The Hood of Justice

by Mark Alders

  Casey knew his name, where he lived and the reason for prowling the homeless, all with a matter of minutes and before he ejaculated from the manual stimulation required to keep the docking connection viable.

  Soon, Casey felt himself shudder, too, letting out a relieved sigh. His balls tightened and a wonderful sensation swept through him, sending shivers up his spin and making his stomach tremble. He had cum. So had Jason.

  His foreskin no longer tingled, either.

  Now was the time to break the docking and digest the information which had spewed freely from the man’s lips. Carefully, he rolled his foreskin off his cock, their ejaculate lubricating his action. A long, thick dribble of cum found its way to the cold ground. His job was done. Casey had got the information he required.

  Seemed the man, one Jason P. Caruthers of Meadow Heights, age nineteen, high school dropout, was indeed offering incentives to the transient folk for services they would soon become involved with. Turned out, Jason was a runner, a leg man for someone higher up in the tree, not a shark at all. He was working for a fellow named Randy Piper.

  “Put your dick away,” Casey ordered, hearing footsteps on gravel in the distance.

  Jason blinked, doing as he commanded automatically. “Sure,” he said, his gaze still distant, obviously feeling the effects of both his orgasm and the residue of power which emanated and imbued from Casey’s foreskin.

  When Casey had licked his fingers clean and stuffed his own cock back into his pants, he smiled, patting Jason on his shoulder. “You okay there, mate. Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Again, Jason blinked. “Yeah. I’m a bit lost, I have to admit. Glad you’re here. Perhaps you can tell me how to get back to Meadow Heights. I’m late home and Mamma’s gonna kill me.”

  Casey knew the man had no recollection of what happened. None of those he docked with ever remembered. Which was a good thing, to tell the truth. It was also another reason why the Sarge should never know, and why it wasn’t worth telling him or anyone else about the sort of tactic he employed to get answers out of perps. The perp never remembered. A perfect situation as far as Casey was concerned. He got to feel up any guy he wished while performing his duty, too. Talk about a win-win situation.

  “What you got there, Casey?” Bruce called out.

  “Just some small fry.” Disappointment soaked Casey’s words. One day he would get closer to this Randy Piper. One day.

  “Well, has he done anything wrong?”

  Casey shook his head. “Nope. Other than get a little lost and attempt to get some tramps to be Serfs for our friend Randy Piper.”

  “Ah, yes. The big fish Randy.” Bruce was now within sight, the moonlight making even his rough exterior look serene. “Did this one tell you anything? He looks a little confused to say the least.”

  “He gave me an address where he was to send any potential Serfs for a Western Union scam which they’re planning to hit the local post offices with.”

  Bruce nodded. “Seems Randy can’t keep away from his favourite game of money laundering. Interesting he should use that method this time, usually the Nigerian’s like to scam folks that way with all that get rich shit.”

  Casey sucked in the air. “Never thought of that. You reckon Randy might be getting too big for his boots, muscling in everyone else’s turf?”

  “Who knows?” Bruce glanced at Jason. “So what you want to do with him?”

  Casey smiled. “He’s served his purpose. We know where he lives now, anyway. If we need him for any more questioning, I can interrogate him some more.”

  “Cool. You always seem to get guys to talk. How you do it is beyond me. In all my years, I’ve never seen a cop extract information as quick as you from anyone, even those who are willing.”

  “My boyish good looks, I suppose.” Casey tilted his head toward the patrol car, the signal for Jason to know he could have a lift home if he needed one.

  Bruce let out a laugh. “If you say so.” All three men proceeded toward the car. “My Maria says you’re as cute as a button. I can’t say ‘cause I only stick my dick into women, but if she says so then it must be so.”

  “Well, if you ever get sick of pussy, you can stick your dick into my tight man hole, no worries, buddy.”

  Bruce stopped dead in his tracks. “Great, I must be getting older. No way would some hot chick ever say that to me these days.”

  “I would hope not. Chicks don’t have man holes.”

  “Shut the hell up, will ya.” But Bruce’s words were joyous, taking Casey’s words with the light-hearted intention they were given. Casey liked how Bruce wasn’t in the least bit offended or concerned by him being gay. They made a good team and had been together since he had graduated. He couldn’t imagine working with anyone else.

  “Sure thing, Bruce. Sure thing.”

  Chapter Two

  Bruce pulled the patrol car up to the curb in front of the soup kitchen Jason had told them about after they had taken him home. The truth be told, if the guy had a job, took better care of himself instead of falling prey to the underworld, Casey would have asked him out on a date. If he thought the guy was adorable in moonlight, when he got him to the lights of his home he was even more stunning. Damn cute fuckable arse, too. Not too much of a bubble butt, but not an extension of his back, either. Just enough flesh to grab hold of and admire. Casey wouldn’t need his nicotine inhaler tonight, thinking of Jason’s plump lips around his cock would keep him occupied, that’s for sure. He only started smoking when Braden left him, then gave it up a few weeks later, determined not to ruin his own health over some cheating arsehole. Trouble was, he got used to doing something with his hands. Nights get lonely and drinking wasn’t a good idea when he was on call.

  The local guy at the chemist, some beautiful looking twink with coal black hair and a smile which Casey found irresistible and alluring all at once, suggested he try an inhaler. The device would give him a rush and occupy his hands, he had said, eyes glistening, lips moist, nose wrinkled. Casey’s thoughts wandered to what he would do to the assistant with a lot more than his hands, no doubt about that. He’d massage every part of him with his throbbing cock for a start.

  Still, the guy, his name was Jayden, could have suggested he insert a bomb up his arse and Casey would have bought ten of them for good measure. He was that fucking good looking. Casey also noted he had a girlfriend. She hung around near closing time, looking all done up like a cheap hooker, all dark eyeliner and white foundation, a smile on her lips which told the world she was sucking Jayden dry at any given chance. The lucky bitch. Casey could imagine the delicious foreskin on him, all lickable and worship worthy, a wondrous doorway to the delights underneath when retracted. Why was it the stunners were always straight? What a waste.

  Casey was brought back to the moment when Bruce nudged him, nodding for him to get out of the car. He had a semi thinking about Jayden…and Jason. The place they came to investigate was run by the local Salvation Army, a foodbank which opened its doors before the sun rose to feed the hundreds of homeless in the area. The line was already long. Many transient folk waited as patiently as they could, considering they all knew the food the kitchen had only lasted so long.

  “Poor bastards,” Bruce whispered under his breath.

  Casey understood the lead Jason gave may or may not prove worthy of their attention tonight. They may not even be here. And even if they were, if one of the sharks caught wind the cops were about, they’d be long gone. Still, it was worth the chance. Worth anything if they could get a glimpse of Randy Piper or one of his henchmen.

  At the door, still locked because opening wasn’t for a few minutes, Bruce banged with enough determination to let whoever was inside know he meant business. He also bellowed in his deepest voice that it was the police and they should open up. The way Bruce spoke when he was all commanding would make Casey open up his legs for him, no worries, flat on his back and underwear thrown off without a care within a heartbeat. Bruce had that k
ind of voice. Sure, announcing they were present probably wasn’t the best idea, but without a warrant for entry, they had no choice. They had to follow procedure. Follow established protocols.

  The door creaked open. A disinterested man, balding and looking flustered with flushed cheeks, and with a kitchen apron on, acknowledged their presence with a nod. “What’s up?”

  Bruce cleared his throat. The crowd of tramps behind them began to murmur. “May we come in and have a chat with you for a minute?”

  The man glanced beyond Bruce. “Better make it quick. We open soon and the horde of the hungry don’t like to wait. In fact, they don’t like coming here and wouldn’t if they didn’t get their daily hand out.”

  The door was opened wider and Bruce and Casey went inside the soup kitchen. Bruce didn’t waste any time with his questions. “Have you noticed a reduction in numbers lately?”

  The man shook his head. “No, not really. I serve then their food until I run out. I turn away the rest. That’s my day.”

  Casey decided to take a different tack to the impromptu interrogation. “Have you seen anyone hanging around who doesn’t belong, you know, fancy clothes, well kept, that sort of thing?”

  The man scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, there is this one guy. They all call him something weird—well, those who know him, I imagine. He doesn’t wear fancy stuff as you put it, but I know he does like to smell nice. He must splash himself with that men’s cologne that’s popular at the moment. Yeah, that’s it, he stinks. Way out of sorts for a place like this.”

  Bruce looked at Casey. “Can you describe the scent?”

  “No, not really. Smells worse than anything I’d ever be daring to put on myself, that’s for sure. Suppose if I had to, I’d say it smelt like fly spray, but sweeter. If that helps.”

  Casey piped up, “It’s an Armani fragrance, I’d bet.”

  “Whatever you say. I have no clue.” The man was now near his serving bench. Other attendants were bringing out the food. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some poor folk to feed.”

  Bruce offered a slight bow. “You’ve been most helpful…mister…what was your name, I didn’t catch it?”

  “Alistair. Name’s Alistair McMillan.”

  With that, Bruce led Casey out of the soup kitchen. One of the helpers went with them, but such a gesture wasn’t to escort them out. The kitchen was open and the line of the underprivileged shuffled into the large room, single file and without words. Casey felt sorry for each and every one of them. Even more so for the many who would miss out. No wonder the sharks preyed on them. Ten bucks and a guaranteed hot meal was a life saver when someone had absolutely nothing except an empty stomach. Such an incentive would make anyone do almost anything.

  When they left the kitchen, Bruce said, “What shop sells that sort of perfume, anyway?” They were heading back toward the car. No sooner had he finished his sentence, and before Casey could answer, he stopped. Casey caught his breath. When Bruce got like this, he knew to listen and listen good. He had also grabbed Casey by his shoulder to emphasise in no uncertain terms he wanted his full attention, too. Casey was all ears. “Do you get the feeling we’re being watched right now?”

  “No…I mean, I don’t really know…why?”

  In that second, Bruce bolted to a sprint, running toward an alleyway between the Salvation Army building and a rival thrift shop, screaming, “C’mon, Casey, move it. I think we’ve found the eyes which were scoping us out.”

  Casey didn’t waste any time. He ran, too.

  Everything happened so fast. Minutes became seconds. Casey ran and ran, his heartbeat loud in his ears, his breaths deep so he could keep his body from getting oxygen deprivation. The alleyway was long and dark, yet, with the aid of the moonlight, he noticed someone running up ahead.

  Bruce had almost caught him up. That’s what Casey loved about Bruce. Besides the fact he was a great big hairy bear with a cock that could choke him to Nirvana—the locker room saw to it they knew what they all wore under their uniforms—he was as determined as a dog with a bone when it came to getting his crim. Bless his heart.

  The air no longer clung to the cold, perhaps because Casey ran so hard, exerted all of his stamina to get to the perp, he no longer noticed or no longer cared. Either way, he was pounding the ground, running as fast as he could to not only get to the man, but to aid Bruce as well. He dodged cans and rubbish, jumped over fallen debris which seemed to be strewn everywhere. He even had to hurdle over what he believed was a shopping trolley, but couldn’t be sure. The thing was covered in so much filth and rubbish.

  There was a scream.

  Casey’s heart skipped a beat and he cursed himself under his breath for being slow off the mark when his partner told him to run. Was Bruce okay? Did the perp have a weapon? Would he be able to get there in time?

  All these questions wheeled around in Casey’s mind as he ran on, faster and faster, sweat pouring out of every pore, his lungs bursting to try and get more and more air into his strained body. He ached. His vision tunnelled as his focus fell on one thing and one thing only, to get to the perp, no matter what.

  Casey could see the man they pursued was cornered. The alleyway blocked by a burnt out car. Sure, he could have jumped to scramble over it, but if the man felt half as exhausted as Casey right now, then such a feat would have been a tall order. Casey was fit. The man wasn’t.

  The perp had a knife.

  Bruce kept his distance, but was threatening to un-holster his gun if the man didn’t do as he demanded. He was being ignored. Casey had an idea. He shouted, in the most forceful voice he could manage considering he had just done a one-hundred yard dash, “Hey, you piece of shit, what the hell you playing at?” The words he spoke didn’t hold any particular meaning or purpose other than to distract.

  His plan worked.

  In the split second between Casey finishing his words and the man diverting his gaze, Bruce was upon him, turning him around and cuffing him within a blink of an eye. His partner was sheer brilliance to watch. The knife fell harmlessly to the floor, kicked away.

  When Casey got to Bruce, he said, “Thanks.”

  His partner’s words were all he needed. He had done good. He had helped, even though he didn’t arrive sooner. “Don’t…mention…it.”

  “Let’s haul this bag of crap back to the station. I’ve read him his rights. He knows he’s been bad. Smells of sweet fly spray, too, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I don’t think we can book him for smelling like a desperate and sad man who tries to pick up young boys outside school gates, now can we?”

  Bruce snorted. “He pulled a weapon.”

  In that instant, while they were momentarily distracted by their banter, talk which had taken them a couple of years to perfect, the perp shot forward, breaking free from his partner’s grip. Casey, without thought, without consideration for his own safety, lunged forward, too. In an instant later, and with a dull thud which rocked him to the core of his bones, he landed on top of the hand-cuffed perp.

  “Too slow, my friend,” Casey whispered, still trying to catch his breath. But something happened which Casey knew all too well, yet didn’t welcome now. His foreskin tingled.

  The perp sneered, his lips forming a cruel snarl. Sure, he wasn’t an unattractive man, not by any stretch. Thing was, he wasn’t all that handsome either. He reminded Casey of a weasel, in fact. All thin faced, beady eyed, and lanky. His hair was even a dull brown, like a weasel’s would be, he imagined. Not that he’d ever seen a weasel in real life. Still, that was the impression.

  The other concern, and one which Casey knew he would have to do something about, was the fact his groin was in direct contact with the perps. Lying there, face to face, lips and genitals lined up, seemed to send Casey’s mind toward a different path to what he wanted right now. He got hard. Even when Casey tried to move to ease the pressure of the man against him, his hardening cock, complete with tingling foreskin, just got harder, the to
uch of the material of his pants making matters worse not better.

  “You question him, Case. You seem to have the knack.”

  Casey craned his neck. Bruce was standing over them, smiling like a man victorious, hands planted firmly on hips. “You go call it in, I’ll start with the questions.”

  “Uh no, I’m not leaving you with this one. He’s a sly dog and I don’t want him to slip away.” Bruce’s smile widened. He could imagine what his partner was thinking, seeing Casey on top of the perp, unable to move for fear of him getting up and running away, ruining Bruce’s efforts.

  “I can handle it, buddy. He’s cuffed.”

  “Oh, I can see you’re handling it. I just want to watch you question him. Love to know what you do to get so much information out of someone so quick.”

  Casey then had an idea. “Sure, you can watch. Just know, it may get a bit gay from here on in. You know how us fags all stick together.”

  The look on the perp’s face, all wide eyed and awash with concern, when he finished his sentence reflected Bruce’s next action and words perfectly. “Fine. I don’t want no part of it, then. Do whatever you have to.” Bruce turned and left, heading for the patrol car.

  Casey diverted his attention to the man beneath him. “What’s your name, mate?”

  The man spat. His wad of saliva landing on Casey’s cheek. “Fuck off, fuzz. I’m not telling you anything without a lawyer. I know my rights.”

  Casey, by instinct more than conscious thought, sent his hand down to the man’s jeans zipper. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began.

  By now his hand was rummaging within the perps underwear, desperate to grab his cock so he could begin his interrogation. “What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing, you dirty stinking copper? This is harassment…no, it’s fucking sexual harassment.” Again the man spat, this time accompanied by him thrashing his legs in an attempt to buck Casey off him.