This one took me a long time. I'm going to try and write quicker next time. I'm really excited for what's coming next. Please be warned, next chapter is going to be graphic and quite harsh. Enjoy this installment for now. Hope you like it!
Lieutenant Wheeler stood outside the doorway of his office with his hands on his hips. His tie pin gleamed threateningly on his puffed-out chest and his lips were pursed tightly. His bald head looked dull, coated with thick morning stubble, everywhere but his crown. They'd all been working around the clock. It was a shit week all around.
As the Lieutenant looked daggers at his staff - though for once, at no one person in particular - a grey-headed detective in the cubicle across from Chris leaned over the fabric partition. He held up his thumbs and index fingers in front of him miming the act of taking a candid photo.
"I'd caption that: So many asses to ride. So little time."
Chris didn't need to look up to know what he was referring to. He smirked.
It was a popularity contest and Chris was losing. There were enough offices in the precinct for detectives to earn themselves a nice one, usually through high case closure rates. Of course, on the flip side, the biggest pains in the ass got stuck working out in the common area. After all the bullshit with Nicky and his leave of absence, both partners got their asses kicked to the curb. Chris' 10-by-10-foot office was traded in for a 5-by-5-foot cubicle. Nicky's office was also but he didn't know about it yet. One sunny Philadelphia Monday, Chris came to work to find that the Lieutenant had arranged for both of their things to be transferred to the bullpen. All of Nicky's belongings were packed inside a file storage box on the desk in his new cubicle beside his ex-partner's.
All except for the telephone, which no one but Chris thought to hook up.
So, it was thanks to Chris that it rang that evening and he was prepared to let it keep on ringing. It was unlikely to be something important or related to his cases since Nicky had never been on any of his open ones. And anyone calling in regards to their older cases would know to try Chris if they couldn't get Nicky. Nicky's messages would be picked up by the answering machine and he could deal with them when he comes back. When he comes back.
The idea of partnering up with his best friend again certainly sounded more enjoyable than his current arrangement. There weren't many things that Conseiko did that didn't get on Chris' nerves. The way he slurped every time he took a drink, asked stupid questions, told offensive jokes that lacked any humour at all, and demonstrated a complete ineptitude for leadership. However, Conseiko didn't have panic attacks in the car and force Chris to restrain him in order to prevent him from blowing their operation. Conseiko didn't show up to work plastered, go on benders for days at a time, or pull Chris out of bed to pick his drunk ass up from a bar because he was causing too much destruction. That was life for Chris with Nicky as a partner. While it hadn't always been like that, there was the odd red flag that would've made anyone else steer clear of Nicky. Anyone who wasn't already his best friend.
Nicky always drank a lot. The first time – or at least the first time they'd done it together – was when they were fifteen and Nicky stole a bottle of scotch from his father's collection for them to drink and puke back up in the park. Mr. Adams had figured it out of course. Chris always thought Carlo had something to do with it. He'd never forget the look of shame on his face or the anger as he dragged Nicky by the ear into the house.
Even after the licking Chris knew his friend had received and the nasty hangover they both had, Nicky still never learned. Like Chris, the shit he pulled only escalated. They fuelled each other. That's how Chris ended up flunking out of twelfth grade, and Nicky a burn out cop at 28 years old. They made a crappy team. The more time Chris spent away from Nicky, the more he realized that his fiancé was right. They brought each other down.
"Are you going to answer that?" It was Wheeler behind him. He was frowning so intensely that his eyebrows were almost flush with his eyelids.
Chris tilted his head back and covering the mouthpiece of his own telephone receiver as he cradled it between his shoulder and ear, he replied: "No, but the machine will pick it up, sir."
Wheeler scoffed. "And what if the machine is full? This kid we're looking for has been missing over 72 hours. I say leave no stone unturned and what's that? A big fucking stone that's ringing at you and you're leaving it unturned! Pick up the fucking phone!"
The only reason Chris had come back to the office after getting back from Jersey was to start the paperwork for Julian Carter's warrant for arrest. Conseiko was heading back to the Love Shack porn shop to re-question the manager who remembered seeing a station wagon around the shop regularly years ago. If she could identify Carter and place him with the car on a date after the car was reported stolen in Philly, then they could arrest him for falsifying a police report. It was a shot in the dark, but it would be worth it. "Serge, I gotta call you back. Don't forget to show both pics: recent and the older one. And I want to know if it was him or his old man going there. Good." Chris spoke quickly and slammed the phone down. He answered Nicky's phone on the eighth ring and shot the Lieutenant a look of contempt as he spoke. "Special Victims."
"Uh, hey. I'm looking for Nick Adams. I thought this was his extension."
"It is actually. He's unavailable. Can I take a message?"
The line went silent for a second and then he heard a sigh. "I guess. It's just his brother. Tell him …"
"Wait, Carlo?" Chris felt a smile spread across his face.
"Yeah. That you, Rivera?" Carlo's voice certainly sounded different. Older yes, but also gruff and worn down.
"It's been ages, man. How's things?"
The lieutenant huffed and stalked off.
"I mean I'm okay," Carlo rasped. "The rest ain't great."
Chris rubbed his temple, starting to feel a familiar headache coming on. "I know what you mean, man."
He could hear Carlo grumble something in the background before he spoke again. "Listen," he said with a sigh. "I'm looking for my pain in the ass brother. Any chance you've seen him?"
Pain in the ass was right. "Hang on. I thought he was in Jersey."
"Yeah, well, he threw a fit and took off again. I've been calling his place and no answer. I'm about to jump back on the highway, but I thought I'd try calling again before I make the trip."
"Fuck. And here I was looking forward to him not being my problem for a little while." He knew it was a terrible thing to say, but it was true. Nicky's issues were wearing him down.
"Yeah. I know the feeling," Carlo said. "So, you haven't heard from him?"
"I'm sorry, but no." Chris was about to let him off the line when he remembered Donna Carter and that Carlo might be able to fill in the gaps that Chris' memory couldn't. "Do you remember the name Julian Carter?"
Carlo was quiet on the other end. So quiet that Chris could hear the highway and the sound of an engine starting up somewhere in the distance. "Carter? You talking about the coach?" He asked with a growl.
"No, I'm talking about his kid. He must've been a few years ahead of Nicky and me at Jackson Liberty. He doesn't look familiar to me, but I like him for something kind of related."
"Well, shit. The apple doesn't fall far from the fuckin' tree, does it? I don't remember, man." Carlo paused. "You don't think Nicky is working this, do you? I mean I know he's supposed to be off work but – "
Chris answered quickly. "No. I don't. The vic went missing after Nick went off. He wouldn't even know about it. And the name Carter only just came up."
"So, where in the hell is he and why can't he pick up his fuckin' phone?" There was no mistaking the worry in Carlo's voice.
While Chris and Nicky pulled their fair share of bullshit growing up, Carlo always found a way to outdo them. He was wild and fun, and he always took it too far. He once got himself real close to a three-month stint in juvie. Everything was a joke to him. Hotwiring teachers' cars in the school parking lot was a joke until he got electrocuted. Hearing Carlo take something seriously was disarming. It underscored how there was no way to outdo Nicky now. And no way to undo it either.
"I don't know. Look, do you want me to just go over and check on him before you come all this way?"
Carlo sighed. "No. Thanks but no. This isn't gonna stop on its own. He's not gonna stop." This was Carlo's way of saying that if Nicky hadn't already drank himself to death, he would soon. Chris had had the same thought many times because he knew it was true and that his friend was heading there fast.
Chris swallowed. "Do you want me to meet you there?"
Carlo's response didn't answer the question. "I'll call you. And hey, Rivera? Thanks for picking up the phone. I'm sick of hearing his bloody voicemail message."
"You're back." Shawn pointed out from his perch on the couch. It didn't look like he'd moved since Jonathon had left but he was hardly going to get draconian if he had. The kid was hunched forward, his gaunt elbows braced on his knees, still obediently clutching the frozen vegetables to his middle.
"Yeah, I'm back. Did you think I wouldn't be?" Jonathon swung his coat over a chair aware that Shawn was watching him.
The boy finally eased and leaned back. He seemed to be abandoning some thought or concern he intended to raise to his guardian. Now he spoke carefully as though testing the waters. "No. What happened to Eli?"
"He went home. Hot date tonight apparently."
"Lucky him." Shawn sighed and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
Jonathon sat in the armchair to his right and likewise set one foot on the table before him with a thud. The man might've pointed out that Shawn had never had trouble finding a date before, but he knew things had changed. The kid wasn't quite as popular as he used to be. They'd both become social pariahs at John Adams High. They were simultaneously the topic of conversation on everyone's tongues and yet the two people nobody wanted to associate with. Until that moment, Jonathon had thought that neither one of them cared about it.
"Lucky him," Jonathon agreed.
Shawn was studying him again. A rerun of Wheel of Fortune was on, but the kid was looking at him like he was the puzzle. Jonathon pretended not to notice and kept his eyes on the screen until Shawn eventually remarked: "It's like we're both grounded."
Jonathon held his chin between his thumb and index finger. Now he stared at the boy right back. "When did I ground you?"
He shrugged and dropped his gaze. "I don't know. Figured you would after today."
Jonathon couldn't find the energy within himself to frown. He peered up at the ceiling, sending up a silent prayer for strength, and sighed. When he looked back in Shawn's direction, the kid's face was flushed and his lips parted like there was more to say.
"What do you think happened today that would make me punish you, Hunter?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever. You seemed mad."
"No. Not whatever, Shawn." Jonathon sighed again. "I did seem mad. I was. I mean I was upset but at myself. I should've known what was going on with you. You kept it secret but that's not your fault and I'm not about to discipline you for it, bud. Okay?"
The boy seemed to ease a little and he nodded his understanding. "Okay."
"Listen, kid. I know I've said it before, but I'm really sorry you're going through all this. That you're still going through all this. You don't deserve it. You least of all, buddy." Jonathon felt his eyes burning as he spoke. He didn't know he was going to share what he just had. It escaped him and he had no chance at containing it, just the same as his guilt. "I'd take it all on for you if I could."
Shawn's eyes shot away with something that resembled embarrassment in their depths. He brought his knees up to his chest, hooking his heels on the edge of the sofa cushion, and nodded like before.
"I know, Jon," he said weakly and Jonathon thought he was fighting tears, as well.
That was where they left things. He should've hugged him. He should've gotten his ass up out of the recliner and put an arm around the boy's tense shoulders. There was distance between them, both emotionally and physically, and he could've closed it. But Jonathon, so overwhelmed with guilt, was battling with himself to keep it together for Shawn's sake. Shawn, who sat there a pile of scarred skin and broken bones, was fragile and needed strength. What Jonathon should've seen was that he needed honesty just as much.
The gameshow was ending, and it was not until after the closing credits finished rolling that Jonathon was able to speak without betraying himself.
Jonathon reached beside him and pulled a newspaper from the side pocket of his recliner. "You know, I've been thinking. It'd be good to make a change."
The kid looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"Well, maybe a new apartment. Or, what I think we should do first …" He flipped through the paper until he came to the ad he'd glanced over before. "Is get a car."
"What? You can't get rid of your Harley! No way!"
Jonathon chuckled. "I didn't say that. It's just not a bad idea to have another option, don't you think? And you're due to get your driver's permit soon." He passed Shawn the paper. "Why don't you help me pick one out for us?"
The next day after school, they would drive out to a used dealership just over state lines in Camden, New Jersey. Their decision is made after a convenient flyer finds its way into Jonathon's mail heap under the front door advertising appealing car prices and low mileage. They won't get a chance to test drive any vehicles though. No matter how foggy the events grow, Jonathon would be sure of that fact.
He won't know why Shawn is in the car. He'll turn his back for just a minute. He won't be able to explain why he just stands there frozen while he watches Shawn wailing on the windows and screaming for him as the car takes off. He won't understand where that brown station wagon comes from. He won't see it when they make their first rounds around the dealership.
He won't know how it's possible that Shawn is missing again. Taken. Gone.
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