DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are
property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Silly Film At 11 Thing
By Del
Prologue
Heaven would be this place in the rear view mirror, Olivia decided. In the snow-covered, ice-caked, cold-splintered mirror of her cheapass rental car.
She had been aided in her analysis by three fucking cold, fucking windy, fucking miserable days with nothing to do while waiting for an extradition glitch to get cleared up other than count the trucks blaring past her motel room window. It was against the law to install mufflers on large vehicles in this state, apparently.
Should she call Alex again? Probably not, she admitted. The attorney was hurrying into some administrative meeting last time they talked. She was doing her best on the paperwork, she swore, and Olivia didn't doubt it. Even with no privacy and only a few seconds to talk, Alex had managed to convey her sincere desire to see Olivia again. Soon.
Resting against the headboard, she aimed the remote control at the television.
Home again, finally. Ignoring the slight discomfort caused by the seat's configuration, Olivia leaned back contentedly, closing her eyes as the subway rattled past another exit.
Heaven would be Alex Cabot on her back.
Shoulders arched . . . .
Thighs apart . . . .
Sheets firmly gripped . . . .
Olivia's mouth watered at the thought. Wonder if she can take off a little early today . . . .
She walked into the station house 20 minutes later, grinning at the sound of a familiar voice. If Alex was here, she could take her aside right now and ask her about heading out early. Maybe steer her toward the ladies' room and give her a quick preview. A quick kiss, anyway. Her smile grew.
The next voice she heard was Tutuola's. "Thank you, Miss Cabot."
Miss Cabot? Olivia almost laughed.
"If you have another moment, we'd like your advice on another matter," Fin added.
"Certainly, Detective Tutuola."
When she rounded the corner, Olivia soaked in the view before proceeding. Alex, looking gorgeous in one of her best suits, an expensive gray pinstripe, stood beside Olivia's desk, hands clasped loosely behind her back. Across from her, Munch and Fin leaned forward in their seats looking up at her.
"St. Mark's called," Munch said. "They confirm that someone applied for a . . . surgical procedure, but they won't give us his name."
"Surgical procedure?" Alex asked.
Munch arched an eyebrow.
"Oh, that," she said. "Did they, um, compare the . . . ?"
"Don't know," Fin shrugged. "Hospital won't tell us shi–won't tell us anything."
"Were there any . . . identifying marks . . . on the patient?"
"Don't know," Fin said again. "They won't tell us."
The ADA seemed exasperated. "Well, did they look?"
"Probably," Munch said. "They knew what we wanted. We just need the records."
"I'll get an order," Alex said. "I'll also ask for a search warrant for the suspect's premises when we get his information. The judge will determine whether probable cause exists to issue such a warrant, and the scope of any search pursuant thereto."
Duh, Olivia thought. Wasn't that what usually happened with a search warrant?
"Terrific," Munch replied. "Then we'll await word. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Cabot."
"And thank you, Detectives, for your excellent police work. You've made my job easier."
"And my stomach turn," Olivia declared fondly.
"Liv!" Alex said.
"Hey, Alex," Olivia greeted her. "I mean `Miss Cabot,'" she added with a smile. "Does that mean you want to be on top tonight?"
Blue eyes widened. "Olivia-–"
The new arrival turned to Fin. "So, some asswipe actually claimed his dick?"
"Olivia--" Alex began again.
"She should have run the damn thing through the garbage disposal," Olivia continued. "Do we really have to wait for a search warrant when we get his info?" she asked. "I mean, how many guys are running around with half their dicks bitten off? Isn't that enough to arrest the douche bag?"
"Olivia–"
"Let's search his place first," she suggested. "If anything turns up, we can go get a warrant and `find' it again." She made quote marks with her fingers. "That worked out great in Mangrum."
"Olivia!" Alex interrupted loudly. "Detective Olivia Benson, this is Peter Navarro."
She stepped to one side, and Olivia saw a young man in t-shirt and jeans standing beside the attorney holding a camera to his eye.
"Peter is a student at NYU," Alex continued. "He's filming us at work this week."
"What the f–?"
"–under the auspices of the DA's office and One PP," Alex added quickly.
"Just ignore me," the kid said to Olivia. "This is great stuff!"
"Peter's film will be given a private screening by the Police Commissioner and Branch."
Oh, hell.
"So that will give them an opportunity to see how things work around here."
Oh, shit.
"Go on," Navarro said, rolling two fingers in a circle to encourage them. "Douchebag . . . on top–do you guys have a thing or something?"
Oh, fuck.
The detective raced along the hallway toward Ridenour's courtroom. "Am I late?" she huffed.
Alex shook her head. "No; we've got a couple of minutes. They're just finishing up a closed hearing."
"Good." Olivia sat on the bench to catch her breath. Pausing for a moment to caress the wood, she thought back to the many times she had waited with Alex on this bench . . . .
She looked up at the sound of a stressed male voice. "Can you believe it? On the way to court, even!"
Doors opening brought everyone to their feet.
"I've gotta go," Peter said, clicking shut his cell phone. Spying Olivia, he exclaimed, "I got mugged!"
She tensed. "Can you identify the mugger?"
"No," he said, "it all happened so fast. He had some kind of leather jacket over his head."
"Fiend," she murmured, turning to the ADA. "We ready to go in, Alex?"
"He just grabbed the camera and ran!"
Olivia poked her head inside the door. "You ready for us in here?"
"I found it in the alley, but the memory stick was gone!"
"Must be a tourist," she said. "It's hard to find memory sticks around here." She waved a hand toward the bailiff. "What's the holdup? Justice delayed is justice denied."
"The whole morning wasted," Navarro groaned.
"Bummer," Olivia said. "Does it make you want to just say `fuck it' and bag the whole thing?"
Squaring his shoulders, he said, "No. All great artists face adversity at one time or another."
Finally, security beckoned them forward. "They're ready," Alex said. "You coming, Peter?"
He lowered himself to the bench to sulk. "What's the point?" He stared down at the camera in his hands. "I'll wait for you here."
The hearing was short and sweet–and irritating.
Olivia whirled around as soon as the doors were closed. "Is he on the take?" she asked.
"He's not bright enough to be on the take," the ADA declared.
"I swear to God, Alex, how the hell did Ridenour get on the bench?"
"His opponent Bill Dewey died a week before the election, remember?" Alex replied. "That's why Liz calls him `Dewey's Revenge'."
"Can we get another judge?"
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that we're entitled to a judge whose IQ is at least two digits!"
"Who would that leave us with?"
Suddenly, their shared indignation was interrupted by a quiet exclamation, "Yeah!"
Both women turned their heads–to see the round zoom lens of a camera pointed at them. "Peter," Alex said slowly, "what are you doing?"
"They had memory sticks in the gift shop down the street," he said. "Isn't that great?"
The women exchanged glances. "Great," Olivia echoed.
Munch greeted the young student with a droll, "And what happened to you, young man?"
Navarro dropped into Fin's empty seat, looking a bit tattered.
"What's his story?" the SVU detective inquired of the two women who entered the squad room behind him.
"Poor Peter here got mugged," Olivia replied.
"Twice," Peter said numbly, holding up two fingers. "Twice in one day."
"I see. And where did this entry in the annals of crime occur?"
"On the way back from the courthouse."
Munch tsked. "Slipping, Liv? Can't even hold off a simple mugger?"
Navarro came to her defense. "It wasn't Detective Benson's fault," he said. "She had to head back before us."
"What about you, Cabot? You see anything?"
"Just some rugged, firm-bodied scofflaw," Alex replied. "Not the kind of person you'd want to meet in a dark alley at night . . . hard body pressed against yours . . . arms drawn over your head . . . muscled thigh nudging between yours . . . ."
"Mmm." Olivia slipped an arm around her waist. "So, Peter, what's on the agenda now?"
He reached into his pocket and drew out another memory stick. "They taught us in Boy Scouts to be prepared," he said. "Good thing I bought I pack of these."
"Yeah," Olivia said, quickly stepping away from the blonde. "Good thing."
Alex wandered into the squad room. "We've been invited to the screening of Peter's film tonight," she announced. "Want to go?"
Olivia rose and sat on a corner of her desk. "What did he end up calling it?"
"`Crime Wave,'" Alex replied. "`The Story of a Man Mugged Five Times in Two Days.' He's arguing for an immediate increase in NYPD's budget, and hazard pay for assistant district attorneys for having to work under such dangerous conditions," she added. "Apparently he mentions the time that someone grabbed his memory stick and then jumped on me, forcing me to writhe helpless beneath him while Peter ran 18 blocks for help."
"Too bad you didn't remember the cell phone in your purse at the time," Olivia said.
"Well, I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."
"I'll say," Olivia said. "So . . . does he talk about that in detail?"
"Extensively," Alex replied. "How awful it was to see me lying there, moaning, clawing at the assailant's back as I tried to escape by pressing my thighs against his waist."
Olivia reached for her purse. "Let's grab some popcorn on the way . . . ."
The End