Counting the Cost

Law has to serve people and not vice versa. But how far are you ready to go if it is violated?

Crossover Ironside-SOSF, set Summer 1970

Author's note: No continuity to my Ironside-stories intended. Thank you, Jodm, for correcting this story!

Rookie Inspector Steve Keller from homicide San Francisco, and Sgt. Edward Brown, Chief Ironside's right hand man, were standing in front of a run-down honky-tonk.

"This looks as if it hasn't been used for years," Steve assumed.

"No longer than two months, but it wasn't a five-star establishment before that either. That the 'Tiger gang' has chosen it to be its headquarters didn't help any though."

Steve looked the façade up and down. The old brickwork was partly crumbling away, one of the windows was broken and the door was crooked.

"Steve, please stay here and cover the entrance while I go in, in case there are some newcomers. I know these kids. I don't want them to get into any trouble unnecessarily, and if we march in on them officially they might overreact and get exactly that."

Steve was not pleased about being left behind. But Sgt. Brown was more experienced than he was, and it was true that he knew the group. He wanted to try to bring them to reason privately. And he knew only too well that kids could get into a downward spiral once they had a brush with the law.

"Keep that safe for me, will you?" With that Ed thrust his .38 into Steve's hand.

"But Ed, aren't you going too far now?"

Ed shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. I hope not."

Steve understood that Ed didn't want to provoke the youngsters. That's why he wanted to face them without his weapon. But he thought that his colleague took a terrible risk doing so.

There was not much traffic in this back street and this late in the evening. Steve would see any approaching gang members from afar. Yet no one came by.

For a week Steve had been working with Ironside and Ed now: since his partner and mentor Lt. Mike Stone had gone to the hospital. Mike had declared Steve as "most promising newcomer", and with whom could this specific newcomer work while his mentor was away? With the best teacher of course, and that was doubtlessly Robert T. Ironside, the ex-Chief of detectives, a paraplegic since he had stopped a bullet three years ago. Steve was still more than a little proud of his unofficial title and his position 'ad interim'. Unfortunately for him, pretty policewoman Eve Whittfield, who also belonged to Ironside's staff, was on a holiday. But Steve had taken a liking to earnest, level-headed Sgt. Brown who he had been working with most of the time. Steve could learn a lot not only from his brilliant boss but also from the Sergeant himself about patient, thorough police-work.

Today's assignment showed him a different side of these two men: They cared deeply about people. The kids in the restaurant had come in contact with drugs. The Chief's team was supposed to find out where they got the stuff. But if there was a possibility to keep those kids out of the machinery of jurisdiction they would try to find it.

Steve was wondering how Ed was faring with the 'Tiger gang'. Quietly he opened the door of the shabby restaurant, hoping that he would not get in Ed's way. He didn't. The door didn't lead directly into a barroom but onto a kind of balcony. From there, an open stairs went down. The taproom was situated in the basement of the house. Steve startled at the noise he heard: the unmistakable sound of a fight!

The young Inspector felt the urge to run down the stairs and help his colleague who had to be in trouble. Yet he restrained himself. Brown might not be pleased if he just bolted in without understanding what was going on.

Furtively he looked through the railing of the balcony. In the dimly lit room below, he spotted Ed Brown fighting with six – no, seven - youngsters simultaneously. It was a striking sight. Of course all of them could not attack him at once, and each of them was shorter than Ed's six feet two. Nevertheless Steve was stunned at how easily he seemed to keep them at a distance, especially since some of them outweighed him.

Strange, thought Steve. For such a tall man, he moved amazingly fast, although he was too lanky to look graceful. The teenagers didn't stand a chance against the ex-marine. Already one of them retreated, rubbing his wrist. Another pressed his handkerchief against his bleeding nose – not because of a direct hit, for Ed tried not to do any real harm, but because another boy had bumped into him.

"Hey, don't you think that this is enough now?" Ed asked, hardly out of breath.

His plan hadn't worked out the way he'd had in mind, but obviously he still hoped to keep the affair unofficial. Some of the kids looked questioningly at one another. Yet unseen by the Ed, the largest of his adversaries – actually he had to be in his mid-twenties already – grabbed a chair from a nearby table and smashed it against the Sergeant's back with considerable force. The young detective fell like a felled tree. Now the kids recovered their courage and seemed about to kick the helpless man.

Keller reacted instantly. He pulled his gun and shouted downwards: "Stop! Raise your hands and step away from the man!" His voice sounded authoritative enough to make the youngsters obey immediately. Only the older man looked up and hesitated as he became aware of the fact that the guy on the stairs seemed to be hardly older than himself. "Oh come on, don't put on airs. This is a cop!"

"And so am I."

This did the trick. The man backed off.

Carefully keeping his gun pointed at the group – and especially at the oldest one – Steve walked down the stairs.

Ed had been right, he thought. The boys were looking wild with the death's heads and crooked crosses on their clothes, but none of them seemed to be carrying a gun – with one exception perhaps. They were no criminals, at least not yet – again with one possible exception. Pear pressure made them do things they would never have done on their own.

Yet the large man was different. He didn't fit into the group. His leather jacket looked more expensive, and if Steve would have encountered him casually he wouldn't have looked at him twice. In these surroundings this made him suspicious.

Quickly Steve gauged the risks. The police officer who was lying on the floor unconscious and with a bloody gash at his temple tipped the scales.

"Out of here, all of you!" he commanded. "If any of you come back tonight you will face a charge of assault!"

The whole group left the barroom with lightning speed.

When the door had closed behind them with a loud bang Steve turned around and knelt down at the Sergeant's side.

"Ed?" he asked worriedly. Brown opened his eyes.

"Ed, can I leave you alone for a minute? I need to call an ambulance."

"No," whispered the detective hoarsely, and when Steve threw him a confused look he insisted: "No!"

"A possible back injury is not something to take lightly, you know," answered Steve reasonably.

"Just give me a minute," muttered the patient between clenched teeth.

Steve let him have his own way. Even though Brown had been wrong about trusting that nothing would happen, he still thought that the Sergeant might have his reasons this time.

A while later Ed made an attempt to sit up.

"Are you up to this?"

Ed nodded, absentmindedly wiping the blood from his head with the palm of his hand. Yet when he wanted to stand up Steve kept him back, demanding an explanation.

Sighing Ed answered: "That's only an old war injury. I hurt my back in Vietnam. I'm okay now."

"And what about the gash at your head?"

"Forget about that. I don't even feel it."

Steve didn't mention that this was probably only because his back hurt too much to feel anything else. He wet his handkerchief at the water faucet behind the bar and washed the blood away. Ed was right about that wound. A Band-Aid would do.

"Let's get out of here, before somebody comes back," he admonished.

Slowly Steve pulled Ed standing then helped him up the stairs, since he was still unsteady on his feet.

Of course Ed couldn't drive right now so Steve brought him home in his Porsche. When he left the Sergeant's apartment, Ed begged him: "Please don't tell the Chief what happened tonight, will you?"

"And what will you tell Ironside about your head? That you cut yourself shaving?"

Ed smirked. "That's about the size of it. Sometimes I run against doorframes. That's the downside of being tall."