Time for things to get even more serious. Get ready folks!
xXBalorBabeXx, Yep. It was a close call. If Roman didn't think it was dangerous before, then he definitely does now!
Skovko, I know right? Those villains, murdering a poor innocent shortcake. Don't worry, there will be payback...maybe…
Mandy, Mum will hopefully be seeing the specialist soon once all of her notes and results have been sent through to him. I've got a cold too. Snap! Had to take two days off work and still feel under the weather, but getting there. Imaging what situations I'm going to get Dean into next definitely helped!
Rebel8954, You really don't like Batista do you?! What did that sweet, tattooed, known villain ever do to you (lol!) Yep, safe to say that was definitely warning #2.
Minnie1015, You know me, any excuse for the brotherly feels and I felt we'd gone too long without overt Roman worrying. You're welcome! Although you might not be so pleased after this chapter…
ViolentHugger03, You know what they say, a cliffhanger a day keeps the doctor away. Or okay, they don't say that, but they should!
HannonsPen, Yep, Roman is definitely going to have a lot to tell the missus when he gets home (and even more after this chapter).
Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thank you!
Lunatic789, Thank you very much. I'm glad you like my stories. I don't have any training in crime studies myself, but I do have an active imagination!
Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yay! Glad you liked it, I thought it was about time that I started to bring the drama!
I-Am-WarKitten, That's a very good theory. I like it, but don't worry, I'm not going to say if you're right or not. Not long until the end now, but still plenty of action left to come!
Okay folks...
TWENTY
It turns out that the couple who stop in the minivan are a very exuberant evangelist minister and his schoolteacher wife, who not only insist that the accident was their fault – even though it freaking patently was not – but who also insist on heading in the wrong direction and driving them back to Cincinnati themselves, which means having to cope with Kumbaya on cassette tape and a Christian sing along with the couple's kids in the back. But on the plus side lands them back outside the brownstone not two hours later at nine o' clock at night. Along with an invite to a Cookout For Jesus being held in Miami County a little later that month,
"And remember now fellers," the guy, Tad, grins at them as they climb from the minivan feeling battered and bruised, not to mention pissed off about the loss of the shortcake. Or at least Dean is anyway, "Everyone's welcome to come along, provided you love Jesus and good old fashioned home cooking."
"I make potato salad," his beaming wife chips in as Roman nods and tries to seem grateful, "Uh, well we'll definitely think about it and thanks again for the ride."
"Not a problem," Tad grins at them, "It's always nice to see new places. Isn't that right kids?"
"Yeah," the rest of the family cheers, as in front of them a prostitute dressed in torn stockings starts a fight with a homeless man pushing a cart of tin cans.
"Daddy?" one of the kids chirps brightly, "Is that a sinner?"
"Sure is buddy," his father grins back, before punching the minivan back into drive again and then waving at their newfound friends, "Roman, Dean you two boys take care of yourselves now."
"Uh yeah, you too brother," Roman replies, as Tad turns the trusty Kumbaya tape back on again, which upsets one of their neighbors,
"Hey, turn that crap off."
Yep, they are definitely back in the city. Not that Dean hangs around to revel in that fact, since he's too pissed off to stand still for a second, or to even think straight.
He hits himself.
"Babe?"
"That no good, freakin' billionaire scumbag," he yells in frustration before lashing out again and this time punching himself in the temple, which is what he has wanted to do for two hours, but couldn't because of the whole Kumbaya thing. Oh and the kids, "I mean who the fuck does he think is? Runnin' us off the road like a freakin' animal, an' totallin' my car. Fuck."
He goes to hit himself again, but is stopped by Roman catching his forearm and then levering it back again,
"Ambrose easy. Calm down. Because it ain't gonna help anybody if you're injured."
He's right too, which is annoying.
Dean swears again.
"Fuck," then turns himself in the direction of the brownstone and starts to stomp his way up the steps, muttering even as he pulls the office keys out, "No good freakin' scumbag. Knockin' his wife off an' then tryin' to kill me, an' my partner, an' my car. Take a fork an' freakin' stab his freakin' eyeballs out with it."
Sunny as usual is stood out in the hallway saying goodbye to a very married looking John, although she stops and frowns as Dean stamps through the doorway and bangs into her client with a stormy faced shoulder check.
"Hey," she scowls, "What the hell is your problem?"
"Take it easy Sunny," Roman puts in from behind, as Dean stalks up the creaky stairs to the office and tries super hard not to hit himself again. Even though he's making no promises on that one, "It's been a rough day. Someone tried to kill us tonight."
"Well they won't be the only ones," Sunny huffs crossly, dropping her cigarette down onto the floor and then grinding it heavily into the floorboards with the toe of her heel, which she probably wishes was Dean's head,
"Leave it with me baby girl, I'll talk to him."
"Huh, well you'd better," she snorts in response, "And you tell him from me that I've still got that chainsaw. He'll know what it means."
Roman knows what it means too, but keeps that part quiet as he nods at the hooker and then heads up the stairs after his furious uce, who has thankfully stopped cursing at himself in the meantime and is instead swearing death on the rickety office door, which has jammed before he can get it fully open and isn't helping his mood.
"Oh come on you piece of crap, why the fuck won't you just – ," he shoulder charges it. Which naturally ends up working too well, since the door bangs open and sends him stumbling into the office, where he trips over Brock and lands face first on the floor, "Fuck."
Trying to help – or okay, not help much – Brock bends down and starts to lick at Dean's shirt, aka the resting place of the shortcake. Not to mention the preserve.
Dean pushes him off.
"Babe?" Roman asks stepping in through the doorway and petting at Seth as the snowball scrabbles at his leg. Carl swoops down and nearly takes his damn eye out, but he figures the feathered rat is just trying to say hello and weirdly at some point he has become almost used to having to duck a damn pigeon in his place of work, "You okay?"
"I'm gettin' rid of the dogs uce," the private eye huffs as Roman helps pull him up again.
"No you're not babe."
"Yes I am, like, first thing tomorrow, m' goin' down to the pound an' freakin' handin' 'em in, so I don't have to deal with any more slobber, an' hair, an' dog food."
Carl lands on his head and Seth trots over and sits on his work boots before blinking up mournfully.
Dean scoops him up.
"Fuck. Okay fine, you get one more freakin' chance here, but if Christopher Hurley kills me, you three dudes are on your own. No more kibble an' no more freeloadin'."
Roman frowns,
"Are you sure that's who it was? Because I gotta say babe, when I was looking through the window, the guy seemed a whole lot bigger than that."
Dean shrugs,
"Fine, so it was Batista workin' under Hurley's orders, what difference does it make?"
His cell phone buzzes in his pants, which is seemingly the one remaining part of his anatomy that isn't smeared with jam or a million crumbs.
Roman shakes his head,
"We should go to the police babe."
"Why? So they tell me m' crazy again, an' laugh it up all around the freakin' office? An' besides, I tried to tell Hackett yesterday an' all he did was like, fuckin' smirk at me around his cigar, so he isn't gonna help."
"But that was before we were driven off the highway. Now we got proof that there's something to this case."
"Still doesn't mean that old bastard will believe us," Dean snarls bitterly, finally pulling loose his phone and then blinking in obvious surprise at the message.
Roman frowns back at him.
"Babe, something wrong?"
Dean shakes his head,
"Dunno, it's from Henry, wants to meet me down at Francis Xavier."
"The church?"
Dean shrugs,
"Yeah, says it's somethin' important, to do with his father an' linkin' him to the case, although we'll probably like, have to leave the dogs outside this time, because church folks are real snippy about havin' animals in there."
"We?"
Dean looks up,
"Yeah, why? Aren't you comin' with me?"
"Babe, I told you we need to go to the police."
"An' I told you," Dean fires back hotly, "That they're not gonna listen to a freakin' word we have to say. It's just you an' me dude," he shrugs at him, "Partners."
"God damn it uce," Roman snaps his eyes shut and tires not to focus on Dean's hurt expression as his wife's pleading voice runs around in his head, right alongside his own promise to her.
If it gets too dangerous just promise me you'll pull out
Yep I promise.
He rubs his neck,
"Look babe, I can't, this whole thing is getting too much for me. I mean sure, when it was just putting some heat on the bad guys and going around asking questions and looking out for your ass, but now we got people trying to kill us. I can't be into that, I got a wife and a kid."
"Wait," Dean gapes, shaking his head like a spaniel with too much water in its ears, "Lemme get this straight here. You wanna bail when we're this close to catchin' who did it?"
"No, I'm saying we need to be careful," Roman grunts, doing the whole worried, spreading-his-hands-wide bit, "Step back and call the police before someone gets hurt."
"Hurt?" Dean barks, "They already are hurt. Ella Hurley is freakin' dead, an' the people that did it hired me to fuckin' sit there an' watch while it happened."
"But that wasn't your fault."
"Yes it was," Dean yells back loudly, looking more pissed off than Roman has seen him and sounding so mad that Seth creeps away and then hides behind Brock who has gone to cower beneath the sofa. Even Carl has cleared off, "Because I'm the freakin' private detective, okay? I'm the one who is meant to catch bad guys an' figure stuff out. So the fact that I didn't? Guess what? That's on me. I was the one who knew the case was screwy an' I went an' freakin' took it on anyway. The cops don't care, they told us they don't care, which means it's down to me to solve. So as my partner either you're with me or you're not here.
"Babe," Roman puts hand out towards him.
Dean steps back,
"Are you coming or not?"
He looks more unhinged than ever, which is kind of ironic in a weird sort of a way, since he also seems more controlled than Roman has seen him. Or at least he's not hitting himself anyway.
Roman blows out a sigh,
"Look, I can't babe. I can't do that to my family."
"Fine, then you're fired."
"What?" Roman growls in measures of outrage as Dean glowers back at him,
"I said you're freakin' fired. Go back to the agency an' tell 'em you're done here. Get a job in some big place with air conditionin' an' no pets. Me an' the guys'll be fine here without you. We don't freakin' need you."
"Ambrose, don't be a god damn ass," Roman groans back as Dean grabs up the leashes and then whistles for Brock and Seth, who come creeping out with their tails tucked between their legs.
Stomping across the office, Dean stops in the doorway and then fights back his anger. Or okay, some of it at least, as he takes in the newly not paper covered surfaces and the organized filing cabinets and the two well used desks.
He shrugs,
"But uh, thanks for tidyin' up the office. I actually kinda like what you've done with the place."
Then he storms back out into the hallway and heads right into the biggest clusterfuck of his whole life.
Next week? Well, let's just say things happen. What things? That would be telling.