by Eleanor Dax
Tim stared for a minute more and at last he said, "Okay. Come by Tuesday morning and I'll take you through the menu."
Casey said something normal and polite like "Thank you," and shook hands. Then he sat in his car for a minute just staring at nothing and thinking about pinching himself. Then his phone rang. It was Roy. Casey picked up and the cop's voice came over the line.
"Casey."
"Yes?"
"You didn't the answer the landline. Everything okay?"
"Oh." Dramatically, Casey cringed. "Sorry. I called your brother and he asked me to come over."
"Casey!"
Casey could practically feel Roy frowning at him. He cranked the engine and said, "I'm going back now. Just chill."
"Are you on the road yet?"
"No. Jesus, Roy."
"Are you at the house or the restaurant?"
"The restaurant. God, Parker, you really are-hang on a sec, I got another call." He stared at the blinking display, made himself forget Roy, and just answered. "Yeah, hi."
"Where are you right now?"
"Uptown," Casey lied.
"What's uptown?"
"Nothing. What do you want?"
"I need to see you." The way Darren's voice sounded made Casey think maybe he was trying to be cute or coy or something. As it was, it just made Casey's lip develop a slight, involuntary curl.
"Now? What about tonight?"
"Forget tonight. I'm at the men's club on Mission. Remember? How fast can you get here?"
"Uh… uh…" Casey struggled with the gear stick and finally got the car into drive. He peeled out of the lot, speeding to get ahead of the vehicle he'd just cut off. "Sorry," he muttered, changing lanes. His driving earned him a long honk, but he ignored it and found the on-ramp back into town. "It might take me a little bit," he hedged.
"Of course it will. Hurry the fuck up, I need to see you. Now."
Before Casey could form any kind of response, the line went dead. He threw the phone into the passenger seat and slammed the steering wheel with his palm.
"Shit," he said. "Shit shit-" The phone rang again. "What?"
"You hung up on me. Was it him?"
"Roy. Shit, sorry. Yeah, it was him. I'm going to see him now."
"Now?"
"Yes! He said to come now, he's at that men's club on Mission."
When Roy muttered, "Crap," it didn't exactly do much to calm Casey's nerves.
"Crap? What do you mean, 'crap'? What the hell, Roy? He sounded pissed."
"Okay," Roy said. "Okay. I'm going to be there. I'm headed out right now. Look, how far out are you? Can you wait?"
"I don't know, like thirty minutes? And no, I can't wait." Casey sped up, hugging the curves and hoping like hell he wouldn't get pulled over. This was it, he thought. He was on. Forget last night, forget Roy, he had to be present for this. "Goddamn it, I don't know what you did, but it's my ass in the fire now. I'll call you back, you fucking jerk."
"Don't you hang up. Casey-!"
Casey hung up. He threw the phone aside, gritted his teeth, and pumped the gas. By the time he found parking and got to arguing with the muscle clown guarding the front door of the club, nearly forty minutes had gone by since Darren's call, and Casey's agitation was bordering on panic.
"I'm meeting someone, okay? He's already here. Just let me look and if he's not around, I'll clear out. Swear to god. Come on, man, it's not like I want to rob the place."
The clown just looked at him and said, "You're not helping yourself, you know that?" The door at his back was open but a high divider blocked any outsiders from looking in. Casey craned his neck anyway trying to see around it and jumped back when a familiar gray head popped into view.
Darren said to the bouncer, "Just let him in, will you?" and revealed a small, bronze key. Casey went in. He followed Darren past the bar, away from the booths, and up a narrow staircase.
"What, you're not even going to get me a drink?" He was half serious. It was almost three in the afternoon but Casey was beginning to think a whiskey or something might sort his head. They reached the top of the stairs, which opened to a long, dimly lit hall. He hung back. "Look, uh, can't we just do this downstairs? I've got a full plate today and was really hoping we could just touch base and split. What do you say?"
Darren fit the key into a thumb lock and pushed the door open. He said nothing.
It was early yet, and the floor quiet. Maybe the walls were extremely thick, or maybe he and Darren were just alone up there. Casey couldn't decide which he liked worse.
"Look, Darren," he said, and didn't move when Darren came over. The cop didn't say anything, just put his hand around Casey's elbow and squeezed the bone. Casey jerked back with a sharp sound of complaint, and the cop grabbed a handful of collar to tow him along. A flat blow caught Casey full in the chest and before he knew it he was sprawled on his back on a very thin and very uncomfortable mattress. "Jesus!" he said, and cringed back when the door slammed shut and Darren came at him.
But the cop only wanted his bag. He yanked the strap over Casey's head and tore it open to see inside.
Casey let him look, sitting up and scooting to the end of the bed to get off.
Without looking at him, Darren said in a cold voice, "Don't fucking move."
Casey went still. He wasn't an idiot. Darren was already pissed, and he wasn't about to goad him further. He watched as the cop dropped the bag to the floor and counted the cash. The bills whispered between his palms and he folded them, cramming them deep in his pockets. He came over again.
Casey wasn't really sure what to do. New lines had been drawn. There was him, there were these two cops, they'd both gotten a little close and Casey was still reeling a bit.
"Whoa," he said. "Hey-"
Darren yanked him to his feet and turned him. Knocking his legs apart, he began a rough pat down, pushing Casey's shirt and jacket up to see. "What the hell?" Casey asked, indignant, and a hand smacked the back of his head. It didn't hurt, but that didn't mean he liked it.
"Shut up. Where were you?" Darren asked.
Casey blinked, innocent. "Huh? When?"
Darren spun him around and backhanded Casey sharp across the cheek. Stunned, Casey froze.
"Today, you fucking slut. You should have been here in ten minutes and it took you nearly an hour."
Casey's mind raced. "Uh," he said. "Uh-"
Darren hit him again.
"Colma!" Casey shouted, holding his hands up. "For fuck's sake-Colma okay? I was in Colma."
"Why?"
"With a guy. Jesus. Why do you think?" Casey didn't break eye contact and just kept telling himself it was basically the truth and after a long minute it must have shown on his face, because Darren decided to let it go.
"And this morning? You were in Colma?"
"Yes. Yes, what the hell? What did I do?"
Darren's gaze was searching. At last he said, very flat and deliberate, "I've got a pain in my ass."
Casey's eyebrows slowly climbed.
"Another detective. Maybe you've seen him around. He works vice, like I do."
Casey just said, "Oh?" as Darren began digging around inside his pockets.
"Yeah, 'Oh.' You know who I'm talking about?"
"I don't know, maybe-"
"Bullshit. When's the last time you saw him?"
Casey hedged. What could he say? Was Roy really on his way? How would he even get in with that clown guarding the front door? "I don't know," he said at last. "There are lots of cops, uh. You know. Around."
Silence for a moment, and then Darren held a small white card for him to see.
Det. Roy Parker
Narcotics and Vice
Roy had given it to him just that morning. It had ended up in Casey's pocket, and he'd not given it a second thought since. "Shit," he said. "Right, yeah, that guy. Look, he just gave that to me."
Darren just stared at him, nodding. "Right," he said. "That guy. How long have you had this?"
A
gain, Casey hesitated. The back of Darren's hand slammed across his cheek, and he staggered back, landing on his ass on the bed. He tasted blood, and it smeared across his sleeve when he wiped. He just stared at the red mark, dazed.
Darren pushed his face close and shouted at him. "How long?"
"This morning," Casey said, flinching. It occurred to him that he didn't know what to do, or what might happen next. Was Roy really on his way? Would it even matter?
Darren's lip curled. "In Colma?" he spat. "With him?"
Casey said nothing. He watched Darren step back and scrub a hand down his face. He wasn't his cool old self anymore, Casey noticed. Beads of sweat had formed on his face, he was slightly red. He turned away. Casey tried to stand. The room spun a little, but he got himself to his feet.
The deadbolt slid home and Darren checked the thumb lock. He came back around. "You know anything about him?" He left enough pause for reply, but Casey held his tongue. "Know why he's here? Well?"
Casey kept his eyes turned to the floor. He admitted that he didn't know.
"He was practically run out of town up north. Did he tell you that? He turned on his own partner. Turned on his own family. I'd be careful what I say to him, if I were you."
Another pause that stretched forever. Casey mumbled, "Okay, yeah. I will."
"So what did you say to him?"
"What? Nothing. I didn't-"
Darren grabbed him by the shoulder and crushed his thumb to Casey's collarbone. The pain was sharp, so bad that Casey's knees buckled, so bad all he could say was, "Okay, okay!"
The hand left him and the room went quiet. The screaming pain receded and Casey just rubbed the spot with one hand, quickly swiping the back of his other across his eyes.
"What does he know?" Darren stood over him, and Casey stared at the scuffed toe of his black boot. He sniffed.
"He knows about the drugs," he said, angry with himself. "He knows I got them from you."
"But you didn't get them from me."
Casey blinked a couple times, turning those words over in his head. "Huh?"
Darren crouched down beside him, putting a hand to his shoulder. It was gentle, didn't hurt. All the same, Casey didn't want it there.
"You didn't get any drugs from me, Casey."
Casey thought about that. He thought about the fat guy in the bar downstairs. "Oh," he said, and Darren gave him a little pat before standing.
"You spend the night with him?"
It didn't seem to really matter anymore, so Casey just said, "Yeah."
Darren had a small laugh at that. "Makes sense."
Casey didn't understand that, but he didn't want to ask, either.
"Does he know about the other night?"
"What?"
"The other night," Darren said, enunciating. "At the motel. You and me." He shifted his stance, floorboards creaking, and Casey just stared at that black boot. "You weren't bad," Darren added. "He probably won't care, besides. He knows what you are, doesn't he? I said, doesn't he?"
The pain in his shoulder and chest was manageable, but Casey didn't get up. He just stayed where he was and said, "Yeah."
"Well, there you go. Once he's done with all of-well, this-he'll drop you like a bad habit. Just like his old partner. Just like his old man."
Casey didn't know about any of that. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't, but it occurred to him that Darren had done this at the motel, too. Fucking Casey's mouth, showing off, on a complete power trip. He was doing it now, pacing around, standing over Casey, talking shit. He probably had a big old boner and everything, Casey thought, but didn't bother looking up to see.
"Listen." A soft shuffling noise came from overhead, and Darren crouched beside him. "Take this. Get out of town. There's enough there that you should be good for a week at least, more if you know how to budget. Smart guy like you, I'm sure you'll manage."
Casey watched with a numb gaze as Darren stuffed a wad of bills into his pocket. He didn't move.
"Take this, get out of town, and don't come back." Darren's hard, flinty gaze was searching. "Understand?"
Slowly, Casey bobbed his head.
Darren put his hand around the back of Casey's neck and squeezed. Not too hard, just a warning. He said, "Shouldn't be too hard. You're alone here. It might be good for you to get a fresh start. The thing with Parker, the cop-" Darren gave a little wave. "Forget about it. You're a little fucking blip on his radar, he won't think twice if you take off. And if I see you around, I'll hurt you real bad. Okay?"
Casey nodded some more. Darren's eyes were almost kind, and he couldn't look away. "Yeah," he said. "Okay."
Chapter Twelve
It was after five and Roy had just about hit the wall when it came to coffee. He needed sleep, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
Rubbing the sand from his eyes, he moved quickly, hoping to beat Casey but not sure he would. He had to grab a car and there was an issue in the garage, but at last he was peeling onto the road and heading for the Mission. He illegally parked, ran up to the place, and was stopped by some idiot on a stool outside. Roy wasn't in a very patient mood and shoved his badge in the guy's face.
"Where is he?"
"Where's who?"
Roy dropped his shield. "You know who. The other cop. You playing dumb?"
The guy raised his brows in mild, mocking surprise. "No cops here but you, sweetheart." He looked pretty comfortable, big shoulders leaning snug against the wall at his back. His bicep twitched a couple times as he gave Roy a slow once-over.
Not appreciating the act, Roy moved into his space and the guy tensed up like he might stand. "None at all? Okay, guy named Darren comes here sometimes, right? Tall guy, gray hair, kind of a walking brick with pants on, you know who I'm talking about?"
The guy studied him, then flicked his gaze away, sighed, and said, "Like I said, I don't know about any cops, but maybe look upstairs, first door on the right." Roy gave him a look like thanks asshole and went in.
This early in the day the bar just looked sad. The setting sun shone through a string of small, high windows and lit every imperfection. Roy found the staircase quickly and jogged up its steps. The door in question stood open a crack and he didn't bother knocking, just slammed it open.
The room was small and plain, dominated by a large bed with nothing else but a sink and cracked mirror against the far wall. It looked neat enough, no sign of a struggle. Casey had sounded scared on the phone, extra tough so Roy wouldn't know, so he stepped right in and hoped for a closet or something, Casey hiding safe in a corner. Instead he got jumped from behind, a beefy arm pressing rough against his Adam's apple. Roy struggled, planting an elbow in his assailant's gut.
The breath whooshed out of the man and the arm around his neck loosened. He shoved away, reaching for his weapon, but a solid blow to the stomach had him folding. They each staggered back and away, struggling to catch their winds. Roy eyed the guy. It was the idiot from the door.
"You just attacked a cop, you fucking moron," Roy told him, angry.
The guy straightened up, a sheepish look passing fleetingly over his expression. "You were supposed to black out."
Roy ordered harshly, "Turn the fuck around."
The guy got a look in his eye and it lasted about a quarter of a second, but Roy saw it anyway. The look said the guy was thinking about doing what Roy said and turning the fuck around, but then he made that Olympian mental leap to cuffs and jail and came at him.
The idiot wasn't sitting at the door for his dainty disposition and must have outweighed Roy by forty pounds. He swung hard and fast and Roy jerked back, saving his face by about an inch. It had been a while since he'd gone and had a good fistfight with someone, but old habits died hard, he guessed. He connected an experimental jab to the guy's face, and the idiot fell back. Roy went after him.
The guy recovered and his shoulders bunched up. He moved his whole body forward like a battering ram and caught Roy hard in the stomach with his fist
-again. Roy covered his face, catching a second blow and blocking it, but he felt sick like he might puke. He didn't have time to feel sorry for himself though and manned up, breathing quick through his nose to clear his head and making a tardy block that earned him a sloppy blow to the ribs.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Roy growled, breathing hard. Nothing but coffee all day and no sleep was catching up with him. The rush of adrenaline helped, but his energy was draining fast. He swung a hook but his concentration was shot and it finished clumsily, glancing the guy's jaw. He needed to end this, and soon.
The idiot quickly shook off the blow and came at him again. Roy struck out with a left jab and a straight right, knuckles splitting against the idiot's cheek, and watched him drop. A moment passed while he just stared at the guy and breathed, his lungs and the muscles in his arms and stomach burning. And then shit got weird when a second arm came around his throat and pulled.
It was like steel; hard, unforgiving, relentless, and soon Roy was on his knees, his face feeling like it might explode. The blood roared in his ears, and he just tried to roll his eyes up so he could see who had him. He knew, but he didn't know, and seeing for sure was the most important thing, somehow more important than air.
It was useless, however, and things went dim.
◆◆◆
Casey waited for Darren to leave and hung out in the room for a little bit. A persistent buzz filled his ears and he didn't know what to do. He held his cheek in one hand where it bled and finally worked up the courage to just open the door. Once he did he grabbed his things and ran down the stairs and out of the building.
Nobody stopped him, but he was running blind and hit a couple people. They yelled after him but he couldn't make out their words. A fast food joint was close by and he ducked inside and found the restroom. Luckily, it was empty and he locked the door after him.
His face was red and sweaty, blood on his lips and down his chin. Casey ran the tap and splashed water over his face, ignoring the sting of pain and groping for a paper towel. He patted his wounds until the towel blotted red, then tossed it and yanked another from the dispenser.