Love And Consequences

The big night had come quicker than I realized. Sure I'd been able to prepare for a few days, and yeah I knew the guy pretty well, but that doesn't make it any easier.

"I'll just have to be myself, stick to my instincts and nothing will go wrong," I thought. "Ugh, I just said that didn't I? Okay, well hopefully not a lot goes wrong. I'm not wasting my chance to finally bust out this dress."

I arrived at what I'm pretty sure is the fanciest restaurant in New York City. I didn't feel like I fit in, but my dress definitely did. I approached the host who informed me that my date had already arrived. He was exactly as punctual as usual. Just one of the little annoying things that make him who he is.

"Wow. Look at you"

"Keep your pants on Carson," I said while he kissed me on the cheek and began to pull my chair.

"What? I can't compliment my beautiful date on her glamorous attire?"

I sat down how I assume the queen would sit down. I placed my hands on my upper legs holding the dress down while gradually lowering my hind side to the front of my chair as if sliding down a flat wall. Then as Carson's beefy hands pushed my seat in, I was slotted into the back of the chair, ready to begin what was sure to be eventful evening.

"I take it you looked up a video on 'how to be chivalrous' before you came here'?"

"Well," he said while taking his own seat. "when you walked in like that I must have mistook you for a proper lady."

"Oof, you were off to such a good start too," I replied, trying to keep in the giggling reflex I'd been cursed with.

Carson and I had a knack for never being serious around one another, which seemed to get us in trouble more often than not.

"But seriously Palmer, you look dynamite tonight." He somehow managed to keep a straight face through the entire compliment. I usually didn't get a good look into his eyes when he was like this. Usually if I'm looking at him it's at his smile or I'm trying to time the pace of his gum chewing. His record is 3 chews a second, but don't tell him I told you.

"Thanks," I said through a semi strong hair flip. Hopefully it gets me noticed by a guy with some money."

"And what makes you think I don't have money?"

"Carson, we have the same job."

"Fair point."

He wasn't chewing any gum tonight. In fact, he was wearing a suit. An impressive black blazer covered a white shirt that seemed to fit him perfectly. His matching shoes were glowing even in the darkness of the candlelit restaurant. He even shaved for the occasion.

I was just about to open my mouth to return the compliment with some sort of thinly vailed insult when our waiter arrived holding a decently sized bottle of wine. He poured out two glasses and placed the bottle in front of the light of the candle.

"Pahlmeyer merlot 2014." I looked back up into his eyes for a second and returned to the all too familiar label. "Would you believe I already had a glass today?"

His smile faded away, but his gaze remained fixed on my eyes. I could see him in my periphery while I stared at the bottle.

"How's she doing?"

I paused for a little bit, still affixed to this bottle of wine. After a few seconds though, I answered his question.

"Not great. The doctors say getting a donor at this point is pretty unlikely. I haven't lost hope though. Dad and I have been going in every day or two to either read or play games with her."

"I'm sorry Palmer." He reached out and grabbed my hand off of the wine glass, cupping it with both of his. "If there's one thing I know about her though it's that she's a fighter."

That got a smile out of me.

"You-" I was interrupted by the sound of static coming from my earpiece, which could only mean one thing. Our mole had arrived.

"Yeah, we really gotta get the captain to spring for some better equipment," said Carson after the same noise forced him to jerk to the left. He turned back to me as if we were just having a normal conversation. "Positive ID: Randy Palmetto, Dimitri Morozov, 2 known Morozov associates."

Our mole's name was Randy Palmetto. The New York City assistant district attorney who was personally responsible for getting dozens of Dimitri Morozov's men off the hook, and this was the night that this case was going to finally end. Carson and I have been working on it without allowing any of our coworkers to help for over eight months.

"Ugh," Carson discretely puffed. "Just looking at this guy makes me sick."

"Which guy?"

"See this is why I like having you around Palmer."

"You told me you liked having me around cuz I've got a cute mug."

"Who says it can't be both?"

"You're so sweet."

Our mobsters made their way over to their table and started what I prayed would be a telling conversation.

"Alright Palmetto," said the Russian. "What is so important that you had to interrupt my busy schedule? I thought we had a good thing going."

"Boss, you know I'm happy to do what I do for your boys, but I can't keep risking getting found out with all these communications. Every time we make contact it gives them one more piece of evidence that they could use against me."

He wasn't risking anything anymore. We found him out a week ago. It was incredibly sloppy on his side. He got a text message from a high ranking member of the mob concerning the release of a different high ranking member of the mob and we noticed. Simple as that.

"I assume you're getting to some sort of a point here Mr. Palmetto."

"Yes, of course sir. We just need to limit our communications. Just give me some sort of list of your men so that I can get them off without us having to communicate every single time and risk getting found out. You know, if it's okay with you."

"Ahh, I see." The mobster seemed almost disappointed. "Mr. Palmetto, Mr. Palmetto, Mr. Palmetto. You see, this request is not one that I was looking forward to hearing, especially with detectives Carson and Palmer sitting off to my immediate left. I'd really hoped you were going to ask about bringing back Poutine Wednesdays."

Palmetto, Carson and I collectively expanded our eyes to the size of a large grapefruit. Date night had officially reached the point that I apprehensively assumed it would.

"I'm going to take a blind guess and say that you haven't suddenly grown a radio shaped tumor on your chest and those two are listening to everything we're saying. Good. That'll make this next step a lot easier. I'm a fan of this restaurant, and therefore would like to keep it out of harms way throughout this next part. I would be glad to invite my detective friends to the lovely parking lot out in front of the restaurant. And make it snappy if you would. It's been a long day."

Eight months of work. So many fourteen hour days of research and surveillance on the ins and outs of Morozov's network. Millions of dollars spent trying to keep us out of the eyes of his network, and this guy positively identifies us within three minutes. I didn't know whether to be terrified or impressed. Actually wait, yes I did. I was terrified.

I looked up to my partner in the fancy suit to find a calm demeanor. He meticulously reached into his inside jacket pocket. After a few seconds his hand emerged holding a wallet. He took some cash out, placed it on the table and then he looked up at me. I don't know if there's some higher power out there or a person's energy can somehow be transferred over, but I felt like in that moment he managed to give me whatever leftover confidence he had to give.

"My friends!" Morozov exclaimed as soon as we exited the restaurant. "Please if you would, hand any cell phones and weapons to my associate here and we can get on our way."

"And where exactly are we going?" I asked.

"To Disney World. Get in the car."

We handed over our guns and phones. A phone which I didn't use to call for backup because I'm an idiot. I would say I was distracted by fear but that's no excuse.

We eventually reached a warehouse located on one of the rivers. I could hear a few foghorns in the background. Morozov is not one of the most creative mob bosses in town. He brought us to an abandoned warehouse, tied us to a couple of chairs and began to monologue.

"I hate to inform you, but you two are not nearly as slick as you may think. Case opened eight months ago on February 13th, 2002. Head detectives Roger Carson and Maeve Palmer. Objective: identification and arrest of all men associated with Dimitri Morozov. My name was spelled incorrectly on the preliminary report which offended me a bit but we can get past that." Morozov looked Carson dead in his eyes and softened his tone. "Do you think I'm stupid detective Carson? Cuz I think I'm a pretty smart guy and I don't like when people think I'm stupid."

"No, we don't think you're stupid."

"You know I was born in Russia? Didn't speak a word of English until I turned 23. And I think I speak real good English, don't you?"

"I think you speak wonderful English Dimitri," Carson said like he was speaking to his godson.

"How'd you know about our operation, Morozov?" I asked, already sure of the answer.

"Ah Detective Palmer. I'm quite honestly shocked that you didn't realize this a long time ago. Just about one of every two officers in your unit work for us. The shocking thing is that two clean detectives such as yourselves managed to become partners. Statistically, that had to be pretty unlikely. This obviously made snooping on your case a lot more difficult. Thank you for showing up tonight actually. It will make this much easier."

"If you're gonna kill me, go ahead and get it over with. Just let Palmer go. She was just following my orders the whole time."

"What?" I interrupted. "No, it was my idea to take this on. Carson-"

"Woah woah woah," said Morozov. "I have no interest in killing you. Where'd you get that idea from?"

"Well, the whole mob, warehouse, tying to chairs thing tends to send that sort of message," said Carson.

"I am not and have never been in the business of killing cops. I am in this city to make it a better place."

"Yeah by putting drugs in kid's pockets and bribing cops to look the other way," I said. "You're killing thousands of people whether you realize it or not. And I'm sure you do."

"I am sorry you feel that way about me Detective Palmer. I'd like to change your mind. I have a proposition that I thought you would appreciate"

"I highly doubt that."

Morozov reached into his jacket pocket just as Carson had done in the restaurant. I tensed up expecting the worst before he pulled out a piece of paper and a pair of glasses.

"Amy Marie Palmer." I jerked my hands hard against their constraints, but nothing gave. He stopped reading momentarily to make sure I didn't manage to get out of my rope cuffs. "Amy Marie Palmer, 59 years old, wife and mother of one. Diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver in July 2001. Immediately entered the transplant list, but no dice so far... Wow, Detective Palmer, you have a beautiful mother."

"Don't say her name again."

"At least wait until my proposition to make up your mind, detective. Okay, here it is. You probably know about the power I have in the medical community. One word from me and the beautiful Mrs. Palmer goes up to number one on the transplant list. And with only a few months left until the tail end of the expected survival rate, I would keep listening if I were you."

"What do you want?" I growled.

"The same thing I ask from all of you officers. You will be effectively working for me. When I call, you answer. When I ask for a favor, you complete said favor without question, and you will of course end this open case against me. I only ask that one of you take on the job. Detective Palmer's mother will be taken care of and your lives will not drastically change. You will be compensated for your loyalty of course, and you can use the money to take your mother out to a nice dinner. Buy her one of those bottles of merlot that she loves so much."

"Absolutely not-"

"Maeve."

Carson never used my first name. I think the last time he did was the day he met my mother. We were on a case with an active cop killer in the area and he decided it would be best if we travelled in pairs. I told him I was going to visit my mother and he insisted on doing the same. "Maeve is the strongest officer I've ever worked with." I guarantee he's said the same thing to every other partner's mother.

"Maeve, we can't say-"

"Carson, shut up," I annunciated hoping that the tears starting to form in my eyes would go unnoticed. "She's already on the list and we are absolutely not helping this monster who causes more deaths than anyone in the city.

"Maeve."

"I swear to god Carson. Do not take it. My mother will be fine. She'll do it the right way."

"Detective Carson, will you be accepting my offer?"

I never took my eyes off of him, and the tears never stopped falling. Just a bit after he looked back at me, I could see his eyes begin to water as well. I worked with him for three years before that day, and I just noticed that his eyes were blue.

"No. I will not."

I let out a smile, not a big one.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll be seeing you two around. Stay safe out there, and when you change your mind just give me a call."

One Week Later

I woke up 7 days after our little adventure with Morozov to a phone call from my mother's doctor. I picked up the phone expecting the worst, but practically hit my head on the ceiling jumping for joy when I heard the news. They had found a donor for her! I knew it would happen eventually, but this soon? I was ecstatic.

I called my mom and talked to her for as long as possible before I got into the station. Carson wasn't in yet so I couldn't tell him the good news. I unlocked my computer just like any other day and scrolled to the upper right side of the screen for my daily check on the Morozov case.

But the file wasn't there. I checked the back end of the computer, searched through the file explorer and even walked into the archive room. It was gone. My good mood vanished along with it, and it has yet to come back.