Once Upon A Crime

"... while police have yet to make a statement, the string of deaths are suspected to be gang related. More on the news at six."

Seated at his desk in the 29th Precinct, Detective Lalit Prince tried not to roll his eyes. The reporter was pretty, one of the dozens of interchangable young women hired for their looks more than their public speaking skills, and placed in front of a camera to give viewers something to look at other than the body bag in the background. Probably filled with grand ambitions to be promoted to Weather Girl or whatever it was they called the Yes-Woman who sat next to the main presenter to fill the couch and give the studio a claim at diversity and gender equality.

Of course the killings were suspected to be gang related! Three different Crime Families had openly stated as much, and everyone from the FBI to the beat cops was under pressure to find out who was responsible and bring them in. The problem was, while the Mafia Dons were all furious at the sudden deaths of their heirs, no one was claiming responsibility, as usually happened when a rivalry heated up. Worse, all evidence pointed to the victims being in the wrong place at the wrong time when they were targeted.

Oh, sure, a Crime Heir undoubtably had their dirty fingers in all sorts of unsavory pies, but no-one could point to the victims even being on their way to a meeting when they died. Even their sisters, beautiful alliance-makers kept shielded from the dirty work but in command of more secrets than anyone but the Dons themselves, had sobbed into the interview table that their brothers hadn't been doing anything.

Personally, Lalit was inclined to think that someone was trying to destablise the gangs, the Families in question were now left with only daughters, nieces and grand-daughters to inherit, unless they felt like adopting. That was a suspicion he kept carefully inside his head, though, because to speak it out loud would be to invite open gang warfare.

Hauling himself to his feet, Lalit headed for the coffee maker, where the Secretary and occasional PR Assistant, Blanche Winters, was in the process of brewing a fresh pot. Coming from Eastern European stock, with fair skin and jet black hair, Blanche was quiet and unassuming, with a gentle reassurance to her voice that the PR office liked to trot out when they had really bad news, and the kind of good looks that distracted from what she was actually saying.

Lalit made a point of staying on her good side, having been well-trained by Blanche's predecessor, who had wielded the power of the duty roster to assign the worst cases to anyone who looked at her wrong, even though Blanche herself was the type to spend her lunch breaks feeding strays and researching charities. A bit of an odd one, the Detectives and Beat Cops all agreed, but she kept things running smoothly.

Lalit had worked no less than three Charity Fraud cases started by Blanche's research binges uncovering something not quite right, however. He'd recieved a Commendation for one, so he forewent the jokes he'd usually make about people who were too nice to live. The number of attempted break-ins had gone down since the Precinct gained it's own protective service of street dogs and roaming cats, raising unholy hell as soon as they sighted a lockpick, too, so no-one was inclined to tell her to stop.

Blanche looked up with a smile, "Snow White strikes again, I see."

Lalit raised an eyebrow, "Snow White? When did Disney Princesses get involved here?"

She laughed, "Oh, sorry, that's the nickname PR have been throwing around. The victims were all found outside on snowy mornings, with only a few drops of red blood. Matches the beginning of the fairytale."

Ah. Well, it was as good a name as any. "If only the perp were as easy to dupe as the Princess was. Trying to catch them has been a nightmare. No prints, no DNA evidence, not even a motive that we can reliably pin down."

Blanche made a sympathetic sound, all that anyone could do, really. Lalit changed the subject, procrastinating his return to work. "Any weekend plans for you?"

She waved a hand. "Getting together with some of my cousins, we're planning a surprise."

Knowing Blanche, they were probably scheming some kind of welcome home party or a reconciliation between feuding relatives. "Have fun with that."

Monday brought an even bigger surprise: the deaths of the head of the Crime Families who had so recently lost their heirs. All had died in an identical fashion: something had startled the driver, who had non-fatally crashed the car, and the Dons had been shot when they exited the vehicle.

Unusually, the Families hadn't disintergrated yet, but perhaps that would come after the funerals. Meanwhile, the majority were happy to let the criminals self-destruct and tear each other apart jockeying for position.

It had snowed that night, too, not unusual for the time of year, but something that struck Lalit in light of his conversation with Blanche. He sent a request for the autopsy and vehicle incident reports, and got back to work.

They'd shaken down the usual suspects, reached out to every contact and informant they had. The answers all came back the same: whoever the killer was, they weren't interested in making a name for themselves by bragging about it. For all the effort taken to make the killings look random, however, they clearly weren't. The target was the Family Heirachy, not the individuals.

Back to the drawing board.

Lalit started over with no pre-conceptions or assumptions, doing his best to put aside any biases. Who benefitted from the deaths and destabilisation?

Not the Official Rivals; they were dead, too. Not the other Families; they were nervously looking over their shoulders in case they were next, and just as invested in finding the culprit as the police were.

Underlings looking for a hostile takeover, perhaps, but the internal power struggles were killing them off in droves before they could take advantage. If that had been someone's plan, it was backfiring spectacularly!

Someone looking to get out of the life, maybe, and smart enough to know that it wasn't as simple as walking away? Someone who went undercover and was struggling to come in from the cold now that the job was done, fearful of what they might bring in with them? That was plausible, if a stretch. Living a lie for so long did a number on people.

Someone chosen at random, by parties unknown, because they were unconnected? Possible. In this economy, people would do a lot for a hefty paycheck, and gun clubs were all over the place. With the rise of Reality TV like Ninja Warrior and Commando, former Special Forces were making new careers for themselves opening specialty Fitness Centers to train anyone who was interested.

Blanche had spent a full morning gushing about the one she attended, since as a technical civilian she didn't get the yearly training camps the officers did.

Lalit put that thought aside for the moment, to examine later. It stood up as a potential perp, but lacked motive. Hired by who, and for what purpose?

His occasional partner, Detective Rohan Steade, sat down at the desk across from his. "Deep thoughts, Lalit? Got to be deeper than the puddle on the news."

Lalit blinked in confusion, and Rohan gestured to the TV, where a 'Special Interest' program was interviewing one of the surviving Mafia Daughters, an absolute knock-out who's only contribution to crime had been as decoration at the parties where the Dons did their high-flying deals.

Fair-skinned and dark-haired, she chattered about how her mother had been a trafficking victim, a poor girl from a former Soviet country who thought she was applying for the opportunity of a new life, only to be sold into Hell, and how glad she would be that her daughter had escaped such a fate. How glad she was not to be married off for an alliance, and her determination to leave the life behind her.

Lalit blinked again, something about the Mafia Princess and her story tugging at his brain, and Rohan groaned. "Yeah, they've been running that garbage all morning. Poor pampered princesses, either gushing about how happy they are to be free, or claiming that the Family isn't gone just because all the men are dead."

The feeling that he was missing a piece of the puzzle grew stronger. Blanche walked by, dressed in somber black instead of her usual pastels. Rohan waved absently, "Off for lunch?"

Blanche shook her head. "We're taking my sister off life support. It's a whole family event."

Well, that was a mood-killer. Lalit glared at his fellow detective, an admonishion to be more considerate. "I'm sorry, you never said anything."

Blanche dabbed at her eyes, much like the woman on the television was doing. "Her boyfriend got mixed up in some shady stuff. Bela was a casualty in a drive-by. I've been just keeping up with the bills, until now."

Rohan shifted uncomfortably. "Let us know if you need anything. The thin blue line looks after it's own, you know."

There was something bitter and doubtful in Blanche's gracious smile. Lalit hoped that she didn't get carried away with grief; Blanche had connections, and was so nice that she'd probably...

Lalit's brain screeched to a halt. He stood up. "Will you excuse me? I want to check something out."

He'd been right.

Oh, gods, he'd been right, and now he was about to pay for finding the missing piece that tied it all together.

He'd have been laughed out of court if he tried to present it as evidence, but he knew.

Stray animals, who lured Mafia heirs down dark alleys by snatching something valuable and running away. Driver's who'd crashed when they swerved after a pigeon flew into the windscreen, or dropped something heavy onto the roof. Someone who wanted revenge, paid for by people who wanted out, or wanted a promotion to power.

Lalit had figured it out, just in time to be swarmed by what seemed like every stray in the city, thumped over the head with something very solid, and carted away to here, the notorious Dock 42, camera free and as isolated as anywhere in the city ever was.

The women that Detective Steade had dismissed as pampered encircled him, all armed, their faces hidden in the shadows. Packaging bands - the good kind that required five minutes to cut even with the good scissors - and zip ties bound him hand and foot. His service pistol was missing, and he was secured to a handy drainage pipe, the only thing keeping him upright.

Soft footsteps, almost silent if not for the gentle crunch of snow, approached, and Lalit looked up at a familiar face. "How did you even know I was after you?"

Seen together with the Mafia Princesses, daughters of trafficked mothers, the family resemblence was clear. Even more so when they smiled at him, and his heart thudded into his shoes.

This was not the smile that had featured on a dozen news reports, but something darker and far more dangerous. A pigeon fluttered down to perch on her shoulder, rats and mice scurrying around her feet, feral eyes glowing from the shadows. "A little bird told me. I wish you hadn't gotten involved, but we can't have witnesses."

The falling snow - and a professional silencer - muffled the gunshot, and Blanche Winters strolled out of the alley like any other young woman walking home with her cousins, leaving the body of Detective Lalit Prince to be stumbled across in the morning.

Inspired by this prompt:

You have many of the abilities of a Disney princess. You can talk to animals, people burst into song around you, and it seems every other day a "Prince Charming" type falls madly in love with you. As one of the most feared mafia enforcers in New York, it's tough, but you make it work.

Obviously, I didn't copy it exactly, but I'm happy with how it turned out.

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