Session 10

~JET~

As I walked through the station toward their desks all eyes were on me and the case in my hands. Of course I was keeping my eyes on the kid just behind me. I muttered, "Remember our agreement. Your hands stay in your pockets the whole time."

Spike threw me a half-hooded glare and huffed a breath. After that alley he'd been a little less feisty. That gun had kicked him hard. I had to wonder if there were fresh bruises. He didn't seem to be limping, but it wouldn't surprise me if the kid knew how to conceal injuries as a survival tactic. He trudged along, clearly guarded behind that nonchalant expression.

No one moved to intercept us, to my surprise. Had they discovered everything that Spike's sticky fingers had relocated last time he'd been here? Had they suspected him?

When he passed an officer, the man held his hands over his pockets, throwing Spike some serious shade.

Yup. They knew.

That meant the only thing keeping them from acting was … me.

Striding up to the desks where the Dodge and Rich reclined, talking about bets on some sports game, I hadn't caught which one it was. But I didn't care.

I dropped the box, effectively interrupting them. "Here. I got what you were after."

Rich smirked. "Eh, ok. Did you meet with the mules?"

"Unfortunately no."

Spike coughed into his hand.

My brow furrowed down at him.

Hastily he put his hand back in his pocket, but his gaze locked on my pocket.

The gun! I pulled it out still wrapped to preserve the finger prints. "Actually, we may have."

Dodge scowled. "'We'? You telling me you're actually working with this little shit?" He leaned forward, about to poke Spike in the chest with a finger.

Spike didn't cower, he visibly braced for it. A battle hardened expression that had no business belonging to a child locked his face. Now I almost regretted telling him to leave their things alone.

"Hey." I held out the gun, halting Dodge in mid gesture. "Here's your lead. We were jumped in the alleyway by a couple of thugs and in the commotion one of them dropped this. Get the prints off it and if the guy has a prior, you might know who's moving this stuff." It suddenly struck me, another danger. I clamped a hand on Spike's shoulder. "The kid picked up the gun and fired a shot, scaring them off. So you'll want to get his prints to rule them out."

Rich scoffed and picked up the evidence. "No need. We already have a file on that pesky cur."

The heat in the air was tangible. Silent hostility from both sides. Damn it, and this time Spike hadn't done anything to warrant it.

I stepped between them, blocking the loaded stares. "So, you have what you were after. I'm going back to Ganymede."

As I turned Rich and Dodge laughed simultaneously. "No you ain't."

"Excuse me? You asked for a sting on the drugs. They're right there."

Dodge rolled his fingers on the box lid. "Yeah. But the perps aren't in custody. So we're gonna need you to hang around til we process this. Kay? Then we'll see about cutting you loose."

"But—"

Rich eyed me with a grin. "That's the deal our chief struck with yours. We gotta see this through to the end. Just having this case ain't enough. More'll follow this if we don;t nail the supply chain." He patted the top of it with a solid thump. "We need to find the nest of rats and put an end to them. And you're stickin' around until we do."

I heaved a sigh, not relishing more time in this slum. I swear my clothes stank like a refuse pit. I turned with a grunt. "Come on, Spike, let's go."

Dodge waved a hand in the corner of my vision. His tone far too blissful. "We'll be in touch."

I didn't hold back to see if the kid followed me. I couldn't wait to get outside the door. All I wanted to do was hit something. Blindly I stormed out of the station and pumped my fist, preparing to strike the crumbling brick facade of the station.

"Might not wanna do that. Might knock the whole joint down." Spike's voice broke through the building frustration. He stood calmly next to me, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, a different brand than before. These were Lucky Strikes. Lighting it up he took a puff and lifted his eyebrows. "Not too bad. Who would have thought Dodge has even halfway decent taste."

I gawked, glancing between him and the pack in his hands. "You … how … "

He made a rude noise, side-eyeing me. "Dodge is a schmuck. The fact that he thinks he's slick is his weakness. I nabbed these when he tried to poke me in the chest."

"Spike, I told you … " I lowered my head, there had been the proof before me of why he swiped things. In a world where he had nothing, he hadn't had a choice—it was steal or die. In that station there was no sympathy for his plight. All they saw was a degenerate. "You don't have to steal anymore."

He shrugged and eyed me through his mussy hair. "Dunno why you're so loyal to those jerks. You do know they're playing you."

"They're fellow officers."

He laughed. "That don't mean shit, old man. That pair are crooked as fuck."

I folded my arms. "That's just your bias talking."

"Ahhh, no it ain't." He was clearly mocking them. "You're just not picking up on their take. They are using you."

"I was sent here by my chief."

Spike cocked an eyebrow and lifted his chin. "Who is also probably on the payroll."

I stiffened, clamping a fist. "How dare you! These are all men committed to upholding the law."

He doubled over in laughter. "Oh wow … I knew you were inexperienced when I played you at the table, but I had no idea you were this blind! You been missing everything!"

"You're just some punk kid!" I growled. "What would you know?"

With a smug grin he exhaled a puff of smoke into my face. "How to run a drug deal, for one."

My jaw hung slack.

"Face it, if you had walked into that you would have failed. Fact is, lawman, if I wasn't fast on the uptake I wouldn't be alive. The evidence is all around this crater."

I didn't want to believe him, but he pointed down the street where the emaciated body of an injured child lay collapsed against the wall of the station itself. I was about to dash for it, but Spike grabbed my sleeve and shook his head. A pack of dogs ran toward the corpse and started to devour it. Dead.

"There's nothing you can do." Spike muttered and rolled his eyes in a dark scowl toward to the station. "But there was plenty they could have if they weren't running their own operations under the table. Trust me, there's more drugs running through that station than anywhere else in this entire crater."

I shook my head. "No, that can't be right. Why would I be investigating for them then?"

He snorted a laugh. "Wow, you really are blind." Pushing past me, he strode down the street away from the feasting dogs. "That's easy. You're flushing out their competition."

It was unbelievable. Spike had a clear vendetta against the cops, I could see why. This just didn't make sense. Police upheld the law—they didn't break it. These substances were illegal, pushed by gangs.

Huh. What would a kid know?

As I followed him through the twisted alleys my temper simmered. What would a kid know? His way through this shit hole, I was lost with no clue where he was heading … my eyes caught another tattered corpse of a child laying amidst the trashcans. Several dogs snarled and tore at one another for the scraps.

Against the damnable odds, Spike was still alive. And through all of that armed with no weapon—except his wits. This meant he was clever and perceptive to have evaded his certain fate. I had years on him, nearly twice! How could he be right about my colleagues?

At the end of the alley, he paused and turned around, leaning against the wall to wait for me.

Shogi. Since he'd learned the logistics of the game he had been unbeatable. While I studied the board and analyzed it over several minutes, he recklessly gambled, his moves taking mere seconds and trapping me every single time with a ruthless efficiency.

What did the kid know? I grimaced. Not liking to even ponder that question nor how he came by such knowledge and instincts. I didn't want him to be right about Rich and Dodge, nor the prospect that higher ups were involved. Maybe their chief didn't know. I couldn't exactly go to him with no proof, merely the hunch of a some vagrant child who apparently had a file already. Hands that I had witnessed stealing. Shit … I hated this position. Innocent until proven guilty.

Well, they had a gun with prints. They could trace the owner, they could find the mules and arrest them. This wasn't my business.

Spike discarded his spent cigarette and smashed it beneath his shoe, the laces flopped about having come untied. "You look a bit sick. Feelin' alright?"

I paused, not wanting to meet his lazy eyes. Those eyes that were deceptive as hell. He was a child. Merely a child. "Just … preoccupied."

"Ehh heh. Not a comforting realization, is it."

"What would you know?" I snapped.

He lifted an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

Too late I realized the slap in his face that statement had been. Joe had used and betrayed him at every angle. What had first appeared to have been a saving grace had entailed abuse. What kind of depraved man did it take to send a mere child to complete a drug deal at a pawn shop?

He heaved a sigh, lowing his eyes as he kicked a can. "Bein' used sucks … but you know, it's just a fact of life. Eventually it gets to be just like dealing with the rain. You learn there's not much you can do about it, and complaining doesn't stop it. Relentlessly it just keeps pouring down."

I clenched my fist. "I'm not being used." Storming past him, I crossed the street and trudged further banishing the words even as a cold rain plunked down, striking the filthy pavement. Shit, even the damn weather was siding with the kid.

Spike walked up beside me as the rain drenched us both to the bone. He offered me a cocked smile. "Yeah right … and I'm a business tycoon. Hey, delusions are nice, but they sure don't keep you warm at night."

"Hey kid," I wiped the rain from my eyes, "where are your parents?"

I expected him to do as he always had before. Ignore the question. He lowered his head, protecting himself from the pelting rain as he walked away from me, deeper into the crater. Were we going back toward the hotel?

No … this wasn't the right way. I had never seen this area before.

At length he climbed the exposed staircase of burnt out apartment building. Long ago it had been ravaged by a fire collapsing part of the outer wall through the heat. Surefooted, Spike made his way through the wreckage to stand on the beam of what had once been the living room of an apartment. By now it had been looted. The tattered flag of old police DO NOT TRESSPASS tape fluttered in the air.

"Spike," I took great care stepping on the creaking floor, not trusting it to hold my weight, "why did you bring me here?"

His eyes were haunted as he stared at the soot darkening the walls. Not a single word, just his trembling eyes. And I knew.

He had answered my question. We stood in the midst of an old murder scene. This was why he was alone in this cesspit. I don't know why I had assumed his parents were still somewhere, perhaps just neglectful. Denial perhaps?

The truth … Spike was an orphan.

I put a hand on his shoulder as he bowed his head. "I'm sorry … I shouldn't have asked."