Characters: Paul Blaisedell, Captain Styles, and Strenlich (briefly)

Time Frame: Right after Secret Place

Story: Ever wondered what happened to cause Styles to turn against Paul Blaisdell? Here is my take on the situation.

Rating: G

Disclaimer: Same as before. I don't own them. I am just borrowing them. I promise to return them in the condition that I found them.

Captain Styles walked into the 101^st, Precinct, a pleased look was on his face. The other cops, however, turned their heads away in shame, not wanting to reveal what was going to happen next.

"Well, now that that’s over with, we can all sleep better. The guy was a nutcase. No big loss," he stated to no one in particular.

"Blaisdell wants to see you," Strenlich said. As Styles headed to the Captain of the precinct’s office, the chief muttered under his breath, "You’ll be sorry. Serves you right bastard."

Styles knocked on the Captain’s door then proceeded into the office.

Captain Blaisdell’s head was bent over studying some papers. Without lifting his head, he asked, "Your equipment stored?"

"Safe and sound until the next nutcase drops in."

"There won’t be a next time," Blaisdell stated, "At least for you."

"Paul, what are you saying?" Styles questioned.

Paul Blaisdell tossed some papers into Styles' lap.

"What’s this?"

"My report."

Styles looked over the report than frowned. "You’re not serious about filing this?"

Blaisdell stared at Styles, knowing that there would be more to the man’s argument.

"The man was nuts. He would have dropped that vial. Besides, I didn’t believe for one moment that that thing contained any nitro. Probably was just a vial of water."

Paul Blaisdell handed Styles another sheet of paper. "I intend to include this. It's the lab report."

"Styles' face went white. "You mean the thing was real?"

"You’re lucky that Caine caught that container or we would have owed the city a water treatment plant. But that’s only part of it." Blaisdell got up from his desk, came around, and snatched the papers from Styles' grasp. "Let me ask you a question? How many innocent people died under your command? How many victims died because of your zealous attitude to get the bad guy?"

Styles didn’t answer.

"Let me tell you. According to your record after you took command, in one year alone, 43 hostages didn’t go home to their families. That’s 43 too many."

"The Commissioner doesn’t think so."

"The Commissioner hasn’t been in the field for many years. And what about today? My God, you were willing to open fire on a busload of children if even one shot had been fired. And not only that, you wanted to shoot my foster son in the leg."

"He was interfering in my job."

"Seems to me he succeeded where you failed," Blaisdell commented.

"I would have gotten everyone off that bus if he hadn’t interfered," Styles argued. "There was still the teacher and one other student on there after your foster son got on."

"Peter Caine is not some civilian under my command. He’s a good cop, one of the best. He did something that you couldn’t do and that rattles you."

Styles lips became tight and his face flushed red. "You can’t do this to me, Paul. We’ve known each other for years. I was trying to do my job. You file that report and it will ruin me."

"Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m certain the Commissioner will find a place for you. Your days as a S.W.A.T. team captain, however, are over."

"You’ll regret this, Paul. I should have been placed in command of this precinct instead of you. You’re far too lenient on your officers, especially Peter Caine. I wouldn’t have even hired a punk kid like him. He’s crazier than Maxie was."

Paul Blaisdell simply stared at Styles, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer that would have become personal. He then headed back to the other side of his desk, tossed the report down, then said, "Get out of my sight. And don’t slam the door on your way out." Then promptly turned his back.

Styles rose from the chair he had been sitting in, his eyes boring into the back of Blaisdell’s head. "You will regret this," was the last oath that Styles made.

Paul’s head bent down as he heard the door closing behind him.