A Kiss To Build A Dream On - Season 2: Bridge

The Devil's Swing - Finger Zinger

Graham had forgotten to account for traffic that morning when arriving at work, not to mention that thanks to his hectic activities the day before, he had also forgotten to fill up the cruiser's tank. All in all, he arrived half an hour late to work. Normally, that wouldn't matter that much--Dara couldn't care less who arrived when as long as things got done--but he had received a message at three am ordering him to be early that day. He could still feel Dara's nails on his throat. He was walking a tightrope with Dara, and gusts were blowing.

When he did manage to arrive, he ran as fast as she could to Dara's office, trying his best to ignore his coworker's stares. He practically rammed the door to enter, even though the door was open to begin with. To his surprise, he was not the only one to be summoned there. Officer Jonah Eriksson, Maria Mendez, and even Detective O'Donnell were in the room, all staring at him, all in the Lynch family's pocket. Sitting on her high castle, Dara stared him down, giving him her usual smile that never really translated to the rest of her face.

"Top o' the mornin' to ya, Dunne," she said, leaning on her desk for emphasis. "Now that everyone's here, we gotta discuss a few matters, namely, how we are gettin' fucked!" she said, pounding her fist on the table with uncharacteristic rage.

Everyone in the room immediately perked up, shifting uncomfortably in their place, trading awkward looks between each other.

"Ya might wanna close that there door, Dunne," she said while pointing back. Everyone outside was peering into the office, scrambling back to their duties as soon as they were spotted. Graham quickly closed the door, shutting the noise outside.

Dara stood up, walking towards a small stereo to the side of the office. With the flick of a button, an obnoxiously loud bagpipe track began to sound off. She waved everyone in, huddling up like a football team between plays. "Sorry for that, but I dunno who might be listening."

They all shared a look of confusion, wondering what was up.

"Now, I summoned ya here 'cuz we're in deep shit. Last night, Klein was patrollin' a crime scene when he got a visit from internal affairs, and...."

"I.A?" asked Eriksson, always the pushy one, "that's impossible. They know better than to mess with us."

"Yeah, 'bout that," said Dara, "there's no us right know. I'm pullin' your plugs."

"Wait, what the hell does that even mean?" asked O'Donnell, fiddling with his mustache.

"Means that, until this thing blows over, we have to lay low," added Mendez.

"Right ya are, Mendez," said Dara, "Or at least, in a way. No new jobs will come from us. No new communications. No new gigs. Nothing. Nada, Zilch. We're in blackout mode until we find out what's happenin'. But y'all got a homework to fill up durin' yer recess."

She brought them closer to her, whispering as quiet as possible. "As Eriksson said, this crap shouldn't happen. We have enough dirt on everyone to keep 'em quiet, unless..."

"They have dirt on us, right?" interrupted Eriksson.

"Ya know, I'm gettin' really tired of yer shit. Can ya let me finish here?" Dara said with her best smile, grabbing Eriksson by the back of the neck. He nodded, looking at the floor in shame.

"Good. But yeah, most likely they have some dirt on us. Thin' is, we don't leave dirt. Someone is feedin' em info, and it's comin' from inside."

Everyone froze. None dared to look around. After all, she had just accused one of them of betraying the Family.

Dara did look, closely, meticulously. At O'Donnell's pensive face. At Mendez's panicked facade. At Eriksson's inquisitive eyes, trying to read the mood left and right. Graham's face, however, showed a kind of incredulous epiphany fitting for a cheap TV soap opera, for in that room, he was the only one who knew who was the whistle-blower. After all, he had practically confessed to him.