Movement

Chapter Ten.

Work was beginning to make Brady's life a living hell.

It was December now and the Bureau was beginning to close in on their case of Roberto Dumaz. They had basically all they needed to perform the raid and finally incarcerate him, but for some reason, Tomlinson still wanted Brady to perform another stake out and listen in on his conversations in order to make sure he wasn't planning on fleeing the country. Brady informed Tomlinson that Dumaz was probably already suspicious of being watched, but Tomlinson wasn't having it.

"Are you going against direct orders, Allen? Is that what you're trying to do?"

"No- Christ, I'm not-"

"Then get in the fu.cking car and go to where I tell you to go!" He shouted, his finger shaking in the direction of the door. Brady's eyebrows furrowed and she let out a sigh.

"With all due respect-"

"I don't feel any respect from you," he sneered angrily in her direction, interrupting her yet again, "now with all due respect, Allen, get in that fu.cking car and do as you're told," he finished, banging a fist on his desk. He let out a breath of air and leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair and shutting his eyes. Brady's lips pursed together and she nodded, obeying his orders.

So there she sat, with the sun setting behind her in a sh.itty Prius parked outside of a project building in the Morris Park area of the Bronx. She had headphones on that were connected to a bug that Liam had placed in his apartment on their last field mission. She'd been sitting there for about three hours now and had heard nothing but silence so far.

She lit her sixth cigarette of the hour out of pure boredom at that point and took a long drag, opening her window to blow the smoke out of the car. She knew she shouldn't be smoking in a car that belonged to the Bureau but at that point, she just didn't fu.cking care. In fact, as she sat there for the past few hours, she began considering her options of finding a new job. She had been in the FBI for almost a year now and as much as the money was helping her out, her heart wasn't in it.

It wasn't the same as working on an ambulance and first-handedly being the person who shows up to someone's house to ease their nerves and treat them. She enjoyed that personal time with people- she liked to be the one who was directly helping people. Doing that allowed her to open her own emotional doors and helped her actually feel things- something she'd always lacked throughout life. It was a give and take career, being a first responder, but with the career she was in at this point in her life it felt like her job was doing nothing but taking away from her soul. She knew that in the grand scheme of things, being in the FBI was indirectly helping a whole lot of people, but she never got to meet the people she was helping. She truly just missed that fuzzy feeling of hugging her patients and holding their hands and easing their minds.

She finished her cigarette and tossed it out the window just as she heard a door slam in her headphones. Flinching, she sat up and adjusted the headphones in her ears, shutting her eyes to listen more thoroughly.

"Listen, man, I don't know about all 'this Apache sh.it. I don't really fu.ck with it," a low voice said through the headphones. Brady's eyes blinked rapidly before widening.

"You gotta shut the fu.ck up, Ace," another voice responded, and Brady immediately knew it belonged to Dumaz. "You don't get how addicting this shit is, people will be coming back twice as often to cop it."

"It's also deadly as fu.ck, Rob."

"It's also my shot to call, is it not? Are you 'tryna disobey my orders right now?" Dumaz sneered, and Brady could hear the disgust in his voice. She swallowed and closed her eyes again, taking a deep breath.