Fandomweekly Challenge 171 - Raw
Apr. 1st, 2024 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Title: Raw
Fandom: The "Logan McCrae" novel series by Stuart MacBride.
Characters: Logan McCrae, DI Steele
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M (Language)
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 171 - Confidence at
fandomweekly
Summary: DS Logan has been given a difficult new assignment which could destroy his career.
Detective Sergeant Logan McCrae knocked gingerly on the door, waiting for the confirmation to enter. He couldn't know for sure, but he suspected the reason for his summons was because of his newest assignment – one Police Constable Edward Duncan.
'Sit your arse down in that chair,' Detective Inspector Steele instructed. Logan did as he was told. Steele was every bit her namesake, with a pair tougher than most and personality to match. She wasn't Ma'am – not ever – just Inspector. 'You know why you're here, don't you?' she asked in her gravelly Aberdonian accent.
'PC Duncan,' he replied without further explanation. His young charge had made a complaint about his superior officer, and now Logan was getting one from his. So much for the privileges of rank, he thought bitterly.
DI Steele reached down and slipped another cigarette out of the half-flattened pack on the desk. The smouldering remains of the first one was plucked from between thin yellow lips and stubbed into the fresh one, lighting it, before the stub was discarded into the growing pile in the ashtray close by. There was no lighter to be seen on the desk, so Logan knew she hadn't stopped all morning, simply chasing one butt after another. Perhaps he wasn't the only one feeling pressure to make sure their newest constable quickly ascended the ranks. 'I want it from the horse's mouth.' She puffed. 'Is he a fucking liability or not?'
'He's a bit overconfident.' That was putting it mildly. Logan had given him an instruction yesterday to collect witness statements from the neighbours, and next thing he knew the constable was in a heated exchange with WPC Watson who, if didn't outrank him in title, certainly outranked him in experience. He'd charged her with the task whilst he supervised her efforts and that hadn't gone down well. Logan should have told him there was a reason her nickname was "Ball Breaker" and that he was very lucky still to have his. Not to mention she was Logan's girlfriend and no little shite who'd been a constable for five minutes was going to order her around.
'Aye, he's a cocky little shite and everyone knows it. Doesn't change the fact that he's still the nephew of a Lothian and Borders chief constable. Probably thinks he can walk on water and that the sun shines out of his arse too.'
'Can I ask why he's here of all places?' What he meant was, if he was the prodigy of someone high up in Lothian, why were they making him Grampian's headache?
Remarkably, Steele didn't find his question at all impertinent. 'Wee shite wants to get back at the old man,' she explained. 'Prove he can do it all on his own. Or so the old man would have him think. He's already pegged the lad as fucking useless, else he wouldn't be here. I'd love to give Lothian and Borders the finger, but there's people higher up than you and me playing political games. It's bullshit, but it's what we're stuck with.'
'If they already think he's dead weight…' Steele gave Logan a look that suggested he very carefully consider whether finishing that though aloud was a wise move. Logan took the advice and clamped his mouth shut.
'He's been made my problem, so now I'm making him yours, McCrae. Take him with you on the Tarqua investigation.'
'Inspector, are you sure about that?' Logan had no idea what a fresh-faced constable might bring to the table investigating a ring of imported underage Lithuanian prostitutes.
'Yes, I'm bloody well sure!' she snapped. 'Unless you'd like me to inform his uncle that the best we could find for him was to put him out on the beat on a Friday night patrolling Aberdeen's pubs for a few drunk and disorderly charges. Imagine how that would go down.'
Logan could. He already pictured an inebriated patron taking a right hook to his face and breaking his nose. After that, life would become very unpleasant for them. 'Only I thought… after the Maitland incident…' Officers who accompanied him on investigations had a nasty habit of getting hurt, not that he felt he was to blame for it, but it didn't change things.
Steele scoffed through gritted teeth, keeping her cigarette in place even as it showered the front of her dappled grey blouse with more dappled grey ash. 'You're a big boy, Detective Sergeant. Maitland getting shot was just bloody unfortunate. If that prick from Professional Standards ever took long enough to pull his head out of his arse he'd come to the same conclusion as the rest of us.' She leaned forward to make her point clear through a waft of smoke that drifted towards Logan and that blurred her slightly unattractive features from view. 'Nobody expected them to have guns. It's not bloody rocket science. That's just fucking bad luck, that is.'
Truthfully, Logan's worry was that a man like Ahmad Tarqua would have guns. Men looked to protect their women, particularly if those women made him an awful lot of money. Duncan could find himself with a barrel in his face if he didn't tread carefully and do just as Logan told him.
'Just do your job, Logan, and make sure the little Duncan twat comes out of it shining like a freshly minted two P coin and smelling of roses.'
'Yes, Inspector.'
Fandom: The "Logan McCrae" novel series by Stuart MacBride.
Characters: Logan McCrae, DI Steele
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M (Language)
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 171 - Confidence at
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Summary: DS Logan has been given a difficult new assignment which could destroy his career.
Detective Sergeant Logan McCrae knocked gingerly on the door, waiting for the confirmation to enter. He couldn't know for sure, but he suspected the reason for his summons was because of his newest assignment – one Police Constable Edward Duncan.
'Sit your arse down in that chair,' Detective Inspector Steele instructed. Logan did as he was told. Steele was every bit her namesake, with a pair tougher than most and personality to match. She wasn't Ma'am – not ever – just Inspector. 'You know why you're here, don't you?' she asked in her gravelly Aberdonian accent.
'PC Duncan,' he replied without further explanation. His young charge had made a complaint about his superior officer, and now Logan was getting one from his. So much for the privileges of rank, he thought bitterly.
DI Steele reached down and slipped another cigarette out of the half-flattened pack on the desk. The smouldering remains of the first one was plucked from between thin yellow lips and stubbed into the fresh one, lighting it, before the stub was discarded into the growing pile in the ashtray close by. There was no lighter to be seen on the desk, so Logan knew she hadn't stopped all morning, simply chasing one butt after another. Perhaps he wasn't the only one feeling pressure to make sure their newest constable quickly ascended the ranks. 'I want it from the horse's mouth.' She puffed. 'Is he a fucking liability or not?'
'He's a bit overconfident.' That was putting it mildly. Logan had given him an instruction yesterday to collect witness statements from the neighbours, and next thing he knew the constable was in a heated exchange with WPC Watson who, if didn't outrank him in title, certainly outranked him in experience. He'd charged her with the task whilst he supervised her efforts and that hadn't gone down well. Logan should have told him there was a reason her nickname was "Ball Breaker" and that he was very lucky still to have his. Not to mention she was Logan's girlfriend and no little shite who'd been a constable for five minutes was going to order her around.
'Aye, he's a cocky little shite and everyone knows it. Doesn't change the fact that he's still the nephew of a Lothian and Borders chief constable. Probably thinks he can walk on water and that the sun shines out of his arse too.'
'Can I ask why he's here of all places?' What he meant was, if he was the prodigy of someone high up in Lothian, why were they making him Grampian's headache?
Remarkably, Steele didn't find his question at all impertinent. 'Wee shite wants to get back at the old man,' she explained. 'Prove he can do it all on his own. Or so the old man would have him think. He's already pegged the lad as fucking useless, else he wouldn't be here. I'd love to give Lothian and Borders the finger, but there's people higher up than you and me playing political games. It's bullshit, but it's what we're stuck with.'
'If they already think he's dead weight…' Steele gave Logan a look that suggested he very carefully consider whether finishing that though aloud was a wise move. Logan took the advice and clamped his mouth shut.
'He's been made my problem, so now I'm making him yours, McCrae. Take him with you on the Tarqua investigation.'
'Inspector, are you sure about that?' Logan had no idea what a fresh-faced constable might bring to the table investigating a ring of imported underage Lithuanian prostitutes.
'Yes, I'm bloody well sure!' she snapped. 'Unless you'd like me to inform his uncle that the best we could find for him was to put him out on the beat on a Friday night patrolling Aberdeen's pubs for a few drunk and disorderly charges. Imagine how that would go down.'
Logan could. He already pictured an inebriated patron taking a right hook to his face and breaking his nose. After that, life would become very unpleasant for them. 'Only I thought… after the Maitland incident…' Officers who accompanied him on investigations had a nasty habit of getting hurt, not that he felt he was to blame for it, but it didn't change things.
Steele scoffed through gritted teeth, keeping her cigarette in place even as it showered the front of her dappled grey blouse with more dappled grey ash. 'You're a big boy, Detective Sergeant. Maitland getting shot was just bloody unfortunate. If that prick from Professional Standards ever took long enough to pull his head out of his arse he'd come to the same conclusion as the rest of us.' She leaned forward to make her point clear through a waft of smoke that drifted towards Logan and that blurred her slightly unattractive features from view. 'Nobody expected them to have guns. It's not bloody rocket science. That's just fucking bad luck, that is.'
Truthfully, Logan's worry was that a man like Ahmad Tarqua would have guns. Men looked to protect their women, particularly if those women made him an awful lot of money. Duncan could find himself with a barrel in his face if he didn't tread carefully and do just as Logan told him.
'Just do your job, Logan, and make sure the little Duncan twat comes out of it shining like a freshly minted two P coin and smelling of roses.'
'Yes, Inspector.'