Daryl considered him and took out his notepad.
“What did this guy look like?” Daryl inquired.
The heavyset man seemed to ponder his words, and frowned. “You really think he did it? He seemed like such a nice and cheerful guy.”
“It’s remarkably suspicious that he would point out that you had dropped your wallet, and then you find it empty,” Daryl said, unable to fight the sinking feeling that he had some idea of who the thief may have been.
The heavyset man shuffled from foot to foot. “He looked like your average homeless guy, now that I think about it. He seemed too happy to be homeless, though, y’know? Like something had just really brightened his day. I hate to think that I got taken advantage of like that,” the man muttered.
Daryl forced a sympathetic smile. He wanted to ask why the man hadn’t checked his wallet immediately, but he swallowed the comment. He had more than a vague idea of who had stolen the money and with a culprit in mind, he probed the other man for his contact information in the case that his money was recovered. Daryl struggled to remain kind and courteous, not wanting to express how irate the whole situation was making him. Just when he had been thinking of thanking Rick for his kindness, he realized that the man was as rotten as the rest of them. Hell, Rick had probably slipped away and snagged this guy’s wallet immediately after speaking to him.
He left with the promise that he would return the man’s money, and he was sure he would do just that. Even if it came out of his own pocket, the civilian would get his cash back.
He snapped his notepad shut and began patrolling the street again. He stalked down the sidewalks, the chip on his shoulder feeling more prominent than ever. The crowds were beginning to disperse, and he could only wonder where on earth he might find Rick Lamaar. He paused upon seeing a group of men some distance ahead, and he recognized the shaggy blond hair of the man in the middle.
Daryl made to call out to them, but before he could speak, one of the other men in the group slammed a metal pipe against the back of Rick’s head.
Daryl swallowed a gasp, his heart clenching in his chest in spite of his irritation with the vagrant.
“Hey, stop,” he called out sharply, but the dark clothed men seemed apathetic to his presence. He gritted his teeth, drawing his gun and aiming it shakily. “Police!”
The men glanced toward him, and even had the audacity to laugh.
“Stop! I’m calling for backup,” he tried again, grabbing his radio and reporting to the station. He wouldn’t be swift enough to stop the men from taking Rick. “Kidnapping in progress, need backup on the scene immediately,” he shouted into his radio, quickly reading off the license plate number. He could only wonder why the men made no attempt to obscure their plates, but his thoughts were derailed when his radio crackled out a response.
“Stand down, officer Jameson. Do not pursue the van, I repeat, do not pursue,” a bored voice ordered. Daryl’s eyes widened, and he watched in disbelief as the van began to speed down the street.
“Are you sending backup?” he inquired angrily, hands quaking as he watched the van disappear into the distance.
“The Chief says you need to report back and meet him in his office, new kid. You’ve got bigger problems than some alleged kidnapping,” the voice retorted.
Daryl fought his desire to scream back into his radio, fought the even bigger desire to bolt after the van and try to solve the case on his own. However, he knew his job was already on the line, and the ice he was treading was growing thinner and thinner. He breathed a sigh, speaking into his radio a final time.
“Ten four.” He turned to walk the path back to the police department. His mind raced at a breakneck speed, and he could only wonder what was happening to Rick while he trekked back to the chief with his tail between his legs. He narrowed his eyes, for once feeling utterly worthless. Wasn’t the point of being a cop to help people? Perhaps the chief knew something that he didn’t, but he couldn’t fathom a reason that they would simply let the kidnapping take place without intervention.
He stepped into the police station, ignoring the chuckles of the veteran officers in the smoking area. He made a straight path to the chief’s office. He knocked twice on the door, folding his arms over his chest as he waited for the door to open. He was rewarded moments later with the critical face of Chief Franklin, who gestured for Daryl to step into his office. Daryl obliged, though pleasing the chief was the last thing on his mind for the time being.
“How could you tell me to let that van go!? I saw them knock a guy upside the head with a metal pipe,” Daryl hissed. Chief Franklin considered him with a wry quirk of his lips, taking his seat behind his desk.
“Though you don’t have the security clearance for this information, I suppose I can let you in, all things considered. The license plate number you read off is associated with one Big Jim Hawthorne. You mentioned seeing his name in some files, and you guessed that he might be an informant. I lost my cool with you earlier, ya see, because you hit the nail right on the head. Jim Hawthorne is helping us land information on the biggest crime syndicate in the city.” The chief folded his fingers atop his desk.
Daryl took a moment to process the explanation. “So, we just let these guys do what they want? Informant or not, they could have killed Rick—”
The chief laughed. “Kid, I hate to pull the rank card, but this is way out of your league. The only reason I let you in on the intel is so you’d leave well enough alone. Now that you’re in the know, I trust you to keep on with traffic duty. You’d do well to stick with the simpler cases for now—that is, if you want to keep this job.”
“But what about helping people?” Daryl said, realizing he sounded like a little kid whose dreams were being crushed.
“We all wanted to change the world, kid. It’s just not that easy,” the chief said. He gestured toward the door, indicating that he was finished.
Daryl was torn, but still held out hope that this job would somehow work out. “Yes sir,” he muttered, slipping out of the chief’s office.
That breakroom coffee was beginning to sound less awful by the minute.
***
When Rick awoke, he tried to roll over. He couldn’t. He tried to check out his surroundings, but he couldn’t see anything except a faint line of light near the edge of his vision.
Fear panged through him—he was tied down and blindfolded. He struggled against his bindings, gritting his teeth to swallow a whine. He struggled to regulate his breathing, not wanting to show how absolutely terrified he was in case someone was watching him. Inhaling a steadying breath, he managed to speak.
“Is anyone there?” He cursed himself for how pathetic he sounded. He supposed it could be excused, however, considering the very real possibility that he would be killed.
Though he wasn’t sure what sort of reply he expected, he did not anticipate the deep and sinister laugh that answered his question. He shifted uncomfortably in his bindings, beginning to sweat from nervousness. He felt a presence looming to the side of him and, at this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone shot him between the eyes. However, much to his surprise, his blindfold was pulled away, exposing the extravagant room he was being held in. His eyes widened in surprise at his surroundings—large picture windows, rich décor, giant desk—and that same wicked chuckle drew his attention to the man behind the desk.
“So nice of you to join us, Richard,” Jim Hawthorne murmured, smiling toothily from his seat.
Rick began to struggle more valiantly in the ropes that were wound around him. “Big J, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what I was doing, please, you have to forgive me! You can’t kill me, you just can’t.”
The rat of a man only rumbled a laugh in response. The rope was beginning to scrape painfully against Rick’s skin, but he only renewed his efforts. He knew it was ultimately pointless, but at the very least, he would not go out without a fight.
“Easy does it, Ricky boy,” Big Jim began, leaning over the
desk to put his face closer to Rick’s.
Rick stared at him through defiant eyes, but ceased his wriggling. The crime lord grinned, standing from his chair and circling around the desk. He stopped just in front of Rick, reaching out to pat him atop the head. “That’s a good boy,” he murmured, and an unpleasant shudder went through Rick’s body. “Do I have your attention now, Ricky?” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Y-yes sir,” Rick managed, waves of disgust washing over him in the face of his own complacency.
“Now then. I have a simple proposal for you, if you’re willing to lend me your ear,” the older man said.
Rick stared straight ahead, swallowing any retorts he may have spit. If there was any chance that he could survive this situation, he was willing to hear the crime lord out.
Big Jim said, “Now, you did a very bad thing by trying to take my wallet. Bad for me, but especially bad for you. In most cases, I’d have blown your pretty little head off. However, you may be of more use to me alive. I’ve been looking for some men to run my product, as it were. Carry it from point A to point B.” He paused, considering Rick with a quirk of his lips. “We’re more sympathetic to your situation than most, kid. We’ll provide the car, enough cash to make a bit of a living off of. All you have to do is run the goods,” the crime lord purred, running a hand through Rick’s hair.
Rick shuddered again, drawing his lip between his teeth and forcing himself to remain silent long enough to consider the proposition.
“And…if I refuse?” he inquired, though he was fairly certain of what the reply would be.
“I think you know the answer to that. You’re a smart kid,” Big Jim retorted, tensing his hand in Rick’s hair.
Rick bit back a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut. The fear was nearly enough to bring him to his knees, that is, if he weren’t tied to a chair. All the joy he had felt previously had evaporated altogether, thoughts of his future thrown to the wayside. All that mattered in this moment was survival.
“I’ll do whatever you ask.” Rick finally exhaled, trying to ignore the shame broiling in his gut.
“Good boy. Now, Mickey here is gonna take you to a car out in the lot. There will be a license plate in the passenger seat. Be sure to put that on before you do anything. There’s also a stash of coke in the trunk, so don’t go fiddling around in there. You’ll deliver it to the address written in the glove box. You think you can handle all of that?” Big Jim said in a booming voice.
Rick nodded his head reluctantly.
The other man, Mickey, sliced through the ropes that kept him bound with ease. Rick rose from the chair, stretching his stiff joints. He turned to follow Mickey out of the room, but came to a stop as Big Jim cleared his throat.
“Oh, and Rick,” Big Jim began, waiting for Rick to face him. “If you try to leave, we’ll come looking for you. We will find you.”
Rick stifled a shiver at the darkness in Big Jim’s eyes. He nodded once, following after Mickey once more. Once they were out in the open air, Mickey led him to a junky old car and tossed him the keys.
“You’ll get your first payment after you deliver the first load,” Mickey said quietly. Then, off he went.
Taking that as his cue to leave, Rick got into the car and fired up the ignition. He considered using what was left in the gas tank to get as far away from town as possible, but he knew that would be a pointless effort. Jim Hawthorne wasn’t going to let him go, not any time soon anyway. For now, Rick would count himself lucky that he still had the cash he’d grabbed off of that fat man. It was a small comfort at this point, but at least he would have a place to go home to.
He drove to the shoddiest apartment complex in town, then spoke with a manager to secure a room. It was relatively cut and dry. Though he expected to feel some exuberance upon feeling the key in his hand, all he could feel was the bitterness of his situation.
He tucked the key into his pocket, memorizing the apartment number and vowing to check it out later. Enjoying his new step up could wait until he made his first delivery. He wanted to get the delivery out of the way, lest Big Jim Hawthorne get testy and impatient.
He ran a hand through his hair, trekking back to the car and feeling weary. He slipped into the driver’s seat, taking a moment to examine in his reflection in the rearview mirror. His heart ached—ached for the life he would likely never get to live.
He drew away from the mirror, starting the ignition and driving in the direction of the address that had been left in the glove compartment. He didn’t even consider the fact that he didn’t have a license, knowing that he would have more important things to worry about if he got pulled over. This was the heaviest crime he’d ever committed, considering the one thing he remained firm on was his refusal to become an addict or deal drugs.
The contents of the car’s trunk weighed heavily on his conscience, but he tried not to overthink it. His eyes remained on the road, and he stiffened as he passed a parked police cruiser. He could make out a vaguely familiar figure in the driver’s seat of the car, and prayed he was mistaken. However, the police cruiser pulled out of its hiding spot, following him with its sirens on.
His heart beat erratically in his chest. This was the very last thing he needed right now.
He weighed the options of speeding off, but instead pulled over, deciding to play it cool. He slicked his hair back as much as he could, then manually rolled down the window of the old clunker.
The officer from before, Mr. Wonderful, stepped up beside the window, and Rick considered him with a sly smile. The police officer narrowed his eyes, giving the car a once-over.
“Odd to see you in a car, suddenly. Come into some sudden fortune I’m not privy to?” the officer said drolly.
Rick bit back a nervous laugh. “If it was a fortune, don’t you think I’d choose a nicer car?”
The dark-haired man quirked a brow, examining the license plate in the passenger seat.
“Why isn’t your plate on your car? That’s why I stopped you. A bit suspicious, cruising around town without a license plate.”
Dammit, Rick thought. His mind scrambled for an excuse, but he couldn’t come up with anything good. “It just… slipped my mind,” he replied.
The officer rolled his eyes, drawing away from the door.
“I’m going to run your plate then, with your permission, I’d like to search your car. It will only take a moment,” the officer said, slipping back to the cruiser.
Rick fidgeted in his seat, cursing his forgetful nature. The officer remained in his cruiser for a long moment, and Rick struggled to make out his expression. The officer seemed to be growing annoyed by something, and moments later he leaped out of the cruiser again. The officer approached the window, eyes narrowed critically.
“I’ve been informed that I am to let you go,” he said grudgingly.
Rick quirked a brow, considering the officer with a confused expression. The officer seemed to see nothing else to discuss, and turned his back on Rick to walk away.
Rick grabbed the officer’s arm before he could stop himself, and the officer looked at him with a critical expression.
“I need help. I can’t talk now, but, I have an apartment, now. Meet me there, if you wanna know more,” Rick said softly, jotting down his address on a piece of paper and slipping it to the cop.
The police officer looked hesitant, but accepted the offering. “You have a good day, sir.”
“You too, Officer…?” Rick began hopefully.
“Daryl will do.”
“Okay, Daryl. Call me Rick.”
“See you around, Rick,” Daryl muttered, slipping away from the car. He got into his police cruiser, and Rick watched as he drove past. He breathed a sigh of relief, continuing his own path to the address he was supposed to make his delivery to.
He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he wasn’t awfully surprised by how rundown the home was. He got out of the car. Something large smashed into his side, and he was shov
ed against the driver’s door. A fist made contact with his eye. Rick cried out in pain.
“You nearly fucked us over, fresh meat,” a grungy looking man growled, gripping Rick around the throat. He slammed Rick against the car again. “You’re lucky we have an in with the police, or you’d be dead.”
“Sh-shit! I’m sorry,” Rick gritted out, seeing stars as his head was slammed against the metal. “I didn’t mean… an in with the police?” Rick began, surprise changing his line of questioning almost immediately.
“Don’t you know anything? Big Jim is real close with the police chief. You’re lucky they were able to get the call in to let you loose after we spotted you getting pulled over.”
Rick stared at him through wide eyes, his body screaming in pain. “Oh,” he managed.
“Do you at least have the shipment?” the man asked.
Rick nodded carefully, circling around to the back of the car and popping the trunk. He averted his eyes as the man and his crew began unloading the car. A few moments later, the trunk was empty, save a bit of residue.
“Can I leave now?” Rick asked quietly, rubbing his already swelling eye. The group looked at him for a moment before turning their backs on him. “I take that as a yes,” he muttered to himself.
He grabbed the license plate from the passenger seat of the car, then fixed it into place before slipping back in the driver’s seat. He could scarcely see what he was doing, and he knew he was in no state to drive. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, however.
He managed to make his way back to his apartment complex, stumbling to the apartment he’d be renting for foreseeable future. He pulled the door open, somewhat surprised to see a few pieces of beaten down furniture left from the last tenant. He smiled to himself, flopping heavily on the stained and torn couch. It certainly wouldn’t impress the officer… Daryl. But he had already given up on his dream of courting the gorgeous man. If he had nothing to offer to begin with, what could he offer now?
He could only hope Daryl would show up. The whole city was likely to go up in flames if they didn’t do something.
The Dragon’s Flight: Gay Paranormal Romance Page 20
