“This?” asked Nick. “Or everything else?”
“Look,” said John. “You are a brain damaged criminal, and you can be a real idiot.”
“You should do TED talks. That’s how inspirational you are.”
“But you’re nowhere close to friendless on a street corner - was gonna be my point,” said John. “Finding this out about your brain doesn’t change who you are, it’s just a tool to maybe understand yourself a bit.”
“If I - if it explains my behavior, but doesn’t excuse it, does that mean I can make myself be normal?”
John chewed on that one for a minute. “You really wanna be normal?”
“No,” admitted Nick.
JOHN
When John answered the doorbell, he found Kelly with another FBI agent.
“John, this is Agent Dan Fisher. He’s working the Rikers case.”
John brought them in and served coffee.
“What’s the news?”
Fisher grimaced. He was a lean and serious fellow whose military haircut looked out of place against a pair of professorial glasses.
“It’s a tough case when everyone involved’s spectacularly unlikable. The city’s throwing an everloving fit over the investigation and the police commissioner's warning us it’s goodbye NYPD cooperation if we pursue it. They want this to be about the other inmates that got hurt, because they’re all violent guys with long rap sheets.”
“In other words, people a jury won’t want to side with,” said John.
“Correct,” said Fisher. “They’re also going after Aster. They wanted his work release revoked for getting arrested and provoking violence at the jail, and your boss and mine managed to block that. But they’re considering charging him with aggravated assault for kicking an inmate, and accessory to assault for causing the fight which led to the injury of several guards.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fault Lines
JOHN
“What?” John stood, fists clenched.
“Boss.” Kelly stopped John with a light touch on the arm, and he sat.
Fisher adjusted his glasses and gave John an uneasy glance. “City’s hoping to get Aster to dismiss in return for dropping those charges.”
“I can’t believe this,” said John.
“You can’t believe a prosecutor would maliciously over-charge to force a deal?” asked Fisher, rolling his eyes. “How long you been an agent again?”
“No prosecutor I’ve ever worked with has over-charged a violent crime victim to make him drop charges against his attackers,” retorted John.
“There haven’t been any warrants issued,” said Fisher. He wasn’t exactly the warmest guy, but John got the impression he was intelligent. “If we handle the posturing right, there won’t be. I wouldn’t worry Aster yet.”
“Okay,” said John. He sat back and contented himself with the mental image of walking into the police commissioner’s office and punching the guy until his knuckles bled.
Kelly’s face tightened. “Boss...if criminal charges against me were being considered, I’d want to know.”
John shook his head. “Nick runs when things get bad. He’s already scared and hurting. He had to contemplate goin’ back there, he’d kill himself trying to get away.”
Kelly gave Fisher a look that foretold his grisly murder should he betray her trust. “If you aren’t giving him the chance to protect himself, you damn well better make sure he never has to.”
Fisher shifted uncomfortably and glanced around the room for an escape. Finding none, he adjusted his glasses again.
“I’m here because we’re considering a deal of our own,” said Fisher. “But considering how seriously Aster was victimized, we want his blessing before we offer immunity to one of those guards.”
“Which one?” asked John. He thought of the guy who’d locked him in the cell and tensed.
“His name is Ken Stanford. He claims not to have hurt Aster.”
Fisher dug a tablet out of his leather messenger bag, and showed him a photo. John didn’t recognize the man.
“Claims? You got evidence?” asked John.
Fisher sighed and brought up a video file. He handed John the tablet.
“Most of the cameras and recording equipment out there are in really bad shape. There actually were cameras running on most of this, but we don’t have a lot. The images cut in and out, there are blind spots, flickering, guards are hard to identify....we could really use this guy’s testimony.”
John reached his finger for the play button, but Kelly stopped him with another soft touch.
“Boss - I’ve seen this footage.” Kelly sounded a little shaky. “You can tell it’s Nick. I’m as hardened as you are, and I’m suggesting you don’t watch it. I never wanted to see or hear our friend like this.”
John hardened his jaw. “I have to be the one to help him through the aftermath. I need to have seen it.”
Kelly nodded, and squeezed his arm. This time, she didn’t let go. But she looked away when John tapped play.
John set the tablet aside when it was finished, and Kelly rubbed his shoulder. The footage from the yard that Daniel had shown him hadn’t disturbed him. But Nick lying naked on a cement floor, Nick clawing at the floor in agony while he was beaten, Nick being punched in the stomach for politely asking permission to call John, Nick screaming and pleading while he was tortured with pepper spray - those were images that scarred his soul.
John stood. “I have to go see Nick.”
He climbed the stairs and knelt down beside the bed, not caring that Nick could see the tears in his eyes. “I just saw the CCTV footage.”
Nick closed his eyes, and tears started leaking from their corners. “John.”
John wrapped his arms around Nick’s upper body, and touched his forehead to Nick’s.
“I’m sorry, Nick. It’ll never be okay, and I’m sorry.”
They couldn’t file charges against this guy. A sweet human being they’d beaten bloody, who’d spent the night literally clinging to him and his wife for comfort and reassurance. They just couldn’t. Even considering it or threatening it was pure evil.
Nick wrapped his arms around John’s back with soft affection, and almost timid hesitation. There was a part of Nick who was never sure of his footing around John on a good day, let alone when his foundation had just been cracked with batons.
“Last night, it was okay,” whispered Nick, hiding his face against John’s arm, barely breathing, his body stiff. This was a combination of deep trust and, John finally realized, fear. John was law enforcement. John could hurt him. And with a few words, send him back behind bars.
Not only that, but Nick’s worst fears were founded. He could conceivably be arrested and returned to Rikers, and the reception would be an ugly one.
“I will sleep, eat, and work beside you and protect you until one day you feel safe again,” promised John.
And if they come for him? a sick-feeling little voice inside the pit of his stomach asked. How are you going to stop them, and how will Nick ever feel safe or trust again? If he even survives?
Then he knew, and felt like he’d been kicked in the heart. He’ll escape, and you’ll never see or hear from him again.
“Please don’t run away from this, Nick,” said John, running his fingers through the tangle of dark, wavy hair. A surge of tenderness startled him.
I cherish you, Nick. I don’t think you know that. I cherish you.
Nick looked at him, startled, eyes wide. John’s stomach sank. Nick had already been contemplating running.
“Try an’ have the courage and trust in humanity to see this through,” said John.
Coward. Say it, if you’re asking Nick to put his damn life on the line.
“If you run, it’ll break my heart,” said John, trying and failing to keep his voice from cracking. “I - would grieve more than you can possibly imagine.”
Nick looked at him with such searing grief, it took John’s breath awa
y. “I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t,” said John. “Give - real human bonds a chance. Stay and fight for who an’ what you want to be. It’s worth it. I swear to you, it’s worth it.”
Nick’s face was swollen from darkening bruises, and there was stubble on his chin. His blue eyes were bright with tears, glazed from drugs and pain. They seemed to have somehow lost color.
“Okay,” Nick said, his voice thick with emotion. “But if you saw the tape - you know now it was my fault.”
“Tape’s pretty sketchy. How was it your fault?” asked John. He already knew about the phone, but he was curious how Nick would tell the story.
“I borrowed a guard’s phone....without his consent. They found it on a pat search. They - beat the hell out of me for it, and things went downhill from there.”
Nick pushed against John and grabbed a handful of shirt. “That - beating was the worst part, that and being dragged - with the pepper spray - I expect thugs to be thugs. But with the guards - it took all I had not to just start crying.”
“Oh, Nick.”
John had to take a minute to compose himself. He stroked the side of Nick’s face with his thumb, finding the few areas that weren’t bruised red and purple, and ran his fingers through his friend’s hair. He didn’t really know what he was doing, just that he had no way to fight the damage done by cruelty other than to do the opposite.
Nick closed his eyes, and the tension in his muscles eased. He released John’s shirt and just left a hand on his back. For someone who so cherished physical contact, it must have hurt on a whole other level to be struck, and touched and held for the purpose of inflicting pain.
John drew a deep breath. “That was dumb, lifting the phone. But it doesn’t come close to justifying - when I had you in interrogation, you smuggled in a key, stole my watch and tried to take the table apart. I would no sooner have beaten you for that than I would shoot myself in the head. If you took my phone, I probably would have swatted you with it. Gently. Just because you’re you. Anyone else, anyone I didn’t like, I’d just roll my eyes and put it back in my pocket.”
Nick smiled, with sincere affection. “Yeah, but you’re awesome. I’m not dumb enough to do that around most guys.”
John raised his eyebrows. “Did the CO whose phone you lifted seem awesome?”
Nick regarded him with a sheepish expression. “No. I was bored. And a little pissed off. Because one of them punched me for asking to call you.”
“Wow. You really are brain damaged.” John was careful to inject the harsh words with teasing playfulness.
“I know, right?” Nick’s expression was open, and thoughtful. “I’ve never made sense, even to myself. My exact thought as I did that was, ‘This is dumb.’ I actually knew I’d get beaten senseless if they caught me, but - I was bored.”
John reached for the tablet. “Was one of the COs a guy named Ken Stanford?”
Nick frowned. “Dunno.”
John handed him the tablet with the image on screen. “Recognize him?”
Nick nodded. “He was on the team that searched me after the beating. Didn’t hurt me, he actually helped me a bit with getting dressed and standing while they fingerprinted me.”
“Investigators want to give him immunity for his testimony. But they want to know if you’d be okay with that, if he abused you or....”
“He didn‘t,” said Nick. “I think he was the most decent guy I dealt with there. I’m fine with a deal, I’d kind of hate to see him punished.”
“Okay.” John set the tablet aside. “Just watching that footage - when your anklet went offline, I freaked out. I imagined you running, kidnapped, injured - but what scared me the most was thinking you’d run and wind up in the hands of a foreign justice system that would mistreat you.”
“Ha, ha,” muttered Nick with dark sarcasm.
“I never, never thought something would happen to you right here in New York that’d make Amnesty International cry.”
Kelly gave the open door a quiet knock, and Nick startled. But he broke into a wide grin when he spotted her. She started putting things on the nightstand.
“Cheesy get well soon card, check. Even cheesier get well soon balloons, check. Flowers, check.”
“Kelly. I didn’t peg you for being so traditional.” Nick’s eyes were sparkling, and John could swear their color was coming back.
She put a wrapped box in his hands. “Booze-filled chocolates, check.” Then a bottle wrapped in colored foil. “Chocolate-filled booze, check.”
Nick started chuckling, and reached for her hand. She leaned over and hugged him, pressing her cheek against his.
Nick hugged her fiercely in return. “Thank you.”
She straightened, squeezed his shoulder, and vanished into the hall only to reappear seconds later holding a plush black cat that had to be four feet long from nose to tail. It was wearing a bandit mask made from a paisley handkerchief, and attached to its white starched collar was a sack filled with chocolate coins wrapped in gold.
She plunked it down on his chest, and despite his halfhearted, beaming wiggles of protest, tucked one paw across each of his shoulders.
“Hey!” Nick’s mock complaint was cut short when the cat’s head fell on his nose.
Kelly planted her hands on her hips. “I read that one in four adult men sleep with a stuffed animal. Now it can be one in one Nick Asters. Enjoy your cat burglar.”
Nick reached up and scratched it behind the ear. “I’m in love. Thanks - Kelly.”
JOHN
John was sound asleep that night when an alert on his phone jerked him awake. He checked it, and his stomach sank.
Nick’s anklet was offline.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Arsenic and Creamer
JOHN
John rapped on the door and opened it. “Nick?”
“Rrm...umph? Mm?”
John grinned in relief.
“Nick, your anklet is offline.” John spoke in a soft voice in the quiet night. “May I turn the light on?”
“Uh? Umph - yeah. Wha?”
There were two heads sticking out from under the blankets. Nick was on his side hugging Kelly’s cat burglar tight to his body, its head tucked under his chin. He was unabashedly cuddling the thing.
John stood at the side of the bed. “Show it to me.”
A very sleepy Nick stuck his ankle out from under the covers. His eyes widened in dismay when he realized John had just caught him clinging to a stuffed cat.
“Behold, the criminal mastermind,” he muttered. “The mighty lion-tamer of Sing Sing. I feed it the bones of my enemies.”
John smiled. “Remember about not being embarrassed?”
“It’s the drugs,” said Nick with a spark of humor in his voice, not actually trying to sell it.
“Uh-huh,” said John. “You’re adorable.”
Nick gave a theatrical groan and hid his face in the fur of his new best friend. “Never living this week down. Ever.”
John checked the anklet. The indicator light was off. He gave Nick a gentle pat on the ankle, and sat down in a chair by the bed. Nick stuck out his hand out from under the covers, and John squeezed it.
John’s phone was going nuts. After reassuring Curry, Wash, and the Marshal’s office, he texted a request for a GPS watch and a couple probies to monitor it. Nick sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Wanna drag yourself downstairs?” asked John. “There’s gonna be people showing up to investigate.”
“I’ll come down.” Nick’s voice was oddly sober. He took a wistful look around the room, gave the cat burglar a pat on the head, and drew in a deep breath.
“You okay?”
“If the system’s having real problems, they’re going to put me back in prison until they work it out,” said Nick. “I’m just - saying goodbye.”
“No. Nick, no,” said John, feeling a tug of incredible sadness.
Nick could be so heartbreakingly accept
ing, the result of a good nature and years stripped of free will. It’d always baffled him how Nick could both accept consequences and be deeply hurt by them, yet show no inclination whatsoever to change or learn from the pain he inflicted on himself.
Now he understood. There really was a glitch in his friend’s brain, an actual, physical injury behind the incomprehensible behavior.
“I won’t leave your side,” John promised. “The absolute worst thing I will let anyone do to you is transfer you to the FBI, and if that happens, I’m bringing you an air mattress and warm blankets and sleeping at the door.”
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 10
