“What if Schrader’s the one who switched the gear out?” asked Nick. “I’ve met COs like him and criminals like him. They're enraged by opponents daring to exist, see them as less than human, and will absolutely kill if they can get away with it. He might have even come up with the idea himself.”
“Okay,” said Fisher. “Run with it. I Mirandized the guy and he hasn’t lawyered up yet.”
JOHN
Nick approached Schrader, stopping three feet away and looking down at him. It was an odd sight: a bristling uniformed prison guard kneeling on the floor in handcuffs, an orange-jump-suited inmate standing over him with calm confidence. One a massive body-builder, the other Nick Aster, skinny and bruised. Nick had picked up the trademark FBI stance of non-threatening authority, and he played it perfectly.
“I was the only one with the luxury of just watching all that unfold,” said Nick. “All the COs looked puzzled when Kasdan didn’t recover — except you.”
Schrader let out a contemptuous sound that was half growl, half sneeze.
“Do you think I spent five years inside without learning how to spot a dirty CO?” asked Nick. “The FBI will know the length, density, and Pantone color name of your nose hairs before they’re done. I’m just wondering if you were bribed, or whether you were blackmailed into it by an inmate.”
Schrader glared. “Dream on, shithead.”
Nick knelt down on one knee to face him at eye level. I’m your friend, his body language said. I’m concerned about your well-being, and I don’t want to be threatening by standing over you.
“Here’s the thing. You tell the story now, that’s more or less it,” said Nick. “You probably plead attempted murder down to assault, do a couple years. But the FBI doesn’t need or rely on confessions. They’ll just spend thousands of hours digging deeper than you imagine possible. Trust me on that. And when they do, they’ll find the money transfers you thought you hid, the dealers you bought from on the outside, and who you sell to in here. They’ll find the sexual misconduct, the falsified paperwork — everything.”
“I’m not saying a word,” said Schrader, shifting on the cement floor in discomfort.
Nick mirrored him perfectly, with an added pained grimace to allow Schrader’s pride some wiggle room. John bit the inside of his cheek, bemused. Had Aster managed to attend FBI interrogation school by osmosis while John’s back was turned?
“The felons who’ll think you ratted them out when the FBI knocks on their doors won’t believe that,” said Nick. “Letting yourself be subject to a full investigation means you’ll do more time, and you’ll do it in a unit like this if you want to survive.” He looked around at the cement walls and metal doors with his mouth twisting in distaste, forehead wrinkled in the purest look of attentive concern John had ever seen performed.
"I'm not dirty," said Schrader.
Nick snorted, but also grinned in kinship, like they were in on these games together. "You're as dirty as they come. I did time in here, I can spot the likes of you from a cellblock away. That's why I'm telling you to talk, because they're gonna get you."
“You think I’m taking legal advice from an inmate?” Schrader snorted. “Someone who sees me as the devil?”
“Former inmate, actually,” said Nick with calm patience. “I work for the good guys now. I don’t hate COs. You’re far more patient than I would be with these drooling perverts. Some people -- just shouldn't exist, let alone be catered to like you guys have to. They're disgusting, deviant, filthy stains on the earth. Trust me, the FBI knows that. They see the worst, every day.”
Schrader licked his lips and glanced rapidly from side to side as though looking for escape. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“Ah,” said Nick, his brow wrinkling. “What did you do that you thought was right?”
Schrader tugged at the cuffs, testing them. He gave Nick a conspiratorial nod. “Look, you know these fucks. One tried to take my ear off the other week. They’re depraved, sick animals and rapists, and they need to be put down.”
Nick nodded, expression neutral. “I get that. But how'd it extend to sabotaging equipment to kill me in particular?”
“Wasn’t my idea,” said Schrader. "I got a friend."
“Then this is where you save yourself.” Nick turned sideways and called down the corridor. “Hey, Fisher! My murdery new friend here wants to chat!”
JOHN
The prison staff room had been turned into a temporary briefing room where Fisher planned to address John, Kelly, Wash, and the rest of the swarming FBI agents packed into the cramped space.
“All right, folks,” said Fisher crisply. “We got two cases running here. The extraction team incident, and we’re also in the middle of offloading drugged chili. The extraction team’s gear was tampered with.”
Fisher cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “CO Schrader has admitted a friend of his was offered a significant sum of money to get Aster killed. That friend modified two stun batons to give a lethal shock, and loaded a deadly gas into the pepper spray canisters. Schrader took one stun baton and spray, swapped out the gear belonging to the other lead officers, and got a snitch to make the tip. Forensic evidence should back us up on that.
“The extraction team’s SOP was to fire pepper spray into the cell to distract Aster, then don masks and enter. The other officer carrying the lethal baton was probably not part of this plot. He said he almost certainly would have used it on Aster in the initial takedown.”
John was trying not to let his jaw drop. “Aster was sitting quietly in his cell, potentially poisoned ....and they were gonna bypass even asking him to cooperate by gassing him and using electricity to incapacitate him? That’s one hell of a medical response.”
"First aid plays rough in this joint," said Kelly. "When I went through classes, the instructions didn't start with, 'Before evaluating the scene, pepper spray the potential patient and stun gun him.'"
“Well, here’s the thing,” said Fisher. “The poison angle was kinda brilliant. They were told he was suicidal, non-compliant, and had poison in his system. Normally he'd be given multiple chances to come out on his own, but because time was of the essence, yes. They were going to breach immediately.”
“Holy shit,” muttered Wash under his breath. "Remind me never to get poisoned in prison."
Fisher ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. “I have agents picking up Schrader’s friend. We’ll see who that leads to. Guessing it's the second of the two men Starr met with in the tunnel, in which case we'll have rounded up both of 'em. In the meantime, I gotta run. I’m expecting the sting with Green, Vineil, Gorstwick, and a pallet of chili to bear fruit in the next hour.”
John spoke up. “So, once you get Starr on tape confirming the delivery and hit with Green, he’ll be in custody pretty quick?”
“Within the hour,” confirmed Fisher. “Wanna be in on the arrest?”
John clenched his jaw and managed to contain his hate, and deep internal confusion.
He trusted himself not to blow the prosecution by harming Starr. But what, really, would be the point of being there? Gloating at the sight of the guy spluttering in handcuffs? That might be fun with Nick by his side. Otherwise, it felt like an anticlimax to what hadn’t ever really been his case.
Nothing remotely moral would be adequate revenge for what had been done to Nick. Nothing would undo or adequately compensate him for that suffering. Arresting Starr was all about making it so he couldn’t inflict similar harm any time soon, or hopefully ever again. It was about punishing him in ways John was no longer certain about. It was about putting a tidy little justice-colored bow on the incident and saying it was time to move on now.
“Rather be waiting to pick up Nick, so he doesn’t spend one hour he doesn’t have to in prison,” said John finally. The arrest wasn't going to be a satisfying ending; what was gained by it was. Nick, free and out of danger.
He knew which half of that equation he wanted to be a
part of.
JOHN
John told Nick about the impending arrests, and assigned Wash, Kelly, and Wills to guard him “while he was gone.” He managed it smoothly enough that Nick didn’t even question what “gone” was, but just assumed John was going on the arrest.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Homeward Bound
JOHN
Mari put her hand on John’s elbow as they drove to the prison.
“You don’t look as happy as you should. We’re bringing Nick home!”
John frowned, turning onto the highway. Starr was in custody, the neighbors were bringing Ochre back home, groceries were ordered, and —
“I got an agent in the hospital,” said John. “Feel like I should go see him, the man saved my life. But damn if I’m letting one more thing get between Nick and freedom.”
“Pick Nick up, then visit Kasdan,” said Mari, ever practical.
“Nick’s been in solitary for days. He’s getting better fast now, but he’s still sore. He’s not gonna want to go visit some FBI agent in the hospital.”
John was watching the road, so he didn’t see Mari’s expression. But he did hear her patented Patient Sigh. “Hon, three years ago, you’d have been right. But Nick’s changed. You told me yourself he cared about Agent Kasdan. He will want to visit the man who wound up in the hospital because of saving your life.”
“Maybe,” said John.
“Okay,” said Mari. “Go pick Nick up, right now. I’ll bet you he asks to see Kasdan. If not, then you know he was too stressed to handle it.”
“Okay,” agreed John, dubious.
“Why are you still looking miserable?” asked Mari.
"Worried about a friend, I guess. Ever since it happened, there's been a sadness in his eyes that just kills me," said John. "I've seen him in some real emotional pain before, but this runs deeper. I -- it makes me hurt."
Mari nodded. "Me too." She traced the line of John's arm with her fingertips. "You know what else I see? Love. I think you rocked his world, showing up and rescuing him like that. I think part of that sadness is him preemptively grieving having to run away or go back to prison."
John frowned. "I've rescued him before. He's rescued me. This was pretty straightforward. He called, I came. No major heroics there."
"He'd never needed you so desperately, though," said Mari. "Maybe he's been in more danger. But he'd never been in that much pain, or that physically close to death. He was truly helpless, and you rescued him.”
"He almost died," said John. "I almost lost him. I feel like.... I have a second chance. To do it all right."
"Don't try to be perfect, hon. Your rough edges and his fit together perfectly into something greater than two people alone."
"Sweetie..... where he's been...." John paused to find the right tone to explain, and could see how it was so difficult for Nick to talk about prison, and how careful he was to qualify everything. "It's absolute hell, filled with some surprisingly caring people in the coldest, most demeaning structure. He won't want you to feel sorry for him. He's held his head up through heartbreak and pain and humiliation, and he needs our respect for that."
"I get that, I think," said Mari. "Compassion for how much he's been hurt, but respect that he's been able to handle it."
"He didn't just handle it, he pretty much mastered it. He helped a lot of people, a lot of people helped him and supported him, and he doesn't want those people insulted."
John slowed and made the turn toward the gates where Nick would emerge. "That cell he's been in -- remember that rest stop on vacation? Where I joked it looked like a prison?"
Mari grimaced. "Stainless steel toilet and sink, no stall doors, made out of concrete blocks?"
John nodded. "Shrink in half, add CCTV camera and TV, lock door indefinitely. It feels dirty and smells of bleach. His previous trips scarred him so bad he was shaking when we got to the cell, and his neighbors are vicious, creepy, or devastated."
"And, I imagine, it's incredibly similar to the jail where he was just beaten and tortured....." Mari pointed out.
John nodded. "I guess — I’m just really hurting for the guy. ‘Yay, it’s over’ seems anti-climatic and trivializing.”
“That’s why you’re the best possible friend he could have right now,” said Mari. “You know it’s not over for him. He knows from now on, there’s a tender spot in you he can access when he needs it.”
JOHN
John didn’t go inside the prison to pick Nick up. Instead, he re-created the scene from the very first uncertain day he’d collected his new charge from the prison. He wore similar clothes and managed to park and stand in the same spot by his car.
It was dim and soggy and gray. The rain reminded John uneasily of that horrible confrontation outside Theo’s car. But he was glad of the pelting droplets driving away prying eyes. Neither of them had the strength to put on a show.
Nick emerged looking a little hesitant, still limping a bit and holding himself as somewhat lost in the world. John called out to him as he was about to cross the threshold of the metal gate.
“Over here, felon!”
Nick stopped and looked at him, momentarily confused. Then a broad grin lit up his face. He was beaming by the time he reached the car, and that was where the re-enactment of Nick’s first release into John’s custody ended, because within seconds they were gripping each other in a fierce hug. They’d come a long, long way.
“Welcome back, felon,” John whispered in his ear.
After a long, tight hug where John could feel Nick’s heart thumping frantically, Nick looked up and grinned at John. “Hello, my favorite nemesis.”
“Looking forward to being back in my evil clutches?” asked John.
“Or escaping them ....”
“That’s it. I’m chaining you up in the back seat.” John reached for his handcuffs, and Nick’s gaze flinched. Their eyes met in a wordless exchange.
It’s okay, Nick.
I know. I get it.
“No, you don’t,” said John softly, bringing their wordless exchange into the verbal realm. He hugged Nick closer, hoping Nick would be able to feel the softness and empathy he couldn’t voice.
Nick ducked his head and stepped into a much different sort of hug, where he just stood in John’s sheltering personal space with one hand on John’s lower back. John stroked him lightly on his face and back and head and sides and arms.
John felt an intense need to reclaim Nick’s body for the world of caring and gentleness. It was an instinct, touching him where he’d been beaten and abused and restrained.
Come out of that awful world, Nick.
Nick began to relax, and to breathe more easily, and ease closer. Finally, Nick’s tense, timid hand on his back shifted to solid contact and he started patting back in a sort of thanks.
“You said you wanted to be my refuge,” said Nick, his voice cracking with emotion. “You are. You have no idea how much I felt your caring when you first got me out. I feel everything.”
“Feel safe, Nick. Please.” John whispered because otherwise, his voice would crack from how deeply felt the words were.
His injured partner had lost so much weight during this ordeal, John could feel the outlines of his ribs and spine through the thin fabric of the cheap white t-shirt they’d stuck him in.
Then, Nick placed his hand on John's chest, exactly where Neil Kasdan's injury was. "John," he whispered. "John. I can't-"
John's stomach flipped at the true horror in Nick's reaction, because he'd felt that all too recently. He put his palm softly over Nick's knife wounds. "Nick."
They stayed like that for a long time, in almost sacred honor of a deep bond not broken. Nick's voice was rough and uneven when he finally spoke. "I couldn't handle it if it were you. I wouldn't be me anymore when I got out."
John's eyes stung, and he shivered at the phrasing, “when I got out.” The concept that Nick would go back to prison if John died was a sickening, and probably ac
curate one. "This is how I feel for you,” said John. “Please remember. This is how much it hurts each time I almost lose you."
"Awww."
"I'm unbelievably serious," said John. “Don’t you ‘awww’ me, I’ll smack you.”
"Can I do the never letting you out of my sight again thing too?" asked Nick, with a faint hint of his usual humor.
“Sure, but you don't get to put an anklet on me."
"Oh, don't worry," said Nick. "The AgentTracker Five-Thousand with Electrical Shield and Bullet Blocker goes on your wrist, and it comes with a matching leash."
John snorted. "So glad you finally agree I should keep a leash on you."
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 49