Crossfires @59th & Columbus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
When Detective Deborah Lane gets a call from her boss that a notorious group of bank robbers have been performing heists all through out New York City, she immediately jumps at her chance of nabbing the crooks. The robbers perform a set of heists twice a year and have recently escaped some of their recent charades. With the help of her partner Detective Fisher, Detective Lane must not only solve one of the biggest cases of her life, but she must also avoid the injuries of innocent people in a brush of "Crossfire".

Submitted: July 24, 2012

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Submitted: July 24, 2012

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Kevin Anglade

Crossfires @59th and Columbus

Deborah and Daniel Lane, her husband of five years had just

finished celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. They had

just got home into their SoHo apartment. To celebrate, they had

went to Cher Maurice’s over in Midtown between 33rd and 8th avenue.

Lane’s Detective partner of six years Luke Fisher had

recommended the place to her being that it was in his opinion

one of the best spots to eat in town. As they settled in, it was

now 9p.m. Deborah Lane could now be seen on the sofa with her

husband watching a prime time movie on the Cinemax channel. As

she lied on Daniel’s chest, it couldn’t have been stressed more

that she was currently in a great place. To Lane it felt

wonderful to be just a regular woman for once. Her vigorous job

as a burglary Detective down at Manhattan’s 23rd precinct often

left her stressed, tense, and busy. But Detective Lane wasn’t

complaining, she truly enjoyed her work. Lane was usually caught

after hours in her cubby double checking files, going to crime

labs for finger prints, and she often was seen talking to her

squad team. If she could be compared to an athlete, many

would’ve called her a gym rat. But as she remained in the same

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position on Daniel’s chest visibly comfortable, she was truly

glad to have her hair down for once…

“I love you,” she crooned to Daniel in her most delicate voice.

“I love you too,” said Daniel absentmindedly.

It was now 11p.m. The movie they had been watching had just

ended and Daniel had now given his full devoted attention to the

evening’s nightly segment of ESPN’s SportsCenter. As Detective

Lane rubbed Daniel’s chest she suddenly had a change of heart as

she pushed him and got up. In the moment that she started for

the kitchen to pour herself some wine Daniel with a perplexed

look on his face said “What was that for?”

“That’s all you men care about nowadays, your damn sports and

ESPN,” she exclaimed.

Daniel had now walked over and wrapped his arms around her.

“I care about you more,” he said in a playful voice.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said as she rolled her eyes.

“Hey hun, don’t forget Amber is coming this Thursday from

California for her open house tour at NYU next weekend. I

would pick her up, but I’ve got a new case and a client that I

need to get acquainted with,” said Daniel.

“Not a problem,” said Lane. “What time does her flight

arrive?”

“Seven!” he yelled as he made his way towards the bedroom.

This was perfect for Detective Lane, she usually had an early

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start at the precinct around 8 a.m. and she often finished her

work around six in the evening. As she propped herself back onto

the sofa and began to watch the evening news, her Nextel

dispatcher beeped. As this happened, she closed her eyes. The

evening had been going so well; Her dinner with Daniel, their

rare night together in the house, she knew this was all about to

change the minute she answered the dispatch. Detective Deborah

Lane was now about to embark into a new burglary case…

Lane pulled out the Nextel phone from her pajamas and

pressed the push-to-talk button.

“Go,” she said.

“Was I interrupting something special between you and Danny?”

teased Fisher in a playful voice.

“Oh be quiet Luke,” snapped Lane. “Anyways, what’s new?”

“Citibank,” he now said in a serious tone. “The main one on

Wall Street has just been robbed.”

“What?” she said. Detective Lane now stood bolt upright.

“That’s what I said to myself as well,” he replied.

“But there’s so much surveillance and security there.”

“However did they do it?” she asked.

“They used C4 explosives to blow out the elevators on the east

wing and had one of their guys positioned on the top roof as a

guard,” said Fisher in a nonchalant manner.

“How did they escape?” said Lane. She was obviously frustrated.

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“A newschopper was ushered to the top of the roof by the phony

guard and as it landed, the guard pulled out a .40 calibur on

the entire news team and in that same exact moment, the bank

robbers came out. From there, one of the news reporters said

that they jacked the helicopter,” he replied.

“How much did they take?” she now asked.

“North of 5 million,” Fisher responded.

“Shit, these assholes may be the same guys who robbed Wells

Fargo on Lexington avenue last year,” she said. Lane had longed

for the chance to finally nab the crooks. They had just gotten

away the year before.

“I have no doubt in my mind it’s them. Captain Gordon wants

the both of us to meet him at Citibank first thing tomorrow,” he

said.

“No doubt, I’ll meet you guys there,” she said.

“Roger that, see you then,” he replied.

And without another word Detective Lane ended the walkie-talkie

conference on her dispatch.

The next day, Detective Lane parked her 2002 Mercedes-Benz

adjacent to the Citibank building on Wall Street. As she filled

up her parking meter by the sushi cart at the end of the block

where she parked her car, she noticed that her partner Detective

Luke Fisher had just pulled up behind her in his crimson red 98’

BMW.

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“Morning,” he said as he filled up his own meter.

“Morning,” she replied.

“Shall we head up?” he asked her as they headed towards the

bank’s entrance.

“Yes we should, Captain Gordon’s already up there,” she told

him. Once inside the bank, a young secretary by the name of

Stacy Collins told them where to catch an elevator that would

lead them to the twelfth floor. They had to catch one on the

west side of the building since the crooks had entirely

demolished the elevator system on the east wing. Once they had

reached the top, they found Captain Gordon in discussions with a

Citibank official about the past night’s events. As they

approached him, he handed them official police reports of what

had transpired the night before.

“C4, assault rifles and semi-automatics. The three suspects

were dressed in all black with ski masks and apparently a guard

was in on it too,” said Gordon.

Charles Roberts, who happened to be head of security at the

Citibank cut in: “No disrespect sir, but that impersonator last

night was definitely not one of our own.”

“Then we’ll add him to the list of suspects too,” said Gordon.

“Is that the newsreporter who happened to have the helicopter

jacked from her news team last night?” Lane asked as she looked

past Gordon.

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“She most certainly is,” Gordon replied as he turned to look at

her too.

Without any further hesitation Detective Lane walked over to the

newsreporter who happened to be standing in a corner on the

floor alone. The reporter was staring out the glass windows as

the morning’s sun started to rise.

“Excuse me?” Lane asked in a polite voice.

“Are you the newsreporter who experienced the unfortunate

events last night?” The woman who had kept her still gaze on the

sunrise suddenly turned around. She was an attractive

woman possibly of Irish decent in her early thirties with long

brown hair, greenish eyes and pearly white teeth. The cream

colored trench coat she had wore covered a nice black blouse

that she had worn beneath it.

“Yes I am,” she answered.

“Toni McHale,” she said as she shook Detective Lane’s hand.

“Detective Deborah Lane.”

“Nice to meet you Detective.”

“Did you manage to get a good look at the suspects. Any faces,

tattoo’s, scars, anything that would make them recognizable?”

“No, but as they were about to fly off in our helicopter they

said that they would reconvene at a hotel.”

“Do you remember the name of the hotel in which they spoke

of?” asked Fisher as he had now made his way over to the two

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women.

“No, I didn’t, but as they got in the chopper three of the

crooks were obviously furious with the guy who had asked,” said

Toni.

“Why?” asked Lane.

“Because my whole news team were there and they knew that him

saying that could lead to info for the NYPD’s investigation,”

Toni replied.

“I wonder what would cause a professional criminal to ask a

stupid question such as that?” said Fisher.

“This one was young,” Toni said.

“He stood about six foot three but by his voice and the way he

spoke, he couldn’t have been any older than twenty one or twenty

two.”

“What about the guard? Did you get a good look at him?” asked

Lane.

“Yes, he was a Caucasian male in his early thirties, and he

held us up while the crew came out. We couldn’t see his eyes

because he had on a dark pair of shades and a baseball cap to

cover his head,” said Toni.

“Well thanks for the heads up to say the least,” said Lane.

“No problem, it was my pleasure,” said Toni.

As they met Captain Gordon in the front of the bank’s lobby they

all vowed to meet up at headquarters after their midday lunch

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break. Later in the afternoon, Detective Fisher found Lane in

the squad room. It was apparent that she had cut her lunch break

short to check out the bank’s surveillance tape on the heist.

“Any clues so far?” asked Fisher.

Fisher often admired Lane’s passion and persistent nature.

He had often felt that he was kind of laid back when approaching

his work. Lane’s tenacious work ethic always led to things

getting done, and cases being solved. She wasn’t three detective

ranks above him for nothing…

“I’ve noticed one thing,” she said as she broke his train of

thought. “But I’m not sure if it will account for anything

later on.”

“What is it?” asked Fisher.

“The moment these three guys leave the elevator, one of them

makes an army salute right into the camera,” Lane replied.

As Lane said this, she rewound the tape multiple times where

the criminal saluted to the camera as the heist made their

elevator exit.

“This one thinks he’s a celeb huh?” Fisher said as he watched

the video.

“Cocky son of a bitch that one,” muttered Lane under her

breath.

“If there’s one thing we can say about him it’s that he must

be the young robber around the age of twenty one or twenty two,”

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said Fisher.

“That’s the exact thing I was thinking,” Lane replied.

“Boy, this kid has got a lot to learn, his crew are probably

just about fed up with his antics,” said Fisher.

In just that moment, Captain Gordon walked in. Behind him were

other members of the squad team. The entire room went silent.

“Ladies and gents, we’re dealing with four notorious criminals,”

he said.

“Their plans of attack occur about once a year. They rob the

biggest banks in the city and leave no traces of even a

fingerprint behind. Their leader goes by the name of Zach

Richards. Forty five years old, British Male, came to the U.S.

at the age of nineteen as a Columbia University undergrad

student. He used to work as an investment broker on Wall Street

so he knows all about the economy and the cities federal shares.

There’s questions to whether if this group involved was of his

doing because a British accent wasn’t heard and there hasn’t

been a single trace of this guy in about a year,” said Gordon.

“Maybe he went back to the U.K.” said Fisher.

“Poor bloke couldn’t live up to the American dream.” said

Fisher as he got smirks from most of the members in the room.

“That is a strong possibility Fisher, thank you for that

resounding moment of entertainment,” Gordon replied

sarcastically. “Have any of you found anything? Any recent

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discoveries?”

“I was just reviewing the tape of the heist Captain. It turns

out that one of the banks did a military salute gesture after

stealing the money and my thoughts are that he’s a novice in the

burglary game,” Lane reported off of her typed analysis.

Fisher happened to have a police report as well and said

“Yesterday, after talking to Ms. Toni McHale of the 11p.m.

channel 3 news, one of the robbers had asked if they were going

to reconvene at a hotel. My guess is that the guy who asked the

question happens to be the same asshole who performed the

gesture in front of the elevator’s surveillance camera.”

“He’s young too, I can’t imagine being past his early twenties

as well,” Lane added.

“Listen! These asshole are clever. They only perform jobs

about once a year and they obviously do research and have

concise prior knowledge on the banks that they hit. Now we don’t

know any of their identities, but help me God when I say we’re

going to bring them down. Be aware, although it’s not guaranteed,

these crooks could be working for Zach Richards so I want you

all well informed and acquainted with who he is. Go out, do your

homework, and try to find me as many leads as possible! Ok,

dismissed!” said Gordon.

One by one the squad room emptied as each Detective went out to

do their parts.

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“Hey Deb, I’m thinking we should go check out Cheknov, you know

he used to be an arms dealer and I know that probation is gonna

get him talking,” said Fisher.

“Yeah, but due to his court ordered community service he won’t

be working the hot dog cart until Tuesday. In the meantime we

can work here and see if we can find any valuable information on

these guys,” said Lane.

“Thank God I’ve got you for a partner Deb, I forget to use my

head sometimes,” said Fisher with a sigh.

Detective Lane suppressed a giggle, she was glad that Luke

Fisher was her partner; she often felt as if he gave her a kind

of balance. If he was as determined and strong minded as her,

there would be no way that their chemistry would work…

Tuesday had arrived, Detective Fisher had gone to pick up

Deborah Lane in front of her SoHo condo. Today they were going

to 32nd and eighth. Across the street from Madison Square Garden

Demetri Cheknov, a former Russian arms dealer happened to sell

hot dogs and other goods at a food stand. Cheknov had done seven

out of a ten year sentence at the Ithaca Federal Prison in

upstate New York.

Now that he was on probation, he claimed that he no longer knew

or cared on what was happening in the streets. But once a street

hustler, always a hustler. This was the code, even a rookie knew

that…

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“Cheknov, how’s it going man?” asked Fisher as the two of them

approached him.

Cheknov was a Russian hustler in his mid fourties. He stood a

little over six feet with a strong physical presence. His mullet

hairstyle was of a sandy brown color and he had grown a full

beard from when they had last seen him. The fact that he was a

hairy specimen gave him the luxury of hiding his beady brown

eyes. There were talks that in his day he often did coke so he

looked now as if he was in his mid-fifties.

“Oi, what do you want?” asked Cheknov. For him, any moment

Seeing NYPD cops was a cry of distress.

“I aven’t seen nozzing,” he said in his thick Russian accent.

“C’mon, two cops can’t grab a bite while talking to an old

friend?” asked Fisher.

“Get me a hot dog, make that two as a matter of fact. One for

me and Deb here.”

“No thanks, I’m not hungry,” she said.

Cheknov didn’t take his eyes off them.

“What do you want?” he asked again.

“What do you know about Citibank being robbed on Wall Street

last Friday?” asked Lane.

“I know nozzing,” he pressed again.

“Give me something!” Lane demanded.

After a few seconds of intense gazing between the two, he

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finally said “Zere’s a new guy out ere on zeese streets.”

“Well? Give me a name!” she barked.

“I don’t know it!” he said. Cheknov was really getting annoyed

now.

“The lady asked for a name Cheknov, what’s the name?” pressed

Fisher.

“How many times do I ave to tell you!” he exclaimed.

Detective Lane knew when someone was being honest with no

intentions of suppressing information.

“Ok go on,” she said.

“Anyways,” said Cheknov. He shot Fisher a dirty look as he said

it.

“Zere’s a new ustler, I forget zee name but ee’s an Aussie

crook who’s just started on ‘is share of crimes in the city.

Ee’s a very good friend of Zach Richards. The word going around

town is zat zey’re starting to build an international plot to

rob the big banks in zee biggest countries of zee world. Zis

Aussie as ‘is own crew back ‘ome but I zink he came over to

lead Richards’ crew in his absence.”

“Where’s Richards?” asked Lane.

For one thing, I know ee’s out of ze country. If zere were any

signs of him resurfacing, my people would’ve told me,” Cheknov

said.

“What about the other crooks involved? Know their names?”

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asked Fisher.

“Two of zem used to be in the navy, but after zeir tour of duty

in Europe back in 1998 zey settled on banks and armored car

robberies. One of zem goes by ze name David Fredette, zee other

by zee name of Isaac Rivers. And if I’m not mistaken, Isaac has

a little brother and it’s only a matter of time before ee

follows ‘is brother into zee business.”

“Well,” said Fisher. “Thanks for your help of ratting on behalf

of the NYPD.” Without another word, he started to walk off.

Detective Lane thanked Cheknov and assured him that his name

would not circulate throughout the streets after he had violated

one of the biggest street codes known to man.

Two days later, Detective Lane was in her office with Fisher and

Gordon discussing the case. They now had narrowed down their

choice of suspects. As they spoke in frantic matters about the

case, the door to Lane’s office was knocked…

“Come in,” said Gordon in his deep usual tone.

Detective Frank Matthews of the homicide department had just

walked in. He was a senior detective with grizzly hair, a

thick mustache and a worn look on his expressionless face.

Matthews was in his early sixties. He rarely came into the

burglary department, but when he did he usually came looking for

Gordon.

“You called for me Cap?” he asked.

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“Yes,” Gordon replied hastily.

“I need your team out looking for this guy.” He threw some old

photo documents and newspaper clippings at Detective Matthews.

“His name is Ron Mercer, he can be found in the Bedford-

Stuyvesant area of Brooklyn. Apparently he’s plotting a murder

on a former dealer who owes him money. Get your unit out there

tracking him down ASAP!”

“Not a problem cap,” he said in a husky voice. Matthews left

without another word.

“As for you guys,” he said as he reverted his attention once

more to Lane and Fisher. “You’ve assembled all the small pieces

that have led us to the possible suspects, now try your best to

ring them in. Keep me posted with what you find.”

“No problem, we’re on it sir,” replied Lane.

Captain Gordon shook the both of their hand and left.

“I’m going to scram, I’ve got a T.V. dinner and a wife whose

calling my name,” said Fisher as he gave a mild yawn.

Detective Deborah Lane looked at the big clock just above the

office door.

“Yeah, I have to head out too. Danny’s niece is flying in from

California and I promised to go pick her up.”

“Cool, see you tomorrow then. Same time, same place,” said

Fisher.

“Yep, see you,” said Lane as she typed some last minute details

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of the case into her personal station desktop computer.

Luke Fisher left, and Deborah Lane had soon departed not long

after him. She took another look at the clock. It was 6:30, she

still had about another thirty minutes left until Amber’s flight

arrived. About five minutes later, Lane found herself on the

Long Island Expressway merging onto the Grand Central, as she

got off the Van Wyck which led her directly to JFK. She now

arrived at the airport at approximately 7p.m.

As she got out of her car to look for her niece, someone from

the baggage claim within the airports entrance screamed “Aunt

Debby, Aunt Debby!!”

Before she knew it, Daniel’s niece Amber was wrapping her in a

big hug.

“How are you?” Lane asked.

“I’m fine, I’m so happy to be here,” exclaimed Amber in a

excited voice. Amber was a beautiful girl around the age of

seventeen. She had long jet black hair that lied neatly on her

back and she wore a Hollister designer t-shirt, navy blue

cardigan, blue Levi jeans, and black air Jordan sneakers.

“Are you ready to check out NYU?” asked Lane enthusiastically.

“Yes!” “Most likely I’ll be going there, it’s my first choice,”

she said confidently.

“Let me get your bags, just sit back for a minute,” said Lane.

As Lane approached the revolving cycle of bags she happened to

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pick up a bag that she thought was Amber’s. Someone else had

grabbed the suitcase at the same time, a young man who happened

to be in his early twenties.

“I’m sorry,” said Lane. “I thought it was my niece’s.”

“Don’t be,” he said with a charming smile on his face.

“I’m Jason but you could call me J.R.” he said as he extended

his right hand.

Detective Lane took his hand and shook it.

“Deborah,” she said.

“You need any help with that?” he said as Lane was now removing

Amber’s bag from the revolving cycle.

Lane peered into his face. He was a good looking young black man

in his early twenties. He stood between six foot two to six foot

four, he had bright brown eyes a strong physique for someone his

age with a light mustache and beard to top it off. He was surely

handsome but just a kid.

Lane thought she must’ve been at least eight to nine years older

than him.

“No, it’s ok I got it,” she said.

“J.R.!” called a man from behind him.

“Well it was nice meeting you,” he said with another charming

smile.

“Same,” she said as she returned his smile.

As J.R. walked away, Detective Lane saw him greet a man of about

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his height with a British accent. As they met and J.R. gave the

man his suitcase, they both happened to slap each other five and

then gave each other a quick army salute gesture. They laughed

and chatted as they left the lobby. Detective Lane wondered,

could this be the Zach Richards that everyone was talking about?

And this kid, Jason or J.R. as he liked to call himself. Could

that R in his initials stand for Rivers as in the younger

brother of the suspected Isaac Rivers? There was no time to ask

questions. Detective Lane quickly ushered Amber to the car and

threw her stuff in the trunk.

“Aunt Debby, what’s going on?” she asked.

“I’ll explain everything later hun, right now I’ve got some

business to tend to.”

J.R.’s parked car ahead of them had just pulled off. Lane, not

wanting to tailgate too close gave them some time and then she

herself pulled out. Luckily for her, J.R. had led her back onto

the Grand Central, then back onto the Long Island Expressway as

they entered midtown of Manhattan no less than half an hour

later.

As Detective Lane continued to tail the car, it soon came to a

complete halt in front of the Hudson Hotel on west 58th street, a

block off of 59th and Columbus Circle.

Lane, not wanting to attract attention to herself waited for

them to cross the street. As they crossed, she parked her car

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further down the block so that she wouldn’t look suspicious.

“Do me a favor will you sweetheart?” “Look into my glove

compartment, and in there you’ll find a set of binoculars.”

Amber quickly opened the compartment and thrust the binoculars

into Lane’s hands. Lane had now turned around from the driver’s

seat and pressed her eyes hard against the binoculars. To listen

to the conversation, she had rolled down her driver’s window.

J.R. was now bringing the British man’s luggage to the front

entrance. Another man with a pair of shades had just come to

meet them outside.

“Richards,” he said in an Aussie accent.

“Everything’s good I hope?”

Richard’s smiled as he shook his hand. “Never been better. Come

on gent’s, let’s go discuss business inside.”

And in about a matter of three seconds they had all disappeared

into the lobby’s entrance. So this was Zach Richards, Lane

thought. And without a doubt J.R. was young inexperienced Jason

Rivers. The Hudson Hotel apparently was the spot that the

criminals had met to discuss their plans. But it had only been a

week since Citibank on Wall Street was hit. Were they planning

another heist soon? Lane had many things to tell the squad team

in the morning but her main priority now was getting Amber home.

“Come on,” she said. “I think we’ve had enough for one day, I’m

sure Daniel can’t wait to see you.”

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The next day in the squad room, Lane had recounted all of the

prior evening’s events to Captain Gordon, Luke Fisher and the

rest of the burglary investigations department.

“So Zach Richards was away.” “Just as I had expected,” thought

Gordon aloud as he rubbed his scruffy black beard.

“Yeah, J.R. picked him up,” Lane added.

“Man, this kid Rivers is really an all-pro perennial rookie.”

“He’ll be the reason why we take these guys down,” said Fisher

in an amused tone.

“One thing is for sure, Cheknov was right. The unidentified

Australian man was leading the crew in Richards’ absence,” said

Lane. “And now that he’s back, there’s no telling what could

happen.”

“Tomorrow, I want that entire hotel surrounded. These guys are

probably thinking of striking again real soon and we’re not

going to let that happen!” said Gordon. “I want you all at the

Hudson first thing in the morning. Do I make myself clear?

Dismissed!”

Everyone had started filing out one by one in the squad room.

Saturday was shaping up to be an intense day. It was now 6p.m.

which meant that Detective Lane’s day was over. As Detective

Lane reached home, she found Daniel already home from work

playing scrabble with Amber in the living room.

“Who’s winning?” she asked.

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“I’m kicking Uncle Danny’s butt!” she laughed.

Daniel started to chuckle, “No your not, I’m just

getting warmed up,” he said.

As Detective Lane took a can of ginger ale from the fridge and

watched Daniel and Amber’s game from the kitchen, her Nextel

dispatcher started to beep.

Resorting to her natural instincts, she quickly picked up the

dispatch and said: “Go!”

“Detective, it’s Gordon, get down here to 33rd between liberty

pronto! They’ve hit the Federal Reserve Bank!!” he yelled.

“I’m on my way,” she said.

Detective Lane moved so fast that she had forgot to tell either

Daniel or Amber for her reasons of leaving. There wasn’t enough

time anyway.

“They’ve got a lot of balls,” she thought aloud as she was

already half way to the crime scene.

The Federal Reserve Bank was one of the nation’s twelve Federal

Government Banks in the country. Conviction of this crime would

most certainly mean life in prison. Did they really think that

they could possibly get away with this?

“Lane, over here!” said Gordon.

Fisher had just come from inside the bank, as he approached them

he said, “They took somewhere between 20-25 million. They’re

long gone.”

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“How did they escape?” asked Lane.

“Must’ve used a getaway car,” Fisher replied.

“No way,” said another cop who happened to be filing an

official police report close by.

“What about the subway?” asked Lane.

“Well what about it?” asked Fisher curiously.

“The 2 train goes to Columbus Circle,” said Lane.

“So?” said Fisher

“So, these guys are going back to the Hudson. They knew this

job would be one of their biggest ones yet, and that the subway

would be their best means of escape,” said Lane.

“I think your on to something Lane, let’s get down there,”

demanded Gordon.

“No Captain, have all the guys surround the hotel that way if

we don’t track them down from below, you guys will have them

trapped up top,” said Lane.

“Great, let’s move out,” yelled the Captain.

Five minutes later Detective Lane had parked her car by the 34th

street Penn Station train station. She and Fisher quickly made

their way into the subway and found themselves on the 2 train

platform. Once they got on the train, they took it straight to

the 59th street and Columbus stop. As they got off the train they

quickly looked around, the crooks were nowhere to be found.

“It’s your call Deb, should we wait around a bit longer? Or

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should we head to the hotel?” asked Fisher.

Deborah Lane hated when she had to make pressured decisions that

could affect a critical outcome.

“Let’s go to the hotel, we’re not far off from it anyway.”

As Lane and Fisher took the stairs which would lead them to the

A,E,D, and B train platform she decided something on the spot.

“C’mon,” she said.

Lane had started to break into a run.

“What is it?” panted Fisher as he tried to keep up with her.

“The E train,” she said as they continued to run. “It goes to

Columbus circle as well. How much do you want to bet that they

took that train instead knowing that the 2 route at 59th station

would be a hot commodity stacked with cops. Detective Lane and

Fisher zigzagged and shoved their way through a packed tunnel of

people. They finally reached the end of the corridor which

pointed directions to the E train that led to Uptown and Queens.

As Lane and Fisher made their way down a pair of steps she

happened to see a smirking Jason Rivers and the other members of

the heist crew with big Duffel bags strapped to their backs.

“Police!” she cried.

In that precise moment the suspected criminals broke into a run

down the platform for the next stairway they happened to come

across.

The two detectives pushed and shoved more people out of the way

Anglade/Crossfires/24

as they ran after them. As they went up the stairs that the

criminals had took a second earlier, the crooks were nowhere to

be found. The moment they went back down the stairs they noticed

that the crooks had simply crossed over to the opposite side of

the platform. Isaac Rivers didn’t waste a fraction of a second,

and quickly pulled out his assault rifle. As they all began to

pull out their artillery, civilians left and right broke out

into a panic and headed for cover. The New York City’s

Metropolitan Transit Authority station had now become an

underground warzone. All hell broke loose as fear and panic

filled the air. A few civilians were caught in the crossfire and

were severely hurt. Six or seven citizens were probably dead.

Detective Lane hid behind one of the platforms large poles while

Luke Fisher sat behind a fragmented bench reloading his .40

calibur glock.

“We need to get these assholes away from here!” he said. “The

longer we stay down here, the more opportunities there will be

for people to get hurt!!”

“I’ve already paged for backup!” cried Lane from behind the

pole.

As she said this she managed to hit one of them in the chest.

Down he went…The Australian crook happened to send another shot

down Lane’s way. As she ducked behind her pole for cover she saw

the bullet wiz past her head. She was extremely lucky in that

Anglade/Crossfires/25

moment… The police backup had now arrived and were infiltrating

the platform. Someone had squeezed a slug right into the center

of Zach Richards’ head. Detective Lane knew that as soon as she

had seen him fall to where the tracks of the train lied

invisibly to her naked eye that he was dead… The Aussie Crook

however was in the midst of firing his next round at Fisher

who’s rear end of his head was exposed behind the bench when

Detective Lane popped him twice in the chest. In an instant

possibly dead he hit the ground. It was definitely a close call…

Another bank robber who had not been identified but happened to

be a mid-thirties Caucasian male pulled out a semi-automatic

from his bag. He was a second away from completely

removing it when a bullet was lodged into his right hand which

was now bleeding profusely… The man yelped with pain…

“Bullseye,” said Fisher from behind the bench as he had now

switched to a .9 millimeter. As civilians continued to run and

scream for their lives Lane saw Jason Rivers fleeing up the

stairs. Rivers had ditched his bag and was apparently saving

himself. Lane quickly ran up her opposite side of the platform

to chase after him. As she went up the stairs she saw him exit

the subway turnstile.

“Freeze!” she screamed.

Rivers pulled out his .45 and squeezed out four shots. Lane

ducked and missed the attempts. She quickly took the northwest

Anglade/Crossfires/26

59th and eighth avenue exit and met him outside. As

Rivers tried to make his escape down the street in a run, two

NYPD cop cars pulled up. Rivers quickly went in the opposite

direction towards a narrow dark alley. Four more squad cars

pulled up to face him. He then quickly dodged behind a dumpster.

“I give up!” he yelled.

As he got up from behind it, he reached for his back pocket to

pull out yet another gun, a .50 pistol but it never happened… As

smooth as the night had been bullets from left to right

aggressively ripped through the chest of Jason Rivers in the

same moment of the moonlight hitting the sky…

He was dead before he hit the ground… As an onslaught of cops

and Detective Lane crowded the suspect, they peered into the

face of the money hungered youth… On the hard knock streets of

New York City, the stories often ended this way… Fisher was now

seen in the alleyway catching up to his partner. He was sporting

a nasty gash under his right eye and a bloody lip.

“That Rivers bitch got physical with me, he tried to make an

escape after his semi-automatic ran out of clips. But I think

I’m doing better than him at the moment. I pistol whipped him

with my .40. so he’s got a broken jaw now,” said Fisher with a

smug look.

Isaac, and the Caucasian male shot in the right hand who later

turned out to be a criminal from Wisconsin by the name of David

Anglade/Crossfires/27

Fredette were captured by the police. Richards and the

Australian man who was later identified as Matt Weston were

now dead just below them on the E platform. Captain Gordon was

moving through the congested crowd of policemen and distraught

civilians who happened to get caught in the underground

crossfires.

“Great job,” he told them as he made his way through a do-not-

cross yellow police tape.

“Are these people going to be ok, Cap?” asked Lane as she

pointed to the injured citizens.

“Yes, they will, and we have the both of you to thank for

that,” he said with a smile.

“Just doing our job Cap,” said Fisher.

Detective Lane was just glad it was over, what a crazy seven

days it had been for her. And now that she and Fisher had

wrapped up another case filled with absurd proportions she could

now head back home to her niece and husband hopeful to join in a

game of scrabble. The simplistic thought of the matter beat

running through underground train platforms having life or death

shoot outs any day…

Two weeks later Detective Fisher and his wife Jennifer happened

to be watching a pay-per-view movie in his Canarsie, Brooklyn

apartment when his Nextel dispatcher went off…

Anglade/Crossfires/28

“What now?” he thought. It was a late Saturday night, he was

off the clock…

“Yes?” he said.

“Fisher, it’s Gordon,” said the Captain.

“What’s up Cap?” Fisher asked.

“Jacob Fisher’s dead,” he said.

“Jake? You mean my br---“

“Brother, yes... I’m really sorry,” replied the Captain.

Detective Fisher however couldn’t hear the words from the

Captain that came after. He had just went completely numb… When

Fisher and Lane had went out to solve even the most heinous acts

of the city’s criminals, to them, it always made some sort of

sense. But in a city as cold-blooded and vengeful as New York

often was, none of it ever really made sense at all…


© Copyright 2017 Kevin11. All rights reserved.

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