Dan Espinoza definitely liked women.
Dan liked everything about women: the way they smelled, the way they walked, their hair, their smiles... the trouble was, he didn't really want to fuck them.
He liked Chloe. A lot. Loved her, even. After all, she was the mother of his child... but over time, more and more, he had started to realize that his marriage to work wasn't the only reason they had drifted apart; they chalked it up to 'losing the spark', and 'being different people', and whatever other bullshit ol' reliable cliches heterosexual couples pulled off the shelf and dusted off whenever their love soured.
No, his marriage to work was the least of their problems, because the true root was that he just wasn't interested in Chloe anymore. And he tried; oh, god, did he try. And then he tried with Charlotte, and Ella, even Maze once (she didn't go for it—he never tried with her again), but it was no use.
At first, he'd thought that there was something wrong with him. A chemical imbalance, maybe? Or whatever shrinks called that thing where there isn't enough libido stuff to make him horny? Anyways, he'd gone to see the blonde that everyone in the precinct went to see. The one with the glasses. Tiny little thing. Like a sexy librarian.
Even then, Dan had tried to get it up. Ooh, yeah, look at you... I'll bet you're so fuckin' tight. I'd love to see that tight little ass bouncing up and down on my dick. I'll bet you love it in the ass. But, no avail. She was even wearing a low-cut blouse, cleavage hanging out, and yet still, nothing. He left and never went back.
Dan sat at his desk, jaw clenched, fiddling with a pen and staring vacantly into space. Guys like him didn't need therapy. He'd been foolish to think that his answers lay on a reclining couch behind an office door with some head doctor scribbling away on a notepad. What he really needed was a good fuck... yeah, that'd do it. That'd set him straight again.
He nodded absentmindedly to himself, twirling the pen between his calloused fingers. He was jolted back to reality by Lucifer snapping his fingers, and Chloe eyeing him with concern...
With pity.
He glowered and cracked the pen in two, nicking himself on the plastic splinters and covering himself in sticky red ink. Lucifer snickered and bent to whisper something undoubtedly nasty to Chloe, to which she sighed, politely averting her gaze as Dan futilely attempted to wipe the ink from his hands. Dan flashed them a tight-lipped smile (that likely came across more menacing than humourous), then cast his eyes to his cluttered desk.
Fuck, he hated Lucifer. Like, hated Lucifer.
The smug bastard had just swanned in and taken over the whole precinct. At first, even Dan had been charmed, though he never would've admitted it; but bit by bit, the jabs and sneers and insults wore it away until a rotten, bitter core was left behind. Now he just couldn't stand the guy. Now, there was little he wouldn't give for a good excuse to punch him in the face.
Case, he thought, clearing his throat and rummaging through scattered papers and photos and sticky notes with stained, shaking hands. Focus on the case.
Dead stripper. Garroted with piano wire and strung up above the bar of the local dive, posed like Jesus Murphy Christ himself, complete with props and all. The photos were gory, but nothing he hadn't seen before. The most interesting part was the staging: all the bottles had been broken, alcohol soaking into the floorboards, and a single statement scrawled across the mirror wall in red spray paint:
THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT
Dan wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if Lucifer had been involved in some way. Hell, it was in the name; who the fuck would give themselves such a pretentious name if there wasn't some truth to it?
They had interviewed the owner, who'd been the one to discover the body, but she was visibly shaken and had an airtight alibi. All she could tell them was that a set of keys had gone missing. Unfortunately, there had been little to no evidence thus far, which made narrowing down a list of suspects incredibly difficult. All they had to go on was the employee roster with a couple notes in the margins about who might have wanted to hurt Dead Stripper.
Sometimes it was easier for Dan not to learn their names... you couldn't get too invested in cases like these. Real life was rarely like the cop dramas: as nice as it was to fantasize about catching every murderer, uncovering that one anomalous lead that cracked the case wide open, it almost never happened that way. Dead Stripper would become another file in an ever-growing folder of cold cases.
He heard the telltale clicking of approaching heels, and looked up to see Chloe standing over him, her expression unreadable.
"Uniforms picked up our first suspect... she's waiting in interrogation as we speak," she began, gauging Dan's reaction. He maintained his poker face and waited for her to continue. "Laney Cooper. Regulars said they heard her arguing with the vic the night of the murder. Care to sit in on this one?"
Dan sighed, resting his elbows on the desk and pressing his lips to his laced fingers pensively. Then he nodded. "Okay. But Lucifer stays outside."
Chloe nodded once as the two of them made for the interrogation room. Much to Dan's displeasure, Lucifer had already let himself in and was performing hypnosis on the suspect, who was a blubbering mess of snot and tears.
"I-I want..." she stammered, gazing deep into Lucifer's eyes. She was a pretty young thing, with narrow, delicate features and thin brown hair. She was the kind of fragile girl that Dan would've bedded back in the day. "I want to be an artist."
Dan smirked, arms folded over his broad chest. It was always so delightful to see the pompous expression fall as Lucifer's ego deflated like a week-old helium balloon, shrivelling up like a smelly, rubbery raisin.
"Ah... I see. Don't quit your day job, darling."
"Alright, enough with the cheap parlour tricks," Dan interjected, slapping the folder full of crime scene photos down in front of the snivelling brunette. "Where were you this morning at nine AM?"
Laney frowned, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her cardigan. Dan suppressed the urge to gag. "Um... out," she replied. Dan sighed heavily, casting a loaded knowing glance at Chloe as he sat down beside her.
"Out where?" he asked, his voice strained with thinly veiled exasperation.
"With a friend," Laney continued. She sniffled. Dan wanted to bash his face into the desk; they'd only been in the room for thirty seconds and already, prying the answers out of this girl was like pulling teeth. "Um. Robin Thompson. We went to brunch at, uh... Blue's Bistro."
Dan pursed his lips, giving her a hard stare.
"Ooh, Daniel, why don't you look at me like that?" Lucifer murmured. Dan shot him a reproachful glare before refocusing his attention on Laney.
"Blue's, hm?" he asked. Laney nodded haltingly, looking down at her lap. "Are you sure?"
Her lower lip trembled and she bit it. She met his gaze, nodding more confidently that time. Dan huffed, flopping back in his chair, shaking his head.
"Laney, I can't help you if you're not honest with me."
She grimaced and fumbled for her phone in the depths of her pocket. "I am being honest! Here's her number. Call her and ask her yourself."
Dan copied down Robin's number and handed the phone back. Chloe leaned forward on her elbows, searching Laney's face. It was fascinating, watching her at work; her intelligence had been one of the things that had drawn Dan in in the first place. It was no wonder she shot up through the ranks to detective. He knew her dad was proud... wherever he was.
Chloe opened the folder and laid the photos of Dead Stripper out before Laney, whose jaw dropped. Something in Dan's gut told him she was innocent; there was a look in her eyes, a glint of utter despair that he had seen so many times before.
"Witnesses at the Fox say they overheard you arguing with Amelia Moore the night before she was murdered," Chloe stated matter-of-factly. Laney burst into fresh tears, hiding her face in her hands, shoulders trembling. "Can you tell us what you were arguing about?"
Dan waited for Lucifer to make some inappropriately-timed joke, but when he snuck a look out of his peripheral, the consultant was silent and thoughtful, braced casually against the one-way mirror, somewhat too stiff to be altogether nonchalant. He was like an impeccably-dressed mannequin, made to look carefree, but who could be toppled by a friendly punch to the shoulder.
Oh, now you have some decorum, Dan thought ruefully.
"I-It wasn't even anything important..." Laney began. She shut her eyes tightly, pushing the crime scene photos back towards Chloe in brokenhearted disgust. Chloe tucked them away in the folder. "I've, um... I've been thinking about leaving LA, but Ames wanted me to stay, said I couldn't leave her."
Chloe squinted suspiciously, which Dan quickly learned upon first meeting her meant that she was onto something. After years of knowing her, he could hear the subtle turning of gears in her head.
"Just you? Not taking your boyfriend, a... Brendan Lee, with you?"
Laney's heart seemed to stop. She shook her head as if to clear it. "We've been thinking about leaving LA. Sorry. I misspoke."
"Aha. Right." Chloe was obviously unconvinced, but gathered up the folder and rose to her feet. Dan followed in suit. "We'll be in touch. Don't leave LA."
Laney said nothing as they left, the door closing softly behind them.
"So... thoughts?" Chloe asked as they meandered back to Dan's desk.
He sighed. "She's definitely hiding something... but I don't think she did it."
"Yeah, I think you're right."
"Well, I'll tell you something, it's the same old story." Lucifer threw his hands up dramatically, zipping around them and cutting them off mid-step. They watched him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Someone is trying to sabotage me. Again. I mean come on, 'the devil made me do it'? When are you humans going to stop trying to pin your sins on me?"
He spat out the word 'humans' like a loogie. Dan wasn't sure why Lucifer's behaviour never ceased to amaze him; just when he thought Lucifer couldn't get any more self-centered, entitled, and cocky, he somehow managed to outdo himself. And after a few years of putting up with him, the whole 'devil' shtick got really tired. Like most of Lucifer's quirks, they started off funny and charming, but got really old really fast.
"Yes, it's always about you, isn't it, Lucifer."
Lucifer looked left, then right. Then he shrugged and nodded. "Well in this case, yes. Come, now, if I were to ever have the gall to murder a human (which I don't) do you honestly think I would announce my murders? I'd be an excellent murderer."
Chloe put her hands up defensively. "Guys. C'mon. Murder to solve."
"Quite right, Detective," Lucifer agreed. Burying his stupid Grecian nose in Chloe's ass. "We must get to the bottom of this mystery."
"Aaaaand what mystery would that be, Lucifer?" Dan asked dryly.
"Who's behind this smear campaign."
Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose while Dan grinned in a way that didn't reach his eyes. "Yep. There it is."
"Dan, just..." Chloe trailed off, shrugging. "Just let it go."
"Fine. But when Ella comes back with the nail in his fuckin' coffin, don't say I didn't warn you. He's a psychopath," Dan hissed, and if looks could kill, Lucifer would've dropped dead right then and there.
Instead, the consultant snickered. "Oh, Dan, pick up a dictionary for fuck's sake."
Dan bristled. Chloe scurried off to protect Lucifer, and to scheme and leave Dan out of it, more than likely. That was always the way it went these days: Chloe and Lucifer, thick as thieves. Putting themselves—no, putting Chloe—in harm's way to solve crimes that Lucifer no doubt committed himself.
Fuck, he hated Lucifer.
Dan fished his keys out of the pocket of his leather jacket, strutting through the parkade towards his car. After such a long day turning up bupkis for the case, it would be a relief to go home and kick his shoes off... only to repeat the process all over again the next day.
He could feel someone watching him.
He slowed, his whole body tense and on high-alert, hand poised over his holster. He picked his steps carefully, cautiously approaching his vehicle... someone was leaning against the hood.
"LAPD. Who the fuck are you?" Dan barked.
The figure flicked a zippo and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and puffing out a cloud of smoke. It curled around him in tendrils, and with the ribbing in his bulletproof vest, he reminded Dan of a black dragon.
"I said, who the fuck are you?"
"Keep your voice down," the man said. He was clean-shaven, with buzzed blond hair, knives strapped to virtually every part of him and what looked like a set of scales hanging off his hip. He took another long drag off his cigarette, finishing the rest in one go and crushing the butt under his booted heel. "You and I have something in common, Daniel."
Dan coiled and drew his gun. The man laughed; his teeth were blindingly white.
"Identify yourself," Dan commanded, quieter that time, but equally as threatening.
The man shook his head. "No. Who I am isn't important—what is important is that I can give you something you desperately want... I can get rid of Lucifer for you."
Dan paused, his resolve wavering. "How do you know any of this...?"
"Does it matter?" the man asked rhetorically. "I only need one thing from you. When I call on you, organize a meeting with Lucifer. Ask him to come alone because you have something important to tell him. Then, sit back and relax while I do the rest. You'd be doing not just yourself a favour, keeping your family safe... you'd be keeping the whole planet safe."
Something writhed in Dan's belly, conflicted; don't do it, a little voice cried, you're already too far down a path of no return. But he beat the feeling down and drew in a deep breath, holstering his weapon. If it meant salvation, he would do what needed to be done.
"Okay. You got yourself a deal."
The man smirked. "Glad to have you on-board, Daniel."
A cocktail of feelings welled up in the pit of Dan's stomach, but he adamantly ignored them. He cast a surreptitious look over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching them, and when he turned back, the man was gone.
He couldn't get out of the parkade fast enough.