Lawrence 'Micky' Dimmick came from a long line of Irish beat-cops.
Most of his stocky build was mid-west rather than big apple, Brewers over Yankees over Giants as far as the baseball diamond was concerned - but that didn't stop New York from sinking its teeth into his walk, into his low-slung fist fights, in the way he spoke. It was Dimmick's proud second year after having scored Plainclothes Detective that he took the transfer to California. There were rumors of that last job, said the east coast wasn't safe for his likeness any more. That case had ended bloody, but the higher-ups weren't able to decide if the victory deserved a promotion or a transfer, so they gave Micky both.
The rumors continued to float up from the anchor of Lawrence Dimmick's career. 'Kingpin' Salvatore hadn't been much older than Micky himself, and they'd had a lot more in common than carefully attenuated disdain for the Red Sox. California would have to be a fresh start away from the steaming pile of disaster Salvatore had left behind.
It wasn't as if Micky would miss the east coast. He'd miss the few friends his job allowed him to have, sure; Alabama had been a great partner, but she had Clarence at the end of it all and Micky only ever had his paycheck to come home to.
A paycheck and a lot of bloody nightmares, only to wake up to an early-morning office buzzing too loudly about the wire transcripts and just how chummy Micky had been willing to get with his target and fuck that for a shaved bag of dicks; if he was going to get ousted for being too damn good at his job then hell, he'd go and be an excellent cop for somebody else's city. Trading the blitzroads of the north for the palm trees of the south while he was at it, as relaxing as an involuntary vacation could be.
His new partner was waiting for him at the bus station; a stodgy black man in clothes ten years too young for his potbelly named Jim Holdaway. Micky was settled a week at the motel before Holdaway got around to introducing him to an inside contact that called himself 'Longbeach Mike'. The three shared beers and cigarettes in the loudly painted L.A. apartment that was to be Lawrence Dimmick's home for the next year.
"That's a good nickname, man, but you're going to have to choose another."
Micky blinked up from his own file, papers and binders and city planning charts spread out on the floor between he and Holdaway. Longbeach had been dismissed not half an hour prior, citing girl troubles. "What's wrong with it? They don't know a guy named Micky from any other Tom Dick 'n Harry on the west side."
"Exactly, man." Holdaway had an easy confidence in his partnership, generous with compliments as much as he was with sage criticism. The thing was, Micky simply didn't look like a cop, and appearance was ninety percent of deception. The rest was just Improv, and Holdaway wasn't going to fail his partner by letting him get into any situation out of character. "Ain't no cat this side of the Mason Dixon going to understand that's an Irish thing, and if they did they'd think it was something a cop would go by. People these days watch too many damn movies," A gruff laugh. "Shit. What's your first name? Lawrence? Larry? Larry sounds way more westcoast than Micky, man, believe me."
"Okay sure, I believe you." The smile glinted in his eyes but did nothing to lift the near scowl Micky's mouth seemed stuck in (like a bulldog, like a bruiser, like a middle weight champion with his hair grown out in the cold Wisconsin Winter and brushed back in a thick wave to mimic the slick of a New York Italiano). He pushed the papers around his knees and fished out a marked page. "This my neighborhood?"
Holdaway glanced up from the character profile he was penning. "Yeah. We can go 'round tomorrow and I can show you what's changed since you've been away, Larry."
Micky blinked, nonplussed. Christ, but that was going to take some getting used to.
PostScript: Another k!meme fill; prompted at Dreamwidth,
polished at livejournal and posted up with edits/rewrites
galore. One of these days, Dear Anon, I will actually finish
a meme fill without getting distracted by the rest of the
prompts. To the moon, Alice!