A/N: This story does not form part of my fun Sherstrade series (Whisky/Eighties/Desire) - its darker, reflecting how I feel right now, and doesn't fit with the time line or mood of the other stories. It's a bit angsty, but hope you'll give it a chance.

The battered Mondeo crawled down the dark street, its driver squinting through the dirty windscreen at the few figures on the pavement. More than a dozen pairs of feral eyes watched the car pass, some from the shadows, a few glaring defiantly after him under the orange streetlights as he drove slowly on, searching for a familiar face. One girl stepped towards the car – too thin, too scantily dressed for the chilly night – only to be halted by a sharp tug on her arm from an older, wiser woman who muttered a few words in her ear. The driver glanced in his rear view mirror to see her watching curiously as his tail lights left them behind. New girl, he thought. He knew she would memorise the car – its colour, its dents and scrapes, maybe even its number plate – and would know to avoid it the next time he passed this way.

He rarely drove his own car in the city – no need when the underground and taxis were so convenient. He'd even been known to take a Boris bike on occasion, when he was in the midst of yet another health kick, but for something like this only his car would do. The regular girls all knew it down here, and the whisper would go along the street to the correct ears that an off-duty copper was cruising Prozzie Lane.

He turned a slight bend in the road and his headlights swept over one of those 'ears'. Six foot five, black as the roads and built like a pro-wrestler in a sharp suit, Benny Boy was up in some skinny kid's face, while two pale-faced girls looked on. The lad wasn't short – probably around six feet – but next to Benny he looked like the wimpy kid from school that got his head flushed weekly by the school bully. There didn't seem to be much muscle on him, but he clearly had a mouth, and whatever he was spouting at Benny had the bigger man pissed off. As he pulled across the empty street to the opposite kerb beside the small group, Benny back-handed the boy almost sending him to the floor and probably loosening teeth in the process. The kid clearly figured he was beaten, as he scuttled off into the shadows down the street towards the bridge.

"Clean up, and keep the fuck off my patch till you do," Benny yelled after him aiming a vicious kick at the lad's retreating backside that missed by a mile. He turned with a brilliant white smile to the open window of the car.

"Well, well, what do we have here? Not seen you down this way in a while Greg-oh. I hope you're down here shopping, my friend – I have two new beauts that'll blow your mind as well as your cock."

"Get lost Benny, I'm fussy about where I put my dick. Wouldn't want it to drop off. Anyway, it's DS Lestrade to you."

Benny boomed a laugh and leaned down to the Detective Sergeant's window.

"Cassie here's more like to bite your dick off but she'd make sure you enjoyed it. My girls are clean Greg-oh, you know it. Up to date with their clinics and none of them are using. Not needles anyway. And you, my friend, are off duty or you'd be here with your toy soldiers in your flashy cars, not this beat up piece of shit. What you after, if it's not one of my beauties?"

"I'm looking for a boy - blond, blue eyes, looks about fifteen…"

"Shit man, tell me you're no fucking fag paedo? I got boys if that's your flavour, but I don't take on under-age, no way!"

"You check their birth certificates now?"

Lestrade regretted the words the moment they left his lips. Benny scowled down at the detective and Lestrade was glad to have the car door between them. Benny was the best pimp this side of London, in terms of protecting his 'staff'. If they were using drugs, he helped get them sober, and he made them get regular health checks at a local doctor's surgery – if Benny said he didn't recruit under-age kids then he was telling the truth. Lestrade reached to the passenger seat and picked up a photocopied photo that he handed to the pimp.

"Specific kid, this one. His name is Danny. Danny Lestrade – might be going by Danny Lester."

Benny studied the photo by the orange of the streetlight. "Your kid?"

"My nephew – sister's boy. Eighteen but looks a lot younger. He's been missing around ten days now, and he's running low on cash so he's going to need to earn. Much as I don't want to think about it, this may be where he ends up for some quick funds."

He rubbed a hand over his eyes – they were sore from lack of sleep, but he'd made a promise to his sister he'd do everything he could to find the boy.

"He has a habit. We only found out a few days ago."

"Heroin?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Benny said, with genuine regret. "I'll ask the girls to keep an eye out. Can I keep this?"

"Sure, I have a load here. Can you pass some out? Maybe someone will see him and call. It's my personal number, not police, and I'll ask no questions, no investigations or anything. All strictly off the record – we just want him found. Oh, and maybe ask your boys too? Danny's gay."

Benny nodded accepting a handful of the fliers.

"If he's using, you need to get yourself half a mile that way and ask around. They might not help you mind; your whole demeanour screams 'copper', even if your car doesn't."

"I know," said Lestrade grimly, "but I have to try."