Author's Note: I loved Hollywood Brass ep. I especially loved Donna Murphy's character of Capt Annie. This is my very quick take on an epilogue.
This is a repost of the original story I did; I corrected some errors and re-rated.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I am having a great time trying to get into their heads.
He had put her into a perilous predicament. He had given her scant evidence that would actually hold up in court. He had solved the case, but he had proven nothing. And worst of all, he had left without knowing what she was going to do. The look in his eyes had said it all. He had said that his neck had hurt from looking the other way all of his life. She guessed that the pain prevented him from looking back once he left.
She had made a career out of being tough, but politic. It was the lay of the land in L.A. She had been called a lot of names in her 20 plus years in law enforcement, most of them disrespectful to say the least.
She hadn't been surprised at the perpetrators of the crime. These men thought they were all powerful. Had Brass not come to L.A., they would have been. Now it was in her hands.
"Fuck you, Jimmy," she said to herself. Cause God knows he didn't stick around to hear it. She could lay it on the line and bring the bastards down. Yeah, right – a judge, an assistant DA, and a favorite mayoral candidate to name three. There was no bringing them down without screwing herself over in the process. Her name would be mud in this town. She would get a lot of pats on the back, but before she could say "Early Retirement", she would be set on her butt, thumb out, hitching a ride. And that would be if everything stuck. Jersey had been bad enough, but she was younger then, and starting over in L.A. hadn't seemed so daunting. This was like a bad goddamned Lifetime movie of the week. Except she wasn't Susan Lucci, and Brass wasn't some other TV star come in on a white horse to rescue her. She had earned the title "Captain" against the odd,and it could easily be taken away.
She could do nothing. It would be easy. If "Eagle" won the election (likely), she would be in good with the big boys, sitting at that table like she had told Jim, with that poisoned food.
She had seen a lot in her years. Had done a lot she wasn't proud of, now, but she had no regrets. She was the job, and she had never done anything to consider herself dirty, or one of the bad guys. She took no shit off of anyone, tweaking meth heads, Korean banger wanna be's, or even the big boys. She might be deferential to some, but she didn't take shit.
So why did she feel like she might be taking a load of it right now?
The safe thing to do would be to look the other way, and break her neck by turning it around so far. But it felt like taking shit. It felt like eating shit. She hadn't climbed and fought her way to this point to start eating it now. She thought about the hooker, the one with strange marks on her body, the one she had sent away with a pack of ice. Then she thought about Dakota, with those same marks, beaten until dead. Dead. It took a lot of rage to beat someone to death. How many other girls had these "respectable men" done this way? They acted as if they owned the whole city. She wondered where that other hooker was now.
And if she did nothing with this folder, they would own her too. She was nobody's bitch. She called a Vegas number, knowing that he wouldn't be there. She thought about the sadness in his eyes; she knew that this wouldn't take it away. But maybe it wouldn't add to it. She had put enough of it there some years ago.
"Jimmy. Watch for the news tomorrow, or maybe the next day. I am going to call in all my favors," she said, caustically in to the voice mail. "You son-of-a-bitch, you leave me here with that look like you might not want to stay around to see what I did." She paused, thinking about the next line. "All I can say is, you better put in a good fucking word for me in Vegas." She hung up and picked up the folder, a determined look in her eye, and steel in her grip.