by Eleanor Dax
He'd gone in with those expectations and Brown's mugshot fresh in mind. A grim looking white guy with an unwelcoming line for a mouth and tousled, greasy hair. He'd been unprepared for the reality of hugging brown curls and a trim, limber figure. Lean arms and legs, an ass that under different circumstances Roy would have liked to get to know. And what would its owner think of that? Nothing good, Roy would bet money on that. The police were not exactly a treasured institution, especially not in this part of town, and Casey had a history with them. With Darren. What had happened there?
Nothing… All right? Nothing you'd give a shit about.
Try me.
Roy thought of how Casey's face had closed up when he'd laughed. Releasing a slow, even breath, he shut his eyes.
Shouldn't have laughed, but it was important to have the upper hand. Informants could be tricky. Sometimes they needed a little persuasion, in all its forms. Technically, Roy could have taken Casey in, kept him for the night or a couple of nights. That threat was real, but he didn't become a cop to give the pros a hard time. Not like Darren, it seemed, who liked to do all kinds of things Roy didn't become a cop for, like stealing evidence from crime scenes and selling it off.
He didn't have his proof yet but that was what Casey was for. It hadn't taken much digging to find the allegations against Lee Darren: false arrest, police harassment. Could have been the usual shit but Roy was looking for anything, and Casey's release happened to line up with his investigation. No harm in checking things out and what do you know, Darren had contacted Casey after all. Just one more avenue of information.
The alarm on his cell went off just after nine, and he rose out of bed. After a shower and half a peanut butter sandwich, he headed out. Darren would hit his checkpoints and Roy didn't want to miss it.
Working Narcotics and Vice was okay, though it was starting to seem rote. It had been exciting enough at first. They'd put him on the street with one of the senior detectives, who had a real hands-off approach as far as showing any new partner the ropes.
"Keep your eyes open," he'd said, and left Roy to it.
It was good advice, which Roy heeded. He did keep his eyes open, wide open, and even started seeing things. Things like the senior detective looking cozy with the guys they should have been busting, and things like entire bricks of heroin disappearing from behind police tape.
A little asking had found Darren's reputation among the lower rungs to be little more than that of a glorified thug. The women he talked to on Seaview directed Roy to Fourth Street, where the male hookers worked, and gave him a couple names to take along. People like that were happy to point their fingers, Roy had learned, and send him along to the next unfortunate hump.
He found a secluded spot across the street from one of the bars Darren frequented. The rain had let up while he'd slept, but the heavy fog told him the relief was temporary. With a shiver Roy pulled his collar up and settled in to wait. Should have brought coffee.
He wasn't waiting long when a familiar figure appeared around the corner, trailing a few feet behind a larger party. The party kept moving but the figure ducked into the bar. It was Roy's new friend, Casey Brown. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Roy tried to decide if he should he go in. Wouldn't hurt to offer a few reminders of their little deal, but a quick glimpse of his watch had him hanging back. Darren would be there, and soon.
◆◆◆
Casey realized he was almost enjoying himself. He'd settled up next to a nice looking guy, business type. Traveling, as it so happened. Gray hair, slight paunch, mid-fifties, pretty good sense of humor. He was just about to move in, ask the guy if he'd like to take a walk somewhere quiet, when movement at the bar's entrance caught his eye. He went still and cold. It was Darren.
The guy took one look at Darren's icy gaze and backed off. It was as if he'd never spoken to Casey in the first place. Darren's hand closed around Casey's arm, not tight but there, and he spoke low in his ear.
"Outside," he said.
"Can't it wait? I'm kinda busy here--"
Darren's thumb found a point near Casey's elbow and pressed. It hurt, not bad, but the message was clear. Darren was in no mood, and Casey was not to push.
“Now.”
Obediently, Casey slid off the barstool and followed him out.
"Where's your car?" Darren asked.
Casey showed him. The Continental waited on a quiet side street, big as a boat and gleaming under the yellow street lights. Darren motioned for them to slide in the backseat. Casey did, and when the doors clapped shut, said nothing.
Darren's trousers slid rough over the vinyl bench seating, and he cursed under his breath. "This thing's a mess." He kicked at a few bags and bundled belongings, searching for legroom.
"Watch it," Casey snapped. "That's my stuff you're destroying."
"Moody tonight."
"Can you blame me? I was about to score with that guy and you--"
"Forget it. There are better ways too make money."
Casey scowled in the dark. A strip of light highlighted Darren's forehead and eyes, and another passed over his shoulders and chest. He was getting on in years but much to the dissatisfaction of people like Casey, kept his body hard and his fists harder. His gray blond hair was cut short and flat, and his eyes sat like twin chips of ice under a stern, heavy brow. He hadn't changed much since Casey first met him almost two years before, except maybe get worse.
"I'm sure there are," Casey said, flippant in spite of himself.
Darren ignored him. "I've got a deal coming through and I can use you. People know you here. You work alone, you don't use, you don't step on anybody's toes--"
It's called preservation instinct, Casey wanted to say, but kept his mouth shut.
"The Adams bust took a lot of guys off the street. Big market opened up and like I said, I've got some product coming in. I want you to move it." His pale eyes studied Casey, betraying nothing.
"Me?" Casey stared at him. "Wait, no. I don't sell drugs, I don't do drugs, like, at all. In general."
Darren's big shoulders went up in a shrug. "Even better. Don't have to worry about it all disappearing up your nose."
"No," Casey said, laughing short and quick, no humor. "You see the guys I go after. What makes you think they're going to be interested in whatever you've got? If anything, it'll scare them off. Come one, man."
Darren sat back in the seat, waiting for a small group outside to pass. The area was dark, the Continental's windows tinted. They didn't earn so much as a glance. "Then don't ask them," he said. "Check out the under fifty crowd for once, will you? The Adams bust means you're one of the only games in town. Plenty of guys out there looking to blow money on someone like you."
Snorting, Casey muttered, "Like me. Sure."
Darren looked at him. He said, flat, "Yeah."
Casey searched his face. "Why don't you ask the girls? Plenty of them up on Seaview looking to make a buck."
Darren shook his head. "They've got their pimps and boyfriends looking out. It's a different market here. Easier with you punks, you work alone. One goes down, there's plenty others to take his place."
The remark was just what Casey wanted to hear. Turning uo the charm, he said, "Then no big thing if I duck out, right? Look, Darren, I know we've got history, but I'm not shitting around when I say I really am trying to get my life straightened out here. That stuff at the bar, with the guys? It's temporary." He just had to keep saying that, he thought, keep thinking it. One of these days it would come true.
A grim smile found Darren's mouth. "Temporary," he echoed.
Casey stared at him. "Yeah."
Darren leaned in and spoke quietly in Casey's ear. "Temporary is what you said two years ago. Right up until I finally booked your sorry ass. Now you're back and at it again. I've seen it a million times. Only one way for you to go, boy, and that's down. You don't do this for me, you'll regret it. Understand?"
When Casey said nothing, a big hand found his neck, thick finge
rs ghosting over the lump of his Adam's apple. It settled finally, loosely gripping around his throat. Casey didn't dare flinch.
"I could squeeze," Darren murmured. "And what would you do?" His cold blue eyes searched Casey's for a long moment, flitting back and forth.
Casey averted his eyes, staring blindly out the window, and the fingers dug in, just barely. Swallowing hard and knowing Darren felt it, he said carefully, "Look. If this is because I said I wouldn't--you know--"
"Wouldn't what?" Darren's breath had quickened, and even without looking Casey could feel him staring with those hard eyes.
What if he'd just said yes, all those months ago? What was the big deal, really, if it saved his neck? He probably wouldn't have landed in jail, wouldn't have faced all those fines from the court, the lawyer's fees. Getting his car from the impound. It was his stupid pride that had landed him here, square under the thumb of the sickest cop in town.
The hand at his neck disappeared.
"Glad you brought that up. Not sure a cocksuck will do. Have to think on it." Darren opened his door a crack. He said, "Meet me here Thursday night. Understand? You don't show, and I'll take it personal. I'll find you and I'll take it right out of your ass. Hard. Understand?"
Staring numbly at the back of the driver's seat, Casey just nodded. Darren swiftly climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Casey didn't move.
Out on the street, Roy watched Darren exit the vehicle, a black Lincoln Continental-'80, he guessed, maybe '81. He watched the other cop head at a brisk pace up the block. Casey was still in the car but Roy couldn't see a thing. After a moment of indecision he went over and rapped sharply on the window. It rolled down a crack, revealing a narrow, scathing gaze.
"You." Roy had never heard a more accusing tone.
"Yeah," he said. "Me. What the hell was that?"
Casey dropped his gaze. It was hard to see in the car, and Roy wasn't about to take any chances. He stepped back and ordered, "Out. Come on, out of the car."
Grumbling all the way, Casey kicked the door open and climbed out. He slammed it shut behind him and the sudden crack echoed up and down the street. He crossed his arms tight over his chest and said nothing. Roy looked him over.
Brown looked the same as the last time Roy saw him. Thin nylon jacket, a simple cotton t-shirt, and jeans. His hair wasn't so neat, and stubble shadowed his jaw. Roy could not help but stare momentarily at Casey's full mouth, lips turned down at the corners, searching for any tales of bruising or brightness. Then again, Darren didn't seem the kissing type.
He said, "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me." He waited for Casey to make a crack at him, but none came. He tried again. "Darren sampling the goods, I take it?"
A slight curl of the lip preceded Casey's remark. "Fuck you," he said, shaking his head. He sounded tired.
"He wasn't in there long. Must not have much staying power. That or-"
"You were watching?" Casey was incredulous.
Finally, a reaction. "You want to tell me what happened just now?"
"Why don't you tell me?” That fire had returned. “You were watching? You watched a cop climb into a car with a--with me, and you didn't do anything? I thought you were trying to get this guy!"
Roy didn't appreciate Brown's tone. "No one gives a shit what he does with some boy hooker on the side," he snapped. "He's getting sloppy, going in there with you. That's the important thing." He hesitated. "Whatever reason, he likes you." Whatever reason.
Right.
Brown was a looker, that was for sure. Under different circumstances, Roy definitely would have made another kind of move. But the circumstances were not different. He continued, "Even if I took him in for that, it's nothing the brass would roll him for. He'd get desk duty, maybe forced leave, but in the end he'd be back. That's not what I'm after."
Casey's persistent scowl had finally subsided. He watched Roy, eyes not so narrow, more curious. "So, what are you after, then?"
Now, it seemed, they were getting somewhere. "I want his badge. I want him off the force, and off the streets. I know he's up to something new, I just don't know exactly what. You help me out, I really think we can put him away." Roy held his gaze, but Casey didn't seem convinced.
A cool wind swept suddenly through the alley, and Casey shivered, tightened his arms crossed over his chest. His shoulders hunched up around his ears and his buried his hands under his pits. That jacket didn't look too warm. Roy felt a pang of sympathy.
Brown really didn't seem like a bad guy. He wasn't hurting anybody out here, just doing what he did to get by. Roy licked his lips, and tried a new approach.
"Hey," he said. "Listen. You hungry? I was thinking of grabbing a bite to eat, maybe some coffee. There's a place open all night, not too far. My treat. What do you say?"
Casey's brown eyes squinted at him, testing, but Roy just waited. Finally, Casey shrugged. He looked down at his feet, and up again. "Coffee would be good."
The grin that overcame Roy was big, and genuine. "Good," he said. "Hey, that's great."
Steely, Casey added, "We can talk about my compensation."
"Compen-what-now?"
The sharp scowl returned. "Don't play stupid. Not being dragged off to jail doesn't count. Between you and your pal I'm not making a dime tonight. How am I supposed to pay the bills while you take your sweet time arresting the jerk? Compensation sounds fair to me."
Roy put his hands up, surprised. "All right," he said. "Okay. We can talk about it." Brown was sharp, yeah, but pushy, too. Roy liked it. "You're doing the right thing here," he added.
Casey stepped away from the car with a wry smile, the first Roy had seen from him. It was a sweet one, he thought.
“The right thing, huh? Whoopee.”
Chapter Three
Roy led them to a place on 9th. Inside was bright under fluorescent lighting, a couple tubes flickering in one corner. An older guy with a thick, sandy colored mustache was on the floor waiting tables, and he didn't look thrilled to see them.
"Pie," Roy told him, once they'd squeezed into a narrow red booth. He held his hands about a foot apart from each other in display. "A big slice of cherry."
Casey jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, sitting at the edge of his seat. "Just coffee, thanks." The guy left them and they eyed each other silently from across the table. Several moments passed and Casey finally asked, "So what's your beef with this guy? You're kind of obsessed." Determined might have been a better word, but Casey was in the mood to be difficult.
"Obsessed?" Roy stared at him, then frowned suddenly at his pie when it arrived, and the surly waiter righted their mugs with a short sigh.
Coffee cascaded down, filled their cups, and splattered the mats before them. The waiter murmured, "If that's all…?" and went quickly away.
Utensils rolled from Roy's napkin with a clatter, and he dug eagerly into his food. His next words were garbled but Casey understood them to be, "Not obsessed."
"Huh." Casey gave a little smile, gazing demurely into his cup. "It's just, you seem kind of invested, is all."
Roy sipped noisily at his coffee, brows drawn together over the mug. "He's dirty," he said at last, matter-of-fact.
"So? Lots of cops are. Hell, most of them, probably." Casey snuck a glance, and now Roy was grinning at him, an ugly curl at his lip.
"You don't think your opinion's a little biased?"
"No. I'd say it's really fucking informed, actually."
Roy gave a short bark of laughter, and shoveled another lump of pie into his mouth. He observed the front of the diner as he chewed, watching an elderly couple pay for their meal. Casey looked too, and the lady had honest to god blue hair.
"You know," Roy said, catching his attention again, "Personally I don't give a shit what people do with their own lives. Long as you're not hurting anybody, go to town. But in this city prostitution's illegal, and if you're not selling drugs going in, you're doing it before long. You knew that."
Casey gaped at him. "Are you shitting me?"
"My point is you playing those saps at the bar puts you in a certain position."
"Position?"
Frustrated, Roy snapped, "One thing leads to another is all I'm saying."
Casey put his coffee down. "Are you basically telling me I deserve this shit because I suck dick for money? Like I, like I asked for it or some shit?"
Roy grumbled, "No."
On a roll, Casey let the corner of his lip curl back. "Like a, 'what was she wearing' kind of deal? Oh, fuck you."
Red in the face, Roy said sharply, "No," which earned them a few looks. They said nothing for the next few moments, and Roy finished his pie. He sat frowning at the window then, which only showed him frowning back. He looked troubled.
If Casey had been searching for a rise he'd gotten one, but it didn't make him feel any better. He sat back in his booth, thinking, what was the harm? He was a long way from actually trusting the guy, but this cop couldn't be any worse than Darren.
"Look," he said. "Whatever you think of me, I want to see Darren eat dirt. I'm not saying I don't expect some compensation for my time and efforts, but he's a real freak. Like, certified, and I want him out of my life."
Roy stared at him from across the table. His frown had eased, and he didn't look so upset. He said slowly, "Guys like him are scum." He seemed to hesitate, if only for a moment, before admitting, "I've been fucked over too. Not by Darren, but someone like him." He scratched his jaw, frowning, and looked away. "Anyway. Big bust recently. Lot of people involved on our side, so there was some confusion."
The sudden change in topic was unexpected, but Casey was used to thinking on his feet. He kept up easily. "A bust?"
Roy eyed him for a beat. "Meth. You've probably noticed things have been quiet the last couple of weeks. Lot of the trade-that is, guys like you, um. Anyway, a lot of guys were picked up."