Fearless Leader (Juxtapose City)

by Tricia Owens

  He mulled over Dickerson's order. On-scene interrogations were rare. They usually only occurred when there was a deadline of some sort. Ransoms and bomb-threats were the usual cases. As far as Black was aware there had been only one hostage victim involved and no demand for ransom. If the loud wailing coming from the bedroom was any indication she had definitely been found alive.

  Not realizing that he did it, he rubbed at his temples, willing away the ache in his head that had faded to a dull throb since the day of the explosion. He sensed that something was up but his fogged mind, hazy from lack of sleep the last few days, refused to follow the trail.

  "Black?"

  Jake's questioning tone, shaded with concern, made him drop his hand. "Fine," he said to McCahill, "we'll wait for the captain here. I'll want to speak to Sola then."

  "Assuming he wants to speak to you," McCahill grumbled, turning away. It was an empty threat. Black was the commanding officer of JC2, a group more important in the hierarchy of special teams than R&R. Sola didn't have a choice.

  Paying little attention to the way McCahill's team glared at him, he walked to the first bedroom and stood in the doorway. A young woman in her mid-twenties was wrapped in a police issue blanket, sitting on the edge of a bed. At her feet kneeled an R&R agent who spoke to her in hushed tones. He was using speech-to-text on his PRU or Personal Retrieval Unit to record her responses.

  Behind the kneeling man stood another, still helmeted, who watched the scene with a blank expression. He had the cold, hard look of a professional soldier. Short, clipped brown hair topped a tanned face sharpened with horizontal wrinkles. He was not an old man since special teams enforced age limitations, but his blue-grey eyes were grim like those of a seasoned veteran. From the file he had been given on the man Black knew that the agent was an avid hunter. He liked to release his pent-up aggressions by stalking prey in the country outside Juxtapose City.

  Jake read the white lettering stenciled on the man's helmet. "Sola. Hell, he even looks like an asshole, Black."

  "He's good at his job," Black replied.

  "Good at bein' an asshole, probably."

  Black's eyes roamed over the woman currently shivering beneath the blanket. He didn't recognize her and he knew from his briefing that she wasn't a high profile victim. Just an ordinary, if somewhat attractive woman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. So why did this case require Dickerson to be here personally?

  Black left Jake frowning at their potential new recruit and returned to the living room. McCahill's agents were busy rummaging through the apartment. The cleanup crew -- site investigators and representatives from the medical examiner's office -- wouldn't be called. Black didn't bat an eye as he watched the scene and its evidence being disturbed. This would be just another mission that would quietly disappear beneath the rug.

  He leaned back against a wall, crossing his arms and watching the men work. Some occasionally sent him suspicious, uneasy glances, which he returned dispassionately. He was used to it. Since being given command of JC2 Black had fallen prey to the hungry bite of the police department’s rumor-mill. Not that he ever listened or cared what anyone said of him behind his back but he was aware of it. He paid too much attention to the things that went on around him to be ignorant of his notoriety.

  His ears picked up the sound of heavy tread outside in the hallway. He recognized it immediately. McCahill's men were alert as well, all eyes turning to the doorway and to the bulky man who filled it.

  Captain Dickerson. The closest thing to a father that Black had ever known.

  "Captain," he murmured, inclining his head slightly.

  The older man smirked slightly at the show of respect. "How are you, Black? Don't see you much at the station these days."

  Black was supposed to check-in weekly with Dickerson but had favored connecting to the captain's computer, instead. He would never admit it to the older man but the less he interacted with Dickerson, the better. He saw him enough as it was. Besides, everything Black needed to know about JC2's missions, past and present, could be found via computer. He didn't see the need for frequent face-to-face meetings.

  "Been occupied," he replied, unapologetic. "McCahill says you're conducting an on-scene interrogation tonight?"

  The captain chuckled, wiping a hand across his head. Beads of moisture had gathered on the thinning threads of gray-brown hair which Black suspected was due to a return of the rain that had abated last night. Dickerson's dark blue eyes, set within a strong face that had nevertheless succumbed to time and gravity, were amused as they regarded Black.

  "Always so damned eager to get to the chase, eh, lieutenant?"

  If they weren't in the company of R&R Black might have smiled. "Just curious, sir. Not a normal occurrence. I had expected to meet you back at the station to discuss the transfer of Sergeant Sola."

  "Which, excuse me for saying, sir, is total bullshit!" McCahill said in a hissed undertone. "Sergeant Sola is my man. He's been with R&R for over a year. He's an integral part of my team. Losing him would be a huge blow to us."

  Dickerson raised a hand impatiently, apparently familiar with the other man's arguments. "Can it, McCahill. We've been over this already and I'm done with it. You can cull another member from one of the other teams. JC2 needs him and that's final."

  "Fuckin' bullshit," McCahill mumbled again as he stalked away.

  Black waited for him to leave before turning once more to the Captain. "Why are you here? I'd planned on doing this at the station. Not in front of McCahill's team."

  Dickerson's eyes panned over the men of R&R, knowledgeable eyes cataloging their movements. "Sundhill is there," he said, nodding a greeting to one of the men. "Thought you'd prefer to avoid his interference."

  Black frowned at the mention of JC1's team leader. Few people unnerved Black as much as the charismatic leader of their rival team. Still, Sundhill's presence at the station wasn't enough to make Black go out of his way to avoid the place. That would be conceding defeat of a sorts.

  Dickerson seemed to understand this. "It's my business I don't want him poking his nose in," the captain explained as he returned his attention to Black. "It's better handled here."

  The captain was being deliberately vague which didn't surprise Black. Having been trained by the older man for the last seven years he had learned patience when faced with the man's circuitous methods. He fell into a frustrated silence as Jake emerged from the bedroom.

  "Captain Dickerson, surprised to see you, sir."

  "Sergeant Cole." Dark eyes swiftly took inventory of the younger man. "How're the ribs?" No condolences over lost teammates. Those had already been spoken and would not be repeated again.

  "Healing fine, sir. Doctor says I'll be ready for full duty by the end of the week." Jake's eyes slid to Black, noting his silence. "Unexpected seeing you here, Captain. May I ask who's doing the interrogation? Is it McCahill?"

  Dickerson nodded. "Partly. Someone's being brought in." His thin lips twitched as he glanced at Black. "You'll find this interesting, I think." He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a waxed paper envelope. He tossed it to Black. "Put these on. This should be fun."

  Fun. Never a concept Black enjoyed hearing from his Captain. Dickerson's humor tended to stray to the perverse. Black had long ago learned to turn a blind eye. Every man was due his idiosyncrasies, he told himself. And Black owed the man too much to be judgmental...

  He opened the small envelope and felt his insides turn cold.

  "What is it?" Jake asked.

  When Black said nothing the other man took the envelope from him and upended its content into his palm. Two small patches the size of coins slid out. They were flesh-toned and looked like Band-Aids. But they were nothing so innocent. Black recognized them immediately.

  "Put them away," he said beneath his breath. He met Dickerson's amused gaze. "Since when does the JCPD supply its force with Bliss?" he demanded in a tight voice. "What the hell is this?"

  "Ne
w issue on special cases." Dickerson watched him expectantly."We've started using an empath. Gratifying results, I must say."

  Empath. The word and everything associated with it made Black grab the envelope back and clench it in his fist. Empaths and telepaths were steadily becoming Juxtapose City's most voracious consumers of Bliss. They used the serotonin-inducing drug to drown out the psychic feedback that they were unable to block on their own. Along with being the drug's most frequent users psypaths were rapidly becoming its next generation of dealers. With the exception of Riddy Kingman, JC2's last three run-ins had been with either psypath users or dealers.

  "Psypaths on the police payroll?" Jake blurted incredulously. His handsome face reflected his distaste of that growing segment of society. "I can't imagine those freaks working alongside us. How do we trust them? They could be fucking with our heads."

  Dickerson's look was indulgent. "The JCPD would never employ the services of telepaths. That's pure idiocy and I’m not an idiot." He paused, waiting for Jake's flush of contriteness. "We've started working with an empath. One. Call it a test run, although I'm pleased with the results so far."

  Jake scratched his head, looking almost comical in his confusion if he weren't 200 pounds of solid muscle. "But why would any empath want to work for the police? Don't they need Bliss to keep themselves from going crazy?"

  "Let me guess," Black said coolly, watching the spreading amusement on his captain's face, "you've given this man no choice. Either you've placed him in a position in which he can’t refuse you or you've promised him something he can’t resist." He opened his fist to reveal the Bliss tablets lying within his palm.

  "Correct on both points." Dickerson extracted a slim electronic notepad from within his trench coat and handed it to Black. "He was arrested two months ago on four counts of possession. Combine that with intent to sell, prostitution, assaulting an officer and it's an easy twenty years in Hangway." He smiled. "Unless he chooses to play. Then it's no jail-time and we sweeten the deal with access to limited amounts of Bliss when he cooperates with us. Saying no," Dickerson said smugly, "was never an option for him. And now that he's worked with us on two cases he's as good as dead if he tries to step back into his former lifestyle. We can leak the details of his involvement in a heartbeat."

  "So he's screwed," Black muttered beneath his breath, activating the notepad to scan the information there.

  McCahill strode over, speaking quietly into his headset. He covered the mouthpiece and said to Dickerson, "They're on their way up. Guess Aines had some problems with him on the way."

  "How unsurprising." Dickerson inclined his head at the tablets Black still held. "I suggest you put those on. They're only a few grams worth, a low enough dosage to blur your brain wave patterns so he can’t sense you but not enough to affect your awareness. Trust me, you won't want him reading your emotions. He's rather--" Dickerson paused, searching for the right word, "-- intractable. Letting him get to you would be a mistake." He reached into his coat and pulled out several more waxed envelopes and walked to the other men to distribute them.

  Black stared at the tabs in his hand. Dickerson knew how much Black didn't want to use the Bliss. The captain knew this better than any man alive and yet he was pushing this. A cold fury burned behind Black's eyes, aggravating his headache.

  "You gonna give me one of those?"

  Black held out his hand as though offering the other man poison. Jake removed the backing from one of the patches and stuck the tab behind his ear. As a member of JC2 Jake had experienced the effects of Bliss as part of his training. Using such a small amount didn't faze him. He hesitated though, when he noticed Black had not applied his patch.

  "Black?"

  Black shoved the unused tab into his pocket. "I don't need it."

  "But he'll read you--"

  "Let him."

  Jake crossed his arms angrily. "If you weren't my commanding officer I'd tell you what a stupid, stubborn--"

  "Sergeant Cole." Black's voice had taken on that intense control that signaled he was on the verge of explosion. "Your comments have been noted. That's enough."

  "I think that concussion was more serious than any of us thought," Jake muttered just quietly enough that Black had to strain to hear him. "Knocked your last brain cell out of your ear."

  Black tightened his lips and said nothing, dropping his attention to the electronic pad he held. The notepad contained the empath's file. Not an unusual police record. Various arrests for drug possession and being under the influence of a controlled substance, assault. Brought in twice for prostitution but both cases dismissed for lack of evidence... He checked the empath's stats. Twenty-six years old and no known family. Perfect for Dickerson's needs. Black was immersed in reading the file when loud voices from the hallway raised his head.

  "Hurry up, you freak! Captain's gonna be pissed we're late. We should've been here ten minutes ago."

  "As if I care about pleasing him."

  The hairs on the back of Black's neck rose at the sound of that smooth, unconcerned voice. It wasn't alarm he felt, for he was well familiar with that particular sensation. This was something different. Not understanding his own reasons he backed along the wall, urging a confused Jake with him until they stood in the corner of the room nearest the door. Whoever entered would have to turn to see them, providing Black with the advantage.

  A tall, slender figure stepped through the apartment's doorway. Black quickly scanned him, registering black boots over skin-tight silver pants and a sheer, long-sleeved black top that barely covered the midriff -- club wear; he'd seen similar outfits often enough in the Blue Square. Had the empath been dragged from the middle of a club? Slightly confused, Black's eyes traveled up and took in the waist-length blond hair so pale that it was nearly white. It was tinted purple at the ends. He hadn't the chance for a more detailed study for suddenly the man turned around-- ignoring everyone else in the room -- and looked directly at Black.

  Feral green eyes caught and held him like an insect pinned to a wall. Full lips curved into a surprised, delighted smile as they studied Black as blatantly as he himself had been looked over. In the abrupt silence caused by his appearance the man purred, "Hello, Darkness. What a pleasant surprise."

  The eyes of McCahill's men shot to him accusingly. Black recovered from his temporary shock and returned the feline stare. "You must be Calyx Starr."

  Long lashes swept down lazily, half lidding the intense eyes. "Mmm, and you must be bold. Bold to not hide from me like these other boys. Or are you simply stupid? Think you can block out an empath?" Starr regarded him from beneath his lashes, a still air about him as though he were listening to something. "No one can hide all of that darkness, sweetheart." His smile widened. "Though you're trying."

  "What the fuck?" Jake mumbled.

  The voice of his teammate broke the odd spell Black had started to fall under. "Bliss is a controlled substance within the limits of Juxtapose City," he told the empath. His eyes noted the fine tremors that ran the length of the other man's slender hands. "Being a cop, I'm sure you understand why I don't feel comfortable taking it." He knew his disapproval was patent.

  Starr didn't appear to care. "Yes, but all these other boys are JCPD's finest also and I can't feel any of them." His verdant gaze panned the sneering faces watching him. "Maybe they're just lapdogs, hmmm? Doing whatever their master tells them to." His eyes returned to Black. "Or maybe they're just not as reckless as you. You like danger, sweetheart. I can feel it."

  "Give up the head games, Calyx," Dickerson growled, emerging from the bedroom. He threw a disapproving look at Black before facing the empath. Starr's chin rose slightly, a hint of stubbornness in the action. Dickerson's eyes swept the taller man, smirking slightly at the minute lines of stress on the other man's coolly beautiful face. "How you feeling, Calyx? Got any... cravings?"

  Starr was in need of a hit. Black recognized all of the signs. Dickerson must keep the empath clean before an interrogation so
his senses would be clear enough to give a good reading.

  "Just an urge for a nice hot bath," Starr replied snidely, making it obvious whose contact made him feel the need to bathe.

  Dickerson reached up, chasing the other man when he leaned away and grabbed a handful of purple-tinged hair. "Maybe while you're there you can wash this shit out. You look like even more of a freak than you are."

  Black frowned when he saw the familiarity with which his captain touched the empath. It wouldn't be the first time Dickerson had taken liberties with hookers and their ilk but Black continually hoped that the man would give up his indiscretions and stick to his wife. It would make it a hell of a lot easier to defend the man.

  The officer who had brought Starr in sidled up to Jake. "Fucktoy," he whispered knowingly.

  Black's stomach clenched. Wonderful.

  Starr reached up and yanked his hair free of the captain's grasp. "Captain Dickhead, as much as I loathe-- excuse me, enjoy -- the feel of your hand upon me I'd rather get this over with so I can return to my dreams of firebombing police headquarters." He smiled sweetly. "Just dreams, of course."

  Dickerson chuckled, stepping back. He threw a glance at Black to ensure he was watching then waved a hand at the surviving kidnapper who sat propped against a wall. "Yes, let's get this over with. There are many things I would rather be doing in bed also."

  Starr ignored his innuendo and looked down at the handcuffed man. The kidnapper was sallow-skinned with ragged brown hair. He was young enough to still have pimples. R&R had roughed him up some but the black eyes that returned the empath's stare were bright with challenge. Starr nodded, "He's fine. Get on with it."

  McCahill stepped up and knelt beside the bound man. "What's your name, kid?"

  Silence.

  McCahill pulled out his handgun and pressed it to the kidnapper's forehead. "You're not dealing with the usual police here, kid. Notice how there's nobody here taking evidence samples? This ain't going to court. You either answer my questions or I shoot you in the head and toss you into the Turandot Bay. Captain here won't care either way."