Hello again. This chapter is also in my Blind Justice universe where Jim Dunbar has a promotion and new duties. I want to thank my beta reader, Alice and let TPTB know I am making no money from this story. This is just a lot of fun.

Also a few names from other televisions shows are mentioned, but this is not a cross over story.

Unexpected Views

Chapter Two

"Joe, come on, join us for a beer." Jim Dunbar leaned against his locker as the photographer tied the borrowed running shoes tight. "You deserve one; the guys are saying the pictures you took were better than any the CSI guys ever got."

Joffre eyed the blind detective, how would you know his only thought.

"Yeah, if you don't watch out Mack Taylor is gonna offer you a job." Selway cut in as he slammed his locker shut. "Too bad Taylor won't let you keep your pictures."

"Not like I could sell them anywhere but a horror web site and I don't want my name connected to any of those." Joffre looked down at the clothes the officers had dug up for him. A stained and stretched out police athletic league t-shirt topped a pair of stained sweat pants. At least the running shoes fit decently but there were no socks to go with them. "Where do these clothes come from?"

"Don't ask, you might toss your cookies… again," Marty joked as he grabbed his coat. "Come on, Joe, first beer's on me."

"What, Russo buying, is this a month without an r in it?" Jim grabbed Hank's harness. "Joe, you gotta come, this is a miracle; it may never happen again."

Joffre looked at the three men, all tall, good looking and with an air of confidence around them. This had to be the power broker type Christie Sullivan was talking about and this was a chance to get in good with them.

"Okay, but the second beer's on me," he smiled and followed them out of the precinct house.

0o0o0

Joffre looked around and suppressed a grin. Oh my god, it's a man buffet, a testosterone smorgasbord!

"Move it, you're blocking the way into the bar."

Joffre turned to see a tall, dark haired with prominent side burns giving him the evil eye.

"Come on Flack, you might have to get used to Joe. Mack's seen his pictures and likes his work." Jim pressed his hand on Joffre's shoulder. "Joe, watch out for this guy. He's Mack Taylor's pet homicide detective."

"Hey, Dunbar, at least somebody wants me around." Flack swerved around the pair and then grabbed Joffre by the arm, "come here, Joe, and see who the real detectives hang out with."

Big men; black men; blond, brunette and bald men; surely in here Joffre DesLaurier could find a model for New York power brokers. He thought Zach Nichols, tall and gangly, pulling jazz tunes out of the out of tune piano could pull it off or maybe handsome, compact Mack Taylor who accompanied him on the bass. The big man with the salt and pepper hair was called Bobby and he waltzed the curly haired Stella Bonasera who Joffre had met earlier today at the crime lab. That guy looked like he was smart enough to do whatever he damn well pleased. There was a tall, acne scared bean pole pushing his glasses up his long roman nose as he reached the bar; he demanded a neat scotch and started to argue with his pony tailed, black partner that fluoride in the water ruined the taste of good booze. This didn't even include Russo, Selway and Dunbar; get any of these guys to pose for him and Christie Sullivan would snatch up any shot he sent in.

"You're lucky, Joe, somebody's having a party." Dunbar pointed himself toward the music, "If you have your camera ready you can make yourself a lot of friends."

Joffre pulled his camera from its case. "I aim to please," he smiled as he started clicking away when a heavily pregnant red head came in with a petite blond. A roar rose from the assembled officers told Joe this was a surprise party for the expectant woman. He couldn't have planned better shots as the men lined up to kiss the little mother.

0o0o0

The next morning a slightly hung over Joffre shuffled into his office and pushed his camera's memory card into his computer. Thumbnail images of each shot downloaded onto the hard drive while Joe poured himself a cup of strong black coffee. How many beers had he'd drunk last night? Pulling his notebook from his camera bag Joe flipped it open to pages filled with names and phone numbers of the cops he had met last night.

Who would you think of as a mover and shaker, Ms. Sullivan? Taylor runs the crime lab; Cragen, Ross and Sipowicz run squads and Goren is supposed to be the best profiler in the city, the county and maybe the whole damn state. Does that say smarts or power? Even Andy Sipowicz would scare the shit outta most Wall Street types and he is definitely not pretty. God, what a bunch of idiots, but he'd had more fun there than he'd had in years. Especially Munch; that man couldn't really be a cop, he was too damn weird.

Damn, phone… but which damn phone? The Joe phone; I've gotta remember to be Joe Lawrence when I answer this one.

"Morning, this is the walking dead, can I help you?"

"Hey, walking dead," Marty Russo's voice sounded tinny through the cheap burn phone, "you want a story get your ass to Canal and Mulberry; looks like a hostage situation at the Bank of East Asia. Just remember you didn't hear it from me and I might tell you when we find another trio of decomposing darlings."

Still clad in a t-shirt and sweats Joffre grabbed his lightweight Leica and headed out the door.

0o0o0

Joffre couldn't imagine how much time had passes as he sat on the curb, sweaty and exhausted but ecstatic. This was exciting. This was reality… and he hadn't played with reality in a long, long time.

"Hey, Larry-boy, I hope you aren't working for Dunbrook cuz if you are I am gonna confiscate those pictures." Joffre jumped when Tom Selway plopped down on the curb and pulled his wallet out. "I got these friends at Newsday, UPI and New York One. If your pictures are good they'll buy as fast as you can shoot'em." Tom smiled wide at the photographer, "I'm also a union rep and if those pictures you took at Lindsey Messer's baby shower look good I can get them into the union newsletter with your info on them. You'll get business, if you don't mind weddings, birthdays and bar mitzvahs." Tom levered himself up and scrubbed his hand over his face, "and Jim Dunbar's wife works for a magazine or something. If you kiss enough ass around here you won't be a stringer much longer."

"Thanks, Tom; I think I might have what I want right now. I'll get back to you later." Joffre stood and stretched, feeling each vertebrae snap back into alignment. Taking advantage of his natural elevation he quickly spotted Jim Dunbar talking to several uniformed officers and crime scene techs so Joffre sauntered over as casually as he could while all his other senses were going at hyper speed.

"Jim, what are you doing here now?"

"Joe?" Dunbar raised his hand to silence the photographer as he barked orders, "Drury, have you got all the eyewitnesses separated correctly?"

"Yeah, Dunbar; there were only five customers on the floor and we have them on chairs in the a bunch of lobbies. Employees are either in their offices or at desks with enough supervision to stop chatter. Russo left for the hospital with the perp…"

"That's person of interest," Jim grinned, "don't give the scumbag any excuse to cry crime scene contamination or undo influence."

Officer Drury blew a long, loud raspberry before he continued, "the scumbag of interest and Russo traveled in the same ambulance to Bellevue. He unconscious from lack of blood, but since it was a armored car guard's bullet that caused that it would be Brink's brutality."

"Okay, release each one after their statements are finished and I'll decide who to call in for follow ups." Dunbar tilted his head, "Joe, how the hell did you get here? You got a police scanner?"

"Yeah, and I got inside help now too." Joffre grinned.

"I didn't hear that." Jim reached down and grabbed Hank's harness. Joffre hadn't even noticed the big dog was there, but with Jim in take charge mode it was easy to forget the man was blind. "I'm supervising this mess, but it looks like a done deal. Nothing like tweakers to get everything screwed up when they need their meth. Now get out of here before someone notices you." Jim swung around and headed toward his ride when unexpected words flew out of his mouth, "just how freaking tall are you, Lawrence?"

"Six foot five inches."

"Please tell me you don't play basketball," Dunbar shot back as he shooed Hank into the back of the squad car and got the driver to head to the precinct house.

tbc