(Alrighty. Part two of In the Life Of, featuring Lucky Spencer. I'll probably make this one chapter the next time I update, but for now enjoy it in two parts! Hahaha. It's three in the morning and I just completed this chapter. So if it sucks... well... that's why. Hahaha. Please read and review, anyway! )
Chapter 5.2: In the Life Of
The work was supposed to be split between them. Hell, it wasn't even his idea so why should he get stuck finishing the job? If she hadn't planned on staying for the day then she shouldn't have insisted on starting that morning. He couldn't shake the feeling that this had been her plan all along. Let her come back tomorrow to an office buried in folders, old case files and notes. That would teach her for trying to sucker her partner into cleaning out the filing cabinets for her.
Somewhere underneath the gravity defying stacks of paper, manila envelopes and over stuffed folders was an old, battered desk. Small, dejected and creaky, the weathered pine table seemed hard pressed to support the unusual weight, plus the added stress of the man sitting in a rolling chair, hunched over the work top as he scribbled something on a form. It moaned threateningly each time he brought pen to paper, but he would not be scared off. In fact, Lucas Lorenzo Spencer Jr. was oblivious to almost everything around him.
The Port Charles Police Department was chaotic this morning. As Lucky worked diligently on his incident report the station was processing three people who didn't think four in the afternoon was too early to have some drunken fun, a teenager with sticky fingers and a woman who decided the bus stop near the hospital was her home and no one was invited to visit. The inebriated trio was engaged in an obnoxious shouting contest with the officer handling their arrest while the newly re-homeless woman was demanding retribution for the distress this sudden upheaval of her home life caused.
At least the teenager had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. He stood with his eyes downcast, hands cuffed behind his back, not saying a word to anyone. Not even the police commissioner.
None of this affected the focus that creased Lucky's forehead. All he had to do was finish this one last bit of paperwork and he was out the door and off to see his beautiful wife. Just one more paragraph and he would have her in his arms, relaxing in her company after a hard morning and, as he glanced at the clock, afternoon at the station. He had been here since four in the morning, when his partner had called him in to assist on an arrest. Then she somehow convinced him to stay and sort out the filing cabinets. And now she was gone. The evening was settling in fast and he was still trapped at the station.
Reese Marshall was a crafty one, but Lucky was used to it. They had been partners for almost two years now, and he had come to know her quirky schedule for what it was. She was visiting her boyfriend. Lucky didn't mind: she was a good cop and put in more than enough hours to cover her occasional absences. He didn't let on that he knew, and she didn't ask him to cover for her.
He did anyway, but at least she never asked him two.
"Spencer." The intercom on his desk buzzed as the secretary in the main lobby called to him. He braved paper cuts and dug out the phone, pressing the speaker button. The beep was enough to alert the secretary to continue, "I'm putting a complaint in to line two. A lurker over by Kelly's."
"Alright, thanks." Sighing, Lucky picked up the phone and hit the second line, "Lucky Spencer."
"Hello? Ah… this is Mike Corbin. I own a diner down by the docks, Kelly's, and recently there's been this man hanging around…" the man, who sounded like he was getting on in years but still held himself proudly, let his voice trail. Lucky didn't understand the hesitation, so he took it as a cue to speak.
"What kind of lurker, Mister Corbin?"
There was a full three second pause before Mike answered the prompt, "I haven't seen him before a couple of weeks ago. Shaved head, baggy clothes, dark glasses. You get used to that kind of crowd around here, but he's got these tattoos… as far as I can see they cover his body. You can see them on his hands and his neck. Anyway. There's this young lady that frequents my establishment…"
Lucky sat up in his desk, shoving the paper and pencil away from him and switching into intense-listening mode. He knew Mike was trying to hide something, his diction suddenly careful and his words coming out slowly.
"He seems to have picked up her schedule and he tends to appear just as she's entering or leaving. He never comes in, but he's getting bolder. He's been getting closer to the window, and he lingers longer. I'm afraid he'll follow her home or try something fishy."
"Well, sir, I'm not sure if there's much I can do. As far as I can see he hasn't done anything wrong. I suggest keeping an eye on him. If you give me some more information I might be able to drop by the place when he appears, just to check him out."
Again Mike took a moment before replying, "I wouldn't want to scare the young lady…"
"Don't worry, I'll be in street clothes. That area is my beat, so I'm familiar with most of the creeps that deal there. I know your establishment, at least by its front door, so staking it out won't be very hard. Your lady friend won't even know the cops are around. And neither will your lurker."
"She's not a 'lady friend'," Mike snapped, suddenly insulted, "she's like a daughter to me, and I would hate to see her hurt. But thank you… that would be a comfort to me."
"Good." He reached for a random piece of paper, turning it over to its blank side, and readied a pen, "just give me his schedule and I'll see what I can do." He took down the times for the week as Mike recalled them, his mind already comparing them to his own schedule and deciding on the best time to swing around the docks, "Alright, thank you. Now, can you tell me why you think this man poses a threat to your… uh… to the young woman?"
"He only shows up when she's around. I… uh… I understand that he might have recognized her from her… occupation, but that doesn't give him the right to stalk her. She's a sweet kid, and doesn't need this stress on top of everything else in her life," Lucky was stunned by the care this man was taking to protect his friend. Lucky was a cop, and he as such knew the kind of crowd that hung around Kelly's. He didn't miss the allusion to her 'job'. For Mike to call the police and risk having the girl he's trying to protect arrested denoted a serious situation.
"I understand," Lucky said, careful to match the sincerity in his tone to the urgency in Mike's, "I'll look in to it as soon as possible. I have the number for the diner; if something comes up I'll call you immediately before taking action."
"Thank you, son. I mean it. Not too many people would take such care for… something like this."
"Just trying to keep people safe. It's my job, after all."
"You're a good man. Thank you."
Lucky heard the line click and he replaced the phone on its hook. He felt humbled by the sudden respect he had earned from a man he only knew by reputation. A diner owner in a shady part of town who dealt with all kinds of criminals and low lives everyday of his career. A man who was more a protector of the civilian population than most people gave him credit for. Rubbing the top of his head, his short hair fuzzy under his fingertips, Lucky reveled in the smile that crossed his face. Men like that were a dime a dozen, he figured. Maybe heading down to his beat this afternoon wasn't such a bad idea. It meant an extra hour or so away from Elizabeth, but he knew she would understand.
Standing, he pulled his coat from behind his chair and tugged it over his shoulders, effectively disguising his holstered gun. He glanced around the office he shared with Reese, both of their desks covered and unrecognizable as work areas, then moved to the door. He shut off the light and locked the door behind him, the page with the notes he took from Mike in his back pocket.
"Lucky, just the man I was coming to see!"
Lucky turned to see Police Commissioner Mac Scorpio standing in front of him, a grin on his friendly face that said he knew more than he was going to say. It was a foreboding glisten in his eyes that almost always meant more work for Lucky.
"Why's that, sir?"
"See that boy over there?" Mac pointed to the silent teenager who had been brought in for pick-pocketing earlier. He was a sullen looking boy with short blond hair and an intelligent, strangely serene face. He was wearing loose jeans and an obscure movie T-shirt, his hands now cuffed in his lap rather than behind his back. He was sitting on a bench near the main desk, the secretary leaning across the counter and speaking to him with no results. Mac clapped Lucky on his solid shoulder, nodding sagely, "I need you to give him a ride home. Apparently he lives at the Quartermaine mansion. Up to the task of returning one of their wayward sheep?"
"The Quartermaines, huh? No wonder he was looking for trouble. That place is insane. One of my best friends… well… anyway, sure I'll give him a ride in the squad car. I was just heading out. Gotta follow up on a call."
"Good. Convenient. Then I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be here for the rest of the night, so call me if you run into problems with the Q's." Mac waved a thank you and moved to help the crowd of officers that could not get the old homeless woman to move from the top of an unsuspecting officers desk.
Lucky moved over to the boy, clearing his throat to gain his attention. The young man looked up obediently, his eyes dark but respectful and obedient.
"You're riding with me. What's you name, kid?"
"Dillon Quartermaine, sir," he answered, his face reddening with embarrassment. The kids inexperience was obvious. No wonder he got caught.
"Alright, get up then. I have to get out of here before they wrangle me into doing something else. You want to get home, don't you?"
"I'd rather spend the night in jail, thanks." He got to his feet awkwardly, maintaining eye contact with the officer. Lucky bid the secretary at the front desk goodbye before leading the miserable teenager to the garage and his squad car.
"Want to ride shot gun?"
"Do you do that with all your criminals?"
"I hate to burst your bubble, kid, but getting caught stealing someone's wallet does not make you a criminal." Lucky opened the passenger side door and motioned for Dillon to sit down. He instinctively put his hand on the boys shoulder and eased him into the seat, making sure he didn't hit his head, then pulled the seat belt down and locked it in place. He rounded the car and got into the drivers seat. Dillon was staring at the dashboard in front of him, his lower lip sticking out in a classic pout.
"How long do I have to wear these things?"
"I was going to walk you up to your front door in them. Bad idea?"
"My family will rip you a new one."
"Than I guess I better take them off you now, as long as you don't try to force that door open and roll away." Dillon nodded as if it was an actual request and proffered his handcuffed wrists. Lucky unlocked the chains and the teenager instinctively rubbed his hands together. Lucky started the engine and rolled the car out of the garage, cruising leisurely down the road.
The crackling radio interrupted the peace of the silent car, piercing through the air like a sword. It was an emergency dispatch call looking for assistance at a strip club called "The House". Apparently there had been some kind of shooting. Lucky was close to that area now, and radioed in that he would handle it. Glancing at Dillon, who was white with fear and excitement, he laughed.
"Sorry, guess we're both going to be a little late getting home tonight." He pulled the car into a sharp turn, sirens blazing and lights flashing, "Bet you didn't think stealing some dude's money would turn into a high speed police chase, huh?"
All Dillon could do was swallow hard and cling to the body strap of his seat belt.