Disclaimer: All right, you know the deal; I do not own any of the characters of S.W.A.T, copyrighted to their creators, yeah yeah yeah…
Summary:A fanfic focusing on T.J. McCabe during his betrayal for his share of Alex's $100 mil offer. Covers the entire ending of the movie (that involves T.J.) and puts in his thoughts and feelings –NOT 1st person POV.
Rated PG-13: some language, suicide
EDIT February 27, 2010: Hello all, this is the author here, Toger. I just wanted to drop a little note in here since this fic is being written with such huge gaps in-between chapters. For those of you reading it for the first time, the first chapter reads a little differently compared to the second and third which were written about 4 years AFTER the first chapter was completed. So yeah, style differences, etc. Also, I'll be working on the fourth chapter soon, so that's another year or so difference in writing, hehe. I'm still happy with the way the first chapter was written but I know it could be better. Still I'm not really going to edit it or anything. I'll just leave it as is and ask that if you don't like it, give the second chapter a try and see what you think then.
A further note: I may be altering the ending to this one… We'll see what happens when we get there! Anyways, I'll stop babbling now, promise…… Enjoy!
Chapter 1 – T.J., WHAT'S HAPPENING?
"T.J., relax, man. Hondo transported the President like this back in '96. No one had a clue."
Hah. Easy for him to say… Except there are a few problems, Boxer: You don't have an outstanding debt to pay off, Alex Montel -who can get one out of that debt, easy- isn't Mr. President and somebody does have a clue… Thanks to T.J. McCabe.
The officer sat in the driver's seat of the van, hands on the steering wheel, eyes flickering between the windshield and the rear-view mirror. In the back, Boxer used his body as a barrier between the door and Monsieur Hundred Million who seemed content to just sit there and run his pretty little mouth, knowing the lawful limits of the cops around him.
"Hey, my friends. I can double my offer. Sixty-six million for each of you.-" T.J. swallowed despite the mute satisfaction knowing the little punk was getting desperate should've brought. "-All you have to do is let me go, right here. And don't worry, huh. I'll find my way home."
"You got the cash? 'Cause we don't take a check." Damn you, Street. The easy sarcasm in his voice just added to T.J.'s nervousness. Completely unphased, Jim didn't even flinch at the offer while he on the other hand felt, internally, he was sweating bullets.
"Come on, be smart about this. What do you make? Sixty-six thousand a year?" That stung. The mocking beginning and emphasizing ending…
Street chuckled, replying almost bitterly. "Not even with overtime." Too true.
"Teh, looser." Bastard.
"MAKING THE TURN, AT CHECK POINT TWO." Sergeant Hondo's voice sounded on his shoulder again. This was it. The inner-bullets turned to AA Shells.
Then came 10-David. "MY VIEW OF CAR TWO HAS BEEN BLOCKED." Damn right, it better be.
"T.J., WHAT'S HAPPENIN'?"
Nice and smooth… "I got a pedestrian at a crosswalk, Hondo. I'll be on your tail in about ten seconds."
Here we go…
This was just one of those times when he was glad they didn't wear seat-belts. Otherwise, he wouldn't be fast enough. Heart beating, he pulled the lever and forced the door open, unholstering his Custom II at the same time as he hurriedly stepped out of the van, bringing the semi-automatic up to bear on Street and Boxer.
"Hands where I can see 'em, guys. Come on." There was no stopping now.
"T.J., what the hell are you doin'?" Jim asked, staring at him with disbelief in his wide eyes, body visibly tensing up. Boxer simply watched his friend in shocked and saddened disappointment. How could T.J. do this? His friend. Sure, he was greedy and a little on the arrogant side, had too much of a thing for money and gambling, but seriously…he thought he was better than this…he was better.
All right, so far so good, his earlier edginess began to ease off a little, now that things were in motion.. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" Don't do anything stupid, Street. "I'm taking Frenchie here up on his offer." …arrogant little prick… He cast that French worm a resentful glance and could just see the smug look on his face. Yeah, you hooked one who couldn't resist. Go ahead, smirk.
He hated him. He hated this criminal for announcing to the world an incentive to turn him against what had been his life. The prospect of millions… oh its power… Its power to rid himself of debt and grant him the rich life he deserved.
"Now, you guys just be smart. Hands up, Box! Come on. Come on. Hands up! Hands up, Box. Let's go, lemme see it. Hands up! Let's go!" T.J. shifted in place, gripping the Custom II. Inwardly, behind his slightly 'un'-calm face, he prayed the two SWAT officers –formerly his friends- would comply…he knew he couldn't actually bring himself to shoot either of them... Just keep thinking about that money, oh yeah.
Good. Relief swept over him when both slowly began to bring their hands up—
NO! What is he doing!?
The S.W.A.T. traitor flinched and looked back into the van with alarm as the shattering glass echoed the sudden gun-shot and Boxer was thrown to the side. Why'd he shoot him!? "What the hell was that?! Are you crazy!?" T.J. shouted, staring in near-horror at his friend in the back seat. "What the hell was that, Bri!?"
Gamble had already opened Street's door and had his 'Jimbo' covered now as one of his other 'friends' pulled the side door away from its dock, Alex then kicking an unconscious and bleeding Boxer out where he fell onto the side-walk and from then on, until they left, ignored by all it seemed except T.J.
"He was going for his piece, T.J.-" Bull shit!
"No he wasn't! I had it under control! You didn't have to shoot him!" No no NO! This wasn't supposed to happen! Boxer…
"What do you say, Jimbo? Want to be a cowboy, huh?" Gamble you son of a bitch..
"T.J., STREET, BOXER. CAR TWO RESPOND!"
T.J.'s mind raced, his chest felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, weight that pushed down on the empty air that was his stomach. He had to say something! …Oh man, Boxer… Fighting to calm himself down, he removed one hand from the Kimber…. But he couldn't stop looking at Boxer as he finally replied, rushing it way too much and stammering, eyes switching constantly between the street and the dying, face drenched in street-light. "We're catching up to you, sarge. Uh. W-we'll be there in about—"
"Officer down! 7th and Hope!" Classic Street. He couldn't release the switch fast enough and could've kicked himself, watching and listening to Jim cry out as Gamble landed a vicious blow to the meat of his shoulder and neck. Well, now they all knew and he could already hear Hondo with Deke shouting 'Move! Move!' in the background.
"10-DAVID! 10-DAVID, DO YOU HAVE A LOCATION ON CAR NUMBER TWO?" He should have a clear view.
"ROGER. CAR TWO IS STOPPED AT 7TH AND HOPE."
Gamble was hurrying but still enjoying himself…"Do me a favor. Tell Fuller it was me who pulled this off, yeah?" Holstering his gun, T.J. brought out his hand-cuffs and reached to grab one of the pained Street's hands, hurrying to get one end around his wrist, fastening the other to the steering wheel. Had to work fast.
The downed cop still managed a reply while T.J.'s diligent, somewhat shaking hands maneuvered the cuffs. "I won't let you get away with this, Gamble."
"Well you ain't got a say in the matter, do you?" Brian responded, voice heavy with the arrogant glee-ness of someone who has everything…or is soon going to get it and knows no one, nothing, can stop him …Well, they'd have to see about that. Things were already going wrong… Gamble had shot Boxer.
"SUSPECTS APPEAR TO BE WEARING TACTICAL CLOTHING AND HAVE AUTOMATIC WEAPONS."
Officer –former Officer McCabe pulled back to just outside the door, settling his M4's strap around his shoulder. Down the street, Deke floored the SUV and civilian cars spun this way and that. He could hear their tires screeching as they swerved to get out of the way and the violent crunch of uncontrolled contact. Had to hurry.
"T.J., don't do this!" Too late now, Street…the feeling was almost enough to somber out the reeling in his stomach. He quickly glanced back at Boxer through the open door, worried, his heart hammering as he breathed. He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to. Just think, millions of dollars were waiting, had to keep going. Forcing himself, T.J. stepped back and out, running around the front of the van.
"I got an officer down! Officer down! 7th and Hope!" Street could be heard half on his radio, half through the open door from where T.J. briefly paused to see Boxer, Gamble and the rest running ahead and into the station. God, Gamble had shot him in the neck! Like in a dream, he felt himself compelled to kneel down and touch Boxer, to make him all right –was he even alive?- but he could already see his friend's blood on his hands…visible as the light washing over them.
"SUSPECTS ARE ENTERING THE PERSHING SQUARE MTA STATION."
Lieutenant Velasquez's report on their activity snapped T.J. back to the point of this whole nightmare, get Alex out, get his money. Hondo would take care of Boxer, he knew that.
He could trust him.
After all, one casualty was never acceptable by his standards…