[February 17, 22:00]
Under the green-tinted lights, Flack pressed the edge of his glass against his bottom lip, contemplating the possibilities, plotting his next move. He set down his beer and lined up the cue. Exhaling calmly, he took his shot. Danny wooped and Flack groaned as the coloured ball bounced off the rail, missing the pocket by less than half an inch. "Shut it, Messer," he growled, picking up his drink. "I'm still ahead on overall wins." He leaned his cue against the wall and turned around to see Danny watching him, running the side of a finger over his mouth.
"What, do I have something on my face?" He wiped the corners of his lips hurriedly but came away with nothing.
"Nah, don't worry 'bout it," Danny leaned over to judge the alignment between some of the balls.
Flack placed his beer right in Danny's line of sight. "C'mon." He pointed an accusing finger at his friend. "You only do that thing when you're trying not to say something. What's on your mind?"
He blew a sigh and tossed his cue from one hand to the other. "You and Stella okay?"
The tall detective passed a hand over his face, groaning. "I might've... crossed a line." He moved his glass out of Danny's way and took a sip.
Danny took his turn, keeping one eye on Flack, waiting for him to say more.
Flack took another shot before opening with, "The hate crime case?"
"Yeah, yeah," he nodded. The clack of the balls punctuated their conversation as they took turns speaking and shooting. "We were talkin' to a guy who'd offered her a job earlier today. No dice. Alibi's solid."
He waved a hand. "I don't mean the case. I mean the vic. She woke up yesterday. So, Stella and I go to talk to her. And the only thing she'll say is 'I have nothing to say'," he recounted, drawing air quotes with his fingers. "She's pleading the fifth like she's got something to hide, so..." he exhaled, "I leaned on her a bit," Flack finished.
Danny hissed through his teeth and winced. On a regular case, Stella tried to exhaust every possibility before scrutinizing the victim's statement. With a hate crime, there was no way she would have tolerated the merest suggestion of victim blaming. "Did you try to play nice first?"
"Stella did."
Danny raised an eyebrow. "That's not a yes, Flack." He fell silent as he watched the other man attempt a rather difficult shot. It wasn't like Flack to be harsh with a victim. Sure, her stubborn silence was a little suspicious, but it wasn't enough to push Flack into interrogation mode in a hospital room. "Why'd you skip being nice?" he asked after the ball disappeared into the pocket.
"I don't know," he sighed. "I was just…" he trailed off, his gaze wandering. Movement at the bar caught his eye. A slice of lemon, lopsided on the rim of a Long Island iced tea, teetered and fell onto the varnished wood. "... off-balance," he supplied. "She had me off-balance."
"So, what, you thought you'd get her a little off-balance too?"
"Maybe? I don't know." He hid behind his beer, taking another swig. His pointer finger tapped the glass pensively, remembering the moment Juliana had looked up from her book and blurted something in Dutch. The air had vanished from his lungs, from the whole room, and all he could do was stare. "You ever met someone like that? They knock the wind out of you the second they look at you?"
Danny smiled and wiggled his finger, the greenish light glinting off his wedding ring. "Are you kiddin' me? Her name's Lindsay Messer."
The man set down his drink hurriedly, trying not to choke on it. "Woah, what are you saying?" he sputtered.
"I'm sayin', I thought brunette was your thing," Danny said smugly, crossing his arms. He remembered the string of brown-haired women Flack had pursued before he and Angell finally got together.
"Devon was blonde," he countered, walking around the table for his next shot.
"Not when you first met her." He distinctly remembered Flack complaining when Devon had dyed her hair blonde a couple weeks into their relationship. "You said she looked better as a brunette and why did women dye their hair blonde because blonde was boring."
Shaking his head, Flack lined up his cue. "Well maybe there's an exception to the rule," he mumbled to himself. The white ball went wide from its target and Danny wooped again in triumph.