Brothers Unarmed continued

"You want coffee?" Jim offered Karen as they left the interview room.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll go fill the boss in."

Jim nodded his agreement and headed to the locker room for aspirin and coffee.

Bobby thumbed through a paper someone had left on the bench and watched the foot traffic go by. This place was jumping, as if something big was going down. A tall man came rushing in, talking on the phone and sending people running; must be the boss. A uniformed officer took a scantily dressed woman by the arm and marched her out toward the elevator. Bobby dragged his eyes away from the prostitute's ass and caught sight of a blonde head going past in the crowd. Bobby stood, towering over the people in between; yep, there he was, not on stakeout at all, just avoiding his brother as usual. And the little shit hadn't even recognized him. Jimmy always thought he was too good for his family. Well he wasn't.

Bobby waited for his chance, followed another man in, past the gates with the big stop sign in it and down the corridor after Jim, nodding at the black detective as he passed. The cop peeled off to the right and Bobby continued after Jimmy.

Jim entered an open door at the end and Bobby slowed, it would be better if there weren't a lot of people around for this. The room appeared empty, so he stepped in.

Jim stood at a locker near the window. He had a bottle of water in one hand and threw pills down his throat with the other.

"Jimmy, aren't you happy to see your big brother?"

Startled, Jim looked up, then turned away and walked to the window. "Not now, Bobby, I don't have time."

"Won't take a minute."

"No." Jim stayed at the window, back turned toward his elder sibling. "Go."

"You little shit!" Bobby closed the space between them in a moment and grabbed Jim by the arm, turning him as easily as a man turns a child. "Damn it, you look at me when I talk to you."

But Jim kept his face averted. "I've nothing to say to you." Jim shook his arm free, pushed past the bigger man, and headed for the door. Bobby followed, grabbed his arm again, and spun him around. Tension radiating out of them like heat from a gasoline fire, the two men stood toe to toe.

Bobby Dunbar stood between Jim and the door as he had so many times when they were children. But Jim wasn't going to be intimidated now; he refused to raise his face or his voice. He spoke with the authority of adulthood, "Get out of my way."

Bobby reacted immediately, his fist formed as his hand came around and through. Hearing the tell tale signs of Bobby's temper flaring, Jim's instincts kicked in and he ducked and began to step back. It wasn't enough and the blow glanced off the side of his head. He swayed and fell backward, landing heavily on the floor, skidded a couple of feet and lost his orientation. His breath came in angry snatches as he fought to control his own emotions.

Bobby watched his brother take a hit that he had never thought would connect. Jim had always been the quicker of the two. The punches Bobby had landed had never been easy. In fact, he'd not landed a first one on Jimmy since his little brother was about six. "Jimmy?"

"Get out." Jim's words were acidic, rising in volume as he got to his feet and stepped back, seeking the wall, a locker, anything to confirm where he stood. His hand banged into something with too much force, he cursed under his breath, paper cups fell, popping sounds littered the floor. Jim kept his head down, eyes toward the floor.

Bobby's face creased in confusion, Jim seemed disoriented, reaching out to the air as if he expected something to be there. He seemed to stagger and sway, like a boxer after too many hits. Questions rose in Bobby's mind, what was wrong with Jimmy? Bobby stepped forward to help, "Jimmy, here …"

Jim shook off his brother's arm. Hhis voice was low and barely controlled, "Get - out - of - here." But Bobby had him now, hung on to his arm and wouldn't let go.

"Jimmy, what's wrong? I didn't hit you that hard. Come on, I just need to tell you something. Then I'll go."

Still breathing heavily, Jim stepped back, bumped the coffee machine again. He heard the coffee sloshing in the pot and turned to it, away from Bobby, grateful to have finally verified his position in the familiar room.

"Then tell, and go." His head down, he stood waiting.

"Jim, this is hard for me…Jim, look at me!" Bobby stepped back in close and took Jim's chin in his hand, as if Jimmy were a stubborn five-year-old. He brought the younger man's head up and held it. "God damn it – ten years and you still won't lay eyes on me?"

Bobby looked directly into his brother's blue eyes, long seconds passed. His hand dropped away. He took a step back. "Jimmy, what's going on?" Bobby looked away and then at his brother's face again. He took another step away. "Wh…"

Karen stuck her head in the door, "Boss wants everyone one in his office – right away."

She read the tension in the room, "Everything alright in here- ?"

Jim cut her off, "Fine, Detective, I'll be right in."

Karen frowned, Detective? O-kay? She stepped back tentatively and walked slowly away, keeping her ear on the men in the room behind her.

A moment later, the big man who had been in the room with Jim, stormed down the corridor; brushing past her rudely.

She went straight back to the locker room. "Jim, you okay?"

"Yeah, it's finished." Jim tried the smile on her but it wasn't strong. "Let's go." He put his hand on her back and prodded her toward the door. "Do you know what the Boss wants?" Jim asked, as much to shift her attention from Bobby as to find out, as they walked down the hall.

"No, he just said he wanted us all."

A short time later Bobby watched as his little brother exited the cop shop between the German Sheppard and the woman who had interrupted them earlier. Jimmy put the dog in the back and took the passenger seat. Bobby had never known Jimmy to trust anyone else to drive – ever. That, as much as anything, said it. Jimmy was a crip; dark glasses, hanging onto the back of a dog just to walk down the street. Robert Dunbar couldn't reconcile this, his brother, the best of the Dunbars, the big hero cop, blind?

Karen kept her voice neutral. "Will you tell me what I saw in the locker room?"

"Nothing. Just… look, he's my brother, we don't talk. I haven't seen him for ten, eleven years maybe and I'm not going to start now." Jim rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

"Why don't you talk?"

"Bobby is a Neo Nazi, Karen. I think that's enough reason."

"Shit."

They drove in silence for a while. As they pulled up outside the suspect's building and Karen opened her door, Jim reached out with a hand to her arm. "Karen. My brother - he can be dangerous. I'd rather he didn't know of anyone who was close to me, so if he does show up again, don't tell him we're partners."

"It's that bad?"

"It's that bad."

A couple of hours later, Karen stalked into the squad favoring her right leg. Bocelli, who had forced her to bang it into the wall during his attempt to avoid being interviewed, was complaining loudly, "I don't wanna talk to you right now. Come on, I didn't do it. Can't you at least take these off? They hurt." He was a greasy haired man, large boned but dumpy, fat over muscle with cheap designer copy clothes and loud gold jewelry.

Jim propelled the man along in front of him with a hand on his cuffs. "Shut up, Bocelli," Jim enforced his order by jerking the suspect's arms higher behind his back and pushed him through the gate.

"Alright, alright. Don't break my arms," the man whined.

"Jim, you fill the boss in?" Karen stepped back and took hold of the man's arm. "I've got Mr. Bocelli here."

Before releasing him back to Karen, Jim brought the man around to face him, nose to nose, "You gonna behave for Detective Bettancourt? Or do I have to walk you?"

"No, you leave me alone. Police brutality, that's what it is. I donno what I don't to deserve this." Then he grunted as Karen repeated Jim's last move and levered the guy's arms up another inch.

"You shouldn't have kicked his dog," she said, and gave the suspect a cold smile before she turned back to Jim, "Interview one."

Jim nodded, sent Hank to his rug by the desk and knocked on Fisk's door.

Bobby sat at the bench, unnoticed in the scuffle.

A few minutes later, Jim and the Lieutenant came out together. They walked straight past Bobby, who watched his brother as he made his way to a room on the side. He could see it now. Jimmy didn't look up at his boss when they spoke, he walked a little funny, trailing his hand along the wall here, a desk there. No wonder he hadn't heard from Jim, this must be why he cut the lines all those years ago.

Bobby's hand rose to his face and he rubbed his bottom lip, thinking. He wasn't sure what to do now. He'd come to tell his brother that he was dying, to reconcile with him before he made a quick ending for himself. None of that wasting away in hospitals for a Dunbar. No, they were made of sterner stuff. But this…? Jim living with this? There had never been a cripple in the Dunbar family. It just wasn't right. What was Jimmy thinking?

The slow ache in Bobby's gut burned hotly. He needed some relief. The tumor was acting up again. He stretched and yawned, then hastily pulled his jacket closed, it was one thing to walk into a police station armed; it was another to stupidly display his weapon. After all, having a brother on the force was only so much protection.

Bobby watched from behind a newspaper as Jim went into the interrogation room with Karen. Their boss entered a small room off the side.

Fisk leaned against the window. Bocelli was the pool cleaner who had cleaned up after the murder, and although he looked to weak to have done it, he probably knew who did. Jim and Karen were plucking names from him like feathers from a dead chicken. Karen looked to the mirrored wall and nodded. The Lieutenant noted the last name on a message sticker. Tom and Marty entered the observation room. Fisk handed them the note, "Go get this guy."

Fisk returned to his office, Bettancourt and Dunbar had it under control.

Bobby watched as the men went in and out of the observation room. Finally the coast was clear. He stood, walked over like he owned the place, and stepped inside. It was dark like a theatre, the microphone relayed conversation.

Jim was sitting back. The female cop shot questions at the brawny dope sitting in the chair. Clearly the woman was running the show. After all, what could Jim do now? It's not like he could see the reactions to the questions the woman asked. Mm, but this one was tasty looking. Bobby grinned, Jim and his women, he always managed to get the pretty ones but never the good ones. The ones who would do what they were told, who knew how to be a woman. No, Jim's women were always as hard headed as he was.

In the dark of the observation room, lulled by the repetitive questions, Bobby recalled the girl he and Jimmy had argued over more than a decade ago. She was stunning. A tall brunette with clear skin, wide green eyes and a mouth that men had reason to fight over. The brothers were hustling pool late one night in a dive out in Ridgewood, Queens. Bobby had needed some dough to cover a bet that had gone sideways and pulled Jimmy in to help rake in the money fast. They had fun too. He had fond memories of the easy way they worked the table, real brothers - they hardly needed a word to communicate.

Well on their way to making the last of the money Bobby needed, it was the third pool hall in three nights, and they were on a roll. The guy they were just about to take for more money than either had ever won before, turned out to be a shade more stinking than week-old takeout. As they came up to the last run of the night, and the result was already written in neon for all to see, the loser took Bobby aside. "Look I'm not sure I can cover all this, I mean, I'm in over my head, can't we work something out?"

Bobby had been all for beating the money out of the guy but, with Jimmy in the police force and all, that wasn't going to work. And Jimmy would know if he pretended to let the guy off and went back for him later. Even Bobby knew he couldn't pull the wool over Jimmy's eyes. The guy had stood between the two brothers, the smell of fear wafting around him and his voice shaking a little as he bargained, "Tell you what, I'll give you everything I have, that's about half of what you won, but the rest, how about I give you my girl? I think I can talk her into going home with you two and, well, if you treat her right, she'll stick around."

Jimmy and Bobby sent him away while they discussed it. Jim had noticed the girl. She was the one who had been eyeing him up all night anyhow. It didn't look like the fellow would have to do much convincing. Jimmy shrugged, "You'll get enough cash out of it to cover your debt?"

"With what we got the last two nights, I'll have enough to stake myself again." Bobby agreed.

"Alright, but she chooses who she goes with alright? We don't argue about it and we don't share."

Jim pointed his finger at Bobby, which he wouldn't usually stand for, but he needed Jimmy to finish the game off right and it sounded like Jimmy wouldn't be asking for any of the cash this time. So Bobby let the finger pointing go and agreed to the terms.

Jim went to seal the deal. He gave the man a very hard glare, "Good move, bringing this up before you finished the game, but next time, don't bet on the expectation you're going to win. That could get you serious trouble around here."

The weasel had agreed with pathetic gratitude. They'd finished the game, Jimmy ending it with speed and flair, bringing six balls home with a mix of shots that even had Bobby impressed, although he'd never let on. The kid didn't need to grow any bigger or his boots wouldn't fit.

They'd shaken hands, the money had been handed over, and they retired to the bar. Soon enough the girl had come over. She stood between them, at least 5'10", in a dress that left very little to the imagination, legs all the way to her ass, and a mane of auburn hair that every man in the hall wanted to lay in.

"So, I'm Nora. Which one of you gets to buy me a drink first?" she asked, twirling her hair around her finger.

Jimmy smiled and called the bartender over. "You'll only be seeing one of us sweetheart and you get to choose. How's that?"

"Oh," she said and Bobby could have sworn she was disappointed. "Well, I don't know…"

As expected, Nora left on Jimmy's arm that night. What started as a one night deal worked out to be a little more. Jim found himself introducing Nora over and over again. When his friends asked where he had found the Amazon beauty, he'd look to her and she'd answer for him: "He won me in a pool game." It was a good time for Jimmy, he was moving swiftly up the ranks in the force and after a few false starts, he'd finally found a girl who knew her mind as well as he knew his, and who wouldn't compromise on what she wanted out of life.

From Bobby's point of view, things weren't too good. He had a run of bad luck with the horses and now that Nora was around, getting Jimmy to a pool hall to make good was harder. This particular Tuesday night, Bobby, Jimmy, and Nora had hit a pool hall in the Upper East Side. They had started a pretty good run and were looking to win large when Jimmy's damn beeper went off. Nothing Bobby said could convince Jim to ignore a call from his boss and off he went, leaving Bobby to win his game himself and see Nora home. He won. Bobby might not have that magic eye that Jim had but he could win a pool game. But Bobby felt he would have won more cash if Jimmy had stuck around like he should have. So, while dropping Nora off, he put the moves on her; and was pleasantly surprised when she didn't resist at all.

The next few weeks were a game of cat and mouse. Nora played both brothers, keeping Jim in the dark about Bobby and laughing with Bobby over cuckolding Jimmy. Of course it couldn't last this way and when Jimmy became suspicious he trailed Nora to a tryst with Bobby. The younger man called it off with the girl and avoided his brother for several weeks.

Bobby finally cornered him on the street when Jimmy stepped out of the cop shop. "Come on Jimmy, it's just a girl, don't go making something out of nothing."

Jimmy shook his head; his brother really didn't get it. "It's fine, I'm fine. I'm just busy that's all." Jimmy worked hard to avoid a confrontation. Somehow, with Bobby, he never seemed to come out on top. Things would be better if he just left it alone and cooled down. But Bobby wouldn't let it go.

"Jimmy, wait up." Bobby moved swiftly to catch up with Jim.

"You're not embarrassed to be seen with me in uniform?" Jim asked with a sneer.

"Hey, you don't get smart mouthed with me." Bobby jumped to the offensive. "That blue uniform isn't going stop me giving you a hiding if you're going talk like that."

"How far do you think you'll get Bobby, beating me up in front of a police station?" Jim gestured behind him, smiling coldly. "You'd probably end up spending the night in there even if I did explain you're my big brother and allowed to assault me."

Bobby gave him a cold, cold smile and turned away. "Watch your back, little brother."

Jim shrugged it off, Bobby was always making threats. And he hadn't really hurt Jim for a long time. Not since that dislocated shoulder a couple of years ago, for some imagined slight. Jim had been working hard in the gym. He was getting pretty good, and had been on a winning streak in his boxing tournament for months. Hell, he could probably bring his brother down a couple of notches. So Jim went back to his tiny one bedroom apartment, showered, and changed. He met up with a couple of guys from his squad at a favorite drinking hole, without giving Robert Dunbar another thought.

In the bar, Jim and Al told the story of how they'd had to run down a suspect for a couple of fat detectives that day, to an audience of wide eyes rookies. They'd been assigned as back up for two hot shot first grades from vice who had finally tracked down a pimp they'd been after for months. Al had joined the detectives at the front door but something had slowed Jim. He'd loitered near the car and then, going with his gut, he'd taken a look around the back. A black man, complete with sweat suit and gold chains, was shimmying out a bathroom window. After alerting his partner on the radio, Jim started up after the guy. Despite at least six inches advantage for the pimp, all of them leg, Jim had caught him and brought him down. The scuffle to cuff him had been impressive, and Jim had appreciated the way the detectives and Al stood there, watching, as if he were in the ring with this guy. As the night went on, the story got wilder with each telling; Al added some great flourishes, and dialogue with the black dude begging and pleading, and the beer and laughter flowed. At the end of the night Jim walked a little way with Al and then headed to the subway.

In the train on the way home, Jim relaxed. The train was dark, the lights were malfunctioning. He stretched out with a smile on his face and rested his eyes. Bam! His head banged on the seat and then the floor as Bobby grabbed his legs and pulled them out from under the seat. "What the fuck?"

"I told you not to sass me, Jimmy-boy. And I am allowed to beat you whenever you get too big for your boots. After tonight you will never forget that again." Bobby's voice shook with malice. Jim was on his feet and the adrenaline pumped. He didn't feel afraid. His first punch connected, and his second, then Bobby got one in, it was low, the wind rushed out of Jimmy so hard it felt like it came out his ears. Jimmy barely felt the next blows as Bobby systematically laid them down where they would show the least, hurt the most and do only superficial damage. This was his little brother after all; he was just teaching him a lesson, not disabling him for life. Jim never let up, throwing punches whenever he saw an opening, but Bobby was over six inches and fifty pounds of muscle heavier. He had the psychological advantage of almost two decades of sibling abuse and no moral resistance to his actions. Finally, when Jimmy had stopped fighting back and couldn't raise his head, Bobby looked down with satisfaction.

Jimmy lay in his own spittle and blood on the floor of the dark and rocking train. He managed a question. "Why'd you take Nora? Why?"

"Oh, Jimmy, I didn't realize she meant something to you." Bobby sounded calm, almost concerned. "Is she why you were sassing me?"

But Jim just closed his eyes, he didn't answer and Bobby assumed he'd passed out for a while. He stayed with the kid, to make sure no one took advantage of him.

While he waited, he lit a cigarette and thought about that girl who had managed to get in between two Dunbar boys. Trouble, their dad would have said, and he'd have been right. Bobby wished Jim had never talked him into taking the girl instead of beating the guy.

He considered what he could do, to make it alright between him and Jimmy, to make sure it couldn't happen again. He stubbed out his cigarette on the seat, nodding, next time they fcked, he'd get rid of her. Then he'd have to be scarce for a while so it never got back to him. He thought of that contact of his who had just got out of the joint and was offering him a piece of a racket in Vegas, maybe he'd take that up.

Vegas was over run with fuzz, but having a little brother on that side of the fence had to count for something. He looked down and smoothed the hair away from Jimmy's face. No bruising on his face, that's was good, he'd never want a Dunbar to look bad. Jimmy still owed him a few favors and could probably pull some strings for him if the men in blue got too close in Vegas. Yep, that's where he'd go, just as soon as he'd taken care of that bitch.

The train arrived at Jimmy's stop and Bobby lifted him to his feet, made sure he made it to his apartment door. "Stupid bitch, don't you worry about her anymore. She's outta my life too, Jimmy. Too goddamn big for her boots. Trying to get between brothers like that."

He didn't see Jimmy's uncomprehending stare.

The next day Jim's buddies ragged him about being so stiff and sore after such a little chase and he smiled and took it. Bobby had disappeared, which wasn't unusual. Life went on.

TBC