Disclaimer: I own nothing related to CSI: Miami. If I did I wouldn't work in a shirt with my name tag on it.
This chapter's dedicated to The Swaggering Cripple, for the encouragement. It's probably not as long, well thought out, or proof read as it should be. But it's done. That's nine tenths the battle.
Chapter 2: The Israelite
Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
so that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite.
Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
So that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite.
Ryan made it home just before eight which meant two things; he'd successfully killed off his morning, and he was due at the gun range in a little over an hour. While he was glad to have survived the morning without ruminating on his failings too much, the thought of work sickened him. He was loath to even term the gun range work. He was used to work meaning he got a chance to use his brain while contributing to society. When he'd first joined the Police Academy his family and friends had been both surprised and concerned. They worried for his safety and his graduate work. His parents had been sure their only son would be killed by a deranged criminal. His sister had wondered how her asthmatic, bookish, formerly small for his age brother was going to become a cop. Hadn't she always been the one responsible for bloodying the nose of neighborhood bullies? His friends, most of whom were either classmates or musicians, had questioned why he couldn't just get a McJob on the side like every other struggling grad student.
Ryan had anticipated such a response to his actions and had tried to explain himself as best as he could to those who questioned his life plans. He was coming to the end of his graduate program, and the only thing left to do was write up his thesis. It was time to think about the future and he knew a PhD was not in the cards. Not because he couldn't hack it, but because he couldn't afford it. Plus, he wanted to spend some time out of school before he made the decision to commit to such a scholarly path. He was considering careers, and being a criminalist was already factoring into his plans. Going into the police force would give him some practical experience in law enforcement, while providing him with a pay check. So he made the decision to go part time with his studies and tried out for the Academy. To everyone's surprise, including his own he made it in on the first go and hadn't looked back since.
Ryan knew that his high school peers probably would not have voted him "Most likely to become a cop". In fact, he fully acknowledged they probably thought he was living the quiet life somewhere, teaching Chemistry or Math to a bunch middle schoolers that mocked him mercilessly. But he'd found his niche in crime scene investigation. It allowed him to solve puzzles and utilize his skills as a scientist while serving the community. And, deep down inside being a cop appealed to the nerdy kid inside him who used to hide under the bed covers with Spiderman comics. He was never going to be bitten by a radioactive spider, but he could sympathize with Peter Parker. It gave Ryan hope that chemistry geek could become a super hero. The insecure teenager inside him often wished his former classmates could see him in action, badge and gun flashing. Ryan sighed and wondered if anyone, school mates or otherwise would ever see him in action again.
He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of an alarm going off. Ryan glanced around for the source of the noise and then ran into his bedroom. He'd forgotten to turn off his bedside alarm clock in his rush to get out of the apartment. Now he really needed to get ready for work. He peeled off his sweaty gym clothes and padded naked to the bathroom. A quick look in the mirror revealed his morning scruff to be tolerable so he skipped shaving to expedite matters. Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and ready to go but, also completely famished. Ryan checked his watch. He still had about thirty minutes before he had to clock in. Cooking was not an option, but he could think of something even better. He grabbed his keys and wallet and ran to his car anticipating his next stop. Getting fired had not removed all pleasures from his life, and he was about to indulge in one of the greatest he knew.
Ten minutes later Ryan pulled into the parking lot in front of a small building that was unique from its surroundings due to its size (small) and its décor (blue and white stripes ran up and down the building). Bennett's Bakery had been established by Arnold "Arnie" Bennett in the sixties and had been serving excellent Jewish baked goods to the Chosen and the Gentile ever since. Ryan was addicted to the rugelach and Bennett's was the only place he could get decent bagels south of the Mason-Dixon. In recent times Arnie's younger staff had talked him into serving coffee as well, and Ryan planned to take full advantage of this.
Tiny bells attached to the door announced his arrival and Ryan paused to take in the delights in front of him. In order to fully appreciate Bennett's one had to employ their eyes, and nose. Ryan inhaled the smells left behind by the staff's early morning baking and walked towards the gleaming counter which housed all of Bennett's signature treats. Bagels and muffins shared space with mandelbread and cookies. Display cakes sat on shelves behind the counter beneath a sign that encouraged customers to trust all their celebratory baking needs to Bennett's. The cakes were one of two permanent fixtures behind Bennett's counter. The other was Shemesh Lowenstein, a local that Ryan figured was probably somewhere around his own age, and weighed a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Ryan also suspected Shem was a bit of a hippy. If his sense of dress didn't give him away the strong smell of weed that constantly radiated from his person definitely did.
Shem offered Ryan the same huge smile he gave all customers, but followed it with a very personal greeting. "Hey man! Long time no see."
Ryan couldn't help but smile back. Shem was an infectiously happy person, and despite the fact they'd never seen one another outside the bakery he assumed an implicit friendship existed between himself and Ryan.
"Hey Josh! Come see who it is!" Shem yelled through the window that separated the baking area from the front counter.
The sound of pots and pans banging was followed by some muffled cursing. "What? I swear to God Shem if this isn't your dealer I'm gonna be pissed."
Seconds later Joshua Goldberg trundled up to the window to peer through at Shem and whoever he was excited about. Josh did most of the baking at Bennett's and it showed on his waistline. Arnie referred to his two employees as The Odd Couple because they spent every waking moment together but were so mismatched in size and disposition.
Shem smiled even bigger at Josh's declaration and rolled his eyes. "No man, it's not Marty, it's Ryan. Psssth my dealer! Dude, Ryan's a cop. Duh!"
Josh simply took a deep breath and tried to hide the frustration in his voice. "Which is probably why we shouldn't mention dealers or their names in front of him. And you could maybe be a little more subtle around the police officer. Not to mention giving me fair warning."
"Oh no man it's cool. Ryan's cool. Aren't you Ryan?" Shem was smiling beatifically at him again.
Ryan shook his head and tried not to laugh at the pair in front of him. "Yeah Shem it's cool."
"Plus, you're not a cop, cop anyways right?" Shem asked.
Josh and Ryan both stared at the man as if trying to discern just what a cop, cop was.
"Well," Josh started slowly. "He's either a cop or not a cop Shem. There really isn't two ways about it."
"No, no man. He's a scientist and a cop. I remember we discussed it one day." Shem looked proud of himself for retaining the details. He turned to face Ryan. "You're like a copologist right?"
Ryan couldn't help laughing at Shem's choice of words. Copologist, he'd have to remember that the next time someone asked him what he did for a living. That is, if he ever got his job back. His laughter was short lived.
"Yeah, sort of," Ryan replied. He wondered later why he had let the next sentence tumble out of his mouth. "But I don't exactly do that anymore."
Shem's face went from surprised to quizzical in seconds. "No? Why not? I mean, what do you do now?"
Josh's concerns were more practical, and he was thinking of the gram of marijuana he had stashed in the back, in what could be construed as plain sight by the justices system. "So you're not a cop then?" he asked.
Ryan figured it was either the program, or his talk with Calleigh earlier that was motivating him to tell the truth, to what amounted to strangers but it felt like the right thing to do so he continued. "Yeah, um, I'm sort of on suspension from work, uh, the force."
Shem's eyes became the size of saucers. "No way! How can that be?"
Ryan wondered how to explain the situation in one sentence. "Well, I did something I shouldn't have in the line of duty, and it jeopardized a lot of good work that had been done not just be me, but my colleagues too."
Shem was too stunned to speak. He really hated when bad things happened to good people, and he was sure Ryan was good people. Of course, Shem operated on the principle that all people were good people until proven otherwise so he was generally flabbergasted by anything that disrupted his world view.
Josh on the other hand made an art of being cynical and prided himself on the fact nothing surprised him anymore. "So what, did you beat up a black guy?" he asked.
"What? No! Why would I beat up a black guy?" Ryan cried.
"Accepted a bribe? Got caught with a hooker? Oh no wait, killed a hooker and then bribed someone to cover it up." Josh was joking, for the most part.
"Josh, that's enough! Ryan did not kill a hooker! Tell him you didn't kill a hooker Ryan!" It was getting to be too much for Shem. He did not wake and bake on the days he had to work and this whole business was really stressing him out.
Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. To be honest this conversation was starting to get to him too. "I did not kill a hooker Shem." He looked Josh in the face. "Or take a bribe, or beat up a minority. I just messed up is all, and now I am no longer a cop, though I hope to be a cop again in the future. Now can I please get a bagel and a coffee?"
"Huh?" Shem was momentarily thrown off by the change of subject. Josh too appeared at a loss.
"Coffee? Bagel?" Ryan made pantomime actions with his hands to indicate his desires. "You know those things you sell, in this bakery?"
"Oh, yeah, right. Coming right up!" Shem sprang into action. He quickly poured Ryan a coffee and made for the bagels. "Um, what kind man? And toasted or not? Cream cheese? Lox?"
"Regular. Toasted with cream cheese," Ryan replied. "And make it two, I'm starving."
Shem threw two bagels in the toaster and handed Ryan his coffee. "Yeah I was going to say before the whole, uh, thing, you look like you've lost weight. You're eating right? I mean you're not all depressed over this work thing right man?"
Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Who are you, my Bubbie?" He knew he was a regular but this was ridiculous.
Shem laughed as he bagged Ryan's bagels. "No man, just a concerned citizen. We all need to look out for each other right?"
Ryan thought it might be the light headedness from the hunger, but he found Shem's statement touching. The world needed more genuinely nice people. He offered Shem a smile as he paid for his breakfast. "Yeah, yeah man we do."
Shem returned Ryan's smile with one of his own and ventured another question now that things seemed copasetic again. "So, um, if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing now man? I mean are they paying you or what while you're on this suspension thing?"
Ordinarily Ryan would have avoided this line of questioning like the plague, but he knew Shem's curiosity was borne out of concern not malice. "Well, uh, no they aren't paying me, so I'm doing what I can to get by. I'm working at a gun range. The pay's pretty bad, and the rest of the staff are kind of NRA, redneck types, but it's just for now."
For Shem nothing in the world could be worse than working with NRA, redneck types. The very mention of the NRA sent chills down his spine. He had the same reaction to the words fiscally conservative, fundamentalism and unilateral preemptive strike. The evening news often scared him more than any of the many slasher films he and Josh had watched while stoned out of their gourds. As far as Shem was concerned Dick Cheney and Karl Rove gave Jason and Freddy a run for their money.
He gave Ryan a sympathetic look and slipped some cookies in beside the bagels. "Here, these are on the house on a count of having to work in the presence of such evil."
"Thanks Shem," Ryan said, taking the bag. "But it's honestly not that bad. I mean, I don't hear any disembodied voices ordering me to get out, and no one's head has spun around on their shoulders yet."
Josh laughed at the movie references and joined Shem at the cash register. "Yeah, plus, it's okay, he still has that hot ass girlfriend. Right man?"
Ryan nearly dropped the bagels. "What?"
Josh didn't notice anything amiss. "You're girlfriend. The hot one. Sometimes she's a brunette, sometimes she's blonde. I may not remember your regular order like this guy here," he paused to point a thumb at Shem. "But, I remember your girl. You're a lucky man my friend, job or no job."
Ryan swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure. "We're not, um she's not. I mean I don't have a hot girlfriend. She's still hot, we're just not together."
Josh felt like sticking his head in the oven out back. "Man, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Jeez we must really be making your morning."
Shem was devastated all over again. "But what happened? She loved that cake Josh made and she was always cool when she came here with you."
When Ryan and Valera had first been circling each other in a flirtatious manner she'd celebrated a birthday. They weren't together yet, but they knew, as did everyone around them, that it was only a matter of time. Valera had decided to throw herself a party so that she'd have a legitimate reason to invite Ryan over to her place without seeming obvious. Ryan had accepted the invite to her party with great expectations and some trepidation. He would need to get her gift. What do you buy for a girl you aren't with but are pretty sure you're going to be?
In the end he'd decided to get her a birthday cake from Bennett's, made to order with all the bells and whistles. Josh had done his magic and when Ryan arrived at Valera's door he was carrying a cake fit for a princess. It was the kind of culinary wonder that made people want to take its picture before they ate it. After the party, no less than six people had posted a picture of themselves posing with the cake to their Facebook profile.
"Yeah, she did really like the cake, and she was, she is really cool," Ryan said in agreement.
Whatever had transpired since did not sully the memory of that night for him. Valera had been truly charmed by his gift, and after everyone else had gone home with a piece of cake, they'd fooled around for the first time. It hurt that they weren't still together, but he understood that it was his fault. He was no longer angry at Valera, or the situation, just at himself. And the self directed anger was only momentary, it had to be. Anger was useless, as Mark had told him many times before. He had to focus on the future and make amends for the past.
While Ryan was doing his best to be Zen on the inside Shem was still coming to terms with the day's revelations. It wasn't even nine yet and he was bummed. But Shem found being bummed as useless as Ryan found anger, so he resolved to change his perspective and his friend's circumstances. No need to fight and fuss.
"You know what we need to do? We need to help you get your lady back." Shem was wearing his resolved face. It was a face Josh usually only saw when his friend was weighing or rolling pot. So clearly he meant business.
"Um, what now?" Ryan was utterly confused.
"Yeah, I mean what are we gonna do to change this situation?" Josh asked. "When was the last time either of us talked to a lady?"
"We helped bring them together!" Shem reasoned.
"Oh yeah, I bet the fact he looks like the Jewish Tom Cruise had nothing to do with it at all." Josh argued. He turned to face Ryan. "The first time he came in here I thought Jake Gyllenhaal was gracing us with his presence."
Ryan's eyebrows were now in his hairline. "Thanks? I think?"
"I'm just saying, I could've built that cake out of chocolate, vibrators, a pair of Manolos and icing guaranteed to make you skinny and I couldn't have pulled that kind of tail with it."
Both Ryan and Shem were momentarily delayed by the mental images conjured up by Josh's words.
Ryan, having the lesser imagination of the two, due to lack of hallucinogens in his life, recovered first. "Again, thanks?"
"Never mind the vibrating cakes." Shem was back on the task at hand. "You really loved her man, and she really loved you."
Ryan and Josh were instantly sobered. Such statements where painfully powerful under most circumstances, they were undeniable from someone as honest and earnest as Shem. It was like when small children utter profound truths in a seemingly unwitting manner.
"Yeah," Ryan could think of nothing else to follow Shem's outburst.
"So, so we'll help you get her back. That's what friends are for!" Shem's sunny outlook on life could only be suppressed for so long.
Ryan's mouth was open and moving before he even realized it. "But you're not-
One sharp look from Josh, that held all the loyalty and protectiveness he felt for Shem contained within it, stalled Ryan's tongue before he could speak the two words they both knew were coming; my friend.
"-responsible for fixing my love life." Ryan hoped his quick tongue, and Josh's perceptiveness had saved the day.
"Not to worry my man." Shem was oblivious to the near disaster. "You can count on us."
Ryan did not want to hurt Shem's feelings. But, he also did not want a near stranger messing around with the situation he was in with Valera. Plus, Ryan could tell from the look on Josh's face he didn't think it was any of his or Shem's business. Or, more likely, Josh felt that Ryan didn't deserve Shem's concern. Truth be told, Ryan agreed with him.
Still there was no harm in placating Shem. "Sure, okay Mr. Lowenstein. You do that. But I've got to be getting to work." Ryan offered Shem his hand. "Mr. Goldberg." He did the same to Josh.
"Mr. Gyllenhaal, I mean Wolfe." Josh shook the proffered hand with a joking grin.
"Whatever." Ryan rolled his eyes and turned to leave.
"Don't fuck any gay cowboys at the gun range. The NRA isn't cool with that!" Josh called.
Ryan simply offered him the one fingered salute as a response.
Josh had the final word as the door swung shut. "I mean it, you'll lose your job on the mountain, cause they don't hire your kind!"
Shem looked wistfully at the door. "That was a sad movie man. I mean, why couldn't the world just let them be in love?"
xxXxx
As Ryan left the bakery he was momentarily worried about Shem, and his devotion to the cause. He quickly dismissed the need to give it any second thought. After all, how much damage could Shem do? He didn't know Valera, he barely knew Ryan. Shem didn't know where he lived or what his phone number was. He was strictly limited to the few moments he and Ryan spent conversing over the exchange of money for baked goods. Sure, sometimes that exchange took a few minutes and sometimes it took the better part of a half hour, but Shem couldn't find Ryan in his everyday life. He had nothing to fret about, nothing that is, except for making it to work on time. Ryan let out what felt like the millionth sigh of the morning and started his car. He reached for his MP3 player, which was hooked up to his car radio and scrolled through to the song he played every morning on the ride to work.
Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
so that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite.
Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
so that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite.
My wife and my kids, they are packed up and leave me.
Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen.
Poor me, the Israelite.
Valera wasn't his wife, and they didn't have kids, but that didn't make the words ring any less true.
Shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone.
I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde.
Poor me, the Israelite.
After a storm there must be a calm.
They catch me in the farm. You sound the alarm.
Poor me, the Israelite.
Ryan played the song on repeat until he was pulled into the gun range parking lot. Then he turned it up in the hopes that it would repel whatever Toby Keith vibes were floating about the perimeter.
Poor me, the Israelite.
I wonder who I'm working for.
Poor me, Israelite,
I look a-down and out, sir.
Ryan sang along at the top of his lungs with Desmond and the Dekkers for one final refrain before turning off his car. Like the yoga he had done earlier it was probably an act that would embarrass him if Eric, or any other man, was present to witness it. But it did wonders for his mental health then and there. Especially as he watched a pick up truck full of the morning's first yahoos pull up to the range.
Ryan was only halfway across the parking lot when they emptied out of the truck. He felt like it was grade ten again and he was desperately trying to make it into the school before the football team could catch him alone. At least he wasn't carrying a giant, brass saxophone these days, it made it hard for bullies to miss you on their nerd radar. Apparently so did his mandatory uniform.
"Nice shorts Slim!" The call came from one of the club regulars. "Did your mom pick that out?"
Ryan gritted his teeth. He knew it was nothing personal, in fact it was so impersonal as to be callous. He wasn't Ryan Wolfe, nerd or otherwise to this man. He was simply a non-person in a uniform. He was a job, and his job commanded no respect, in fact it demanded he effectively cater to this man's needs. Ryan knew it wasn't him being insulted, but what he was dressed as. This fact didn't make the experience any less aggravating.
"Hey fellas!" The man was not finished. "Who wears short shorts? Slim does! The fags must love you on South Beach boy!"
He bit back the urge to inform them that he was wearing the uniform that was issued to him, that all employees were forced to wear. His mom didn't choose it, he didn't choose it, and judging by the number of people milling about who were employed by the range wearing it, any observation to the contrary was asinine.
Ryan also pondered the moniker that had been placed on him. Slim? What the fuck was that? Was he slim? Relatively speaking yes, and certainly nowadays more prominently so, but he wasn't skinny by any means. Of course, next to the man who had given him the name Ryan looked like Gumby, but then so would Jabba the Hutt.
And the fag bit? Why was it always the fag bit? Couldn't these guys come up with something more original? Ryan wondered if actually gay men spent their entire lives being exasperated over this tired insult. Where they going to shake him down for his lunch money as well, you know just to add to the unoriginal nature of their attack?
Ryan cricked his neck, thought of his pay check and forced a smile. "Good one Mr. Richards. See you inside."
Mr. Richards' reply was to continue guffawing along with his pals. Ryan watched the display and had two thoughts. The first was, More Chins then there are in a Chinese phone book. The second was; I will never look at another pack of playing cards again for as long as I live.
Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
so that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite.
It was going to be a long day.
TBC....In which Lenny himself makes an appearance...
