Learn to Have Been

October 2014

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Joey "Monster" Malone showed up at the 12th Precinct when he couldn't get his detective on the phone.

Two years ago, when Joey was fourteen, this old-ass detective had gotten all up in his face, talking like he knew him, like he'd been on the streets, like some sweetness and good-cop shit was going to turn Monster into a rat.

Monster wasn't no rat.

But, see, turned out Detective Javier Esposito did kinda know what he was talking about. Turned out he wasn't talking out of his ass and making cold promises. So when he'd rolled on that white dude (no white man was gonna lord it over him anyway, right?), it had been Detective Esposito who dropped him at home and said get your ass to school.

And then Esposito had called like, shit, all the time, man.

There were a few times where it went longer, where it had not been all the time, which was cool, it was cool, no problem. And then the cop would be all showing up at his doorstep and wanting to make it right and saying it was a bad case and things had gotten real and then Joey would hear some awesome-but-true stories about what had gone down that weekend or early morning when Esposito had been MIA for those phone calls.

Now that Joey was sixteen, he didn't need no baby-sitter. He had a driver's license cause Esposito taught him and had taken him to the DMV for the test, though he didn't have no car yet. But he was thinking, in the back of his mind, like, if he did right, you know. If he kept straight, maybe the cop would see him to a car by graduation.

If he graduated high school. Yeah, yeah, he'd probably do that. For sure. Yeah, he was solid on that. He had the grades; he could get the grades.

But Joey was sixteen and the phone calls had mostly stopped. The every week thing, anyway, because Joey had told him, you don't gotta baby-sit me. And Esposito hadn't, and that was cool. It was better. Because now he could actually text the Detective himself and the guy would text him back like immediate, and then maybe every few months, he'd call and the Detective would talk to him without sounding like he was rushing somewhere else and that was pretty legit. They had a thing, now, like a legit and solid thing, and Joey knew that even if it wasn't every week, it was still something important.

Only Esposito hadn't texted him back in weeks, and the last call he'd made like a month ago had gotten him nowhere.

But, shit, man, Joey ruled Washington Heights. His man, his D, had to know what'd been going down. See something say something, right?

So, way he figured it, he had a legit reason to show up like this.

But the damn desk cop wasn't into his reasons, or ignored them, and now Joey was cooling his heels in the damn lobby like a street crim, because, aw, man, he probably was this close to being one. He could get his grades up; he would graduate.

So when he saw Esposito hauling ass outta there, Joey sprang up from his seat and rushed the guy, nearly got punched in the face for it. The detective jumped back, his face cleared, and then he gripped Joey by the lapels of his jacket and shook him.

"I nearly drew down on you, you little-"

"I got intel for you, man. Like I'm your snitch, a'ight, and you ain't been calling me back."

Esposito's face hardened and then went slack and he shook his head and then collared Joey, an arm tight around his neck as he hauled him back towards the elevator. "Yo, this twerp's with me."

"Twerp?" he yelled, flushing pink when his voice broke like he was thirteen.

"Shut up, Joey. What're you doing here, kid? There's reasons I hadn't got you back. It's been a little crazy here since-"

"Yeah, I know." Joey rubbed the back of his neck when Esposito let him go. Elevator creaked as it went up. "You think that's not all over the papers? The writer and his chick?"

"That chick is Detective Beckett."

"I know, man. My uncle even asked me about them."

Esposito sent him a sidelong glance and seemed to get that something was up. But he pulled Joey off the elevator and into the bullpen, sat him down at his desk. Joey grinned and tilted back in the swivel chair, feeling pretty great now.

"All right. Spill it. You got something. I can see it on your face."

"Just that Washington Heights is where the shit goes down, man. And if you were a good enough cop, you'd have already come asking me."

"Don't be a badass when you're not."

Joey sat up straighter, making like he was gonna get out of there for a comment like that, but Esposito pushed him back into the chair, hulked over him.

"You're here. I'm here. So spill it." Esposito straightened up. "What do you know?"

Joey grinned. "Man, you're gonna be so grateful to me. You're gonna-"

"Joey," he barked.

"There was this white guy asking around about Kate Beckett."

Esposito sank down on his desk. "Oh yeah? There was, huh?" Esposito didn't look like he believed him.

"In Washington Heights, talking to the crews, you know? Stupid-ass white guy, we were all thinking, white guy in Washington Heights. That ain't smart. But then my friend Carlos got a look at him."

"Carlos."

"Yeah, you know him. Carlos said this white guy was scary as shit. He said, that's one scary motherf-."

"What'd I tell you about cursing at me?"

"Man, let me explain my goods. Cause I got the goods. Legit."

"Fine. You got the goods. Go on."

"This white guy walking around Washington Heights asking about the detective, your girl, you know? Asking did she still come around and shake down drug dealers, shit like that."

"Some white guy - some 'scary' white guy - was in Washington Heights asking about Detective Beckett."

Joey spread his hands. "What it sound like to me. Asking about her mom."

The look on the cop's face had suddenly turned deadly. Scared the shit out of Joey, just seeing that dead-eye look on a man who had been like an old-ass brother, and he clutched the armrests of the chair and plowed on, talking fast because he knew there was something really really wrong.

"I don't know her mom, don't know shit about her mom, man, I swear. But this guy, Esposito. This white guy - he has a fake hand."

Esposito's face was completely blank. "A fake hand."

"Like mechanical or something. Scared Carlos, man. I never seen Carlos scared before. He didn't want to tell me about it. He didn't want to talk, man. And Carlos can go on."

"Like some people I know." But Esposito was looking thoughtful, and that had been all Joey wanted. Been too long since Esposito got back to him. "Joey, isn't Carlos the guy you told me was making meth?"

Joey shrugged.

"Right, thought so."

"But that helps you, right? When I found out people been talking to a white guy about your detective, I knew it would be the goods."

"Joey-"

Joey sat forward. "Oh, and this was before the accident. Back in January."

"January? And you're just now coming to me?" Esposito leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I done just found out, man. I tried calling you."

"You said Carlos wouldn't talk about it."

"No, not-uh, he won't. But the manager at the Stop-n-Go. He's gonna give me a job and he was asking for references and I gave all the smart white people I know. Looks good having white people on there."

"Including Detective Beckett, I'm assuming."

"Course."

"Did you make up a phone number for her contact information?" Esposito said, narrowing his eyes.

"Naw." Joey grinned even wider. "I already got her digits. Swiped 'em from you. Case I needed to baby-sit you some day and had to call the lady."

"Uh-huh." Oh, whoa, the cop did not look happy about that either. The dead look was back, the glittering I've killed people look.

"But that's when the manager told me about the guy. He said it was so strange I knew this woman, cause fake hand guy was asking questions about her, and then Carlos tried shoplifting a buncha cold meds and Fake-Hand dealt with it, outright street judicious, man."

"Dealt with it." Deeper frown.

"I asked Carlos and he was shifty-eyed, said the guy in there gave him nightmares. The fake hand damaged the nerve in his neck - it was so strong - and now Carlos is all crunched up on one side. Not from meth, man. See, I did your job for you. You're welcome."

Esposito rubbed the side of his face, and then said something Joey hadn't expected one little bit. "Look, Joey. No more of this."

"What? Don't you wanna get the lady cop over here and I can tell her someone knows something about her mom-"

"Beckett does not need this right now. Joey. This isn't a game. Washington Heights - for her - is not a game."

Joey jerked to his feet, his chest flaring hot with that accusation, but Esposito yanked him back down to the chair and held him there.

"You sit down. Listen to me. You're trying to help. I get it. But what happened to Beckett this summer is serious stuff - serious trouble - and she cannot take her eyes off of that for anything. Not even her mother's case. You-"

"But this guy is spreading it around that she's in on the drugs, man. That something her mom did-"

"No," Esposito growled at him. "Joey." A flare of his nostrils like he was trying to calm down. "No. You let me do the detective work. You let me handle this for her. Okay?"

Joey glared back at him. Not cool. "I got legit information for you."

"Which I will deal with." Another cold glare. "You're coming with me."

And then Esposito yanked him to his feet and hustled him back to the elevator.

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