by Eleanor Dax
"You've, uh," Roy paused, frowning at his empty plate. "Worked there?" He glanced up.
Casey was looking at him, brown eyes guarded. "Yeah," he said.
Roy just nodded, looking down again. The next moment passed in quiet, and finally he just asked, "Why do you do this, huh? You're smart, you've got a degree. Literature or something, right? I don't get it."
The corner of Casey's mouth quirked up in a small grin. "American literature," he corrected. "Lot of good it's done me."
"I know it's tough out there right now-"
The grin disappeared. "Don't patronize me. There's my record, too. That doesn't help."
"Yeah, okay," Roy said. "Fine. A lot of guys have records."
"Like mine?" Casey's face was hard. He seemed brittle to Roy. Obviously, the point was a sore one for him. "A fucking punk? Trade?" He threw the word at Roy, shaking his head. "No. Not unless I want to take a serious pay cut, anyway. And that won't help. Doing this, on a good night, I can pull three hundred, maybe three-fifty. That's one night. How many jobs are going to get me anywhere near that kind of money?"
Sitting back in the booth, Roy folded his arms across the chest. Settled in his chair. "How many good nights you have a week?"
Casey gave a quick snort of laughter and said bitterly, "None lately. You see, there are these two d-bag cops who keep following me around, and I can't get any work done."
"D-bag," Roy muttered. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
Quiet again, though the restaurant was alive around them.
Technically, there was recourse for people like Casey, organizations built into the system to assist in finding work and shelter, but Roy knew as well as any that the system was screwed. It allowed guys like Darren to work above the law, and guys like Casey to fall through its cracks.
"Listen," Roy said, slightly gruff, "What can you do? As far as working. You must have some experience. Skills."
Casey seemed confused by the question, then suspicious. He peered at Roy. "Why?"
"Jesus." Roy glanced around. "I'm just asking, you know. What kind of work can you do? You went to school, I'm assuming you can, I don't know, type. Something."
"Um, yeah." Casey stared at him. "Type, yeah. And cook. Not great, nothing fancy, but I've worked a line before."
"Cook?" That was something.
"Yeah. Nothing fancy."
"What, like burgers?"
"And other stuff. I learn fast." Casey shut his mouth and frowned into his pint glass.
That was good, and Roy said so, tucking the information away for later. After an awkward minute he said, "Crazy weather we're having," in an effort to relieve the thick tension that had so quickly developed.
Casey laughed, not bitter like before, and sent Roy an odd look. He smiled then, and scrubbed a hand through his light curls, sitting back. He spared a glance for the darkened window, and quietly agreed, "Definitely crazy."
Weirdly touched by Casey's smile, Roy asked, "So what's the plan for tonight?"
Casey shrugged. "Find somewhere quiet, I guess. I don't know." He squeezed the back of his neck. "Maybe get a room. Getting a little old to be sleeping in my car every night." He gave another smile, wry this time, like they were friends just talking, just out for pizza and beer at the end of another long day, and suddenly Roy did feel like a d-bag.
"Yeah," he said. "Hey, you ready to get out of here? I'm going to need a look at that bag."
He got Casey to drive and directed him to a motel on 3rd. Casey grew silent as they pulled into the lot, and as Roy went to the office, waited in the car. Roy jogged out and tapped the window with the card key.
"Bring your stuff," he said through the glass.
In the room Casey's unease was sharp. He left the messenger bag on the small table provided and stood warily by the door. Roy let him, pulling the heavy curtains shut and going to the bag.
It was speed, which fit his theory. The white brick had been cut up into one-hitters, and Roy wondered if Darren had done it himself.
"He brought the bag?" he asked, and thought, no, he would have noticed a bag on Darren's person even during their brief encounter.
"Someone else," Casey answered, quiet, and finally approached the table. He spoke reluctantly. "It was dark, so I didn't get a great look, but he was white, maybe this tall, kind of fat, I guess." He mimicked a belly over his own with both hands.
"Think you'd recognize a picture?"
"Maybe." He shrugged, staring at Roy.
"Hnh." Roy pocketed just one of the hits and closed the bag. "I don't have any cash for you tonight," he said, not meeting Casey's eye. "So keep the room. Stay a few days. I'll be in touch."
"What?"
"The room," Roy said, not looking at him. He didn't want to make a big deal out of it. "Keep it. And don't mention it to Darren."
Casey said, "Uh, no, I can't afford this."
"Look, it's on me. Just don't break anything, they have my information at the desk."
Casey's face went blank. "Oh," he said. "So you're just getting me a room."
"Yeah," Roy said, rougher than he'd meant. "That a problem?"
Casey snorted, putting on a big fake smile and crossing his arms over his chest. "Cash would have been better."
"You need a place to stay, don't you? Well, here you go."
"I already have a place to stay."
"That junk heap in this city? Please. You said yourself you wanted a place tonight. And anyway, you'll be safer here." The silence that followed made Roy wonder why he'd put it that way. Safer. He added, "It's freezing out," and decided that wasn't much better.
"Right," Casey said after a minute. "Look, what is this? All the questions, the room, the long fucking looks over pizza--"
Roy sputtered, "Looks-!" but Casey only sneered.
"Please. You looking to save somebody, Detective? Think if you get me grateful enough I'll suck your big cop dick? Fuck you, asshole."
"This isn't like that." Roy's voice was steady but his heart thudded strong in his chest, and the blood roared in his ears. It wasn't like that. He wasn't like that.
"Bullshit," Casey muttered, and stalked away. Roy watched him circle the room, looking the bed over, opening the cabinet. Closing it again. "What, I'm not worth a real hotel? Figures."
"It's a fucking motel room," Roy said. "You're over-thinking it."
Casey just gave him a look over his shoulder, long and hot. It stopped Roy in his tracks. Casey looked him slowly up and down, examining him like he would a piece of meat. Predictably, Roy's body responded.
"I drove you here," Casey said. "What were you going to do? Act like you'd forgotten? Say, 'Oh well,' and take the floor? I'm not an idiot."
If he ignored the heat in his groin and focused on the knots in his belly, Roy could name the sensation anger. Of course Casey would think that way. Everything he was revolved around sex and manipulation.
"You're flattering yourself," he growled. "You think I'm desperate enough to go to all that trouble? So Darren kept you in the bar just talking, huh? I saw you with him after, by your car. There something else happening there, Casey Brown? Something I should know about?"
Casey's face went red. "What did you say?" Not so controlled anymore. Roy latched on like a dog with a bone.
"Sounds like for all your talk you have a thing for cops after all. Hell, guess I was wrong before, maybe you are in the right business."
Casey said nothing but his face closed up tight like he'd gone away inside. He just stared at Roy for a long minute until, disgusted, Roy turned away.
At the door he said, "Stay. Or don't. It's your call, I don't really give a fuck."
Roy left the room without another word. He moved from the property at a fast clip, heading blindly up the road. His erection pressed tightly against his zipper, but he ignored it with a sense of grim determination. All he could think was Casey fucking Brown, again and again. His name, his face, his empty fucking eyes.
You try to help somebody,
he thought, furious, and they throw it in your face. He didn't need that kind of bullshit in his life. People like Casey used others for a living. All they cared about was the next hit, the next buck. Fuck it.
He just walked for a while, fuming and ignoring his hard-on until it finally went away. Casey fucked men, he thought. It had been a few months, and Roy associated Casey with sex. Casey had looked at him that way in the room and Roy's body reacted. It was a purely physical response and nothing more.
At last Roy stopped at a gas station to borrow the payphone. He called for a patrol car and, once it arrived, gave curt directions to his building. He stayed up the rest of the night poring over the Adams reports and trying to get the image of those empty brown eyes out of his head.
Chapter five
The cop had told him to stay a few days, so Casey figured he might as well take advantage. He wasn't feeling so hot and the nights were getting colder. Hurt his pride but he wasn't stupid. If he got sick, especially this time of year, he was screwed.
The motel was just close enough to the SoFA district that the next couple of nights he ended up bringing a few tricks back. Not something he normally would have done but he was still fucked in the head after the encounter with Roy, not to mention Darren's roaming hands at the bar.
The guy--his name was Alan--took a slow turn about the room. "Anything to drink?" he asked. He was thirty-five, maybe forty, thinning hair and a slight paunch. Another party boy who refused to call it quits. Or just didn't have it in him.
"No," Casey said, drawing the curtains shut. "Sorry. Got that other stuff, though."
A big grin appeared on the guy's face. "Right," he said, coming over. "How about it?"
Shucking his jacket and dropping it over the chair back, Casey faced the guy with a practiced smile. That night alone he'd sucked three guys off, given a hand job to another, and sold a good quarter of the shit Darren had given him. He was tired, ass still aching from the night before, eyes kind of scratchy, but he tried not to think about it.
"How about we do that later," he said, dropping his gaze to check the guy's package. Not exactly bulging. He looked up again with that same smile. "Hey," he said. "Come here."
The guy--Alan--he looked doubtful but went over, gaze jumping to Casey's bag and back again. Casey slipped a hand around the back of the guy's neck and kissed him. Didn't get much reaction but kept at it and eventually a warm tongue slipped into his mouth. He let out a little moan, guessing it sounded real enough, and with his eyes shut he could almost pretend this was something good, something he really wanted. Alan's lips were soft against his own, his cheeks smooth.
They broke away. Casey searched the guy's eyes and felt his heart sink.
"Just one hit," Alan murmured, breath hot in Casey's ear. His hands slid down Casey's back to grope his ass. "I want to be high when we fuck."
Casey gave in. He didn't want to keep this trick any longer than he had to, so he went to the bag and opened up. "Okay," he said, letting a bit of attitude creep into his voice. "Fine, but you pay for everything now."
"You take Visa? Just kidding. Here." The guy came up from behind, kissing the back of his neck as Casey counted the money. Casey let him, a little bothered but not enough to make a thing out of it. He tucked the money away and handed a baggy over.
"Need a light?"
"No. Want some?"
Casey hesitated.
The guy had a piece with him as well as a light, and he lay all the paraphernalia out on the small table. His eyes were intent, mood calm now that he had his shit. He glanced over, a small grin on his face. "Come on," he said.
"Nah," Casey told him, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I shouldn't."
"Why not? Don't tell me you never tried it before."
Looking away, Casey rocked back on his heels. He hated this shit. Just fuck me, he wanted to say, and get lost. "Yeah, I have."
"So? What's the problem? Don't like it?"
It was the easiest answer, and pretty much the truth. Casey said, "Yeah," and watched him light up.
It was all Casey could do to get a condom on the guy before his ass was stuffed with cock. He let out a grunt, wincing sharp at the pain. One hand flew back to grip the guy's thigh and he said, "Wait--" but Alan didn't pay him much mind.
It was rough, and didn't do much for Casey except make him grateful Roy had told him to stay. Grateful he hadn't stormed off like he'd first thought to, with Roy's words still hot in his mind. He couldn't imagine sleeping in his car after this.
"Ow--fuck--"
A hand came down hard on his ass and Alan pumped steady and quick, sweating chemicals and saying, "Aw, yeah," over and over. Casey buried his face in his arms and covered his head with his hands. He knew better than to get it on with a speed freak when they were flying. He fucking knew better. This wouldn't end anytime soon. Served him right. If Roy could see him now…
Casey squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying not to think of the cop but it was useless. What the fuck had he been thinking? No way would Roy go for someone like him, not even for a quick fuck. No way would he ever be that--how had he put it? Desperate.
It went on and on until Alan finally jerked inside him and groaned, "Oh, fuck yes." He slipped out and Casey rolled to his side, not saying a thing. He had his money. The guy tried getting him to talk a couple of times but Casey kept his answers short. Soon, he was alone.
He drifted for a while, feeling sorry for himself and trying not to think of just how fucking pointless everything seemed. A sharp knock at the door brought him out of it. He jumped up and out of bed, still naked.
"Who is it?" he called, alarmed. Maybe the motel manager, maybe Alan again, or one of the other tricks. Maybe Roy. His guts twisted up inside, and he felt suddenly hot all over. No, no, please no--
Quickly, he dressed and went to the door, opening it.
Darren filled the doorway, glowering down at him. His eyes were hard, icy. "Took you long enough."
"Sorry-"
Casey stepped aside as Darren pushed past him. What the hell, he thought, mind racing. What the hell? How had Darren found him? Did it have something to do with Roy? Maybe after everything Roy had given up, figured out Casey really was a loser and told Darren everything. They were both cops, and had a hell of a lot more in common with each other than Casey, that was for fucking sure.
"Where's the shit?"
It was right there on the table by the door, but Casey showed him anyway. "Here." Crossing his arms over his chest, he hung back and watched.
Darren pawed through. "You been busy," he said at last.
Shrugging a little, Casey said nothing. He'd kept their cash separate: his share with his clothes in another bag, Darren's with the product. He was glad for his forethought all over again.
Darren counted the money, finally turning to face him. He looked Casey up and down, and Casey stared at the wall. He was so tired, his body hurt, he just wanted to be alone. Wanted to sleep and forget everything.
"You did good," the cop said at last.
Casey bobbed his head, not looking up. The silence stretched, thick with growing tension, and finally Casey raised his gaze, wary.
"Busy tonight?" Darren asked, staring hard with his flat blue eyes.
"Well," Casey hedged, glancing away and back again. "Not too bad."
"No?" Darren pressed.
Casey fidgeted under the gaze. What did Darren care? What was he really asking? "No, not really."
Darren stared a moment more, and finally looked away. He thumbed off a few bills and handed them over. "There," he said. "Get rid of the rest and meet me Friday night. Ten o'clock."
Staring at the bills in his hand, Casey asked, "Where?"
"I'll let you know."
Finally, Casey managed to look up on his own and meet the cop's eyes. For a moment they only stared. Then Casey asked, "How'd you know I was here?"
The cops lips peeled back in a slow grin. "Can't hide from me," he said. It was probably supposed to be a
joke, but it just made Casey feel sick inside.
"Right," he said, numb.
The cop didn't say anything for a long minute, just stared with his ugly grin fading. Gave Casey elevator eyes, up and down, and Casey just hugged himself again. It was cold in the room. The cop reached out and passed a hand through his hair, lingering over the short curls and resting finally at the back of his neck.
Fuck it, Casey thought. What was the difference? A dick was a dick was a dick. He was sick of fighting all the time. Still, he held back.
"Go on," the cop said, his voice rough and low. There was a gleam in his eye, like he'd won something.
The hand over his nape applied insistent pressure, and finally Casey went down. Fuck it, he thought again. In the end, what did it matter? He was what he was, and this shit came with the territory.
The cop let him do his thing for a while before taking over. It was rough, like Darren had something to prove, and Casey tried to stay loose, just taking what the cop had to give him. He went away inside like he did sometimes, and soon enough it was over.
Days passed. Roy spent his daylight hours in the pen, lonelier than usual with Gomez not speaking to him. He tried to catch her alone a few times but things were so damn crazy it didn't pan out.
Darren made an appearance or three, checking in with Roy and the lieutenant on some of their cases. Roy put on a good enough show and didn't discuss anything beyond their legitimate work. Darren made some noise about an influx of heroin in the city, cut to shit with rat poison and who knew what else. The lieu told him to keep on it, and Roy just stared at his boss trying to tell if he knew how fucking dirty Darren was, if he gave a shit, or if he were in on it.
When they were dismissed Roy went straight to his desk. He watched Darren from the corner of his eye, bent over his computer typing away. Making up for lost time, Roy guessed. The stack of reports on Darren's desk had grown high over the last week, and he wouldn't be done with them anytime soon. Shutting his desktop down, Roy stood, pulling his jacket up from the back of the chair and sliding into it.
