“Damn it, Nick,” he said almost in a whisper, his throat closing. “Why did you have to be such a good actor?”
Nick didn’t answer, but shifted a fraction of an inch closer to him, almost as though reassuring John. Fisher looked at them with clear understanding and admiration.
“So,” said John, shifting his gaze to Fisher. “Catch me up on this asshole trying to kill my partner.”
JOHN
“Problem is,” said Fisher, “warrant to tap Vineil’s phone is gonna take until tomorrow. By that time, she may have already contacted people who could harm Aster.”
“We flip the bit -- bast -- bastardess,” said John in a flash of sudden inspiration. “We grab her, drag her into the FBI and scare the daylights out of her.”
Nick got it in seconds. “We make her work for us, we can steer Starr to anyone we like. Do you guys really think you could do that, without granting her immunity for possibly having murdered inmates?”
John and Fisher looked at each other speculatively.
“I can’t get Nick to confess to stealing a donut, but I’m pretty good with most others,” said John.
“Former Guantanamo Bay interrogator,” said Fisher with a small smile. John gave him a sharp look. Fisher answered his unspoken question. “Never. Ever. Not once.”
“Well, I’d be scared to go up against the two of you,” said Nick.
“The thing we’ve got going for us --” Fisher sat forward. “The bad guys at Rikers assume the rest of the system is as brutal as they are. They’re scared shitless being the subjects of it, and if you’re nice to them at all, they fold. They hear I was a Gitmo interrogator, they look around the room for the waterboard and climb my leg like scared puppies.”
John paced back and forth across the cell, realized what he was doing, and stopped with his hands in his pockets. “We provide Vineil with a contact who can supposedly get Nick killed here, for the right price. She tells Starr about it, arranges the fee with him, and we take down Starr when he’s paid for the hit. Get Starr in jail, you can finish your larger investigation in peace with Nick safe.”
Fisher nodded slowly, running his fingers through his short hair. “Could work. We’d need someone special for the role of her contact, though. Gotta assume Starr’ll check him out. Have to have real criminal contacts, that’d be willing to cooperate with the feds and make an enemy of a police officer -”
“We need Theo,” broke in Nick. “Give him an FBI cover. Make him a guy connected with the prison somehow, but not a CO. A guy with a criminal record, who’d know COs too.”
Fisher squeezed the bridge of his nose. “A drug dealer. A dealer who gets drugs into the prison by way of corrupt guards. Aster?”
Nick thought about it. “I was never involved in drugs. But yeah, that happens. Hmmm -- food truck delivery driver. Truck comes in, inmates unload it, if the driver’s used to the routine he’ll usually BS with the inmates during unloading, so will COs.”
“Okay, so Theo’s gonna become a drug-dealing food delivery truck driver,” said John.
Fisher’s phone rang. He listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line, and started fidgeting incessantly with his glasses. “Damn,” he said finally. “Okay. I’m in a meeting with Aster and Langley, I’ll get back to you.”
“What?” asked Nick.
Fisher gave the phone a malevolent glare before slipping it into his pocket. “Starr wasn’t content with just Vineil’s answers. He met with three unsubs tonight, started laying out the Aster situation, and these three said it wasn’t safe to talk out in the open, which it wasn’t. They got into a car and drove through the Holland tunnel at rush hour. That cut off signal to the bug we had planted on him, and whatever conversations took place, my team didn’t hear them.”
John looked alarmed. “So three unidentified guys may be looking to get at Nick?”
“Yep.”
Nick’s head spun. Killing someone in prison was easy. Especially if it could come from either a guard or an inmate. Anything from poison to outright assault could come from a dozen different directions, especially here in the infirmary. One tampered-with syringe ....
He shivered, and his hands went numb. There was only one place where the variables, and access, could be controlled enough to keep him safe.
Solitary confinement.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Choice
JOHN
Prison cells made shitty conference rooms. Kasdan braced himself in the back corner, legs stuck between the cement wall and the steel toilet. Fisher claimed the wheelchair. Nick perched on the bed. John was up to take three of slamming his shins into a round block of metal that some sadistic idiot thought would make a good chair. It had just now occurred to him to actually sit on it, and he lowered himself to the cold surface with a grimace.
“We put him in solitary, he’s a sitting duck. We’d need to protect him every second,” said John.
“Put him in WITSEC, you never see your friend again. Want that?” asked Fisher.
“No!” snapped John. “Any result that has Nick hiding for life is unacceptable. We mop this up now.”
“What, then?” asked Fisher. “Protective custody? Known inmates to get hit anyway.”
Nick raised his hand in the air. John ignored him.
“I put Nick here to protect him from arrest,” said John. “That made sense. This is an old-fashioned introduce-the-witness-to-the-fishes plot, and you and I both know the FBI’s damn good at protecting witnesses. We don’t typically start with ‘lock ‘em up with a couple thousand proven murderers.’”
Nick cleared his throat, waving his raised hand. When would the man just learn to join a damn conversation like a normal adult? “Excuse me ....”
There. “What?” asked John.
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, may I add ‘New Orleans vacation’ to the menu here?” suggested Nick.
John rolled his eyes and glared at Fisher. There was one part of Nick’s interruption that was completely valid. “I make a few calls and Nick and Mari and I are in a safehouse, why you acting like it’s solitary or some even more miserable option?”
Fisher looked away, and his shoulders slumped. “I want to nail this guy, okay? We pull Aster and Starr gets word, we could be looking at months of cat and mouse. Aster stays, we run a sting, have Starr and Vineil behind bars within the week. I get that solitary sucks and this is your friend --”
John stood up, mainly because the metal stool was achieving malevolent levels of discomfort. But it didn’t hurt that he could intimidate Fisher a little. He stepped forward, furious at yet another person trying to make a case through screwing Nick over.
“When the hell did ‘screw over the crime victim and risk their life’ become FBI investigation procedure?” John asked. “If it were a female civilian, would your go-to tactic be ‘let’s toss her in solitary confinement in Sing Sing?’”
“Course not,” said Fisher, standing with his hands curling into fists. He looked around the cell, studying the realities of the space. He lacked the stiff curiosity of John or anyone else who hadn’t spent a great deal of time in prisons and jails. His expression took on a faintly sad note, though, as he took in the cell, and Nick. He was familiar with these places, but he wasn’t accustomed to liking the men confined in them.
“Fine. It’s cruel,” said Fisher. “So’s what happened to thousands of men, women, and teens in Rikers. Aster is not a civilian, he’s practically an FBI agent, and we put ourselves on the line to stop bad guys.”
John drew a deep breath. That ....was kind of right. And Nick had told him flat-out that he didn’t want to paint himself as a victim.
John glanced at the man in orange sitting quietly on the bed, and caught a flash of pain in Nick’s blue eyes that was all too familiar. It was subtle, stoic. It came with being arrested, with having his anklet put back on, with being reminded he was a prisoner. It was a pain that never pled for mercy or sympathy, because it re
cognized that there was none to be found.
Mari’s words came back to him in an instant. You’ll leave him terrified, freezing, in pain while you go play with his life and his liberty without involving him. How is he supposed to be anything but sad and scared?
“Could you leave us for a moment?” asked John. Fisher nodded and left the cell, Kasdan on his heels. The door clanged shut, the sound echoing down the hallway and reverberating through the cell. Kasdan turned impulsively and slid the shatterproof plastic window closed so they could talk in private. Guy was learning.
John sat in the wheelchair. “It’s your life on the line,” said John. “What do you want to do?”
Nick startled, staring at John until he was over the shock. Then he just looked incredibly moved. “Run away to New Orleans with you and Mari, of course.”
John started to roll his eyes, then realized what Nick had just said. I want to run. Not from you. With you.
“What is it with you and New Orleans?” asked John.
“Shiny things,” said Nick with a grin. “Lots and lots of shiny things. Necklaces, and beads, and ....stuff. And I’ve never been there.”
“Plenty of places to slip away in a crowd without your anklet ....”
“That, too,” agreed Nick. He looked down at his hands. “So my options are solitary confinement, witness protection, protective custody, or FBI-sanctioned running away?”
John nodded. “Fisher’s a bit overdramatic, an’ I’m still not sure he realizes you’re anything beyond a human-shaped chess piece. I’d have to make some calls, but I know the FBI is really damn good at protecting witnesses. It’s kinda our thing.”
Nick looked at him directly. “Are you really letting me have the final decision, or is this a case of ‘make him feel like it’s his choice?’”
John turned away, and rested his hand on the baton at his hip. It was quiet in the infirmary wing this late at night. Their raised voices had probably disturbed other inmates.
A nurse walked by at a brisk pace, footsteps slapping on the floor, his tense look indicating he was probably responding to an alarm. It felt like the calm before the storm, and it was. Nick had probably a few more hours of safety before things got dangerous and unpleasant.
He turned back. “It’s your life, and your liberty at stake. Your decision.”
Those words, spoken so casually, ripped the fabric of John’s universe. John’s head spun, his body wobbled, and he gripped the arms of the wheelchair to stay upright as his vision closed in like he’d been shot. He was about to start crying. Not dignified, subtle little tears, or a manly sniffle suited to an FBI agent, but crying.
He spun the wheelchair around, seeking the corner of the cell, hiding. He buried his face in his hands.
In Rikers, he’d held Nick as he was literally dying. He’d never felt like he was going to lose him, because he was in charge, and damn it, Nick didn’t have permission to die. He’d decided it and that was that: No dying, Nick.
Letting Nick decide his fate had just shattered that illusion completely. For the first time, he felt the visceral grief he’d blocked out in that cell. How close Nick had come to death. How much danger he was in every single day.
And the thought of losing him was simply unbearable. John tried to stop crying, and it didn’t work. Realizing he truly had no control over whether Nick lived or died was shattering him. Damn it, Nick was his.
His Nick Aster, his partner, his friend, his responsibility. His insanity-engendering, gray-hair-creating pain in the ass. Not the universe’s to do with what it pleased, because damn it, I said no.
What magical powers did you think that anklet had, Langley? How exactly did you start thinking putting an electronic shackle on the guy was some sort of magic transceiver that broadcast “Property of John Langley, Do Not Touch” into the universe?
It failed, and I almost lost him.
A gentle hand came to rest on his upper back, a warm touch patting him with palpable affection. It reminded him of one of the most touching sensations he’d felt in his life, soft, sleeping Nick’s arm tucked across his chest. This must be why human beings limited the number of people they became truly close to in their lives. Every person was at risk, and the heart could bear only so much of that pain.
Was that why he was only supposed to have a wife, and not a wife and a husband? Because two was a less risky number than three? But by that logic, families should never risk having children.
Nick turned the chair around to face him. He looked so “prison inmate” in his orange jumpsuit, and so Nick in the way his eyes met John’s. His expression was compassionate, reassuring, even containing a trace of a smile. “John.”
“I can’t lose you,” said John.
“I don’t particularly want to lose me either,” said Nick. “Does it really scare you that bad? Letting me decide something on my own?”
John nodded. “I guess so. Didn’t know that.”
“I’m not good at rules,” said Nick. “But staying alive and in one piece? That, I’m good at.”
John managed a weak smile. “That you are,” he admitted.
Nick extended a hand to John, pulling him to his feet. “And I’m really sick of being in prison. So let’s figure out how to swap me out with Starr, and go home.”
“What --” John fumbled and realized he didn’t even know how to ask Nick what his decision was.
“I need to talk to Agent Fisher first,” said Nick, heading for the door and rapping hard on the window. John stood in a daze.
They called Fisher back in, and Nick gave him a very careful look. Don’t even think about deceiving me, it warned.
“With LeBlanc gone, and all of this public, what’s your read of the NYPD administration in general? Not counting Starr, they laying for me?”
Fisher thought it over, frowning with his eyes narrowed. “Starr and maybe a crony or two are the only ones,” he answered finally. “The commissioner, the chief, the officials out at Rikers ....they see you as a massive PR problem, and their thoughts run more to payoff than revenge. There’s no coming back from the disaster of those images, or the way their release destroyed the PR guy. They’re professionals who know when to cut their losses.”
“Get the impression the line officers hate me?” asked Nick.
“No. Absolutely not. Aside from your usual expected assholes -- once those images went public.... I don’t think there’s a good cop in the city who isn’t ashamed. Much as I disagree with your not suing, you scored major points with the officers for that, after they saw how horrific it actually was.”
Fisher stopped short. He went completely still, staring at Nick. He blinked, twice, and cleared his throat. “You -- having those images go public ....”
“Best thing that could’ve happened to me,” said Nick, nodding smoothly. John could see an ill-concealed hint of a smile.
“Whoever did that --” Fisher fumbled for words. “....really kind of did you a favor, didn’t they? Releasing those photos?”
John’s eyebrows shot up, and his jaw went slack. Fisher looked ....guilty. Fisher? Special Agent Fisher had posted images of Nick’s naked and bleeding body to the internet?
Nick’s face bore a broad smirk. “Why, yes. Couldn’t have worked out any better if I’d set it up myself.”
The silence of all three of them staring at each other was as hard to break as it was uncomfortable.
Nick damn Aster.
Something softened in Nick’s expression. “So it’s down to Starr.”
“Pretty much,” said Fisher, relieved. “And we’ve made inroads at Riker’s, but I wouldn’t vouch for your safety in there yet. My agents watch their backs there like it’s feeding time for the coliseum lions. I do think ....at this point most cops would hesitate to send you there. They’d probably protect you from it. I’m actually partnered now with an Internal Affairs Captain who’s a fantastic person and probably the best investigator I’ve ever worked with, and he knows the department inside and out
. He ....actually teared up when we went and looked at that bloody cell and the pictures that were taken in it.”
Nick shifted position, leaning back against the blinding white wall of the cell. “What I’m hearing is that if I disappear, it’s back to waiting out a major investigation. If I stay here and act as bait, we’ll probably have him behind bars within a week.”
Fisher nodded. “And he’ll probably turn cooperating witness against himself on all the Rikers coercion stuff once we have him in a cell. We won’t let him off the hook -- more like agree on housing in a facility where he’ll be safe from retribution. But if he cooperates, he could name people he railroaded into confessing. There could be hundreds of innocent people in prison right now that we learn about sooner.”
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 35
