In the gritty streets of Chicago, Katie finds herself at a crossroads, torn between her tumultuous past and an uncertain future. Escaping an abusive relationship, she embarks on a journey of self-discovery, determined to carve out a new path for her...
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"What's all this?" I ask Trudy Platt as I walk into the station, greeted by the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. Trudy is setting up a camera in front of a vibrant blue screen.
"New photo I.D. cards in the District," she replies, her voice carrying the no-nonsense tone she's known for.
"There's no way you're getting my face on a badge," Olinsky grumbles as he walks past the front desk, his footsteps echoing in the station.
"Well, the locks aren't gonna work without the new I.D., Alvin," Platt retorts, her eyes rolling in exasperation. I share a smile with her before heading upstairs.
I go straight to the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. The familiar aroma envelops me, mingling with the hum of conversation and the distant clatter of office equipment. As I sip my coffee, Alvin Olinsky enters, looking slightly gruff but with a warmth in his eyes that I've come to appreciate.
"Morning, Olinsky," I greet him, noting the slight nod he gives in acknowledgment.
"Mornin', Jackson," he replies, his exterior softening. He takes a seat across from me, and I notice the worn photo of his daughter Lexi in his wallet that he's shuffling through. "How's Lucas doing?" Olinsky asks, a genuine interest in his voice.
"He's good, thanks for asking. Getting taller every day," I reply with a smile.
"Kids, they grow up too fast," Olinsky muses, glancing at the photo of Lexi. "Speaking of which, how's your son holding up after everything with his dad?"
"He's doing well, enjoying school and soccer. Keeps me on my toes," I say, appreciating the genuine concern in Olinsky's eyes.
"Well, that's the joy of it, isn't it? Keeps life interesting," Olinsky remarks, a hint of a fatherly smile playing on his lips.
As we continue chatting about our families and the ups and downs of parenting, I can't help but feel a growing connection with O. He imparts wisdom with a kindness that makes him seem like a father figure around the precinct, and I'm grateful for the bond we're building.
"All right, we got a new case," Hank announces. Olinsky and I exit the kitchen, heading to our desks. Voight stands at the front, pen in hand, writing on the board. "This is Frank Fitori, caught napping in a ditch by the marsh where he was dumped. He's had his own little racket on the south side for years."
"He swims with a lot of big fish," Antonio recalls, a hint of familiarity in his voice, likely from an old case in Vice.
"Swam," Jay corrects him, a touch of finality in his tone.
"Swam," Antonio repeats, acknowledging the man's demise.
"Well..." Jay waves his hand, emphasizing the evident truth – Fitori is now dead.
