“That’s not me needing a woman to change for me, but wanting someone to partner with.” Doug held up a hand, palm facing the princess and realized he couldn’t remember her name. No great loss, that. “And I know a blind double-date is not where someone expects to find the person they’ll be spending the rest of their life with, but damn woman, why are you here if you aren’t even going to look? You rolled in here so certain of what you wanted that you didn’t stop to see if what I had might be something you needed. So,” he stepped back and tossed Joel a chin lift—one that could have meant anything from “see you later” to “you comin’, bro”—and stared at her, willing her to truly hear him, “I’m going to keep looking. Hope you do the same. You’ll never know when you might stumble into a darkened room and find the beam of light you’ve been dreaming of standing there looking you square in the face.”
He paused on the sidewalk in front of the bar and tipped his head back, looking up at the dim stars overhead. Only a handful shone through the smog and urban light pollution. I cannot wait until I’m done here.
Norwood and Thornton hadn’t returned to the precinct, and it hadn’t been long before Doug and Joel gave up on any pretense of duty keeping them at their desks, sitting and staring at the door. Finally, the captain had walked out and kicked them out, the IA duo having left long before. He’d told them to be back Monday morning with bells on because they’d be partnering with the gang and organized crime unit for the next two weeks. Just the two of them and the captain had been clear with his instructions, deftly ignoring any questions about the other pair. Joel had talked Doug into going out instead of waiting for more than a brief text saying “Headed out of town for a few days” from Nick.
“See anything interesting up there?” Joel’s voice was quietly amused, coming from the side. Doug twisted and stared at him for a moment. “What? You didn’t think you were ditching me so easily, did you? Didn’t you hear the captain? We’re new partners, buddy. I got your back, no matter what.”
“Even if it means you don’t get laid tonight?”
“Maybe especially if it means I don’t get no tail tonight. Did you see the way my date latched onto me when she sat down? Thought I’d have to get some pliers to peel her nails outta my arm.” Joel shuddered exaggeratedly. “Donna wasn’t pleased by your speech.” Doug shrugged and realized he wasn’t certain which woman he was referencing. Joel laughed and thumbed over his shoulder back at the bar. “Donna, your date? She went off on me and the bartender, seeming to think we should have laid you out for her honor. Jesus. I’m glad my little sister never got any of that kind of attitude. She was a true beauty.” He shook his head and then clapped a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “I’m thinking a bar with more smoke and a TV.”
“Sounds good. All I need is a beer and a game, and it’s a good night. Well,” he chuckled, “better anyway.”
San Diego
“Fuck.” He expelled the word on a huff of air as he slammed his shoulder into the man running up the forest path away from him. All the legal declarations had been taken care of half a mile ago, and now he was reduced to simple physical actions. Breathe. Stride. Breathe.
The force of the impact knocked them both off their feet, and Doug rolled as he fell, coming up sharply against the trunk of a tree. Lungs spasming for air, he clawed his way upright just in time to see the other man gain his feet, mouth hanging open wide as he sucked in oxygen.
Doug’s vision narrowed as he watched the man reach to the middle of his back. Doug launched himself as the man’s eyes widened in surprise, his hand coming back in view, still empty. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. You leave a piece shoved in your ass, it’s gonna fall out when you fall down. The man had only gotten two running paces away from him when Doug hit him again. This time Doug retained his balance, going down smoothly with a knee in the middle of the man’s spine, flailing wrists quickly secured.
“You have the right—” He puffed, sucking in his first full breath since knocking the air out of himself on the tree. The rest of the Miranda warning was provided in the same fashion, staccato delivery not mattering as much as the fact he got it all out there. “Do you understand these rights—” He paused, hearing crunching in the leaves. Someone was coming, and from the cadence of the approaching footfalls: fast. He twisted to glance over his shoulder as Joel barreled into view.
Doug flipped his hair back, irritated at the long strands that had escaped the band which was how he normally kept it tamed. Chin-length, it was no longer annoying on a regular basis, just in situations where he wound up with it in his mouth, which honestly…was more often than not. Leaning over the man prone beneath him, he glared at the patches positioned in the center of the man’s black, leather vest. Malcontents, the same patch riding between his own shoulder blades. Lotta fuckin’ changes.
Their two-week gig with the gang and organized crime task force had drawn out far beyond what anyone had expected. Finally, years later, they were running the warrants to put a criminal organization into the ground. With money funding them from overseas, the Malcontents were a motorcycle gang that had grown out of control. Regardless of what the original founders might have intended, the hand of Al-Qaeda was at the helm these days, and their money paid to bring the depraved desires of the men in charge to life.
Joel settled to one knee beside the current club president, the same man who was now spectacularly eating dirt even as he tried to breathe with Doug’s full weight on his ribs. “Change is coming.” Joel tipped his head up and stared at Doug as he spoke. “You’re done. So done, you’re going to disappear within a night of going inside.” He paused, and with emphasis said, “I know all about Mexicali.” The body under Doug turned rigid, his very stillness exposing so much. “Know about the little girls. That means you got about five hours before you die. I will have zero compunction about making that call. Hell, even our allies won’t hesitate to see you bleed when they know what you’ve done. Dead man walking.” Joel turned back to the man and reached underneath him, yanking at a patch of fabric sewn to the leather. “By-laws say president passes to the next in line unless that person is unfit. Seein’ as he’s in Mexi right now, playing at setting up for your games, I’m sayin’ your boy is unfit.” Joel jerked again, and Doug heard threads break. “Malcontents are about to have a change in direction. I’m the new king here.”
“Fuck you.” Those words were so filled with anger Doug tightened his grip.
“No, fuck you.” Joel stood and shoved the president patch into his pocket. “Good thing for me, you patched in our favorite little po-po right here.” He winked at Doug. “Surely makes my life easier to know you opened that door. I see the future of my recruiting process clear as day. We’ll turn the club blue. Walk a fine line.”
“A blue line?” Doug grinned, adrenaline beginning to drop as he wrenched the handcuffs in place finally.
“Hey, catchy name. Think I’ll change mine. Hound never really fit me, ya know? Blue Line, president of the Malcontents. That’s got a real ring to it.”
Doug stared up at Joel. This evening marked an end to the partnership started in the squad room of a precinct neither of them had wanted to serve. It was always supposed to be temporary. Joel gripped his shoulder, then nodded. “You can drop the name, Grinch. Doesn’t suit you anyway. Drop the colors, too, man. I’m telling you now, you are not welcome in my club’s house. Don’t come back.”
Doug pushed to his feet, yanking the man from the ground.
Joel leaned closer, voice coming out as a hiss as he spoke to the ex-president. “And you, scum, you aren’t welcome on God’s green earth, far as I’m concerned.” Joel spat, splattering the man’s cheek and jaw. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, my momma always said.”
With those words, Joel turned and walked away without another word. Doug stayed in place a moment, then shoved the dirty biker back to the path. He dug through a pocket for his phone, dialing 9-1-1 and waiting through the automatic responder’s prompt before he gave a clear, succi
nct description of who he was, where they were, and who he had in custody. Minutes later they reached the trailhead to see only two bikes still in the parking lot, Joel gone, long in the wind.
***
“Sir.” Doug accepted the handshake the captain offered. “You wanted to see me?”
“We’re going to miss you, Tatum.” He led the way into the office and then closed the door behind Doug. “Good work, son. Real good.” Doug tipped his head. It had been a good series of busts, the result of some damn fine work. They’d served nearly a dozen warrants, seizing more than a million dollars of drugs from the Malcontents’ support clubs. Nothing on the Malcontents themselves had stuck, though, and Doug suspected it was the government’s way of cementing Joel’s new undercover position. Something which sat so easily on Joel’s shoulders, it didn’t seem like a role any longer. Doug waited, knowing Joel’s continued UC would be the purpose of the office interview. The captain didn’t beat around the bush, getting right to the point. “You talk to Graham at all since you dug out from under that gang filth?”
Hearing the club members generalized like that irked him, and Doug took a breath as he shoved down those feelings. Not all the club members were criminals. In fact, other than the top levels of leadership, none of the men had known who their sponsors really were. Hadn’t known about the extracurricular activities of their officers, either. Most of the men worked jobs, had families, voted, paid taxes, and also loved bikes and the brotherhood found on two wheels.
Captain shifted impatiently and cleared his throat, and Doug realized he hadn’t responded. “I have not, sir.”
“Navy pulled him back from us and rolled up their own task force around what you found.” Doug nodded. He’d known that much already. “Heard he’s staying undercover with the gang.”
“It’s a club, sir.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “The Malcontents, they’re a motorcycle club, not a gang.”
The captain sighed heavily. “No, son, they’re a gang. I didn’t have a”—he did air-quotes with one hand, the other pushing through his hair in an irritated motion—“motorcycle club task force. I had a gang and organized crime task force. If they aren’t a gang, then they’re organized crime. What they aren’t is a club.”
Doug let that settle for a moment, turning the words over in his mind until he was convinced of the untruth of the statement. “Well, sir. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that.”
“You’re going back to Indiana.” Shaking his head, the captain spat the words as he stepped behind his desk, putting some distance between them. Something Doug had been looking forward to happening years ago now settled on him like a lead weight. He already missed Joel and the Malcontents. “Your old captain is gone, but the district is pleased to be getting you back. None of us expected this to last as long as it has.”
The reminder of where they’d begun stirred something in Doug’s mind, and he asked, “Norwood and Thornton. They still around? I’d like to say goodbye before I head out.”
Captain’s features sharpened, his mouth grew taut with some unexplained emotion as he stared at Doug for a long minute. Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. “You were out there. Under, you know?”
“What?”
“You were undercover. I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell you, but I guess somehow I figured you’d see it in the papers.”
Doug frowned, not understanding. “See what?”
“You really don’t know, son?” The careful words gave away the depth of emotion the captain was suppressing, and Doug braced for whatever was coming, knowing it couldn’t be good. “Thornton’s dead. Norwood was a plant, and when he knew he was blown, he headed for the border. Thornton was with him. He didn’t make it back.”
Doug swallowed hard, memories of pictures Nick shared of his wife with a hugely swollen belly ricocheting around inside his head. “He’s dead?” The captain nodded, and Doug reached behind him to press a palm against the wall. “Jesus. Norwood? Norwood turned?” The captain nodded again. “Can I see the file?”
He studied Doug for a long time. Doug held his gaze steady, waiting. Finally, the nod came, and Doug turned on his heel, striding out into the bullpen and then down the stairs to the front doors and onto the sidewalk. Aimless in his anger, he walked the streets, wrestling with how the knowledge of Nick’s death had hit him. Half of it was the depth of betrayal in his rolling gut at what Norwood had done. Even without knowing the specifics yet, just the idea Norwood had killed a fellow officer was unreal.
Since he hadn’t thought about the two men for so long, the detailed memories that crawled through his brain were startling. While undercover, Doug had held the door on his past closed, keeping his entire focus on becoming the man the Malcontents believed him to be. It seemed once he opened the door again, it let in the memories in a flood.
The last day of life before joining the task force stuck out like a buoy on a smooth ocean. He remembered the perp he and Norwood had tracked down to an alley, basing their sweep on a tip from Norwood’s informant in the back hallway of a dank bar. How IA had come to the precinct and the intense conversation in the captain’s office. The look on Nick’s face when neither Doug nor Joel made a move to follow the fourth member of their little clique. The way Norwood hadn’t even looked back when they called after him, just turned and passed out of view once he went through the doors.
Everything was crisp and clear in his mind, the smells of the bullpen present, even the sour vomit he’d been trying to clean off his shoes. IA and the captain let Norwood walk out. Why? If they had him under investigation, and IA had come to make a personal visit, wouldn’t they have stopped him?
I need to read that case file. Once he had the paperwork on Nick’s death in hand and learned the official version of what had happened, maybe he’d have somewhere to go. For now, Doug found himself with unaccustomed free time.
The last couple of years had been an intense ride of extremes. Between the adrenaline rush of illicit activity that dragged Doug deep into an underworld inhabited by outlaws, and the constant stress of being undercover, his lungs ached as if they’d been starved of breath for months. When the triggers for each action were so far out of his reach, all he’d been able to do was go with the flow as Joel led the way. To be at loose ends felt strange.
At the end of the next block stood a bar, and just behind that was a motel. Oblivion and respite waiting for him. Might as well.
Time to put some mental distance between him and what he’d seen during his time undercover.
Good enough.
***
Doug rolled off the woman and grabbed a tissue to wrap the condom. He reached out and tapped the light switch on the lamp beside the bed, turning it on. His breathing was evening out when he asked, “You good, honey?”
A low laugh made him look to the side, and he watched as she pushed up to an elbow, resting her head on one hand. “I’m fine. You were good to me.”
“We were good to each other.” He corrected with a smile and sat up to lean against the padded headboard. “You want a shower before you go?” He winced. “Damn, I’m rude. Sorry.” He wasn’t, not really. Like every encounter before, sleeping with this woman meant a physical release, nothing more.
“I’m good.” She repeated herself, holding the blanket to her breasts as she sat up, scanning the floor for her clothing. Five minutes later the door clicked behind her, and Doug was alone. Head tipped back against the headboard, he sighed heavily.
Muscles loose and relaxed, he reached for the TV remote and thumbed buttons until he found a true crime documentary, staring at the screen until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. When he slept, he dreamed of chasing the wind on two wheels, blood bubbling through his veins with the exhilaration of leaning into a corner as he followed Joel down unfamiliar roads. In this dream a woman sat behind him, her body tight against his, movements synchronized and familiar.
***
“Yo
u’re a good man, Tatum. Good officer. Chicago’s getting the best of this deal.” The captain shoved his hand out, angling for a shake and Doug met his palm, momentum lifting their clasped hands twice before releasing.
It’d been two months since he came back from undercover. Two months of only seeing Joel in passing, since his friend was still deep UC. Two months to study the file on Nick’s death and come up with the same thing the rest of the officers who’d worked the case found. Nothing.
Norwood was vapor, as if he’d stepped off the side of a bridge and vanished into the mists. Nick Thornton was still dead, his widow valiantly raising their son alone. Nothing Doug had done made a difference.
The exchange program had run its course, and it was time for him to head home.
Home.
He shook his head at the thought. Chicago wasn’t home, never really had been. His mother still lived in Iowa, but there was no sense of home there, either. Happens when you’re raised all over the place. They’d moved a lot after his parents split, apartments and rental houses blurring in his mind. I want somewhere to settle.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll miss this place.” No, I won’t.
“Liar.” The captain grinned. “Be safe, Tatum. You’re one of the good ones.”
Doug leaned over and picked up a manila envelope from the desk he’d been using. In it were copies of the file on Thornton’s death. Something wasn’t right; he still believed his gut impression of the information. Forget at least a dozen detectives had come up dry, and ignore the fact he’d come up dry, too.
With a nod, the captain turned, and Doug took a moment to scan the room. Time to see where I fit in. It wasn’t here, that was certain, as not a single hand rose to see him off.
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