That was just what he needed at this point: Charming's very own answer to Captain America. Most likely on some harebrained mission that made little sense to anyone but him. Determined to make his evening even more miserable than it already was. Just by his mere presence.
"Does this place look like a crime scene?" he asked, annoyed. Sighing, he grabbed the old newspapers from the side table next to the couch and, with more gusto than would have been necessary, tossed them into the trash bag.
"More like a battlefield, I guess," He heard Hale mumbling in a suppressed voice behind him. "What the hell is that smell?"
Frowning, he turned around and the picture that presented itself was almost laughable. There stood Super Cop holding a tissue over his mouth and nose with narrowed eyes, bracing himself against the door frame with his free hand.
"Seriously?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow in sheer astonishment. An affirmative nod was the only response he got. Snorting, he shook his head in disbelief. The oh-so-thorough Deputy Chief showed up completely unprepared and had no idea what he was even here for. What had he expected? This was still Charming. Of course the dispatcher would spill the beans about who had called and what for.
Since Hale's top priority was to somehow blame him for everything that went wrong in their little town, and had been since high school, the dumbass probably hadn't even listened after hearing the name "Teller" and had immediately waltzed off to his Jeep and took off. Only to make sure that he would be the first one on the scene.
There was nothing he would rather do right now than grab Hale by the neck and kick his ass out. How could one person be so ignorant?
With a nod of his head, he gestured to the armchair. "Next time you should listen to what you're being sent out for," he grumbled, returning his attention to the garbage that had been piling up over the years. He still wasn't sure that he had made the right choice when he drove up here without giving it a second thought. He should be sitting on the couch in the club house, tipsy and enjoying a joint with Opie.
Today was the "welcome home" party for his best friend, who had been released from Chino less than a week ago. Instead, here he was, trying to save what was apparently only salvageable with a wrecking crew.
But when Hale finally fought his way through the trash bags and he saw Jim's lifeless body in front of him, Jax almost felt compensated for missing out on a terrific bash with plenty of booze and beautiful, willing women. More than just satisfied, he could watch the self-polished tough cop image fall away from Hale in a blink of an eye.
"Holy shit!" Hale groaned in dismay before casting a reproachful look at him with his hands on his hips.
"What?"
"Right after you acted rationally for once and called this in, you decided to toss out your already limited sanity along with the trash?"
"Excuse me?" Dumbfounded, he looked at him. "Should I have been twiddling my thumbs?"
"You shouldn't have changed anything in here, Jax," Hale snapped at him indignantly, gesturing at the room expansively. "We need to investigate."
"What do you want to investigate?" With a shrug, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and propped himself against the wall. "He's dead. End of story."
"Wrong. There's more to the story. How did he die?"
Snorting, Jax looked down at the man in question. "Alcohol poisoning. Choked on his own vomit. Liver failure. Take your pick."
With a smirk, Hale bit down on his lower lip and looked briefly at the floor before lifting his head after a slight shake and looking at him sternly. "You think this is the right way to inform his relatives of his demise?" he wanted to know from him.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Of course, there had to be something to tell her when they had tracked her down. This wasn't just anyone, but Tara Grace Knowles. The queen of pragmatism. The first question she would inevitably ask would be what he had died of. Not when or where.
He didn't even want to think about how she would feel once she got the message. Regardless of everything that had happened, all the things Jim had done wrong, all the disgusting remarks he had thrown at her, and all the things he had accused her of... After all the disappointments, the pain, the sorrow, and the tears, only one truth remained. He was her father! Certainly not a good, self-sacrificing father - yet her last living parent. Though she loathed Jim, he was absolutely sure that she loved him wholeheartedly. In spite of the fact that the mere thought stung him a little, he could only hope that she wasn't alone.
All at once he felt completely drained. Hale looked at him expectantly, but for the life of him, Jax didn't know what to say. So he just shrugged.
"Really? No smart-ass comment?" With an amused sparkle in his eye, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Go on, get out of here. Calm your nerves. I'll take over!"
Much to Hale's surprise rather than his own, he pushed himself off the wall and started to move.
Hopefully, the fresh air would do him some good, wake up his spirits, and clear his head. There were way too many thoughts and memories buzzing around in there. Just as he arrived at the door, Hale called out to him
"Don't take off right away. I've got some questions for sure." He lifted his right hand to indicate that he had heard him, while he was already reaching for his cigarettes with his left. Before he was even out the door, he heard Hale mutter "We've got a four-one-nine" into his comm.
With a smirk, he put his cigarette between his lips and fumbled in his jeans pockets for his Zippo. Everything was always strictly in order where Hale was involved. It wasn't as if Jax hadn't already called 911, which he regretted by now, and made it pretty clear that he was at the Knowles house and found Jim dead as a doornail. He really should have made sure Unser was on duty beforehand and not David douchebag Hale. In that case, he wouldn't be standing in the driveway in the late evening as if he had been ordered and not picked up, he would already be on his way to TM.
When the paramedics finally arrived and Hale joined him, Jax was already lighting his third cigarette.
"So," Hale said, already holding a notepad and pen. "When was the last time you saw him alive?"
"I don't know, Hale," he pressed out between clenched teeth. "When was the last time you saw him alive?" Defensively, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He honestly wasn't in the mood to answer a whole bunch of bullshit questions. Nothing he could tell him would help him figure out what Jim had died of or when.
"Hey, I'm just doing my job, okay? So could you just try to tell me the truth? Just once? Pure and simple, Jax."
"The truth is rarely pure and never simple," he replied with a bored tone, taking a long drag of his cigarette.
"All right, Einstein-"
"Oscar Wilde," he interrupted. "I thought you were paying attention in English."
"Very funny. Really," Hale said sarcastically. "Can we just get this over with?"
Tensed, he ran a hand through his face. "A few days ago," he finally said, with a sigh. "Five, maybe six."
Nodding, Hale made his notes. "And where was that?"
"Main Street."
"What was he like?"
"Same as always," Jax replied shortly.
"Well, that doesn't help me", Hale said quietly. "You mind elaborating on that?"
"Miserable, confused, and tipsy." As if he really needed to elaborate. Even though Jim had no interest in making acquaintances and mostly avoided people, everyone knew what the man was like on good days or bad.
"Have you guys talked?"
"Sure" he replied sarcastically. "We had a cup of tea together and braided our hair!"
"Yours? I could imagine. His, on the other hand..."
"No, we haven't talked. He was staggering around on the sidewalk without paying attention where he was going."
"Any idea where he was headed?"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" asked Jax in irritation, tossing the cigarette on the ground and stomping it out roughly. "Where do you think Jim was headed? Certainly not to Floyd's to get a fancy new haircut."
He was about to tell Hale he could shove his questions up his ass when he heard the unmistakable rumble of several Harleys in the distance. Yep, that was all he really needed. He looked angrily at Hale, who raised his hands in a placating manner. "I have nothing to do with that!" he said quickly, and when Jax gave it more thought, it was unlikely that Hale would call the club.
He'd more likely bite off his own arm.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Author's Note: Aaaaaaand again... I'm so sorry! But I'm also afraid that it won't get any better. Life is throwing so much shit at me the last few months, I'm drowning in it, and there is not much head space left for writing. Unfortunately. I hope it quiets down a notch or two, so I can focus a bit more on my hobbies. But here I was with a short chapter (which isn't exactly true, because between 1500 and 2500 words is an acceptable length), because I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer. Hopefully the next one gets a bit longer, as soon as I decided which one will be the next one.
Until then: Have a nice week!
