He slipped past them, the sounds of their laughter following him into the station. He shuffled toward the chief’s office, eager to get his first assignment. It was obvious this place could use someone with a bit of get up and go, though Daryl was sure the officers standing outside the building were not the best the station had to offer. It was easy for older officers to get jaded after years on the job, but he was ready to bring a fresh new perspective.
Inhaling a steadying breath, he knocked politely on the police chief’s door.
“Come in,” a voice boomed from the other side of the door.
Daryl stepped inside, taking in the cluttered yet comfortable room. “Chief Franklin,” he said amicably.
Chief Franklin chewed on a wad of tobacco, taking a moment to spit in a Styrofoam coffee cup before speaking.
“Yeah, right, you’re the new kid. Darren, was it?” Chief Franklin smiled.
“Daryl, actually. Daryl Jameson. I know I’m early, but I was eager to get a head start.”
The chief narrowed his eyes. “One thing you’ll learn working here, newbie, is that I don’t like being corrected. The last thing we need is some bright-eyed, bushy-tailed kid coming in here thinking he owns the place.” Chief Franklin shuffled through some papers on his desk.
“I’m deeply sorry, Chief. It won’t happen again,” Daryl said smoothly.
The Chief spat another wad of spit into his cup before considering Daryl again. “Make sure that it doesn’t. Now, since it’s your first day on the job, I’m going to start you off on the traffic duty. It’s not fast-paced work in most instances, but if you do well, we’ll see about bumping you up to more serious calls.”
Daryl internally cringed, but maintained his cool expression on the surface. “Thank you for this opportunity, Chief. I’ll be sure to make you proud.”
The Chief rumbled a laugh, and Daryl slipped out the door before the older man could get another dig in. He was slightly shaken by how different the officers of this precinct were from the those in his hometown. Though he knew it was unrealistic to expect every police officer to be kind and welcoming, he had expected at least one friendly face. None of the men on the force seemed too happy with his presence, and he cursed himself for how uncertain he felt.
Not allowing himself to get caught up in his thoughts, he stepped out of the station, walked to the parking lot, and unlocked the cruiser he had been assigned. He turned on the ignition and shifted into gear with ease, pulling out of the lot and making his way along the busy streets. He made a cursory loop through the city, scoping out areas where he could park and look out for lawbreakers. He settled on the parking lot of an auto parts store, tucked behind some decorative bushes where he could see out, but no one could see him until it was too late.
The day passed at an agonizingly slow pace, and though he gave his fair share of tickets, he didn’t feel particularly accomplished. As his lunch break rolled around, he drove back to the station and parked the cruiser. He wasn’t particularly used to being cooped up in a car all day, preferring to stretch his legs and walk the block. After locking the car, he stepped into the sunlight and inhaled a deep breath. Though the city air was smoggy and polluted, it was better than the stench of the cruiser’s unwashed interior.
Deciding to skip a food lunch and get some coffee, he slipped through the doors of the police station and shuffled to the break area. It was blessedly empty and he breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that the coffee was already brewed. He poured himself a cup, stirring in some sugar and cream before taking a sip. He cringed at the taste, though he wasn’t sure what he honestly expected. He lingered at the coffee pot for a moment, weighing his options before slipping back out of the break room.
Deciding that it would be in his best interest to learn the history of the station, he walked to the back office where files on recent cases were kept. He carefully placed his coffee cup on top of one of the file cabinets, choosing a drawer at random and pulling it open. He flipped through various files and read over the recent happenings in the station.
He was somewhat startled to see a fair share of very serious cases, most of which were resolved by the charges being dropped. The number of dropped charges was actually rather alarming in his opinion, though he supposed he hadn’t been in town long enough to gauge how frequently they received false reports. Grabbing his coffee cup, he slipped out of the back office. His lunch hour was coming to a close, and it was back to traffic duty. Though he wasn’t particularly thrilled by how the day had gone thus far, he could only hope it would improve if he stuck with it. He had come too far to give up now. He would not give up on his dreams so easily.
***
Rick Lamaar walked with an air of dignity that did not quite befit his dingy clothes, his shaggy hair, nor his general air of homelessness. Rick, however, was not one to let his social standing stop him from having a good time. Though this had not always been the case, Rick had long stopped caring what the general population thought of him. He couldn’t always access the facilities to shower, and though he never outright stunk, he tended to have a certain musk about him. He’d not seen a hairbrush since he was a teenager, though he made his best efforts to keep his long locks from getting tangled. It was often a lost cause, but then again, so was Rick—at least in the eyes of most people. Most certainly in the eyes of his parents, whom he hadn’t seen in nearly ten years.
Rick had never planned to be homeless. He had never planned to pickpocket just enough to afford a meal every so often. He had never planned to be kicked out of his childhood home, but he had never expected to be gay, either. It was one of those things that snuck up on you and bit you in the ass (then abruptly stuck it up your ass). He had been a pretty normal kid, his mother’s pride and joy. He played little league, pulled girls’ pigtails, the kind of things you’d expect a precocious young boy to do. Things just got a little convoluted when he turned thirteen and ‘fell in love’ with an older boy at his school. He was able to keep it under wraps until he hit the ripe age of fifteen, and everything hit the fan.
In a foolish move, he’d invited his crush over to his house to work on their homework together. That led to kissing, which led to touching, which led to his parents catching him with his pants down (literally). They had been much more brokenhearted than he would have expected. His parents weren’t your average Bible thumpers, but that didn’t stop them from disowning him entirely. His dad had been the driving force, and the older man’s cruel words would haunt Rick for the rest of his life. More apparent, however, was the long scar that curved along the side of his cheek. He didn’t expect to get in a knife fight with his old man, either, but that’s how it had gone down. He’d been unable to afford medical care, and had mostly lucked out in the sense that the resulting wounds didn’t get infected. Without the needed stitches, however, his face was forever marred. He’d been self-conscious about it for some time. Still was, sometimes, though it was the least of his worries.
After the fall-out, he’d run to the other boy’s house, begging for a place to stay. Needless to say, that didn’t end particularly well, either. Fortunately, for the other kid at least, he had been the one to come the door and not his parents. It might have been fortunate for Rick as well, but the other boy had a sudden change of heart after seeing the messed-up situation Rick had ended up in. Rick was thrown to the side, treated as little more than garbage.
He began to see himself as garbage—hell, he even lived in a dumpster for a while. He didn’t want to live, but he didn’t believe in offing himself. His situation wasn’t ideal, but he had to entertain the hope that things would get better. Somehow, some way. He ended up hopping a train and traveling a few towns over. He’d never been a big kid, but he became outright scrawny from days and days without food. Fortunately, when he first hit the big city, he had his share of sympathy. Well-to-do people who would buy him a warm meal, offer him a few dollars to get by. As he got older, however, the sympathy well dried up. Once he lost his baby face and began
to grow a beard, the masses seemed less sympathetic to his plight.
That’s what led him here. Where he’d been for some years, now. Wandering the streets and snagging the wallets off of folks who looked like they could spare a few bucks. He never stole from people who looked like they were hurting for money, but he also didn’t consider himself any more ethical for it. Stealing was stealing, he supposed. Living was living too, however, and no one was going to hire him looking the way he did. He’d tried, granted. Still tried from time to time, though his efforts were all risk and no reward. As soon as he stepped in most people’s fine establishments, he was shown the door before he could even ask for an application.
Not that he was bitter. Bitterness had faded long ago, and Rick accepted his life for what it was. It wasn’t the best life, but it wasn’t the worst either; not by any means. He got by, usually had enough cash to buy himself a burger from his favorite drive through every evening.
His goal for today was significantly different, however. He’d been saving his extra cash in a hidden stash for some months now, and he was looking to get the last bit of money he needed for the down payment on an apartment. It was a big step, maybe little more than a dream, but he was sick of finding a warm alleyway to snooze in every night. He’d have to figure out how to cover utilities later, rent, the sorts of things normal people covered for day to day life. He was taking it one step at a time, however, and would look to the future when that day came. Today, he just needed to snag a few wallets.
Shaking off his thoughts, he scoped out the immediate area for someone who looked like they could spare some change. Nice clothes, a certain swagger that people who were confident in their living situation always seemed to exude. A rather vapid expression was a plus, though that was almost a given in this city. Same people day by day, wandering the sidewalks. Thinking about their jobs, the things they were supposed to do. They were absorbed in their obligations, not what made them happy. It wasn’t the life he wanted, and he told himself that if he were in their place, he would have more fun with life. The daily grind just seemed to take the soul out of people.
He looked up in time to see a rather extravagant car pull up, a short and stout man with scarcely any hair stepped out of it. A cigar hung from the man’s lips, and his wrist was adorned with a golden watch. His clothes were obviously fitted, clinging to what the man likely thought were assets. He looked much like some sort of rodent, but he looked like a rich rat at the very least.
Rick smiled to himself, lingering at the edge of the crowd. He knew how to remain inconspicuous, especially for situations such as these; rare though they were. The man spoke in hushed tones with a larger, more muscular fellow. Buff enough to be the sort that Rick might have looked twice at back in the day. For now, he focused on trailing behind the balding gremlin of a man.
He kept a respectable distance, not wanting the fact that he was following the man to be particularly obvious. He wasn’t worried, lots of people were walking in the same direction as the two of them, thus was the steady ebb and flow of the city. The man seemed wrapped up in a conversation on his cell phone, another thing that was something of a given in this city. If they weren’t staring off into space, lost in the lack of meaning in their life, they were engaged in some pointless conversation riddled with too many of those weird smiling face icons.
Though the squat fellow didn’t seem the type to be popular by any means, Rick supposed a good chunk of change could get you anywhere in life. His mind wandered to his small stash of money, hidden deep in the city. It would likely be little more than change in this man’s pocket. Though it was a bleak thought, it was an exciting one as well. This would be an easy pick, and then Rick would have it made. At least, for a while. Maybe he’d treat himself to two hamburgers, a chocolate shake, even. He crept closer and closer to the man, growing vaguely aware that the number of people surrounding them was dwindling. It was worrisome, but not to the point that Rick wanted to back out. He was already dreaming of that apartment, a nice shower, a new set of clothes. The man was too wrapped up in his phone to even notice Rick was following him anyway, so he took another bold step closer. When he grew close enough to smell the man’s cologne, a rather pungent smell, he reached out. His hand closed around the man’s wallet, and he fought to contain himself as he drew away to cleanly complete the pick.
His internal celebration was cut short however, when he looked up only to find himself face to face with the barrel of a gun. He dropped the wallet with an undignified squeak, holding his hands up and trying to sputter out an apology.
“I—I’m sorry, man, I was just—” he began.
“Yeah, kid, I know what you were doing,” the man said. “You just happened to cross the wrong man. Have you ever heard the name Jim Hawthorne?” the man said with a smug little smile, not bothering to lower his gun as he spoke.
“Big Jim Hawthorne? Y-you mean,” Rick sputtered out, eyes wide and fearful.
Of course he had heard the name Jim Hawthorne. Everyone in the damn city had heard that name, and not for good reasons. Jim Hawthorne was the head of the biggest crime syndicate in the city. It was a wonder that Big Jim hadn’t blown Rick’s brains on the sidewalk already.
“I’m sorry,” Rick said, taking a hesitant step back.
Big Jim considered him with a curious quirk of his lips, lowering his gun by a margin. Taking that as his cue, Rick bolted from the scene as quickly as his legs would carry him. He heard the older man screaming for him to stop, but he dare not turn back. When the crime lord’s voice faded into the distance, and it was clear he wasn’t being followed, Rick paused and gasped for breath. He had gotten away this time, and he could only hope the crime lord would be generous enough to forgive his indiscretion.
However, he had a feeling he would not be so lucky.
***
Daryl was due back on traffic duty, but the cases he had sorted through were still at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t shake the thought that some of the dropped charges seemed inexcusable, especially with of the abundance of murder charges he’d seen. Repeat offenders, in most cases, the files containing mention of ties to a man named Jim Hawthorne. Though Daryl had never heard of this Hawthorne character, he had a feeling he was missing the piece of some larger puzzle.
Perhaps the feeling he got from perusing the files shouldn’t have felt as nefarious as it did. There was always the possibility that he was overthinking this. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought as much as he tried. In spite of his bad first impression with the police chief, he mused that bringing it to the older man’s attention might resolve some of his anxiety.
Daryl shuffled in the direction of Chief Franklin’s office, sipping the poor excuse for coffee served in the break room. He had heard jokes about the poor quality of break room coffee, but he had never expected it to be this bad. He gave it a swish in the Styrofoam cup, taking the final swallow before tossing the cup in the trash and knocking on Chief Franklin’s door.
He lingered for a long moment, wondering if his knocks had been heard. Just when he was about to try again, the police chief’s voice boomed through the door.
“Come in, but make it quick. I’m busy,” the older man called out.
Daryl steeled himself, not looking forward to the encounter but hoping that his interest in past cases would show initiative. He opened the door, offering the chief a strained smile.
Chief Franklin paid him little mind, absorbed in something on the screen of his cell phone. His lips were quirked in the vaguest of smiles, and it was only when Daryl awkwardly cleared his throat that the chief looked up at him.
The older man’s amused expression faded, and he narrowed his eyes. “Can I help you, Darren?”
Daryl fought to keep his composure. It was obvious the chief was purposefully not using Daryl’s correct name to get under his skin, and he was determined to not let it work.
“Yes, Chief. I was sorting through some old case files.”
“Well, that’s
strike one, newbie. But go on,” the chief said in haughty tones.
Daryl couldn’t help feeling taken aback, suddenly rethinking how he was approaching the situation. Still, he couldn’t let himself fret over the case files for the rest of the day. It would put him off of his game, and though it seemed his first impression had been ruined, he was determined to prove himself to the chief and the other officers.
“I, uh, I was sorting through some old case files, and I noticed a lot of cases where the charges were dropped with little explanation. I saw the name Jim Hawthorne mentioned several times, and I was wondering if this was someone I needed to keep an eye out for, or if perhaps he’s an informant.”
Daryl watched as the Chief’s expression grew increasingly irate. The older man inhaled a deep breath, steepling his hands atop his desk. After exhaling what Daryl supposed was a calming breath, the chief began to speak.
“Newbie, I’ve been awfully patient with you. I thought I made it very clear that I didn’t want some know-it-all kid running in here, thinking he can change the world. What’s contained in those files is frankly none of your concern, and you’ll end up counting yourself lucky when you don’t make it long enough to know who Jim Hawthorne is.”
Daryl found himself shrinking away from the larger man in spite of knowing he could easily overpower him. Was the entire department that sure he wouldn’t make it here? As far as he could tell, they seemed so ready for him to give up that they were likely placing bets.
He narrowed his eyes at the police chief, biting back the sharp retort that threatened to explode from his mouth. On one hand, he could go out in a blaze of glory, middle fingers thrown to the sky as he stormed out of the chief’s office. On the other, that’s exactly what his superiors wanted. For reasons he couldn’t discern, he was unwelcome here. He wouldn’t let that throw a wrench in his plans, however. If anything, he was more determined to prove himself than ever.
The Dragon’s Flight: Gay Paranormal Romance Page 18