throat was also cut, the blood having spilt down her body. Once again no left eye and a dog collar. He could see her night gown was pulled up and he whimpered, not able to look for a second longer. Not able to process the implication. Frank cried out, an anguished whimper. He looked for Thad, their youngest, the 17 month old, and saw a chunk of baby soft blonde hair peaking from a mess of blood and...something, brains? Tripp sunk to his knees. His baby’s head had been crushed. Like it was stomped on until it just crumpled.
This was too much for even shock to outweigh and he vomited into his hands. He sat there, trembling in the giant pool of blood that used to be his kitchen floor. With the mutilated corpses that used to be his family.
He glanced up and saw on the counter top four eyes, each still with the stumps of nerves from where they were gouged out. Next to them was a ring. He recognized it from the floor from the impact patterns of some of the bruises on Nico’s victims he had studied. It was a heraldic split crow.
Frank threw up again until there was nothing left but dry heaves. He was too numb to even move. He just closed his eyes and prayed, prayed to every God whose name he could think of that this was a bad dream. That this was a night terror and he would wake up screaming and be soothed back to sleep by Maryanne telling him there was nothing to fear and rubbing his back. But the stink of death was already creeping up over the hours they had lain and he could not ignore the way it tainted every breath he took.

Eventually he managed to reach for his phone. 911 was useless now, deep inside he knew it. He keyed up dispatch and, unable to speak, he text messaged them simply: 100-2 x 4 and his address. Frank threw the phone on the floor afterwards, not caring. He was soaked with blood from sitting in it, from checking his family. But it did not matter. His mind was blank, empty. It was too much to feel so he could not feel anything. Anger would come, grief would come. For now there was just nothing, he was flat-lined, numb.

And Nico Cuervo was some where in Colombia, given a get out of jail free card by Detective Tripp’s own government.

Mon, 28 Feb 2005 01:08:16 GMT

It was dinner at the Tripp house. Frank stirred a pot of spaghetti while Maryanne fed their youngest, 17 month old Thaddeus his own meal. 6 year old Gracie was tugging on her daddy’s leg trying to get him to watch the new position she learned in ballet class that afternoon. The first born, 7 1/2 year old Logan, was busy with his Yuu Gi Oh! cards at the kitchen table.
“Logan, get that crap off the table!”
Maryanne glared at her husband, mouthing at him ’language’ silently. Frank corrected himself.
“Stuff. Get your stuff off the table!”
Gracie was fed up.
‘Daddy! Watch! Daddy, Daddy! Watch me!’
Frank snatched the lid off the boiling -over pot of noodles, groaning at the starchy mess rapidly burning itself to the range top. He grabbed a rag and started to wipe at the spill.
“I see you, I see you. Very nice.”
‘No! You aren’t looking! Daddy!’
Maryanne interceded, twisting around in her seat which was facing the fussing Thad in his high chair.
‘You father saw earlier Gracie. Now sit down for dinner, sweetie.’
Logan continued the epic battle of two monster’s on his plate while Gracie clamoured up into her chair.

With his daughter safely out of the way Frank drained the steaming pasta into a colander in the sink. He smelled burning and glanced over at the toaster oven where Pillsbury frozen garlic bread was baking.
“Mae-Mae the bread‘s burning!”
His wife stared at him, trying her best to keep the toddler from knocking his bowl of animal crackers to the floor.
‘Well get it out then.’
“You can‘t?”
‘I’ve kind of got my hands full here, Frank.’
Frank dropped the noodle pot into the sink and ran over and opened the toaster oven which spewed smoke. He reached in for the rack and burned his fingers.
“Shit!”
‘Language Frank!’
‘Dad said a bad word!’
“Shut it Logan!”
‘Frank!’
Thad’s plastic bowl went clattering to the floor. Silence.
‘Mommy, Thad made a mess!’
Maryanne sighed and got down on her knees, picking up broken crackers.
‘I know Gracie, I see.’

Frank moved the pasta out of the sink and ran cold water over his fingers, shaking them.
“God damn. Hurts like a son of a b-”
He stopped himself. Language, Frank, language.
“Hurts bad.”
The garlic bread was trash and he tossed it.
On his way back from the garbage can to the sink he snatched the game cards out of Logan’s hands.
“What did I say earlier?”
The 7 year old whined.
‘Daaaaaaaad!’
Frank made a motion as if he were going to rip them in half, his son bolted out of his chair.
‘Those are my two best cards! Dad!’
Det. Tripp tossed the cards on the counter, giving Logan the parental evil eye.
“After dinner.”
Gracie chimed up again.
‘Thad spilled his juice!’
“Aww Jesus!”
Frank reached for the Bob The Builder themed sippy cup, watching grape juice spread across the table. Maryanne with a handful of broken crackers and crumbs from the floor popped up and grabbed the rag from the range and started to mop up the mess.
‘Can you just get the kids fed? I’ll handle this then put Thaddeus down for a nap.’
Thad was having fun making such a mess. He giggled when his mother pulled off his bib.
Frank nodded and pulled a ladle off the utensil rack by the kitchen window. He took a large forked pasta server also.
‘I want lots of meatballs!’
‘Me too, Daddy! I want more than Logan!’
‘I’m older, I should get the most!’
‘No! I want more!’
Frank lost his cool, his voice raised.
“You‘ll all get some damn meatballs! God damn you kids!”
Logan and Gracie hushed, looking guiltily down at their plates.

Maryanne shook her head. Her husband’s temper was worse then usual and she had a headache and was tired and had been yelled at by her boss at work for something that wasn’t even her fault and she just wanted peace and quiet. She threw the rag and her handful of animal cracker remains in the trash and walked over to pick up their youngest from his high chair.
‘You can both have five big meatballs. That’s lots of meatballs. Dad will make sure you both get five, wont he?’
She looked pleadingly at Frank, an unspoken wish for him to just calm down. The middle-aged detective rubbed his chin, taking a few slow breaths. He could see his Mae-Mae was tired. Frank brought the pot of sauce and the bowl of noodles to the table.
“Five big meatballs each, coming right up.”
He served the kids, who each watched carefully to see they got their allotted meatballs, while his wife washed Thad’s face and went to the nursery to put the toddler in his crib to sleep. He gave himself a heaping helping and his wife her usual small portion. She never ate very much at dinner.
He dug in, work was straining him mentally and physically so he was happy to be home and able to relax- and stuff his face. Logan slurped a big forkful of noodles which made Gracie laugh. Frank took and even bigger forkful and slurped even louder. The two kids laughed and so did their father. Maryanne came back in and saw the three giggling. She put her hands on her hips.
‘Okay, what are you guys up to?’
Frank slurped again and his wife rolled her eyes. She walked over to the table and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Me too Mommy!’
Gracie got a kiss too and so did a rather reluctant Logan who tried his best to squirm away.

She sat down and picked up her fork but quickly put it back down. Her head was throbbing. It felt like a migraine in the works. She covered her eyes with her hands. Frank reached across and touched her arm.
“You okay?”
Maryanne shook her head, rubbing her temples.
‘Bad day, and I’m not feeling well.’
Logan seemed concerned.
‘Can you still help me with my Social Studies home work later, Mom?’
‘Your father can, okay?’
Logan nodded. Frank grimaced, normally he spent the evening winding down with a half case of beer while the wife handled ‘kid things‘. He sighed.
“Yeah Logan I‘ll help ya.”
Maryanne stood, she was not hungry. She felt pale and weak and feverish and just wanted to lie down. She had pushed herself too much during the day.
‘I’m going go have a nap. Make sure you two help your father with the dishes.’
Gracie pushed around one of her meatballs on her plate.
‘Are you sick Mommy?’
She ruffled her daughter’s hair.
‘Just a little, honey. I’m going to lay down.’
Frank looked up at her mid-chew. Now he was stuck cleaning up after dinner, doing the dishes, helping Logan with his homework, changing Thad when he woke up, entertaining Gracie. All this after dealing with all the bullshit at work. Just then his pager beeped. He stood up and went for it, his wife’s hand reaching out to stop him.
‘Frank please, no. I need you home tonight. You’re not even on duty!’
He pushed her away gently.
“Mae-Mae, I‘m always on duty.”
Frank held up the pager so she could read the screen: ’Urgent: 100-2 x 2’ and then the address.
“Double homicide, in my division, that means I gotta go...”

Maryanne blinked away frustrated tears, she did not want to cry in front of him or the kids.
‘I know...’
And she watched her husband gather his things and leave without another word.

Major Crime Unit Briefing

Mon, 21 Feb 2005 04:55:02 GMT

It was dead in the office when Frank arrived. He checked his watch to see if he had somehow gotten there ungodly early but nope, same time as always. He walked up to one of the lingering members of night shift who was putting in some over time and asked what was up. His answer was ‘big meeting, didn’t you get the memo?’. Yeah Frank probably had gotten the memo but he had also probably just as promptly as it arrived lost it among his thousand other daily pieces of paper. Reports, on-scene arrival forms, plan drawings and info from the lab rats, warrants, statements- a lot of trees gave their lives everyday for the Homicide Department. He merely scowled at the graveyard junior detective and stalked off to the briefing room, stopping at his locker just to quickly grab his duty belt and badge.
He wasn’t late when he arrived, everyone was still milling around socializing, sipping coffee, laughing and sharing horror stories about their last few cases. A computer attached to a projector and a screen were set up at the front of the room. Oh goody, a slide show! Just what he needed first thing in the morning. Frank noticed some familiar faces and some he barely recognized. In such a big , busy city it was rare for the Major Crimes detectives to all be gathered in one place at the same time. There were detectives from Homicide, from Narco, from Vice, this was big whatever it was. He noted that the female detectives and the males had naturally separated themselves out on opposite sides of the room. It was funny, for all the so called progress with women in law enforcement the two sexes still preferred their space when give the choice. He noticed Det. Salas and Det. Sevilla were chatting to a female Narco he vaguely recalled, well that was two from his department and division. John Hagen, also in the same division of Homicide a he, was across the room sifting through notes and gulping from a truly massive travel mug. Frank didn’t really like Hagen, mostly because Horatio didn’t really like Hagen and Horatio was Frank’s best pal. Now if you could say anyone was actually friends with H, Tripp wasn’t sure since the man was an enigma. Still he considered Horatio his buddy and therefore his friends were also his own friends and his enemies were also his own enemies. Frank knew that John had been Ray’s partner back in the day and suspected part of the hostility between H and Hagen stemmed from that but he didn’t know the whole story and he wasn’t about to pry. In John’s defence Calleigh Duquesne did like him so he couldn’t be all bad. Calleigh was a good judge of people Frank had found over the years of working with her, plus she had her choice of any man in Miami. The blonde was smarter than she looked, he had made the mistake of misjudging her in the beginning but she really did have good people sense and good people skills. He had the people sense but the people skills were rather lacking. He wasn’t about to make any special efforts to improve his social graces either. He was a detective, not Dr. Phil.
The room fell to a hush and the staff scrambled for seats when a parade of senior officers and supervisors entered. A couple of division OC’s, a few of the Major Crimes ‘lieu’s, the Sergeant of Detectives-Homicide, some CT bar-shouldered cop with an automatic shotgun slung over his back which meant Special Ops. It was like the Fourth Of July parade or something. Yelina, part of the Homicide-Narcotics Joint Task Force, went and sat up at the very front with a few of the other inter-division task force leaders. Frank, just a plain old pavement-pounder, took a seat far in the back.
Special Ops officer ‘Captain shotgun’, Frank hadn’t paid attention to his actual name, addressed the room first
‘Alright ladies and ladies....’
The middle aged detective rolled his eyes and groaned aloud. A wise guy, fucking great. The CT went on to explain the situation and show some slides of victims and scenes, some crates of drugs marked with a logo of a phoenix, chemical make up charts of the Phoenix Cartel cocaine which had some sort of unique compound of hydrobutinepharimawhatzit or something which Frank paid little attention to. Cocaine content=unique, that’s all he needed to know. Finally went up a few photos of suspects. Some were enhanced surveillance photos snapped from a distance, others were mug shots. He noticed the info on the mug boards: Miami, Las Vegas, New York in the US, Cali City and Port Authority arrests Columbia. In other words big time drug lords and big time trafficking. CT Shotgun finished up his spiel and stood off to the side. His sergeant was next up and this time Frank paid more attention. He reviewed some of the scenes and victims from the Special Ops officer’s presentation in greater detail. Explaining how some of the murders had been attributed to local gangs but were probably part of something much larger. He focused the peculiar execution style of a point blank shot to the left eye. ‘Messy’ was all Frank could think and he was glad it was the CSIs who had to bag and tag all the bits of skull and brain and label every drop of blood and not him. The Sergeant of Detective’s tone darkened, he began to explain how in each of the home cities for the Phoenix Cartel it was suspected that dirty cops were assisting. In Miami they had been following a trail of several suspected cops with ties to the cartel, one of which had been eliminated sometime ago. No name was mentioned but a knowing silence swept over the room. Some IAB investigations from other cities were brought up but no specifics. Yelina Salas was the final speaker, on behalf of the Narco-Homicide Task Force and she outlined Miami‘s plan for dealing with the rising power of the cartel and their increasingly brazen disregard for the law. She also expressed how fighting this group would require the cooperation of the other cities as well as the law enforcement agencies in her native Columbia. Frank jotted notes, the brass was making a big deal over a couple of drug shootings so this had to be truly deep to warrant such a response.
After Yelina finished up the divisional lieutenants broke off with their respective staff and Frank went with his own Lieu. They rehashed the briefing, Adell asked a few questions but Hagen and Yelina seemed strangely silent. Frank just reviewed his own notes. His LT asked him what he intended to do but all Frank could say was he would do the same he always did, his job. He wasn’t going on some wild goose chase all across America for some coke pushers. If a body ended up on his watch, he’d deal with it, otherwise not his problem. It earned him some glares but he shrugged them off.
“I’ve got a wife and three kids expecting me to come home. I sure aint going out looking for trouble.”
That was his excuse and with it made he stalked off to his desk, not dismissed and not caring about that fact.
He poured over his notes from the meeting, he might not make any effort to be a part of it but it was his responsibility to be read up if it did end up on his doorstep. He reviewed:

Major drug cartel eliminating the competition

Labelled the “Phoenix Cartel“ because shipments have an emblem of a phoenix on crates

Suspected upper level members have jewellery with the phoenix on it and some of the pushers and shippers have tattoos with the same emblem

Known cells in New York City, New York; Las Vegas, Nevada; Miami, Florida; and Cali, Columbia

Miami is the suspected point of origin of the cartel

Several police officers and detectives are suspected of being dirty and involved with the cartel

The cartel has inside knowledge of how police and detectives do their job and the tools they have

Drugs sold by the group appear to have a chemical marker in their content

Members seem to have no fear of the police at all

Victims are shot point blank in the head in the left eye, sometimes something with the phoenix emblem is left behind at the scene

Miami PD is attempting to put together a plan and inter-state task force to target this group before their power gets too great

Frank had a gut feeling this was going to become his business whether he wanted it to or not. And he really, really didn't want it to.

Living and dying and something inbetween

Sat, 19 Feb 2005 04:40:33 GMT

It was early. 6 am according to the alarm clock. His wife was still asleep, and the sunlight, streaming through the window blind in thin slices, played hide and seek with the shadows across her form. She’d be up in another hour to handle the family affairs. Getting everyone ready, getting herself ready then taking the two oldest kids to school and dropping the rug rat at day care on her way to work. For now, in the calm before the storm, her chest slowly, rhythmically rose and fell with her soft breath. Frank sat on the edge of the bed and watched her breathing, needing this moment of silent reaffirmation of her continued existence as he did every morning to steel his mind for the day ahead. He knew life meant death and it came and went in the blink of an eye. It took thousands and thousands of things going just right at any given moment for a human to remain alive. Just one of those gazillion biological and chemical processes stopped or going awry and bam, you’re a bloated corpse frying on the sidewalk under the Miami sun. Being a Homicide Detective had made him never take his family for granted- in a split second they could be gone. Or he could be gone. He was a cop, and cops die. That was part of the deal with the devil you made when you put on the badge. Cops die, but he tried his damndest everyday to come home.
It was odd, he felt almost like he lived two lives. One where he wore a gun and hunted rapists and murders. Walked the streets as a soldier fighting against an renegade army fuelled by drugs, perversions and blood lust. And in the other he kissed boo boos, threw footballs in the backyard and cut the crusts off sandwiches. Paid for the mortgage and ballet lessons and Yu Gi Oh! cards. Worlds apart but all one life, one man. And he knew in his heart he needed them both to be whole.
Frank stood and leaned over to kiss his wife gently on the cheek, careful not to wake her. She was just as beautiful now as when they were newly weds-as far as he was concerned at least. She complained about wrinkles by her eyes and a sagging chest after having three children but he never noticed these things. His own loss of hair and extra pounds were a lot more obvious, and she never said a word. He kept telling himself he would start eating better and going to the gym more than once a week but it never happened. His hectic schedule kept him grabbing junk food on the run and too tired after a long day to even think about working out.
He had a short shower and got dressed. He was long used to the humid Miami heat from leaving his native Texas years ago and so he had no problem wearing a suit and tie even out in the heat of the afternoon. Usually he was only outside in spurts anyways. Office to car to scene back to car back to office back to car to crime lab back to car back to office. That might be a whole day of his spent in short blurbs of air conditioned spaces. He glanced in on each of his children before heading downstairs to the kitchen where he grabbed a banana and his car keys. His duty belt, gun and badge was at his division in his locker. He’d stop for a coffee along the way. As he pulled his car out of his little neighbourhood and into the swelling ranks of rush hour traffic on the highway he ate his breakfast banana while he idled at the on-ramp. He never listened to the radio on the way to work and he never tried to think about what lay ahead in the day. It never was the kind of thing a person wants to dwell on. You just had to deal with what was thrown at you, do your best and move on. Otherwise you were 100% guaranteed to loose your mind. Once his turn on the on ramp-ramp came and went he was soon clipping along the long bridge towards downtown. He put on his sunglasses against the sun’s glare which was magnified by the expanse of the Atlantic ocean that cradled the city.
It was another day in Miami and another day in the life of Detective Frank Tripp.