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FAKE First Year Together: A New Day (May)	By : BrittColumbia Category: +. to F > FAKE Views: 14597 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own FAKE, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 28
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FAKE
First Year Together: A New Day (May)

Chapter
29  

Pairing: Dee/Ryo

Fandom: FAKE

Rating: Worksafe, except for the swearing.
No kissing or loveydovey jackrabbit behavior this time.

Spoilers: To Volume 7

Timing: Set in May directly after Book 7 ended

Summary: Ryo is coming to terms with the changes in
his relationship with Dee, as well as his new sexual identity. Meanwhile, Dee
and Ryo are trying to find enough evidence to expose a crooked cop. This story
explores homophobic attitudes but is primarily a love story between two men.

Disclaimer: I do
not own FAKE or any of the characters created by Sanami Matoh (Tina Greenspan,
Mike Abernathy, Ned Shaver and Essien Ibo are mine, however). No one gives me
money or even chocolate to write this story.

Author's notes: Please read and review.

Thank you to Mtemplar.
 

A
New Day

Chapter 29

Ryo arrived
at Bam's a couple of minutes early, but Detective Greenspan was there already.
She was looking even prettier than she had yesterday. Her hair was twisted up
in an attractive updo that allowed soft tendrils to hang on either side of her
face. She was wearing a quantity of silver jewelry, a moss-green pantsuit
and high-heeled open-toed shoes. Ryo hoped she wouldn't find herself in a situation
where she had to run after a suspect. He began to wonder how long she had been
in law enforcement.

"Detective MacLean! It's so very nice to see you again." She really
did look delighted to see him, and Ryo was a bit taken aback when she impulsively
clasped both of his hands and gave them a squeeze. "Where's Detective
Laytner today?"

He mumbled
something about how Dee hadn't been feeling well and had therefore gone home.
Although Detective Greenspan seemed to be making sympathetic noises --"Oh
that poor man. You must be so worried about him..." -- Ryo was
somewhat nonplussed by how much more cheerful she looked after hearing the
news.

"Listen, Detective..." she said, seeming suddenly shy. "I have
been feeling absolutely horrible about how we ended things yesterday. I've been
so very angry with myself for
springing that news on you about your son the way I did...I hope you can
forgive me?"

From the
limpid way she was looking into his eyes, Ryo began to get a sneaking suspicion
that Dee had been right. Could it be that this beautiful woman was actually
attracted to him? Now that was a complication he really didn't need at the
moment. If she had come along earlier... before he had known what he
truly wanted...But then he reminded himself that Meredith had come along
earlier and what a mess that had turned into. He pushed away the familiar pang
of guilt that always caught at his insides whenever he thought of her. No, he
definitely didn't need any more romantic complications of the feminine variety
in his life ever again. Detective Greenspan was indisputably gorgeous, but no
one was more important to him than Dee. And no one Ryo could think of had it
over Dee in the looks department, either. He hoped that if he continued to keep
everything on a professional level between the Queens Detective and himself,
and didn't offer any response to her overtures, she would get the message
without either one of them having to suffer any embarrassment.

"I was
angry yesterday," he told her frankly, "But I understand that you
have to do your job. I just hope we can work together with a little more trust
in the future."

"I'd
like that too," she murmured, peeping up at him demurely.

"However, I am still very concerned about the fact that one of my son's,
ah, 'friends' has been murdered, as you may imagine. Are you a parent,
Detective Greenspan?"

"Me?
Goodness no, I'm not even remotely close to being married!" Her laugh was
girlish and musical. "But I have a little niece that I just adore to
pieces and I feel fiercely protective of her, so I truly do understand your
reaction yesterday. And if possible, I'd like to make it up to you by taking
you out for lunch today...that is, if you have---" She was interrupted by
a loud voice that issued from behind her.

"Miss
Detective Greenspell! It's past eleven o'clock! Are you going to come inside,
or what?" A gap-toothed, white-haired man of about sixty stood in the
doorway of the coffee shop next door to Bam's.

"Greenspan, Mr. Oliver," she said to him, gently but firmly, and
quickly checked her watch. "We'll certainly be joining you inside."

"That's
good because we got a young feller in here who don't believe that a purty young
lady's gonna buy me a coffee. Here she is, Jack. But don't you be giving this
one none of your impudence -- she don't look like it, but she's a cop! Got a
gun on her somewheres--" Mr. Oliver studied Detective Greenspan's body as
if to try to determine where, under her tight-fitting outfit, it would have been
possible to conceal a gun. Ryo tried not to smile. He had been rather curious
about that himself.

"--
and I don't doubt she knows how to use it! Isn't that right, missy?"

"Mr.
Oliver, which one is your table?" Detective Greenspan rewarded his essay
into humor with a bright, but brittle smile.

"Why,
this one right here, best one in the house, right by the win--"

"Thank
you, let's sit down and begin our meeting. We don't have much time. This is
Detective MacLean from the 27th Precinct in Manhattan. He's working with me on
this case."

"Nice
to meet you, son." Mr. Oliver stuck out his hand and Ryo shook it. The
man's grip felt sturdy and his skin was a little rough. This was a man who had
worked all his life, and probably with his hands for most of that time. Ryo
hoped he hadn't sunk his life savings into Bam's.

"I'm
very sorry about what happened in your restaurant, sir. A dead body in your
kitchen can hardly be good for business."

"Well,
whoever killed that youngster in my kitchen just as surely killed my business
as dead as roadkill on the interstate. It ain't covered by insurance, neither.
Who ever heard of such a thing? You know, back in League City, Texas, which is
where I'm from, we hear about the crime of the big cities, but somehow I just
never imagined it would happen to me!"

"I
understand," said Ryo, nodding sympathetically. It was true. He did. No
one ever expected it to happen to them.

"You
know, I was able to buy this business for a steal of a deal. Previous owner
wanted to retire, go play golf and such. I owned a similar restaurant for ten
years in League. Thought I knew a thing or two about the industry. If I'd a-had
any idea how complicated it is to run a restaurant business in the Big Apple,
I'd a-turned around and gone back home on the very first day." Mr. Oliver
sighed and shook his head. "In fact--"

"It's
never easy running a business, Mr. Oliver," Detective Greenspan
interrupted him briskly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind telling us about the
body in your kitchen one more time for the benefit of--"

"What,
again?" Mr. Oliver looked exasperated. "Look here, you're a sweet
little lady and all, but how many damn times do you people want to hear that
same story? I coulda sworn y'all wrote it down the first time I told it to ya.
Didn't you write a report about it?"

Ryo held up
a hand. "That's all right, Mr. Oliver. You don't have to tell us again if
you'd rather not. But I'd be very interested to hear what kind of problems
you've encountered trying to run a business here in New York."

Mr.
Oliver's face lit up as Detective Greenspan's face fell. But before any more
could be said, Jack, their tattooed young waiter, was at their table with a
coffee carafe. "Coffee for everyone?" he enquired, winking at Mr.
Oliver.

Please," said Ryo, turning over the cup from where it rested on its saucer
at his place setting. He felt Detective Greenspan's fingertips press briefly
but meaningfully against his arm as Jack filled the coffee cups. He knew what
she was trying to tell him, but he pretended not to understand. It wouldn't
hurt to let the old man go on about his troubles for a bit, and one never knew
when a lead might come out of such a conversation.

"I
like you, boy. You can call me Del. You too, Miss Detective."

Ryo grinned
at him. "You can call me, Randy, sir."

"May I call you Randy?" interjected Detective
Greenspan determinedly.

"Er...um, sure," said Ryo with a faint smile.

"And
please call me Tina. It's so much more comfortable to be friendly, don't you
agree?"

Ryo made some vague
noise of assent, before looking encouragingly at Mr. Oliver, who then launched
into a lengthy description of his woes.

Number one
on his list of complaints was the high cost of maintaining the walk-in freezer.
"That thing sucks up electricity twenty-four seven!" he spluttered.
"It's clapped out and inefficient. What the hell do I need a freezer so
large for? I had one in Twist, my old restaurant back home, but it ran a lot
better 'n this one."

Detective
Greenspan interrupted him. "Speaking of the freezer, can you tell me again
about the position of the body--"

"No
ma'am. Your confederate here already told me I don't have to tell that same old
story again, and I took him up on his offer. I'm very sorry to be so
disobliging, however." He nodded respectfully at her, but there was more
than a suggestion of mischief in his eyes as he turned back to Ryo. "If
you're still interested, Randy, I got more to say."

At Ryo's
nod, Mr. Oliver went on to express dissatisfaction about the difficulty of
hiring and keeping reliable staff. "That Mr. Reynolds, guy
who owned this place afore me, assured me that his best lunchtime line cook and
also the kitchen helper wanted to stay, but I ain't seen either of them in
weeks!" He went on to animadvert against his 'good for nothing' son and
his only slightly less good for nothing cousin whom the family had shipped up
from Florida to help him. "Boy only shows up for work when he feels like
it -- every day it's a new excuse. And my nephew? Oh Lord. Works well enough
when he's here, but eats up all the profits. Every time I look at him, he's
chewing! Now that's a feller who shouldn't be working in the food
industry."

From the
amount of fidgeting that was going on beside him, Ryo could hardly fail to be
aware that Detective Greenspan was growing impatient. She alternately drummed
her nails on the table, stared out the window, heaved sad little sighs, and
checked her wristwatch. She had indicated that she wanted to have a nice lunch
with him, and while he felt slightly guilty about it, he most assuredly didn't
want to have lunch with her. He wanted to get back to the station and get his
paperwork and phone calls done so that he could get out of the office at
something close to the end of his shift, and then rush home to be with Dee.
Maybe some perverse part of his nature, or perhaps, just an instinct of
self-preservation, had led him to invite Mr. Oliver to tell him all about his
business. He wanted to make sure that this interview left no time for lunch.
Mr. Oliver was saying something about City Hall. "Pardon me,
sir?" Ryo asked. "Did you say they wouldn't give you a liquor
license?"

"Damn
straight they wouldn't! Buncha mumbo-jumbo regulations they quoted me. In the
end I think that what it came down to was the fact that I hadn't greased the
right palms." He looked back and forth between the photogenic faces of the
youthful pair of detectives at his table, and wagged a finger at them.
"You two fine young people may be surprised to hear that such a semi-legal
form of corruption exists in your fair city, but what you're hearing today is
the honest account of an outsider with nothing to gain by speaking the truth. And
speaking of greasing palms, that brings me to my next problem..."

"Mr.
Oliver!" Detective Greenspan was obviously nearing the end of her rope.
"While I certainly do have sympathy for all the terrible things you've
been through, criminals throughout the city are not suspending their activities
merely because the three of us wish to enjoy a companionable chat over coffee.
Detective MacLean and I have work to do and cases to solve, and this being so,
we are going to have to leave in a very short time." She looked at her
watch for the eleventh or twelfth time. "Detective MacLean, do you have
any last questions for Mr. Oliver?" Her glossy lips parted, and she give
him a long, unblinking look that promised untold pleasures if he cooperated and
unspecified levels of displeasure if he thwarted her.

Ryo thought
of Dee and how he would be handling this situation if he were here, and found
himself barely able to conceal the smile that had sprung unbidden into his
eyes.

"Well,
um, yes, I do," he said softly. "Mr. Oliver, could you please tell me
about any and all palms that expected you to grease them and what you did about
it?"

&^&^&^&^&^&^

Ryo entered
the CI room to see James, Drake, Ted, Sheldon and Eliza engaged in various
activities.

"Oh
look," announced James. "One of the 'Predatory Popinjays' has
returned." The rest of the team howled with laughter.

"And
how do we know he's a Predatory Popinjay?" Ted asked gleefully, jumping up
and putting his arm around Ryo's shoulders. Ryo blinked at them, looking
slightly embarrassed.

"On
Friday, I saw him carrying a balloon that said 'Kiss Me'," Eliza
volunteered.

"Anyone else?"

"It's
in the eyes," James said with mock seriousness. "Those are the eyes
of a predator. They're good at looking all innocent like that."

"Nah,
you guys only got the 'predatory' half of it," Ted said dismissively.
"We know he's a Predatory Popinjay because of the quality of his wardrobe, that's how!" He picked up
the tail of his hapless co-worker's tie and turned it around to display the
label to the room. "Armani! And I bet his shoes have leather soles, too.
Furthermore, he smells--" Ted sniffed Ryo ostentatiously
"--like expensive cologne, not 'Old Spice', like me."

"And
therein lies the reason why you can't get a date," remarked Eliza.
"Aw, Ryo honey, we're just teasing. You know we love you. What the hell's
going on with the IA guy who hates you?"

"Well,
the short story is that he's an old crony of the Chief's whose kid ran away from
home, so Chief sent Dee and me to find him. In the process, we learned that the
guy beats the crap out of his son, and now his son likes us because we were
nice to him. So his father is feeling kind of resentful and thinks we
undermined his authority or something."

"That's shitty luck that you guys got an enemy in IA," Sheldon said.
"Good thing you got a squeaky-clean record, eh Ryo?"

"Well,
don't forget that Dee doesn't," said Drake. He looked a bit more worried
than the others.

"He seems
to hate me slightly more than Dee," Ryo told them. "It could be
because we're both dads. Or maybe he just hates my clothes. Ted, quit sniffing
me!" he added.

"Sorry, man. Hey, I heard the Chief gave him what-for!" Ted looked
exuberant. "I wish I could have heard it! I got it second-hand from
Janet."

A voice
came from the door. "That IA lieutenant seems to think you and Dee-Sempai
are in a homosexual relationship."

It was JJ.
His eyes were hard on Ryo and he wasn't smiling.

"Come
on, dude, have you forgotten we're all gay?" James called out, and
everyone burst out laughing again.

"Hey,
not me!" Eliza protested.

"Yeah,
you! I've been telling everyone that you're a man in drag," said Ted, and
ducked, grinning, as she threw a pen at him.

"Hey
listen, guys. This 'gay' thing is really working for me," said James
excitedly. "I got a date on Saturday night on the strength of it."

"With
a woman?" Drake looked skeptical.

"Screw
you, Parker! Yes, with a woman. She's helping me combat the rumors that I'm a
member of the pink patrol."

"Do
tell," said Ted, looking interested. "D'you think that would work for
me?"

"Probably, if you do a total personality makeover..."

"And
lose the Old Spice," Eliza added.

To Ryo's
relief, they continued in that vein for some time, and the question of whether
he and Dee were involved in a relationship seemed to have been successfully
skated over.

He went to
his office and sat down at the computer to type out his notes from the meeting
he had had earlier with Detective Tina Greenspan and Mr. Delbert Oliver, the
somewhat garrulous owner of Bam's. The meeting had been an interesting one and
had yielded a promising lead that Detective Greenspan had missed out on, due to
having stomped off to the powder room at that particular point in time. It
seemed that Mr. Oliver's fledgling business had been shaken down a few weeks
prior by three young men who had wanted a thousand dollars a month in
protection money. They had claimed to be representing an organization that
called itself the 'something-Devils,' Mr. Oliver having been regrettably unable
to recall the exact name. Off the top of his head, Ryo could think of several
gangs operating in the various boroughs of New York City with the word
'devils', or one of its derivatives, in their name. This was a piece of
information he would need to run by the other members of the CI Division.
Marty, who was especially knowledgeable about all the gangs in the five
boroughs, was the main person he wanted to talk to. His youngest brother had
once been a member of the Diamond Bruisers, a notorious syndicate, now
thankfully defunct, in the Bronx. If there was a new gang in Queens, Marty
would know about it. But, according to Eliza, Marty had gone out on a call with
Officer Bristow and her partner. Ryo would just have to wait for him to come
back.

He closed
the file on Bam's and put it away. Tonight he would have to talk to Bikky,
Carol and Carol's aunt Elina about getting statements from the two teens
regarding their part in what had happened to Eddie. Detective Greenspan wanted
him to bring them to the 99th so that she could take their statements, but he
had been non-committal. He had every intention of making her come to the 27th.
Bikky and Carol both went to school in Manhattan, and it would be easier for
everyone if he didn't have to pick them up from school and drive them over to
Queens during rush hour. At the thought of...Tina, as she'd insisted he call
her, he sighed and dropped his pencil. He wished that she would stop trying to
capture his interest. He wasn't naturally flirtatious like Dee, and he didn't
really know how to deal with the expectations of women and, surprisingly, men,
who wanted him. Whenever someone started that kind of behavior with him, his
instinct had always been to retreat into a shell of slightly formal
conventionality-- and try not to blush too much, of course. It usually served
to discourage women. So far, he was pretty sure that it was mostly discouraging
the Commissioner, too. But there was one person it had never worked on,
however. Dee had been the only one who had ever thought to climb into that
shell after him and drag him out again, kicking and screaming. The mental
imagery produced by this thought made him smile. Could there be anyone else
like Dee on the whole planet? Ryo didn't think so. He found he suddenly wanted
to hear the sound of Dee's voice. It was a little strange working in this
office without him. He reached for the phone, a quick smile coming readily to
his lips, only to hesitate a second later and let his hand fall. What if Dee
was sleeping? That was probably exactly what he was doing. He would have taken
his next round of pain-killing medication at shortly after twelve, and that would
have made him sleepy. It would be best not to wake him up. He sighed and called
down to the front desk for his messages instead.

&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^

Dee banged
on the door a second time, as the first time had yielded no response. "I
know you're in there, Detective," he called out. "C'mon, I just wanna
talk." He paused, listening for a response. He thought he heard a faint
creaking sound, but he couldn't be sure that it had come from Detective
Shaver's apartment. This was a pretty noisy building. It sounded like the
walls were made of particle-board or maybe something even thinner. A phone rang
nearby and a man's voice could be heard laughing somewhere down the hall.
It sounded like Shaver's next-door neighbor was watching Bugs Bunny on
TV, unless that was Shaver, which Dee doubted. He couldn't imagine that
sourpuss engaged in any activity that might require smiling.

"You
want me to go flash my badge at the manager? Bet he'll let me in."

The door
abruptly opened and Ned Shaver stood there, scowling. "Keep it down, for
fuck's sake. What the hell are you doing here?" He stood aside and
Dee, taking that as an invitation to enter, stepped through the door and into
the cheerless little apartment. His keen eyes had taken in every detail
of the man's battered and disheveled appearance, including the fact that he
held a 9mm pistol loosely in his right hand, and another gun lay on the coffee
table with a couple of clips next to it.

"Expecting company?"

"Can't
be too careful in this neighborhood," Shaver muttered, not quite meeting
Dee's eye. He turned away and opened a cabinet in what Dee presumed was the
kitchen area of what had to be the smallest and most depressing bachelor
apartment he had ever been inside in his life. "I'd offer you coffee, but
I don't fucking have any. I got water and... Kool-aid."

"I'm
good," said Dee. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Go
for it." Unsmiling, Ned indicated the sofa, but Dee seated himself on an
old wooden chair instead.

"Who
got you?" Dee asked. He could tell from Shaver's stiff movements that the
man was probably bruised all over his body.

"A
bust put up a fight, that's all. I took a tumble."

"Don't
gimme that crap. Was it the Devils, the Stone Bloods, or something to do with
Abernathy?"

Fuck. The
Bronx detective turned back to the sink and filled a large mug with water. He
wasn't sure if it would be in his best interests to tell Detective Laytner what
had happened, but he felt the stirrings of temptation. After all, he hadn't
been able to talk to anybody about this crap for so long. The pain of it, the
bitter injustice, festered away inside him all the time, and there had been no
one he could go to for advice. After a few moments of silence, during which
Laytner waited expectantly, Shaver finally decided that it couldn't hurt to
tell him a little. Not everything, of course, but just enough to get some of
the poison out of his gut.

"The
Devils. Fucking sons of bitches."

"You
still in with the Stone Bloods?"

"We're
off the record here, right?"

"Right. But I still need a statement from you, the sooner the
better."

"Terms?"

Dee
hesitated. Play him, the
Commissioner had said. Somehow, he just couldn't do that. It was one thing to
use half-truths to trick a suspect into making a confession, but if this was
going to turn into a potential long-term investigation, there had to be a
certain amount of trust on both sides. Their lives might depend on it someday.
"We're still working on a deal. We're think there's a real good chance we
can keep you out of jail."

"A
real good...chance? A fucking chance? What the hell is this?" Shaver felt himself go cold, and it
wasn't from the tap water he had been drinking.

"Hey,
come on now. Nothing's written in stone at this point. If you give us something
good enough, we can get you immunity."

"Detective, I told you I was not prepared to do a day in jail. You can
forget about getting any cooperation from me, if that's where this is headed. I
gotta think about survival, and if taking the high road means getting hung out
to dry, then I really can't be throwing in my lot with the police. Did you even
talk to the Commissioner like you said you were going to?"

"Look,
the Commissioner's thinking about the public image of the NYPD and how what
looks like a fairly widespread case of police corruption is going to affect
funding. He's acting almost like he fucking wishes we'd never stumbled upon
this. On the other hand, he doesn't want it to blow up down the road,
particularly on his watch. I'm sure when he thinks about it a little more,
he'll realize the benefits of us having a guy who's got an 'in' to Abernathy's
twisted little operation. You gotta give us something good, do you understand?
You gotta make yourself indispensable to this case. Right now, you don't have
any bargaining chips." Dee was doing his best, but Shaver looked
unconvinced.

"Lemme
remind you, Detective, that the guy with no bargaining chips is actually you.
Calvetti's gone from this world, and in practical terms, you ain't got shit on
me. No witnesses, no warrant. Nothing but a bunch of off-the-record crap that
you can't use. And if you put a tail on me today, it's kinda like closing the
barn door after the horse has gone. Mike knows I'm too hot to touch right now;
so do my other...associates. Even the Devils know, though they still seemed to
feel it was necessary to half-kill me on Saturday night."

"What
exactly do you expect?" Dee leaned forward and rested his elbows on his
spread knees.

"Like
I told you in the bar, standard deal for informants in high profile cases.
Immunity from prosecution in exchange for my cooperation with your
investigation. Through me, you can nail Abernathy and the other guys he's dealing
with. You said you wanted me to wear a wire. Okay, I will. And I'm willing to
compromise on testifying. I want out of the NYPD when it's all over, but
quietly-like, not drummed out. No criminal record. But you fucking come here
talking about jail when you know as well as I do what my life is worth if I go
to the joint? You know what? I got a lotta shit on a lotta people. From an
investigative point of view, I'm a fucking gold mine. But why should I take the
road that leads to a sure death in prison when I got nothing to lose by keeping
my mouth shut?"

Dee sat
silently for a moment, wishing that Commissioner Rose was on another planet
presiding over a police force of aliens, because that fucking bastard sure
seemed to be better fitted for managing matters of alternate reality than real
life cops who were laying their lives on the line in New York City every damn
day. Yes, he could understand why the man wanted Shaver to go to jail. The
Bronx detective had done a number of reprehensible and patently illegal things,
all ostensibly under the aegis of the NYPD. Why should he get away with it? It
wasn't right. But on the other hand, he was the key to bringing down a much
larger threat. Dee could just imagine the damage that Abernathy and his team of
currently unknown dirty cops did to the credibility of the NYPD in an average
week. Abernathy's position as an investigating lieutenant in Internal Affairs
gave him a unique platform from which to recruit new underlings, guys who were
desperate for a way out of whatever trouble they'd gotten themselves into. Only
they didn't realize how much worse their new troubles were going to be once
Abernathy put them to work. Thereafter, he was always holding his knowledge of
their crimes above their heads like the sword of Damocles, ready to feed them
to the sharks at any time if they displeased him. It went against the grain,
but Dee believed that sometimes it was necessary to cut the minor bad guys some
slack if you wanted a shot at taking out someone higher on the food chain.
Abernathy was a far greater threat than Shaver would ever be, and this was one
of those cases where he felt it was worth handing the guy a break. But
unfortunately, the Commissioner seemed to think he could have his cake and eat
it too. It had obviously been a long time since he had done any front-line
work.

"I
hear ya," said Dee, "and I really think we can get you what you need.
It totally makes sense to me and my partner, even our lieutenant."

"But
not the Commissioner." Shaver's voice was hostile.

"He's
not dead-set against a deal, he's just behaving like the brass always do,
trying to get as much as possible for as little as possible."

"Like
everybody," Shaver said morosely. "But not me. I know you think I'm a
piece of shit, but I'll deal fair with you if you do the same with me."

Dee nodded.
"Okay," he said. He did not deny the part about Shaver being a piece
of shit. However, he did think it was a strange thing for the man to say.
Perhaps it represented an opening. "Hey," he said, trying his luck.
"You seem like a regular guy. How the hell did this happen to you?"

"I
suppose you think this couldn't happen to you," Shaver growled, thrusting his chin out
belligerently.

"Well,
yeah, I guess every cop thinks that. Until it happens to him, that is."
Dee's face assumed a thoughtful expression and he looked at Shaver as though
hoping he might elaborate.

Shaver did
not disappoint him. "Yeah, that's what I thought too. Even after the first
couple of offers. Thought I was fucking untouchable."

"How'd
they get you?"

"First
off, they got me out of a jam, saved my cojones big time, which got me feeling
grateful and almost...beholden. Of course they probably set me up in the first
place, but I didn't think of that at the time. But one good turn deserves
another, you know? And I don't like to be in anyone's debt. I figured that if I
bided my time, I could find an above-board way to return the favor. But my
partner and I started working a real tough case around that time, and Ibo
provided us with the information that helped us nail it. We both got
commendations, Roy and me. And I still didn't see anything wrong. It was like
having a standard relationship with an informant, only this informant had a
pretty high up position in the local crime scene. He was basically using us to
cut the legs out from under his enemies, but we were scoring busts so we didn't
care. It was good for both sides for a while."

"Ibo?" Dee asked. "Essien Ibo?"

"Yeah," said Shaver. "You had any dealings with him?"

"Nah," said Dee. "Even when we were based in the Bronx, our
territory was still Manhattan. I don't get over to Brooklyn much. But I've
heard of him. The Stone Bloods are a little bigger than they used to be."

"Yeah,
they are, and that had a lot to do with me," growled Shaver. "Fucking
ungrateful cocksuckers."

"So,
how did they hook you?"

Shaver
sighed and rubbed a hand through his short, slightly stubbly hair, but stopped,
wincing, when he evidently touched a sore spot on his scalp that he had
forgotten about.

"The
usual way, I suppose. I was having financial problems. My sister got cancer and
needed treatments, but a huge chunk of my salary was and still is going toward
child support. Things were really tight for a while there. And the only one who
seemed to give a shit was Ibo. He was smart enough not to start with cash,
though. He sent round gifts. A bottle of good scotch here, a box of Cuban
cigars there. He gave me the use of a Cadillac when my mom and my sis came to
visit for a week. Said I could keep it longer, but I declined. Next was a
Playstation for my kid. Baseball tickets, concert tickets, real good seats. How
could I say no? All small things, but they added up."

Dee nodded,
fascinated. "Yeah," he said. "I could see that happening to
anybody. Did Ibo set you against the Devils?"

"You
bet he did. It took them a while to catch on, so they kinda came late to the
party. They made me a couple of offers, too, but I was still mostly a good boy
then. I said no. I had a friendly relationship going with Ibo and his gang, and
I didn't think it would be good for my health to play both sides of the
fence." He shook his head ruefully and sighed. "I don't know if
you've met Ibo or not, but although he's a snake, he's a very charming snake
when he wants to be. He was always friendly, always...respectful. I guess he
made me feel important. I was such a fucking idiot." He took a swig of his
water, wishing it was something stronger. "Finally the day came when Ibo
asked me for something. Something small. Wanted me to run some license plates
and give him some names. I figured it couldn't hurt, so I did. But then
the guys those plates were registered to started turning up dead. They were all
crooks in the drug trade, so I can't say I really gave a shit about them, but
that's when I knew I'd turned a corner. It was the work of a couple of minutes.
I couldn't think of a reason to say no. And look where it fucking got me."

"That's shitty luck, man." Dee tried to sound sympathetic. "How
about your partner? Was he in it with you?"

As he had
in the bar the other night, Shaver immediately clammed up. He got up and went
to the sink, where he ran the water for a long time. Dee waited, hoping he
would be able to get more information.

Finally,
when Shaver had refilled his mug and splashed some water on his face and neck,
he came back to the sofa and sat down, looking at Dee, with the water running
down his face like tears. "No," he said. "Roy was a straight
arrow. He figured it out-- I was on Ibo's payroll by then-- and
disapproved. He gave me a month to wrap things up with the Stone Bloods, or he
was gonna turn me in. Fuck, I wish he had."

Dee didn't
speak. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming next.

"I...
God help me, I confided my problem to the gang. They said they'd take care of
it, that they'd put a real good scare into him..." His voice trailed away
and the water in his mug began dancing as a tremor took the power from his
hands. He quickly set the cup down and knotted his fingers together across his
midsection.

"They
killed him, didn't they?" Dee asked softly. It wasn't really a question,
even though it sounded like one.

Shaver
nodded tensely, his expression anguished. He appeared to be holding his breath.

"And
they involved you, didn't they?"

A tiny,
trembling flutter of air, almost like a gasp, escaped Shaver's lips for a
second before he went back to holding his breath. His eyes were tightly shut
and his color didn't look so good. It made the bruises stand out even more
starkly on his face than they had before.

"Come
on, man, you gotta breathe. Have some of your water."

Shaver
bolted out of his seat and went back to the sink, where he once again ran water
and splashed it all over himself. It seemed like about five minutes before he
returned to the sofa, appearing somewhat more composed, if soaking wet.

"Roy
Bannerman was a family man. Had three teenaged daughters," he said in a
low, hollow-sounding voice. "One of 'em was quite a pretty little thing.
All the gang would have had to do was threaten his family, and he would have
packed them all up and transferred the hell out of the NYPD." Shaver
picked up his mug and twisted it around and around in his beefy hands.
"They wouldn't have had to DO anything, just say it. The suggestion
would've been enough. Those shitheads told me I should get out of the warehouse
once they had him in place and they would talk to him." His voice rose
indignantly on the last sentence, only to crack on the next one. "But the
bastards talked with their guns. Fucking shot...shot him to pieces. Roy wasn't
my favorite person, you understand, but he didn't deserve that. His blood is on
my hands. I think about that poor SOB all the time. He was a regular Joe, just
like me. He died hard, and it's my fault."

Shaver
stared out the window for a moment, looking like such a lost soul, that Dee
couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. However, he felt far sorrier for
Roy Bannerman and his bereaved wife and daughters. Sometimes it really sucked
to be a cop.

"That's a heavy load you've been carrying," he said quietly to the
other man, and offered him a cigarette.

Shaver
nodded and accepted it. Dee lit it for him, and then lit one for himself.

Shaver took
a deep drag, sucking the smoke thankfully into his lungs. "It got worse
after that," he continued, blowing out the smoke into the short distance
between himself and Dee. "They paid less and wanted more. And then Mike
got his hooks into me. You know the rest."

"What
was this beating for?" Dee indicated Shaver's face and arms. Judging by
the stiff way the guy was walking, he was bruised all over.

"The
Devils are trying to convince me to stop helping the Bloods. And now Mike wants
me to do the same thing: abandon the Bloods and switch over to the
Devils."

Dee looked
sharply at him. "Abernathy's with the Devils?"

"There's a lot you don't yet know about Abernathy," Shaver said
and tapped his ashes onto a cracked saucer on the coffee table.
"Tell that to your pal the Commissioner."

Suddenly,
he sat up straighter and cocked his head, his whole body alert. The sound of
heavy boots could be heard tramping up the stairs at the end of the hall.

"Fuck!" he hissed. "Get in the shitter now! If they find you
here, we're both dead!"

"What
the--?" Dee had drawn his weapon the minute he saw Shaver snatch up one of
his handguns.

"No
time!" The normally noisy apartment building seemed to have fallen silent
as the sound of several pairs of heavily-shod feet came stamping inexorably
down the corridor toward them.

Shit-kicking boots, Dee thought,
feeling like a rat trapped in a hole. His injury was burning, and he hoped it
wouldn't come to a fight. What the hell? He shouldn't be allowing himself to
catch some of Shaver's obvious fear. The man had never struck him as a coward,
though, whatever else he might think of him. If he was scared, there must
really be something to be scared about. As the footfalls stopped in front of
his door, Shaver propelled Dee into the bathroom with an urgent look of warning
and a finger to his lips.

"Open
up, Shaver, you motherfucker!" shouted a deep male voice.

"Is
that you, Ibo?"

"No
it's Princess fucking Diana back from the dead. Open this fucking door."

Dee heard
them file in. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded as though there were at least
three of them, possibly four. The wall he was listening at shook as
someone was slammed against it, most likely Shaver.

"Tell
me," Ibo's voice continued. "Give me one good reason why I should
waste my time on a fucking useless piece of dogshit like you. First you call me
crying because the Devils caught you snoozing and laid a beating on you. Then
you fail--" the wall shook again as Shaver was presumably re-slammed
against it-- "You fail to show up at a very important meeting it took me
weeks to set up! And after that, you have the TEMERITY to decline to answer my
phone calls! You have ten fucking seconds to explain yourself before Jimmy
fucks you over like you've never been fucked before."

Low, ugly
laughter issued from the henchmen. Dee felt surprised that a low-life gang
leader like Essien Ibo used words like 'temerity' and 'decline'. Shaver could
be heard clearing his throat.

"I'm
already fucked over, man. Look at me. I couldn't get off the sofa until today.
Still pissin' blood."

"That's no excuse for not answering your goddamned phone!" They smashed
Shaver against the wall again, and this time he made a retching sound.

"Boss,
I don't think he's lying. Look at the poor sap. The Devils sure did a number on
him."

Shaver
muttered something that sounded like it came from lower down the wall.
Dee didn't catch what it was, but it made them angry. Essien Ibo raised
his voice and released a stream of invective that made no secret of his low
opinion of the abilities, intelligence, forebears and general worth of
Detective Shaver. The Bronx detective was bounced against the wall several more
times, and by the sounds of it, against the opposite wall too.

There was
suddenly a loud banging noise against the inside structural wall of the
bathroom, accompanied by angry shouting. To his horror, Dee realized that the
next-door neighbor was protesting about the noise coming from Shaver's
apartment. Fuck, if that didn't stop, Ibo's men would be in the bathroom in a
minute! Maybe they hadn't heard. He held his breath.

But his
heart sank as he heard one of them say, "Hey, what the hell was
that?" Another one responded with, "What?" and the first one
said, "That noise in the john." His voice was now just outside the
bathroom door. "You got someone stashed in the crapper, man? I'm gonna
check it out."

Heart
pounding, Dee pointed his gun at the door and braced himself. The only person
who knew he was here was Andrea, as she had been the one to provide him with
Shaver's address, but she had no reason to believe he might be in danger. He wished
he had told Ryo where he was going today. Sure would be nice to know there was
perhaps back-up on the way.

He wondered how many of
them he would be able to shoot before they got him.

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&

end of chapter 29
       
                   
                   
             

Additional author's
notes: And I strike again with an eeeeevil cliffy! But if you really want
to know what happens next, you can go to my LJ page, where Chapter 30 is
already up...
- 28
- 29
- 30
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