*Re-written in 3rd person POV*
Summary: Sketch unexpectedly gets embroiled in the Purple Magic investigation and uncovers an unexpected link to Captain Olivia Benson. (During the events of SVU s22e13 Trick-Rolled in Moulin but before the arrest of Kwan in OCs01e05 Inferior Product). Start of a three-story arc.
Characters: Olivia Benson, Jet Slootmaekers, Det. Ray Fernandez and original characters (Sketch, Blaze, Paco, Vinny)
A/N: For those who haven't read any of the previous stories in the series, here are some things you should know:
The Crew is a street family of homeless kids who protect and look out for one another. Relevant members to this story:
Original characters: Sketch Blaze, Paco, Mama K (aka Krissy and Sarah), Vinny (Mama K's boyfriend who is a police officer).
Wally is the nickname given to Eli Stabler who became friends with Sketch and Blaze in Chapter 1: A Sliver of Light in the Darkness.
Jet Slootmaekers is known in the Crew as "Jez" and has asked everyone in the group to be her ears on the streets for information related to the Wheatley information. (established in Chapter 5: Safety in Numbers).
"Sketch's Corner" or "The Corner" is a fictitious day care center named for the kids of homeless/at risk of homeless youth started at a Catholic Church. It is named after Sketch who gave them the idea.
Sister Tara must be on coffee duty, Sketch thought, wincing as the toxic liquid someone had erroneously labeled "coffee" hit his taste buds. The poor sister was notorious for her inability to make a decent cup, even when instructions were clearly written down. It was either too strong or too weak, and it seemed that today was one of the "too strong" days.
Thank God. After hearing from Jez about the bad batch of Purple Magic, he and Blaze had scoured the streets looking to check on Paco after their recent fist fight. Blaze had texted to say he was going to take a quick nap before hunting again, but Sketch's overactive mind prevented him from doing the same. For his own safety, he'd decided it was best to come to the Corner with its ready access to distractions, caffeine, and sugar until his brain became tired enough to let him crash for a couple of hours before dragging himself out Paco-hunting again.
Sketch felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down into the brown eyes of one of his young protégés. He squatted down, wincing from the bruises that had blossomed overnight, and with a tug on her tails, asked, "What's up, Roo-roo?"
Ruby was one of the Corner's newer kids. Her mother had sought assistance from one of the non-profits associated with the church after being on the streets due to debt racked up from her husband's hospitalization and subsequent death. The only hiccup was Ruby because her mom couldn't afford daycare nor did she have anyone who could watch her little girl. Sketch had heard she'd cried when she was told about the Corner, instilling within him a sense of pride at the fact that he'd planted the seed that grew into this place. Must be nice to have a parent like that. Red warning lights went off at the thought, and he quickly stopped himself from going down that road. Not today.
Ruby leaned in close as if to tell him a secret and shyly whispered, "Will you play Candyland with me?"
Looking into those Basset Hound eyes, Sketch couldn't say no. Despite his somewhat anti-social tendencies and complete social ineptness with adults, he liked kids, and amazingly, they liked him, too. Their innocence drew him like a starving man seeing food for the first time. It'd been so long since he'd felt such simple wonder at the world. In fact, he couldn't remember ever having it. Nothing should take away their innocence. Nothing. He'd like to think that by helping at the Corner he was shielding "his kids" from the realities of the world for a little bit longer, but then again, maybe such fanciful thoughts were just the lack of sleep talking.
"Sure thing." Giving her a small smile, Sketch stood up and held out his hand to her. "Let's go."
A big grin creased her face, and satisfaction filled him. Yup. Kids are definitely easier to handle. No guile. No filter. No manipulation. No risk of betrayal…well at least on purpose. It often amazed him at how a simple game could brighten a child's entire day. It must be nice to not worry about protecting yourself and your family, finding food for the day, or trying to find shelter from the weather, weirdos and perverts – not necessarily in that order.
As they began to make their way over to the game table, the Center's door opened. Turning his head slightly, Sketch saw two men with "cop" written all over them enter the room. The question floated to his puzzled mind of what could possibly have brought them here of all places. He had no idea what they wanted, but past experience dictated that it wasn't good.
As had become his default from living on the streets, his fight or flight response kicked in. His eyes scoured for exit routes, while his mind churned with options. When he spotted one of the volunteers standing near the cops glance his way, it sank in that they were there for him. Shit. What're they gonna pin on me now? Shooting an eye towards the exit heading towards the cafeteria, Sketch came up with an idea. They haven't seen me yet. Maybe I can still avoid 'em.
Ruby's cheerful voice penetrated his anxious thoughts. Don't be such a wuss! You can't just up 'n' leave 'er like that! You shouldn't hurt her just cuz you're a wimp! A voice in his head mentally scolded, flooding him with shame.
To ease his conscience, Sketch leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Why don't we go raid the kitchen for some of Sandy's brownies?" He mentally rolled his eyes. Not only are you trying to bribe a kid to appease your guilty conscience. You're also teaching her to rebel. Great move! The voice chided sarcastically again.
Her eyes grew large with amazement. "Really?" Within the next second, her shoulders slumped, and she announced, crestfallen, "I'm not allowed in there."
Looking into those eyes filled with wonder and defeat, Sketch couldn't help himself. So much for the big bad street kid, huh? What a load of bull! If they only knew... He shook his head at the thought and forced a smile onto his face. "It'll be our little secret, huh?" He winked at her, and the two of them made their way into the sacred lair of Sister Catherine, who ruled the cafeteria and its staff with an iron fist. Man, she's gonna have a heart attack if she ever finds out.
Sketch pulled open the refrigerator door, and after rummaging through its contents, he held up the plastic container with pride. God! It was like being a kid again, and he must say that it felt good. Handing one of the gooey, rich, chocolate and peanut butter desserts to Ruby, he took a large bite of his own. Just as he was about to swallow, he heard a voice say, "I think those are for dinner."
He jumped a foot in the air and almost dropped the brownie. Aww, hell! He thought, cursing himself for not being more alert. It's a good thing you're not out on the streets today, a snide voice whispered to me as Ruby gasped, her eyes filled with guilt. They both spun around to meet the amused gaze of Father Miguel.
"Hey, Padre," Sketch greeted meekly.
Chuckling, the priest stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Give me one of those."
Shooting him a grateful look, the teen handed over one of their contraband.
Taking a bite, Father Miguel hummed in delight. "These are delicious. No wonder you risk her wrath."
Ruby stared in wonder and relief. Sketch knew she couldn't believe that an adult had joined their little raid, but he knew that this gentle man didn't have the heart to scold them for their childish trick. In fact, he was sure the good father enjoyed it almost as much as they did.
Looking up, his eyes met the gaze of the older man. "Sketch, I need to talk to you," he said softly.
Not today, dammit! He wanted to shout at him…at all of them, but he knew he couldn't. It'd only make things worse. Somehow, though, it seemed to fit the tone of the last couple of days. Resigned to this fact, Sketch nodded, and with a quiet sigh, he bent down to say, "Roo-roo, why don't you go get the game and meet me at the table?"
"Okay," she replied happily, heading back towards the main area of the Corner they'd just left.
Grabbing the plastic container that sat on the counter, Father Miguel explained as he put it away, "The detectives want to talk to you."
Sketch nodded, acknowledging his statement. Nothing new there.
"At the station."
The street-wise teen's head shot up at that little tidbit, knowing what it meant. They didn't just want to talk to him; they wanted to interrogate him! He was a suspect. "Fuck!" He cast an apologetic look towards the priest who'd scolded him many times about his language, especially in front of the kids.
Suddenly, suspicion filled him. It was a natural response. He'd been betrayed by many adults in his life, and he had a sinking feeling that maybe he could add the good padre to the list. Hurt filled him at the thought. He'd always thought of Father Miguel as one of the good guys, and it was one of the reasons he'd kept coming here. Trying desperately to hide the depth of his disappointment and pain, he sneered, "With you as my escort?" He kept watching the door, expecting the cops to barge in and haul him off at any moment.
Hurt flashed across the other man's face. "C'mon, Sketch. You know me better than that." He took a step towards the wary teen who unconsciously took a step back towards the alley-side exit, ready to bolt at any moment.
With a deep sigh, Father Miguel stopped. "They don't know you're here. They simply asked me to contact them the next time I saw you."
Casting a quick but cautious glance towards the door, Sketch carefully examined the other man's face, hoping to see some sort of indication that he was telling the truth. Instead, he saw amusement flicker in the depths of his eyes.
"What?" Sketch asked, completely confused.
"I introduced them to Sandy," the priest confessed with a chuckle. Sandy was one of the volunteers and, boy, was she a talker. Given the slightest opportunity, she'd talk your ear off about her family, her work, her pets, her latest dining experience, and anything else that happened to pop into her head. Even if you tried to cut her off or ignore her, she'd follow you around, completely unfazed.
"You didn't," Sketch crowed, gleefully.
Father Miguel nodded with a bit of a sheepish look on his face. "Had to. Once I saw you and Ruby slip in here, it was the only way I could come talk to you."
"Some priest you are," the teen teased, "Are you sure that doesn't break one of your vows?"
He shrugged, completely unrepentant. "So you gonna tell me what's going on?"
Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, Sketch shot him a perplexed look. "Don't really know."
"C'mon, Sketch. I know you think you can handle this on your own, but you could be in some serious trouble here. They said that you're somehow involved in an attempted murder."
What the ever loving fuck?! He'd been accused of many things in his life, mostly petty stuff, but attempted murder?! "Of who?" he asked, trying hard not to panic as he began to feel the pounding of his rapidly beating heart fill his chest cavity.
"They didn't say."
Sketch fell silent, his brain and gut warring with one another. His brain told him to put off dealing with them until he felt up to it, but in his gut, he knew they wouldn't stop combing the streets looking for him. If he was a suspect, there'd be an APB put out, and he'd have to look over his shoulder until he went in. He could probably hide from them, but what would be the point? They'd accuse him of trying to obstruct justice or something. The streets were rampant with stories of made up charges, intimidation, and beatings, so it wouldn't be the first time something was pinned on a street kid like him.
"Sketch?"
Looking at the good father, he could tell that it wasn't the first time he'd called his name. Shoulders slumping in defeat, dread raced through his veins as he stated, "Might as well get this over with."
Father Miguel put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with concern. "Are you sure? You look exhausted. Maybe we can push it off until tomorrow."
"I'll be fine, but can you put this in my backpack?" the teen asked, handing over his switchblade. "Don't want to invite more trouble than I need."
The good father could see the boy's determination to go through with this, so he nodded, accepting the knife. "At least let me come with you when you go."
Sketch shook his head. "That's not necessary."
"It's not that I don't think you can't do this. It's just that I don't trust them to treat you right. All I want is to make sure that your rights are protected."
Jez had an alert set in the NYPD system for any of their names, so Sketch knew he just had to bide his time until someone came to help him. Looking into the man's worried eyes, he earnestly said, "Father, I appreciate your concern, and I know you'd do your best to make sure I was treated right, but there's no need. I got this."
The priest's shoulder sank with resignation at what he likely read as the teen's bull-headed independent streak, and while partly true, Sketch didn't want to expose all his secrets. Gotta keep some air of mystery, right? "Fine," the man agreed with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face, a sign of his frustration.
With a deep breath to settle their nerves, they re-entered the general area. I hope I don't regret this, Sketch thought with dread.
Looking around, he spotted the two detectives still talking to Sandy, and within an instant, the one with slicked back hair and a fancy suit spotted them and nudged his hulk of a partner. They headed over to where Sketch stood with his back against a wall and his arms and feet crossed.
"You the one people call Sketch?" the one he nicknamed Slick demanded as he approached. Ohh, this one thinks he's a tough guy, the teen thought disdainfully.
Answering with a shrug and a glance back over his shoulder, Sketch saw that Ruby had the game ready and was watching them all very carefully. "Gimme a minute."
Slick's partner tried to step into his path, but Sketch easily dodged his attempt. His bulky frame was no match for a wiry one that had been trained to avoid tight spaces, easily avoid any sort of unwanted bodily contact, and quickly get around obstacles. Without even glancing back at them, Sketch went to the table and squatted down next to Ruby.
"Hey, kiddo. I gotta go now."
Disappointment spread across her face like a tidal wave, and guilt hit him just as hard. Sketch hated upsetting his kids, but there wasn't anything he could do. "But I tell you what: when I get back, we'll have a day. Just you and me. We can do anything you want. Deal?" He held out his hand.
She looked up at him with an extremely serious look on her little face. "Promise?"
He smiled and tugged on her tails. "Promise."
Her mouth started to twitch, and before he knew it, a wide grin creased her face. "Deal." She surprised him by skipping the handshake and giving him a large hug. It wasn't unusual for one of the kids to grab his hand or to give him a spontaneous hug, so he was getting used to receiving such signs of affection. Since he, and they, were starved for it, they were able to feed off one another. That said, conditioning from the past, especially the times when caring equaled weakness, made him feel extremely uncomfortable with such blatant displays of emotion. Secretly, though, it also made each such gesture precious in its own right.
Awkwardly patting her on the back, Sketch whispered in her ear, "Think really good about it 'cuz I'm expecting to have a blast!"
She pulled back and nodded eagerly. The sadness that had mired her face a few minutes ago had been replaced with excitement and pride. "I will, Sketch. I promise."
He smiled at her and said, "You do that. Now, go ask Sister Catherine to play with you. I know for a fact that she loves Candyland."
"Okay." She turned to run through the hallway, shouting, "Sister Catherine!" at the top of her lungs. One crisis averted; another to come.
At the station, the detectives stuck Sketch in what could only be an interrogation room given its iconic drab paint job and two-way mirror. He took a seat in one of the extremely uncomfortable, cold metal chairs and waited to find out what this was all about.
"We've got some questions for you about her," Detective Chase stated.
Sketch stared down at the picture they slid in front of him. It showed the pale face of someone who looked almost dead. Gray-green eyes were rimmed with black eyeshadow; lips were coated with black lipstick; the nose, eyebrow and mouth had piercings; and black hair was styled into spikes with frosted tips. A spiked dog collar could clearly be seen over a black T-shirt. Dread came over him because he knew their search had just ended.
"Or is it a 'him'?" Detective Fernandez, previously dubbed "Slick", asked derisively. Casting a look at his partner with a lewd grin, he continued his taunting. "A she-he? I just can't keep up nowadays."
It's he, you asshole, Sketch wanted to yell at him, but he knew better and decided to play it cool. He just had to kill time. "Sure," he said in a low voice, "I know 'im. Name's Paco."
Saying the name out loud made it real. Shit! What the hell happened to you? Sketch mentally asked the person in the picture. But wait…Father Miguel had said "attempted murder". His fingers twitched to get a hold of his phone to text everyone to let them know and maybe get a line on the events that'd led to this.
Knowing to be alert for any tricks the cops may play, the teen knew it was best to keep his guard up. They had brought him here for a reason, and it wasn't just for this nice little chit-chat.
"Looks like you've got a pretty bad cut over your eye. Heard she's the one who gave it to you. That true? You get beat up by a girl?" Fernandez mocked sarcastically.
Sketch leaned back in his chair and gave a dismissive shrug. "He hit me."
"What'd you fight about?"
"Ya know, stuff." Fernandez was starting to get visibly frustrated by the teen's distinct lack of helpful answers. Good, you asshole, Sketch thought with a bit of glee. This could be fun after all.
"So it's just a coincidence that you happened to be spotted getting into a fight with her the day she got shot?" Chase asked sarcastically.
Fernandez leaned forward and goaded, "You decided to teach that tranny whore a lesson, so you went to one of your buddies and got a gun and shot her, didn't you?"
Sketch leaned back and just stared at them, keeping a lid on his frustration. He tried to have hope in law enforcement, but it was so hard when he kept running into those so blinded by their desire to arrest someone that they didn't care who they targeted or consider all alternate possibilities. It was no wonder that he generally only trusted Jez and Vinny. Any other cop he chose to interact with on a one-by-one basis, and these…these…bigoted SOBs thought they could play him? He mentally scoffed at the idea. You wanna play? Then let's play. Crossing his arms, he quoted, "Power of generalizing gives men so much the superiority in mistake over the dumb animals."
The two detectives looked at each other in confusion, and Sketch swallowed the snicker that threatened, knowing it would get him into more trouble than not.
"Did you just call us animals?"
He sat back with a smirk. "Well…I didn't. George Eliot did in Middlemarch."
Fernandez's face started to go red. "Just admit you did it, you little shit. You tried to kill the little bitch, didn't you? No point in denying it; we're running DNA now."
Of course my DNA'll be on him! We got into a fight…with blood! Sketch sniffed, showing his lack of concern. "I found that the men most in repute were all but the most foolish; and that others less esteemed were really wiser and better."
Chase glared at him. "I think he just called us foolish," a befuddled look came over his face as he seemed to run the words through his head, "or maybe it was 'wiser and better'."
Yeah right, you think that then. Just stopping himself from rolling his eyes, the youth leaned forward with a faux look of reassurance on his face. "Well…guess you'll have to think real hard about it, but when you do, just remember I didn't call you anything. That was Plato in Apology."
Frustration bleeding out of every pore of his body, Fernandez shot a speculative look at Chase. "Hey, maybe we got it all wrong. Maybe he didn't wanna teach her a lesson…"
Sketch was really lost at their logic. A lesson for what? Who did they think he was? A john? That would be hilarious, if that was the case. Or did they think he was a pimp? Cuz all they had to do was look at him to realize he wasn't rolling in dough. These guys were a joke.
"...Maybe he just wanted to get some of those drugs off her." Turning his attention back to Sketch, he taunted, "Is that what it is? You were jonesing for a fix, so you beat her up and shot her to get your hands on her stash? That why you turned her pockets out?"
At least he got a bit right…he and Blaze had tried to get Paco to give them the batch of Purple Magic he'd had on him. But when they'd tried, their fellow teen had acted like a maniac, swinging before either of them expected it. He'd landed a lucky punch over Sketch's eye and a few more in his rib area. Blaze had grabbed their friend from behind to control him, while Sketch had rifled through his pockets for the pills, a stash that currently sat within his backpack at the Corner. Sketch had wanted to flush 'em, but Jez had asked him to give them to her for analysis, something that he just hadn't had the time to do. The rest, though, was, of course, absolute fiction. "There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact."
"Obvious. Is that a confession?" They leaned forward with an almost feeling of "gotcha".
As if… Idiotic assholes, Sketch thought, shaking his head with fake disappointment. Just as he was about to continue his little game, the door opened and in walked a woman, dark hair with copper highlights flowing over a brown leather jacket.
"Not unless Arthur Conan Doyle is the one confessing," she said wryly, before shooting the teen an impressed look. "That was a good choice."
"Thought they might get that one. It's from a Sherlock Holmes - The Boscome Valley Mystery - after all," he replied flippantly with a shrug and leaned back in his seat.
A new player was always one to observe with caution, and given the way the two pricks responded to her entrance, he'd guess she was someone higher up the food chain. "Captain," Ferndandez greeted, "Why're you interrupting this punk's interrogation?"
She shot him a hard glare at the blatant disrespect. "We're taking over your case, so it's our interrogation now, De-tec-tive."
They began protesting, seeming to forget his presence. "What? We almost had 'im."
Oh, this is fun, Sketch thought with a smug grin, I really wish I had popcorn.
"Did you?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "Because from what I observed before walking in here. It looked like you were getting nowhere. Now stand down." The order seemed to rankle the men, so with a hard glare and an uncompromising tone in her voice, she instructed, "If you don't like it, talk to your Captain. He's the one who called us in."
Oh, I like her more and more. Shooting a look at the doofus duo, Sketch watched as they cowed to her threat of bringing in their boss, one of the most efficient ways to shut down conceited motherfuckers like these. It wasn't a surprise that Fernandez gave a lazy shrug before shooting her an arrogant grin. "You wanna waste your time on a clear-cut case of a tranny junkie almost killed by her boyfriend, you go right ahead. We got better things to do anyway."
She turned to Sketch. "C'mon, let's go."
He got up from the chair and gave a big stretch, wincing a bit as his ribs protested. Moving towards the door, he swung around and sneered, "Oh, Paco is a 'he'. Just thought I'd remind you in case you still need to talk to 'im." Shooting them the finger, he stormed out the door with a mutter of "you bigoted assholes".
Turning his head to the side, he hid his cheerful grin at the sound at the amused huff coming from the lady beside him. Stopping their progress just outside of the door, her brown eyes, so eerily similar to Wally's, met his amber ones. "So Sketch, is it?"
"'What's in a name?'" He quoted dryly, with a bit of a smile.
Her lips twitched as a bit of surprise entered her eyes. "Don't start."
Sketch couldn't help but chuckle. He'd seen variations of her look of stunned amazement all his life. His intellectual side always shocked people, a reaction he enjoyed instilling in them. He knew what it was. They underestimated him because of the way he looked. Backwards ball cap. Worn oversize clothes. The fact that he looked like he was twelve didn't help, and it didn't take long for people to tell he lived on the street, sometimes (despite his best efforts to shower) by smell alone. No one expects a young street kid to be able to play chess or quote Shakespeare or any other book from memory, but having a genius level IQ certainly helped to quickly prove them wrong.
"I'm…"
"Captain Benson." At Jez's quiet, awe-struck voice utterance of the name, Sketch's heart stopped, and his mouth almost dropped in shock. This was Olivia Benson of Stabler and Benson fame. This was one of Vinny and Jez's heroes, and while it was a bit intimidating to be standing in front of someone so revered by their little street family, it was possibly this foreknowledge that explained why he instantly felt at ease with her or perhaps it was just the protective, caring aura around her. Whatever it was, he knew that she wouldn't judge…wouldn't try to box him into a corner just to satisfy the powers that be.
With a raised eyebrow, she turned towards Jez. "Detective, what can we do for you?"
Before anything else could be said, a loud voice yelled across the station, "Yo, D! What'd you do?"
Sketch closed his eyes tightly in dismay before opening them to watch Blaze in his big baggy pants and oversized jacket swagger towards them. Shooting Jez a distressed look, he demanded, "What's he doin' here?"
A You're an idiot look came over her face before Jez explained dryly, "I had to tell him, so he'd stop searching."
He groaned. "Why'd you have to tell him to come here?"
She stared at him. "You want him at the hospital instead?"
"Oh shit, you're right. Here is much better," Sketch muttered. Blaze dealing with hospital bureaucracy was just a recipe for disaster. He'd probably be banned in 10 minutes flat.
"Did you get a hold of Vinny and Mama K?" Sketch asked, hoping that someone was able to be at the hospital.
Jez nodded. "They're on shift right now, but Krissy is gonna try to get off to head to the hospital."
"Get outta my way," Sketch heard Blaze snarl, causing him to wince. His childhood friend hadn't gotten his nickname cuz of his penchant for fire. It was purely because of his fiery temper which often led to tense confrontations and even worse trouble.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Sketch ran a tired hand over his face and flicked an uneasy gaze between a glaring Blaze and an officer who must've tried to stop his progress. "We should…" He made a vague wave a hand towards them, hoping to stave off having to stay in this place one second longer.
"Let's keep walking," the observant captain agreed, and the teen heaved a sigh of relief as they headed towards the brewing standoff.
As they got nearer, Sketch noted the tense set of Blaze's shoulders, the grinding of his teeth, and the flame of fury burning in his eyes. He knew it was only a matter of time before his friend erupted, so he quickened his step, getting there just in time to give Blaze's shoulder a hard squeeze and mutter in his ear, "Remember Paco." At that the tense muscles under his hand eased…just a bit, and at that moment, he'd take it…he'd take anything really.
"Thank you for your diligence," Sketch heard the captain politely praise, a sign of a true leader coming through, "You can stand down and please return the young man's items." The officer shot Blaze a concerned look before moving away, with each step the tension in the indignant teen's body unwound.
"Why they gotta do us that like that?" Blaze huffed, his fists clenching and unclenching, "We ain't done nothin' wrong."
"Sorry for that," Captain Benson said, trying to soothe his ruffled feathers while handing Sketch his phone and jacket.
As they turned to leave the bullpen, Jez shot Sketch a questioning look, "You're the level-headed one, so what'd those guys," She nodded towards Fernandez and Chase who were standing outside of a closed office door marked "Captain", "do to piss you off?"
"They were assholes about Paco," he huffed, shooting a hard glare at them over his shoulder.
A look of disgust crossed her face, and Sketch knew she was prepping to do something stupid. Before she got a word out, Blaze gave into the impulse to have the last word, saving her from possibly making a career faux pax. "Hey assholes, just so you know, he's our brother," he called out as loud as he could, grabbing the attention of the entire room. Even from afar, they were able to see the detectives' jaws drop a bit and embarrassment replace the smug looks they'd been sporting.
It was soon followed by a bellowed "You two in here now!" from the office just behind them.
So there, you motherfuckers. He, Jet, and Blaze shot one another large grins at the startled looks that came across their faces and, with a small wave, turned, and entered the elevator.
Once trapped in the small square space, the Captain turned towards Jet and asked, "Now, Detective, before we were interrupted, you were going to explain your presence here."
Spotting the mischief that appeared in Blaze's eyes, Sketch and Jez almost groaned, and before they could head it off, their friend's chest puffed out as he announced rather proudly, "We're like the Hardy Boys."
Squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, Sketch heaved a sigh with a shake of his head. "It's the Baker Street Boys, dipshit. The Hardy Boys were the detective brothers. The Baker Street Boys were Sherlock Holmes' eyes on the street."
Unperturbed by his grousing, Blaze's head crinkled a bit, and his eyes lit with some sort of realization. Sketch braced himself for whatever the hell would come out of his friend's mouth now. "Well, we're kinda both, right? So….we're the…Hardy Baker Street Boys?" He shot them a proud smile.
"You both shut up," Jez grumbled in exasperation.
In the chrome of the sides of the elevator, Sketch saw the light of amusement cross Captain Benson's face for a second before a wall came down and the serious captain came back. "So they're your informants?" she queried, trying to follow Blaze's claim.
After hearing the many horror stories on the streets about family, particularly cops, who have disavowed knowing problematic members in front of others, Sketch braced himself for the possibility that Jez would deny their connection to her, her career the thirty pieces of silver. Given who she was talking to, he knew it might be best for her to do so, so despite the hurt that it might cause to them, he shot her a look, reassuring her that if that was how she wanted to categorize them, they'd understand.
Jez gave a huff and rolled her eyes. "They're my informants and, like Paco, are my brothers of sorts."
Captain Benson lifted an eyebrow at the designators but nodded. Warm affection rushed through Sketch's body when Jez publicly claimed them as family in front of not only a higher ranking officer but also her personal idols. Should've known better, he thought, shame filling his body, but sometimes, instinctive reactions were hard to break. He shot her an apologetic look, to which she answered with her deadpan You're an idiot look.
"We gotta get to the hospital, D," Blaze muttered, desperation in his voice. Sketch could see the agitation building within him, and he had to admit that the urge to turn and run there right now was building within himself as well.
Sketch braced himself for making the best pitch he could to get this ball moving. "Captain Benson, it's an honor to meet you. We've heard a lot about you from…" Jet shot him a don't you dare look "... Jez here, and I'm happy to help however I can," he offered sincerely, "but we really need to see how Paco is doing. We're all he's got. So can we do whatever you wanna do at the hospital?"
She cast a scrutinizing look at the trio before agreeing. "I'll give you a ride over, and we can continue our conversation on the way. We'll also need to take a DNA sample to compare to the sample that was found on him."
"That's fine with me," Sketch agreed, "Thank you."
They followed her to where her SUV was parked, and once in the comfortable seats, Sketch tipped his head back, hoping to get a moment of calm to reconcile the notion that while Paco had been found, they could still lose him. How's that for irony? He thought with a regretful sigh.
"So tell me about how you got that cut over your eye," Captain Benson asked.
Without opening his eyes, he told her the story of their fight, with Blaze throwing in his own anecdotes, and also informed her of their recent attempts to find Paco on the streets.
Opening his eyes to shoot a look over at her, Sketch asked, "I'm assuming you're gonna want the pills?"
She nodded.
Heaving a sigh, he patted his pockets, pulled out his phone, and dialed the Corner.
"Hi Father…yes, I'm fine…heading to the hospital to see Paco…officers from Manhattan SVU will be coming to search my backpack, can you please show them my locker?... Thanks, Father…will do."
The sound of a ping came from Captain Benson's phone, and Jez piped in from the backseat. "I just sent you the address."
He shot her a grateful look through the rearview mirror. "Just ask for Father Miguel, he'll show any of you where it's locked away."
Upon their arrival at the hospital, their little band of misfits received numerous strange looks as they made their way to the waiting room on Paco's floor. Their arrival proved to be fortuitous because Mama K had just sent he, Jez, and Blaze a text informing them that she'd just left because someone had called in sick at work.
Leaving Blaze and Jez behind in the waiting room, Sketch followed the captain to a room, where a nurse sat him down and ran a swab around my cheek for the DNA sample. While they had him trapped there, they overrode his protests to get all his cuts and bruises looked at. He nervously looked around and wondered, How am I gonna afford this?
A compassionate look came over the older woman's, indicating that he might have inadvertently mumbled this out loud. "The department will cover it as part of the case. Paco's treatment too."
"What do you want in return?" he asked, suspiciously. I don't care who the fuck she is, promises like that come with strings. They always do. This had been a hard taught life lesson, one that had long guided his belief in offering trades or payment for everything. Nothing in life is free after all.
A shadow of sadness came over her face, and she said, "Your cooperation with the case."
"Fine," he readily agreed, as he'd intended to do so anyway.
She left not long after, probably needing to verify some of what he'd said. And then there were three…he thought to himself. Hey, there's a hole in my shoe. The random thought came while he stared down at the floor of the waiting room and caught sight of the offending tear at the toe of his shoe. Paco's gonna have a fit if I go raiding for shoes without him.
His eyes began to water at the memory of Paco's near glee at the idea of going "shopping" for shoes, and he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to keep the tears from falling. It's my fault he's here…in this God-forsaken hospital. If only I'd stopped him before...If only I'd protected him better...If only I'd been there, maybe I could've stopped it from happening. If only…
"Who's here for Paco?"
From their dozing positions, the Crew members stood up eagerly and faced the doctor in her green scrubs. She gave them a tired but stoic look. "The bullet missed major organs, and he's knocked out with the drugs for now. He had some complications during the bullet removal, so it could be touch and go over the next twenty-four hours."
Sketch swallowed hard and nodded. "Can we see him?"
"Unfortunately not without an adult. Hospital policy."
He snickered and shot a glance at Jez who scowled at him. "She's an adult." As he expected, she stepped forward to mutter "asshole" in his ear.
A flush of red infused the doctor's face. "Sorry. It's been a long day. Please follow me."
"Thanks," Sketch whispered as they took cautious steps past her to enter a room that greeted its visitors with the steady beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor. The door swung shut behind her, and they were left alone.
"God, Paco," Sketch whispered as they huddled around the bed, "Who did this to you?" His black hair lay flat on his head. His peaceful, pale face scrubbed of any black make-up and piercings. His lithe form lay uncharacteristically still. All of this made it seem like it was a different person laying in the bed. A part of him wanted to scream, No! That's not him! But even without his ever-present smile, Sketch knew it was.
Clenching his fist around the St. Joseph's medal that had dangled from his neck for as long as he could remember, Sketch bowed his head over his young friend and proceeded to silently intone the prayer his abuela had drilled into him during the hard times. Gracious St. Joseph, protect me and my family from all evil as you did the Holy Family. Kindly keep us ever united in the love of Christ, ever fervent in the imitation of the virtue of our Blessed Lady, your sinless spouse, and always faithful in devotion to you. Amen.
It was the mantra he'd heard her say on those nights when word of his mother would trickle to the family or when his grandfather's health was struggling. He'd been able to tell when she was saying it in her head cuz she'd grab her rosary and stare at her portrait of St. Joseph, the patron saint of families, as if he was the only hope for any of them. Once in the group homes and on the street, citing this prayer had been his way to feel connected to her and to feel grounded once more.
Now, as he intoned the familiar words, a calm washed through him as it often did. All he could do was hope this protection prayer helped Paco get through this night, through treatment, and off the drugs once and for all. It didn't matter that he was praying to something he didn't really believe in anymore. After all, what kind of God lets shit like this happen? Peace and security were what he craved…what he needed. Who knew it could come from a set of made-up words to a made-up Saint and could be held in the size of a coin-sized piece of medal?
Sinking down in the chairs in the room, their vigil continued, and when one of the nurses tried to kick them out, Jez managed to convince them to let us stay by pulling the "we're all the family he has" card. Vinny arriving in his uniform to switch off with Jez probably helped too. With nothing else to do, Sketch and Blaze tilted their heads back and, since they were used to catching sleep wherever and whenever it was safe to do so, managed to get some much needed rest despite their awkward positions.
Feeling the presence of someone close to him, Sketch's eyes snapped open to find Vinny about to reach out to shake his shoulder. Instincts honed from years on the streets had his body flinching away as he shot upright, knocking Blaze awake as well. A look of sorrow crossed Vinny's face before he shot a look at the bed.
Turning to see gray-green eyes filled with pain staring back at them, the two teens rushed to the bed, each grabbing a hand. "Paco!"
"Hey, guys," he croaked out with a smile before passing out again. He and Blaze bumped fists with large grins.
"That's the longest he's been awake," Vinny shared as he leaned against the wall, "They said that's a good sign, and they're trying to wean him off whatever the hell he's been taking. So don't be surprised if he feels crappy from that." Releasing relieved breaths, they nodded, as the door opened to show Father Miguel standing in the doorway. "I need to go get some rest before my shift, so the good father will stay with you guys until Jez or Sarah can come."
A few hours later, Blaze got restless and decided to take a walk, leaving Sketch to entertain their young friend. So during one of their card games, Captain Benson walked into the room.
Shooting her a quick smile, he looked at Paco and introduced her, "Paco, this is Captain Benson. She and her squad are investigating your attack."
"Hi," Paco whispered, casting a shy look down at where one of his fingers nervously picked at the black nail polish on another finger. He'd always been intimidated by really strong women, likely something to do with his Christian conservative parents, so his reaction to her commanding presence wasn't particularly surprising.
The priest went over to introduce himself to the woman who had just walked through the door. "Father Miguel. I believe I met some of your officers when they came to the Corner."
Clasping the proffered hand, she said, "Thanks for your help, Father. Would you mind giving us a minute?"
"With all due respect, Captain, as they're both minors, I'd feel much better if I was in the room, if the boys are okay with it."
Sketch shot his friend a look, asking what he wanted to do only to see him shoot the good father a flirty smile. "Oh my, are you gonna protect little ol' me?" the flamboyant teen simpered, "I'm sure we can cut a deal for that, Daddy."
Seeing through his act, Sketch put a hand on his fidgeting fingers and muttered under his breath, "I think he's okay, but it's up to you, man."
Paco sat up and, with a glance between Sketch and Father Miguel, declared, "He can stay." He shot the priest a wink. "We'll figure out payment later."
Turning back to Captain Benson, his fidgeting increased.
"It's nice to meet you, Paco," she said with a gentle smile. Stepping a little closer, she pointed at the chair and asked, "May I?"
Paco nodded and nervously began biting his lip.
"I'm glad to see you're on the mend."
"Thank you," he whispered, his hands suddenly grabbing mine for support.
"Thank you for talking to me. What can you tell me about your attack?"
Paco looked at Sketch, and at his reassuring nod, the teen swallowed hard and said, "Umm…I've been…umm…struggling with Purple Magic lately. The high is amazing, but it's so expensive." Unclasping Sketch's hand, he began to wave his arms. "So I thought why not hang out with one of the crews to try to see if I could get some cheaper? And it was going okay for a while. I mean they were all happy to give me a pill or two if I worked for 'em or did 'em a favor if ya know what I mean."
His coy look caused Father Miguel to look away and shift uncomfortably in his seat. "Oh don't worry, Padre, I'll take good care of you too," he flirted with a charming smile.
"Paco, stop," Sketch said with a laugh.
The other teen shrugged, placed his hands on his chest, said in a haughty tone, "Can't help the magnetism, man. Everyone wants me." He batted his eyes. "And who can blame them?" He fanned his hand in his face. "I'm hot."
With a roll of his eyes, Sketch huffed out a sarcastic, "Please."
"What kinds of favors did you do?" Captain Benson prodded, trying to keep Paco in line despite the amusement that glittered in her eyes.
"Delivered this. Blowed that guy. Cleaned this. Slept with that guy. Whatever they wanted," Paco explained with a shrug. "But after the fight…"
Swinging around to Sketch, he grabbed the other teen's hands again, regret gleaming bright in his eyes, "So sorry about that, man!"
Not knowing what to do that wouldn't hurt him, Sketch squeezed his hand and said, "It's not the first time, but it could be the last if you really want it to be."
That brought an overzealous series of head nods. "I hear you, man. This shit is real. Crews getting whacked. People dyin'. I'm done."
Sketch quirked an eyebrow at him. "You've said that before."
"No, I realy, really mean it this time," Paco swore, as earnest as he'd ever been. The thing with addicts was they knew how to say the right things and do the right things…until life throws them a curveball, and they don't anymore.
"Okay, well…the good father will hook you up with a program as soon as you get outta here," Sketch stated, shooting a look over at Father Miguel who nodded his agreement. Hopefully we can afford it somehow, he winced.
"Admitting you need help is the first step," Captain Benson encouraged softly, "And I really hope that you can stick with it this time. So you guys fought…"
Paco looked down at his hands again shame-faced. "Yeah, that's how Sketch here got the cuts and bruises and why my hands were all beat up." He held his hands up showing his busted knuckles.
"I was trippin' when the guys tol' me about the bad batch floating around killing people, so I booked it to the apartment and tol' 'em 'bout what I was hearing to get the real scoops, ya know?"
She nodded her head.
With a shake of his head and a laugh of disbelief, he said, "They blew me off and even accused me of crazy stuff."
"Like what?"
He bit his lip nervously, "I was the one changing the formula."
"You?" Sketch snickered, "You can't even boil water without causing a fire. How the hell can you do chemicals without blowing yourself up?"
"I know! That's what I tol' 'em." Paco waved his hand and put it on his chest. "Swear to God, I did. I even told 'em about the time I almost burned down that abandoned place we was stayin' at cuz I turned the wrong dial thingy."
"Yeah, that was a fun night of running around tryin' to douse the thing when you turned it on high instead of off." Sketch shook his head. "Oh yeah…good times…not," he muttered the last part under his breath.
"Shut up," Paco said flamboyantly with a weak slap at Sketch's chest before turning his gaze back to Captain Benson. "Anyway, they didn't believe me, and the next thing I know, when I'm leaving the apartment, this crazyass motherfucker pulled me into some courtyard, alleyway thing said El Gato didn't appreciate me spreading rumors that were bad for business and since users couldn't be trusted to keep their mouths shut, he pulled out the gun and shot me."
"So it had nothing to do with your work on the streets?" she clarified. "Just the Purple Magic."
He nodded.
"Can you describe who shot you?"
"Hells yeah. Motherfucker wasn't shy, and I'd seen him 'fore. Never got his name though." Paco shrugged, looking down as if afraid of being chastised for this. "He's got this crazy spider tattoo going up his neck." His dislike - rather outright fear of spiders - was well-known to the Crew, so it wasn't a surprise when he scrunched up his nose in disgust. "…spiders…ew….like why would any want to have one of them ugly ass motherfuckers permanently crawling up their body?" He rubbed up and down his arms as if he could feel it happening until the accompanying full body shudder made him wince.
"You've done great," Captain Benson reassured him in a soft, calming voice as if talking to a spooked animal, "I'll bring a sketch artist to talk to you."
Paco barked out a laugh. "What for? You got the best one sittin' right here."
Sketch shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not a real one. I just draw stuff people describe."
"Oh shut up. I 'member that one you did for those kids at the Corner…the ones who lost their dog…fuck…what were their names?"
"Ben and Kiera," Father Miguel provided from his seat.
"Oh yeah, the twins!" Paco crowed proudly. "Didn't have a camera so no pics for the flyers. You sat 'em down and had 'em describe that fucking mutt until every detail was right. The Corner peeps used it to make fliers, and two days later the thing is back home makin' a mess and keepin' the kids happy."
"It was nothin'," Sketch muttered embarrassed by all of this, "I'm sure the ones they've got can do better."
"C'mon, Sketch," Paco pleaded, "I don't want anyone else to do it. Puh-leeze." He cast puppy dog eyes and puckered his lips in a pout
Remembering his promise to cooperate with the investigation, his friend heaved a sigh and said, "Get me some…"
Father Miguel produced a sketchbook and pencils out of nowhere. "Will these do?"
"As they're mine; they'll do fine," Sketch snarked, biting back a smile, "Thanks, Padre." Having been unable to sketch or read books (though he did find some very interesting National Geographic articles) was like missing a limb…He'd truly been bereft with too much time to think. In his case, that often could lead to some very dark and scary places, particularly in the face of one of his family members almost dying.
Sketch turned to Captain Benson. "Is this okay? I don't wanna mess up anythin'."
She seemed to think about it for a moment. "Well, since I can stay and witness it, you can do it if you want."
Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded and turned a page in the sketchbook, "Okay. Let's do this." And so he began to lead Paco though the same memory recall process he'd done with Eli after he'd been almost kidnapped. That time it'd been recalling a car. This time it was a face, which had so many more little details to add that it took infinitely more time to do.
Handing over the final version to Captain Benson, Sketch asked with a bit of trepidation, "Can you guys use it?"
She kept staring at it, so he shifted nervously. "Sorry if it's not good enough. We can try again. Maybe redo the eyes a bit… or flesh out the tattoo better or something. Let us know what we need to go over again, and we'll do it right, Paco?"
"No..no..no need for that," she stammered, stunned amazement in her eyes. "It's definitely good enough."
He looked at her doubtfully, used to having adults throw lies out just to pacify those classified as "minors".
Seeing the look on his face, she clarified, "I'm just admiring the quality. It's the best composite I've been given in my 20+ years with the department."
"Well…I'm just glad it could help," he said with relief. Inside, however, he couldn't get over the fact that she liked it…that this legend of a woman praised my work…it was indescribable. All he knew was that he felt like he was walking on air.
A/N:
Quotes were taken from Goodreads dot com, and the prayer for protection to St. Joseph from Catholic dot org.
I have no idea if a sketch done by someone other than an NYPD sketch artist is valid.
The scene related to helping Eli recall the vehicle after his attempted kidnapping is in Ch 6. Stuck Like Glue.
Next chapter: Link to Olivia is revealed