by Pandora Pine
Ronan and Tennyson each turned to the captain. Tennyson was curious to see what his punishment would be since he technically didn’t work for the Boston Police Department. He was only a consultant.
“I’ll make you clean out Greeley’s barf bucket. Tonight is sloppy joe night at rehab!” Fitzgibbon grinned like he’d just found a cure for cancer.
Tennyson felt his stomach heave. He gagged and ran out of the room. He thought he heard Fitzgibbon laughing as he sprinted toward the men’s room.
32
Ronan
It was a quiet ride from Boston to Revere. Usually, Ronan loved this trip since it was up Route 1A and he could see the beach. He knew for a fact that Tennyson loved the beach too, but at the moment, Tennyson wasn’t speaking to him.
There had been moments like what happened back in the captain’s office between him and Tony Abruzzi back when they worked homicide together. They’d shout the walls down when they’d have a difference of opinion. The difference of course was that Ronan and Tony weren’t sleeping together when they’d been partners. Fighting professionally meant he and Ten were fighting personally too.
Ronan had made great strides in trying to understand Tennyson’s gift in the five months they’d known each other. From his side of things, he’d made leaps and bounds in coming from thinking what Tennyson did was absolute bullshit to believing in his gift absolutely. He guessed what he was struggling with now were the nuances of how the gift worked and how it was possible for certain people or mental illnesses to block that gift. Ronan opened his mouth to ask about it when Ten beat him to the punch.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ten didn’t bother to turn away from the window.
“I get that I’m an asshole, but-”
“Ronan, I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Tennyson’s tone brooked no argument.
It was Ronan’s turn to sigh. “Fine, we won’t talk about it, but we have to find a way to get through this interview looking and sounding professional so that I don’t end up back in my blues directing fucking traffic.” It wasn’t like Tennyson to blow him off like this.
“You know, I’d like to fucking see that. Set up a chair at your intersection and get myself a god damned ice cream cone. Maybe shoot some pictures. Take a selfie or two.”
If that wasn’t so mean-spirited and directed at him, Ronan would have laughed out loud. If this was how it was going to be, Ronan was going to have to roll with it. “Guess I’ll have to polish up my dance moves then.” He did the worm with his arm before making the stop sign with his right hand, shoving it up against the side of Tennyson’s face, which was still turned out the window.
Tennyson didn’t make a sound and didn’t move to push Ronan’s hand away.
Dropping his arm, Ronan flipped his blinker on to make the turn into the Beach Inn parking lot. Thank God they were only driving five miles to Revere and not back up to Newburyport or Salem. He didn’t know how much more of Tennyson’s frosty silent treatment he could take.
The hotel was a two-story L shaped building that looked like it was last renovated in the 1950s. Coral-colored plastic chairs sat outside each door, adding much needed color to the drab brown structure. The badly outdated neon sign advertised that the hotel had vacancies. Ronan guessed that after the upcoming Memorial Day weekend, the vacancy sign would be turned off permanently until after Columbus Day. The beach was big business here in New England during the summer months.
“I think we should go over how to handle this interview.” Ronan said after he parked the car.
“I know how to talk to people.” Tennyson’s tone was defensive.
“Hey!” Ronan angry-whispered. “This is my career we’re talking about here. I get that you’re angry at me and we can fight about that all you want later, but you can’t just walk in there, guns blazing. If the desk clerk is going to help us at all, we need to make sure he knows he won’t face any charges in this thing.”
“I’m not stupid, Ronan.” Tennyson turned his angry eyes to Ronan.
“I never said you were, Ten.” Ronan hated the look in Tennyson’s eyes. What he hated more than that was the fact that he was the one who put that look in his lover’s eyes. He had a lot of making up to do later, but first, they had work to do. “I trust you with my life as my partner in there. It’s just that we’ve never done this before.”
The look in Tennyson’s eyes softened a bit. “I know how much is riding on this.”
That answer was good enough for Ronan. He got out of the car and headed toward the dingy motel office. Ronan was not greeted by the twenty-something behind the front desk who was buried in his cell phone. The young man’s thumbs were flying over the keypad as he texted. Ronan dinged the bell and pulled out his badge.
“Just a sec.” The clerk never took his eyes off his phone.
Ronan rolled his eyes and kept dinging the bell until the clerk finally looked up at him.
“What?” The clerk’s pissed off eyes met Ronan’s.
“I’m Detective Ronan O’Mara and this is my partner, Tennyson Grimm.” Ronan could feel his frustration maxing out and they’d only been here for sixty seconds.
“Jesus Christ!” The young man looked panicked.
“Look man, I don’t care about the joint in your pocket.” Ronan raised an eyebrow at the freaked-out desk clerk.
“You don’t?” The clerk looked confused.
“No genius, I don’t.” Ronan shot Tennyson an incredulous look. “We need to know if you’ve ever seen this guy before?” Ronan held up a picture of Jace Lincoln on his phone.
“Yeah, I’ve seen that guy. He’s some playboy on the covers of magazines or some shit.”
“I mean have you ever seen him here at the motel?” Christ, get off the pot, kid, it rots your brain… Ronan could never say those words out loud, but what kind of world was it going to be if all of these God damned millennials cared about were video games and getting high? This was the kind of kid who was going to palm his meds, steal his valuables, and smack him around in some cut-rate nursing home when he was too unsteady to stand by himself and wipe his own ass.
The clerk shook his head. “Nah, he’s never been here.”
Ronan flipped through his phone for the picture of Rod Jacobson. “How about this guy? Have you ever seen him here at the motel?” Ronan figured he’d skip right to the chase and save time.
The clerk’s eyes grew wide in obvious recognition. “I ain’t never seen him before.”
“Now come on, Joey. You know that isn’t true,” Tennyson said, finally breaking his silence.
Ronan couldn’t help grinning. The kid wasn’t wearing a name tag. There was no way Ten could have known his name unless he was reading him.
“How’d you know my name?” Joey stumbled backward out of his seat.
“We know a lot of things. Like the fact that you only have one joint in your pocket, but you’ve got a whole bunch of dime bags behind the counter.” Tennyson’s knowing smile lit up his entire face.
Joey put his hands up in the air. “Oh fuck! It’s not mine, man. I swear to fucking God.” Tears formed in his eyes and snot started running out of his nose. “Please don’t shoot me.”
Was this kid for real? Ronan rolled his eyes. “Put your hands down and take a breath, kid. No one’s getting shot.”
Joey was hesitant to obey. He looked to Tennyson for confirmation.
Tennyson merely nodded.
“What do you want from me?” Joey wiped the back of his sleeve against his runny nose.
“How do you know this man?” Ronan held up Rod Jacobson’s picture again.
“He’s a regular at the hotel.” Joey’s eyes darted back and forth between Ronan and Tennyson.
“Do you think we’re stupid, Joey?” Tennyson asked, his voice taking on a menacing tone. “You and I both know he’s more than just a regular, don’t we? Now stop fucking with me and tell me what the fuck is really going on here between the two of you!”
Shit
… Ronan tried to school his features. This version of Tennyson would make one hell of a detective. Granted, Ten was using his sixth sense to gather information and then use it against Joey to prove he was lying, but even still, he made a formidable detective. Plus, with that tone of voice and his deadeye, he was scary as fuck right now.
“Okay, okay!” Joey held up his hands again. “But I want some kind of deal or something to be your informant like on TV. It’ll kill my mom if I end up in jail.”
Ronan rolled his eyes. Christ, everyone really did watch Law and Order. “You only get immunity if the information you offer is real and we can prove what you’re saying is true and not some bullshit story you’re making up because you’re stoned. Got it?”
Joey shook his head, sending his dark wavy hair flying around his face. “That guy is a pimp.”
“A pimp?” Ronan was trying hard not to burst out laughing. What the man was, was a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist. It was bad enough Ronan suspected him of being a possible serial killer, but now this punk kid was accusing him of being a pimp?
“How does that work?” Tennyson asked. His voice was still tight. All business.
“He brings boys here and men meet them. The guy hangs out in here with me until he gets a text and then he goes back over to the room. When he comes back, he throws some money my way and then he waits with the boy until the next customer arrives. Rinse, repeat. You get where I’m heading…”
“How much money does he throw your way?” Jesus Christ, could they be looking at an honest to goodness prostitution ring here?
“Anywhere from fifty to a hundred bucks. Depends on the age of the boy. The younger the kid looks, the more money I make.” Joey shrugged. He didn’t look as nervous now.
“Jesus Christ,” Tennyson muttered under his breath.
“How often do you see this guy for your little business arrangement?” He’d need to check with vice to see if they were aware of this little set up. He didn’t need them moving in to make a bust and scaring Jacobson off, not when they were getting closer to being able to link him with this series of murders.
“About once a week.” Joey started picking at a hangnail on his left thumb.
“How do you know when he’s coming?” Tennyson asked.
“I get a text.” Joey’s hand inched closer to his phone.
“When was the last time you got a text?” Fitzgibbon wasn’t going to like the sound of this: Pulitzer Prize-winner turned pimp. Film at eleven.
“Last week.”
“Stay there. Don’t move. Give me your phone.” Ronan held out his hand. He waited patiently until Joey begrudgingly handed it over. “Come with me,” he said to Tennyson and headed out the front door of the motel, making sure he kept Joey in his sights.
“What?” Tennyson refused to meet his eyes.
“What are you getting from this kid?” Tennyson’s attitude was really starting to rub Ronan the wrong way. He got that Ten was pissed, but they were working here. There was no time for his shitty attitude.
“He’s telling the truth.” Tennyson still wasn’t meeting Ronan’s eyes.
“Christ, so that means he and Jacobson are running an undercover prostitution ring here at the hotel and they’re trafficking underaged boys. It’s the perfect set up.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a perfect set up that Jacobson is pimping out teenaged boys?” Tennyson finally turned his gaze from the ocean to look at Ronan.
“Think about it. Let’s say our killer is a pimp. He brings teenage boys to this hotel to meet paying customers who like young boys. It’s the perfect operation in so many ways.” Ronan was practically giddy over the brilliance of this idea, if it didn’t involve the sex trafficking of underage boys.
“Explain what you mean.” Ten fisted his hands on his hips.
“In terms of our killer, he has the perfect reason for bringing teenage boys here and no one’s the wiser when he brings a boy here that isn’t for public consumption. When we come around to ask if anyone has seen Jacobson here, all anyone will be able to tell us about is the pimping. And Jesus, Massachusetts is a fucking lightweight when it comes to sentencing for that shit. It’s like a two to five-year sentence, but that’s only if there’s evidence to convict.”
“And street kids are notoriously transient,” Tennyson added.
“Right, plus the fact that Jacobson has the resources to pay these kids to disappear so they can’t testify against him.”
“I hate to tell you how to do your job-” Tennyson started.
“No, you don’t!” Ronan managed a small smile.
“You’re right, I don’t. Did you run a background check on Jacobson? Does he have any arrests at all?”
Ronan shook his head. “No, I didn’t do that, but I can text Fitzgibbon and ask him to do that. It won’t take long. I can’t imagine the Globe hiring him with a record, but stranger things have happened.”
“What are you going to do about Joey in the meantime?” Ten hooked his thumb at the nervous clerk who was pacing back and forth in front of the desk.
“I’ll use his paranoia to our advantage and tell him that I’m sending another officer to sit on this place and his house and that he’ll be arrested if he lets Jacobson know we’re on to him.”
“What if he texts Jacobson to give him a heads up?”
“My guess is that Jacobson isn’t that stupid. He’s using burner cell phones to communicate with Joey. But just in case he isn’t, I’m going to get the numbers out of his phone that Jacobson uses to contact him.”
“We’re really in the shit now, aren’t we?” Ten sighed.
Ronan nodded. He had a feeling Tennyson wasn’t only talking about the shit storm going on at the motel.
33
Tennyson
Tennyson wasn’t surprised when Ronan headed back to his apartment rather than the precinct after they were finished at the Beach Inn. He’d been battling his anger at Ronan all afternoon. Part of him knew he was being unreasonable, but the other part of him was sick of Ronan shitting on his gift when it didn’t give him the answer he was looking for.
When Ronan parked the car, instead of coming around to Tennyson’s side and opening the door, he jogged up the front steps and grabbed his mail out of the box, before continuing into the apartment building.
If Tennyson were being honest with himself, he didn’t blame Ronan for not being his usual chivalrous self. He climbed out of the Mustang, slamming the door harder than necessary, knowing that mistreating Ronan’s baby would really get his lover’s goat.
His door slamming didn’t disappoint. Ronan was waiting for him outside his door. The look on his face was mutinous.
“It’s one thing to be mad at me, but do not take it out on my car.” Ronan’s blue eyes were narrowed and full of barely restrained fury.
“Grow up, Ronan. It’s a hunk of metal.” Tennyson pushed past him and into the apartment, knowing full well that those were fighting words.
“A hunk of metal?” Ronan roared, slamming the door behind him. “That car is a classic piece of American ingenuity.”
“It’s a piece of junk.” Tennyson folded his arms over his chest and smirked at his lover.
Ronan’s face turned beat-red. He looked like the top of his head was about to explode. He turned around and faced the small window over the sink, bracing his hands against the counter.
Tennyson could see he was taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t going to take much more to really push Ronan over the edge.
“You want to fight about what I said earlier?” Ronan asked, turning back around from the sink. “Then fine, let’s fight! You nearly died back in January because I’m a shit detective, and you couldn’t read Michael Frye’s killer, Ten. I nearly fucking lost you!” Ronan was yelling again. “You have no clue what that did to me. The whole time I was trying to find you it felt like my heart was in a vise. The closer I got, the tighter it squeezed. Then, when I found you and saw that
gun pointed at your head, saw the look of delight in that motherfucker’s eyes when he was about to pull the trigger. It fucking broke me.” Ronan took a ragged breath.
All Ten could do was stare at his lover in disbelief. He had no idea Ronan felt this way. In the three months that had passed since the end of the Michael Frye case, Ronan had never once told him any of this.
“I’ve never loved a man like I love you, Tennyson, and all I could think in that moment was that you were going to die right in front of me and I couldn’t do anything to save you. When our relationship crashed and burned, you thought it was because of what my ex said to me. It wasn’t his grand confession that fucked me up. It was the fact that my one job is to protect people and I couldn’t protect the person I love the most.”
Still shocked by the words pouring out of Ronan’s mouth, Tennyson took a step forward.
Ronan held up a hand to stop him in his tracks. “Every time I close my eyes at night, I see your terrified, bloodstained face. Whenever I can’t find you or you don’t answer a text right away, part of my mind goes back to that day and I have to stop myself from wondering if some other criminal took you. And now…” Ronan bowed his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now, we’ve got a serial killer on our hands targeting gay men. Hell, we’ve also got a prostitution ring targeting the same group of teenagers. Our suspect could be one and the same man or they could be two different men. How the hell can I keep you safe from two psychopaths when I couldn’t keep you safe from one?” Ronan’s voice cracked. His arms dropped limp at his sides.
Tennyson rushed to Ronan, unable to take one more broken word from his lover’s mouth. He wrapped his arms around him and held on tight. He finally understood where Ronan was coming from this afternoon in Captain Fitzgibbon’s office. Ronan wasn’t angry that he couldn’t see if Jace Lincoln was their serial killer because he wanted to make the collar and get his name in the paper. He wanted to arrest the man so that Tennyson would be safe.
