A/N: Deleted scene! I removed this since I decided it would be too out of character for Flack, but I love his relationship with Terrence. It was a fun little bit to write so I decided to include it as a bonus.
[Saturday, February 27, 2010, 23:00]
Don made his way between two round wicker ornaments, trying to make out faces under the pulsing lights. Girls in bikinis were dancing under the waterfall behind the bar. Club patrons were moving to the beat of loud, unintelligible music, drinks aplenty. When his sweep of the main room didn't yield the person he was looking for, he went up to the dark wood bar and caught the bartender's eye.
"Somethin' to start off you night, sir?" the man asked, deft hands wiping down his workspace and putting bottles of liquor back where they belonged. He watched Don guardedly. This man didn't seem to be here for a night on the town.
"Here to see Terrence," he said, leaning in.
The bartender picked up a glass and wiped it down, even though it was already clean. "Dunno what 'chu heard man, but the boss only does business during normal business hours, if you get what I'm sayin'." He pushed off the bar, nodding to a redhead who was signaling for another drink.
Don rapped his knuckles on the bar, getting the man's attention back. "I get what you're saying. I'm not here on business, just here to ask a favour."
The bartender winked at the redhead and held up one finger. Just another second. "Terrence ain't gonna do no favours if they're gonna get his hands dirty." He looked Flack up and down. The shirt and pants were nice enough for the office, but generic. A watch on the right wrist. Not luxury brand. No other jewellery. "Besides, this ain't no charity. And you don't look prepared to offer no compensation."
Don leaned over the bar, watching the man fight the urge to step back. "Go tell Terrence that if he does this for me, Flack will owe him a favour. He's not going to turn that down."
The bartender stuck out his lip, debating whether the claim held any truth.
"Chop chop," Don said, tapping the wood and nodding to the waterfall that separated Terrence's office from the rest of the establishment.
"Flack got a last name?" the man asked grudgingly.
"Just Flack. He'll know."
The bartender sent one of the bikini-clad dancers to pass the message to Terrence and finally got around to pouring another for the redheaded girl. Not a minute later, the dancer resumed her spot beneath the waterfall and Terrence appeared in the doorway that led to the back rooms.
"I thought we was done, Flack," Terrence said, taking off his sunglasses and leaning back in his chair.
"Officially, yeah. A year ago. Ancient history." He settled on one of the plush guest chairs. "I'm not here on cop business. I'm here to as a favour from a friend." He indicated Terrence with the sweep of his hand.
"Heh." He gave a toothy grin. "I didn't know we had one of 'dem long term relationships."
"You didn't have to help me that day on the subway. Let me sober up at your place. You were a real friend to me and I'm coming to that same friend for a favour. Of course, I'd owe you one in return."
Terrence perked up. A favour from a cop could come in real handy. "Now what exactly would a favour from Flack get me?" He steepled his fingers.
"Can't break any rules," Don warned him, "but might be able to bend them some. If your... lovely young staff get in trouble, I could soften the blow. Push for letting them off with a warning. Minimum media coverage for the club." He would bet his badge that at least half the girls working here were underage. It was only a matter of time until Terrence got in trouble for it. "Or a really nice steak dinner for you and your girlfriend."
"I'll pass on the dinner option," he shook his head, smiling. His regular weekend splurges were worth multiple steak dinners. But having Flack in his corner for his next brush with the law was a very enticing offer. "But aight. I'm listening."
"I know you're out of the game, so you don't have to do it yourself. Just pass the word along. Next time one of the boys wants to rough someone up, maybe steal a wallet too, make it this guy." Don showed Terrence the photo he had taken of the government employee's file.
"John Miller," he read off the photo. "Brooklyn. It's my hood, but, what, can't you do it yourself? Slap some bracelets on him then hit his head on the cop car," the club manager chuckled. He and his friends had been on the receiving end of 'oops, watch your head' on multiple occasions and he knew that little joke never fell into disuse.
"We know it's him, we just can't prove it. Arresting him isn't an option."
"If you can't prove it, then how do you know it's him?" he asked, flashing his teeth in a grin.
"I thought you didn't like to know 'nothin' about nothin''," Don said sharply.
Terrence raised an eyebrow. Touchy. This was a personal matter then. A personal matter where he was hiding the details. "Listen, if roughin' up this John guy is gonna get a cop all pissy at me, I'm out," he said, holding up his hands. No favour was worth getting mixed up in the cop version of a turf war.
He sighed. He shouldn't have been so snippy. He was the one asking for a favour here. "No other cops involved. Just want him to get what he deserves, and I can't do it through the system this time, alright? You help me, I'll help you. Yes or no, Terrence?"
Terrence put his sunglasses back on and studied the other man from behind the tinted lenses. Flack had cleaned up and gotten back to work, but things were only the same on the surface. He had changed the day his girl Angell was killed. Trading favours with ex-drug dealers was just the beginning of a long dark road. Terrence stuck out his hand. "You got yourself a deal."