Chapter 3
Saturday, 2.08 AM
One thing Lance had always prided himself on was his people skills.
Sure, it had gotten him out of trouble more than a few times as a kid, but it was first when he began to study law enforcement he realized how much of an asset it could be. What better way to get people to talk than to – sometimes literally – charm the pants off them?
However it seemed his skills had a limit.
As Lance took the turn-off in the roundabout, he snuck a glance at Keith in the passenger seat next to him. His gaze was set on the crowded streets flickering by outside the car window, but Lance was willing to bet his left kidney that Keith's mouth was set in the same stubborn line as it had been when he stalked away down the corridor and, later, when Lance found him waiting in the precinct garage.
Suppressing a sigh, Lance slowed down as the traffic light turned red. The muffled rumble of the car engine and soft reggaeton beats from the radio the only thing filling the quiet.
His papá would tell him to be patient, to be kind, that you never knew what someone carried – virtues he always did his best to bear with him on each case – but Lance had a track record to uphold. And Mullet refusing to tell him why he was tracking Haggar? The worst kind of blow to the ego.
But he wasn't about to give up. Making people talk was what he did for a living. As he had shrugged on his favorite dark-green jacket and checked his hair in the mirror of the precinct bathroom, he'd vowed he would worm the truth out of Keith. One way or another.
Well. Mamá had always told papá Lance was too nosy to be patient.
The thought of his parents made him itch to check his phone, even though he knew it was barely six o'clock in the morning in Cuba right now; no one in his family would be awake. Except maybe primica Olivia. The five-year-old didn't seem to understand what sleep was.
"Tell me about Iverson."
Huh. Seemed Keith did remember how to talk, after all. "Okay," Lance said. He'd call his sister Veronica later, he decided as the traffic light turned green.
Find out everything he'd missed out on today.
He shook his head. "Besides when the whole money laundering accusation hit the press, I haven't seen much of him. But he seems to place a great value in company morals and principles, hates beating 'round the bush and knows the law like the back of his hand… In other words," the corner of his lips quirked up, "he's got a bit of a stick up his ass."
"So we go in straight."
If it had been anyone else Lance might've answered he'd never done anything 'straight' in his life, but instead opted for, "Yeah, that's a no. This is L.A., in case you've already forgotten. Dealing with people like this takes finesse."
"Yeah. Seen a lotta that so far."
"You saying you can handle a businessman better than me?"
"If your 'handling' means talking around in pointless circles… then yeah. I am."
Hands tightening around the steering wheel, Lance glared at the car in front. First thing on the find-out-the-truth agenda: knock Keith down a peg. He thought he knew what he was doing? Two minutes into a conversation with Iverson and he'd be begging Lance to step in and save the day.
This was Lance's home ground. It was about time Mullet knew it too.
And so when he pulled up in front of the towering complex that made up Garrison Inc., he faced Keith and said, "You know what? If you wanna take the lead so badly, go right ahead."
Keith met his gaze head-on, the message clear. Game on.
The reception hall was huge yet practically built – sharp angles and basic colors, tiled floors so polished they could be used as a mirror and a group of black couches that looked simple but probably cost at least twice Lance's monthly salary. The side room the receptionist directed them to carried much of the same design, only with a three-layered fountain in industrial steel dominating its center… and, of course, a grim-faced U.S. marshal instead of a hot receptionist to keep him company.
Lance sunk down in one of the chairs lining the walls, weighing on its back legs. A shame the receptionist hadn't been interested. She had really pretty eyes.
They didn't need to wait long before Iverson came. Wide shoulders, an immaculately trimmed beard… and face fixed in a scowl that made it clear he did not appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night.
"What's this about?" he demanded.
Leaning back in his chair, Lance barely resisted the urge to smirk. Oh, this was going to be an absolute trainwreck.
"Deputy Marshal Keith Kogane," Keith said, standing up and extending a hand. "This," he gestured to Lance, who waved, "is Detective Lance McClain. We have some questions."
"About?"
Keith squared his jaw. "Three hours ago, Sendak from Galra Corp. was murdered at Omega Towers. We have reason to believe someone hired the killer."
A beat passed as Iverson processed everything Keith had said, before his eyes narrowed. "You're accusing me of murder?"
"Maybe I am. We all know you had it out for him."
"Had it out for–" Iverson's face turned several shades redder and Lance turned away to hide the glee he couldn't hold back anymore. "Now look here. Sendak deserved every bit of what he got, but I didn't kill him. This company," his hand thrust forward in emphasis, "is my life. If you think I'd destroy everything to kill a gossiper, you need to scuttle back to the police academy because you clearly didn't pick up any deduction skills."
Lance blinked, because he had expected things to escalate but whoa, not this fast. And even though he couldn't see Keith's face from this angle, he did notice the way his shoulders tensed.
"I don't have time for this." Shaking his head, Iverson took a step back. "I've been here all night; my colleagues can back me up on that. But I have a meeting near Venice Beach in the morning and would like to get at least four hours' sleep." He turned, an icy "Good night. You know the way out" his final remark before he headed towards the doors.
"Lemme guess, you've got more money laundering schemes to plan?"
Iverson froze. The silence deafening as he turned back around. "What did you just say?"
Yeah. Definitely time to step in.
Lance got to his feet, an "Okay, let's all just calm down" on his lips, but Keith beat him to it, hands now clenched at his sides. "You heard me."
"Those files were fake," Iverson said, his voice taking on the same edge as Keith's. "A ploy to raise Galra's reputation and destroy ours. Sendak dying has nothing to do with it."
"Really?" Keith took a step forward. "'Cause all I'm seeing is an even stronger motive to want revenge. And what's one murder when the company reputation's fucked anyway?"
"Keith," Lance warned, because this was officially out of amusing territory now and into the field of this-is-how-you-lose-your-job and he needed to find a way to de-escalate this before–
"Ask my colleagues. Check my phone log. Search my damn house, I don't care." Iverson met Keith's glare with one of his own. "But the one thing I won't stand is being disrespected on my own property, no matter if you're a cop–"
He went to jab a finger in Keith's chest but didn't get the chance. Before Lance had time to react, Keith instinctively twisted Iverson's arm and sent him stumbling forward… right into the fountain.
Oh, mierda.
Water sprayed everywhere as the big man fell, cascading all over the tiled floor and Lance quickly stepped out of range. Some of it still splashed the cuffs of his trousers, but it was nothing compared to the dripping mess Iverson made as he got to his feet.
His furious eyes found them both.
"Get. Out."
Lance winced. "Yup, we're leaving. Definitely leaving. Thank you for your, um, time?"
Not waiting for an answer, Lance grabbed Keith's arm and all but dragged him out of the room. He didn't slow down, not even when the receptionist called after them, until they were back on the pavement next to his car.
"What the hell was that?"
Keith shrugged. "I believe him. He's not our guy."
"Oh, that's just great! You couldn't have found that out without, I don't know, pushing him into a fountain?" If Lance hadn't been worried about messing up his hair, he would have pulled at it in frustration. "Dios, Keith, you may be leaving after the case is over, but the rest of us won't. Can you at least try not to be a complete tornado?"
Keith only thinned his lips into a line.
"... Fine. Whatever, man." With a sigh, Lance pulled the driver seat door open. "But I'm taking the lead on the next one, got it?"
:::
3.52 AM
Lance hadn't expected Bandor's agent to get back to him so quickly, let alone tell him Bandor was in the recording studio. It was four in the morning, for crying out loud! If Lance had been a superrich megastar, he wouldn't have left bed until at least noon. But he wasn't going to complain – questioning Bandor in the studio would be easier (and faster) than having to go to his private mansion.
The early hour also came with the perks of less traffic, and so it wasn't long before he and Keith stood in the studio, surrounded by sound-dampening green carpet, mixer boards, speakers and computers.
"Hey, you're the agent I spoke to on the phone, right? Rolo?"
The man in front of them nodded, strands of his blonde hair falling in his eyes at the motion. He ignored them however, just like he ignored Lance's outstretched hand in favor of crossing his arms. "That's right. So what you wanna know?"
"Like I said, this is an open investigation, so we can't discuss the details with anyone not directly affected by–"
"Anything affecting my client affects me," Rolo cut him off, eyes narrowing. "Literally in the job description, man. Gotta look out for his best interests – and letting some cops entangle him in a scandal that has jack to do with him is definitely not on the list. So tell me what this is about."
Keith started forward, probably with another round of barbed words at the ready, but Lance stopped him with an arm. Sent him a small smirk.
Watch and learn, Mullet.
"Look," he said, turning back to Rolo, "I commend what you're trying to do here. Bandor's lucky to have someone like you looking out for him." He smiled a little as Rolo stood straighter, prouder. "But we're not trying to involve him in a scandal. Just some routine questions about an incident uptown, to cover all bases in the report, you know? We don't want an innocent bystander like Bandor getting caught up in a media circus as much as you do."
Rolo frowned, but Lance knew he was wavering.
"All we need is a minute with him. Two minutes, tops."
A sigh. Then Rolo nodded. "Fine. Hang on, I'll call him out."
As Rolo headed over to the mixer bench near the recording booth, speaking into the microphone before leaving the room, Lance raised his eyebrows at Keith. Based on his sigh, he definitely caught on to the silent brag.
Bandor's white-blonde hair was the first thing that caught Lance's eye as he stepped out of the booth, pulling the blocky recording headphones down to hang around his neck. It was longer too – way longer than the ear-length auburn hair he'd rocked in the latest interview Lance saw him in – pulling attention even more to his cheekbones and deep blue eyes.
"Hi," he said, "you wanted to speak with me?"
Lance quickly introduced himself and Keith, shaking Bandor's hand. In real life, he was a lot taller than Lance had thought. And possibly a bit, kind of, a lot more attractive. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said honestly. "We're big fans."
"Really? Both of you?"
"Um, yeah," Keith replied as Lance elbowed him. "Huge fan."
"Yeah, I really like that single of yours," what had Matt called it? Oh, right, "'Defender.' It's all we've been playing lately at the precinct." And if the reason was to torture Pidge, well… Bandor didn't need to know that.
"Oh really?" Bandor shoved his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans, an amused glint in his eyes. "Didn't know my music had the law enforcement's approval." He leaned forward. "Though between us, your approval means more to me."
The words sent a warm little thrill through Lance but he covered it with a huff of a laugh. "Don't worry. I won't tell 'em I'm your favorite. But," and he made a not-so-subtle nod towards Keith, "I think said law enforcement won't approve much of me if I don't get to business."
Lance could practically hear the eye-roll when Keith shifted behind him, but Bandor nodded, sobering. "Sure. How can I help?"
"Do you know Sendak?"
The look on Bandor's face changed in an instant. "Unfortunately."
"He was murdered four hours ago," Keith said. "We're looking for the culprit."
"I– Wow, now what I said sounds terrible." Bandor crossed his arms. "I mean, that's how I feel, but knowing he's dead… it feels kinda wrong to say it." Pausing, he searched Lance's face. Understanding filled his own. "I didn't do it, if that's what you're asking. Why would I… why would someone ever want to…" He shuddered.
Features schooled, Lance shrugged. "I mean, there were those photos he leaked of you."
"The nudes, you mean? You saw those?"
Lance raised an eyebrow, matching Bandor's returned smirk. "Why, hoping I have?"
Bandor's hair fell over one shoulder as he shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. Some things are more worth seeing in person."
If Keith hadn't been rolling his eyes before he definitely was doing it now, judging by the not-so-quiet sigh he let out.
"Why would I kill Sendak because of those pics?" Bandor continued. "I may not like it exactly, but… all publicity is good publicity, right?"
"... Right." Lance reached back, pulling his card from his wallet. "Okay, that's all I wanted to ask. If you think of anything else, here's my office number. And if there's anything other than the investigation…" he flipped the card over, "my personal number's on the back."
"Alright. Good to know." The amused glint in Bandor's eye was back as he took the card.
:::
4.23 AM
"That's how you interrogate people?"
Lance let go of the steering wheel with one hand to send finger guns Keith's way. "You got it. And I prefer to call it investigating, not interrogating."
"But– That was flirting!"
"Aww, you jealous?"
Keith sent him a glare. "It's inappropriate."
If anything could kill the mood fast, it was comments like that. "Hey, if this is about Bandor being a guy," Lance took the corner sharper than he should have, "save it. I'm bi. People are hot. I'm not gonna hold back even if you can't deal with it, okay?"
A pause.
"That's not what I meant."
Lance wished they hadn't been having this conversation in the car then, wished he could take his eyes off the road and see the face accompanying the words. But he couldn't, and so he'd have to rely on his ears. And Keith, surprisingly, sounded sincere.
"Good," he said finally. "Then what?"
"We're supposed to be on the job," and the soft quality in Keith's voice lessened again, "and stay professional. Getting personal with suspects is a lawsuit waiting to happen."
Lance raised an eyebrow. "And pushing people into fountains is professional how, exactly? Also," smile back, he plowed on before Keith could interrupt, "Bandor started it, not me. Luckily, I'm an excellent multitasker: you heard him. He pretty much wasn't fazed by the pics at all."
"... You're right," Keith said with a sigh. "I don't think it's him."
"Exactly. Another suspect off the list and getting to flirt with a hot singer: a win-win if ya ask me."
"Whatever. We still don't have any leads on Haggar."
Lance drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "You know another thing we don't have? Breakfast. I know it's like five in the morning, but I would kill for an omelet. Or a bagel. Or even cereal, I'm honestly not that picky right now."
"Breakfast? You're thinking about breakfast?" Keith thumped his head back against the headrest. "Jesus fucking Christ."
"Lucky for us the next person on the list is the meanest chef I know, so we can knock both things out at once."
"Hunk," Keith ground out through clenched teeth, "is a suspect in a murder investigation. We're not having breakfast with him."
As they stepped out of the elevator on the second floor of the apartment building ten minutes later, Lance couldn't hold back his smirk at Keith's face when the smell of fresh bread and garlic immediately met them.
Yeah. No one could resist Hunk's cooking.
Stomach rumbling, Lance walked down the sparsely decorated hallway and knocked on the door furthest down. It didn't take long before Hunk opened it, the muted orange button-up he'd worn at the bar replaced with sweats and a flowery apron. He still wore some orange though with his headband, making his hair stick up like a dark-brown palm tree, and his smile was still as happy, if a little confused.
"Hey, man! Didn't think you'd be back this early."
"Yeah," as Lance returned Hunk's embrace he glanced at Keith, "change of plans. I'm surprised you're still awake though. Guess you had a good time with Shay?"
"Uh," Hunk cleared his throat, and even with the dim lighting and Hunk's brown skin, Lance knew he was blushing, "it was good. Yeah. So, um." His eyes found Keith, standing to the side. "Hey, we haven't met before, right? Making new friends on the job?"
Lance huffed a laugh, letting Hunk change the topic (with a mental reminder to tease some more answers out of him later). "Not quite. This is Keith Kogane. We're borrowing him from the U.S. Marshals."
"Ohh, so you're case partners?"
"Unfortunately."
"Well, nice to meet ya!" Hunk smiled, holding a hand out. "I'm Hunk."
Keith murmured a greeting as they shook hands, face holding an expression Lance couldn't read. Uncomfortableness? Dislike? Whatever it was, it sparked a flicker of irritation in Lance's chest because how could anyone dislike Hunk? Seriously, the guy was the embodiment of camp fires, fall leaves and hot chocolate.
A timer went off inside the apartment and Hunk grinned. "That'll be the garlic knots – I made some as a late-night snack before I pass out till noon. Gotta take full advantage of havin' the weekend off, right? Anyway, you want some?"
"Duh," Lance said.
They followed Hunk down the hall and into the kitchen, and Lance felt something settle in his chest as he took in the clutter of mixing bowls, measuring cups and ingredients on the marble bench top and kitchen island, the cupboard above the sink with its row upon row of spices still open…
Besides mamá's kitchen, this was his favorite place to be.
"So the guest room's kinda doubling as a storage room right now," Hunk said to Keith as he brought a tray of steaming, golden-brown garlic knots out of the oven, "but it'll be easy to fix it up. The couch is pretty good too though, if you'd prefer that?"
"Oh. Um." Keith sent a look towards Lance. "We're not here to sleep."
As Hunk's gaze flickered over to him too, eyebrows knit, Lance cleared his throat. "Yeah. 'Fraid this is about work too. I'm guessing you've heard what happened to Sendak?"
Suppressing a shudder, Hunk nodded. "First thing on the news when I turned the TV on. How he died… real freaky, man. I don't know how you do it – one look at that body and I'd have hurled on the spot."
"You sent money to him," Keith said. When Lance glanced over his shoulder, he saw him standing near the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. "Then eight days ago, you stopped. What was that about?"
Hunk's face fell. "Oh, shit. That money went to Sendak? I didn't know, I thought it was just- No, no, no, hang on," and his breath hitched as he looked at Lance, "that's what they called you in for at the bar, right? You're looking into his murder and– and that makes my whole thing look suspicious as heck, holy shit–"
Dios, did Mullet have any tact at all? Sending him a pointed look – this is my friend, let me handle this – Lance turned his focus back on Hunk. "Hey," he said, voice collected even though he felt anything but, because damn, Hunk was actually involved in something and he thought he knew all Hunk's tells yet hadn't picked up on this at all and he should have been able to, "you're not a suspect. You're not," he said louder, drowning out Keith's protest, "but we need to know what's up. Whatever it's about, man, you know I've got your back."
"Yeah. I know." Taking a steadying breath, Hunk sent a small smile his way. "Thing is, it's not really about me. I was just trying to help."
"Help who?"
A quiet moment passed as Hunk rested his arms against the bench top. Visibly steeled himself. "It was about three weeks ago," he said. "You know, that night everyone at work went to Venice Beach together? We had a great time – swimming, talking, had some great food we hadn't made ourselves for once…"
"Wow. That's both rare and well done."
It was a dumb joke, but Lance was relieved to hear Hunk's huff of a laugh anyway. "Yeah. I work in a restaurant," he added in explanation to Keith. "Anyway, a few hours in I noticed my boss seemed a bit off – thought it was just that kinda night you know, but I came into work the next day and… yeah, something wasn't right. So during break, I asked her."
Lance made a face. "Lemme guess. This is where Sendak comes into the picture."
"Yup. Though like I said, I didn't know it was him. I don't even know if my boss knew." He bit his lip. "She basically broke down and told me about this message, threatening her to leak info about the famous people who eat at our place sometimes… or they'd leak all our recipes. I have no clue how they got them, man, but you know how bad it'd be for business if they got out, especially to the other restaurants in the neighborhood. But selling out our customers… that's breaking the law and, like, every moral code in the book."
"So you sent him money," Keith said, crossing his arms. "To keep him quiet."
Hunk nodded, and Lance hated that miserable expression on his face, but, "Why were you sending the money? Why not your boss?"
"No no, she did too. But she couldn't take it off the restaurant funds or it'd show up in the business tax reports, and it was too much to cover from her own pocket, especially as a single mom with three kids… so I offered to help." A quiet sigh. "A week passed. Then she called me into her office. Said she'd gotten another message, saying they– Sendak," he corrected, swallowing, "found a better source for info and didn't need our 'chump change' anymore. And, well. That was that."
Another moment of quiet. Then Lance sunk down on one of the bar stools, rubbing his temple as he met his best friend's – his stupidly kind best friend – gaze. One question burning inside him most of all.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Hunk bit his lip, staring down at his hands. "I should have. But you had so much else goin' on and I…" He met Lance's gaze. "I didn't wanna add more, y'know?"
Going on? He'd had Shay's case, sure, but he always had a case going on, so what–
Then it clicked. His sister flying to visit Cuba. To visit their parents.
To visit home without him.
Lance cleared his throat. "Since Sendak's dead, I don't know how much of that money you and your boss can get back," he said, "but I'll forward it to someone in the department to look into it. But next time you're in trouble, let me know. Please." No matter what's up with me.
"Yeah. Sure thing, man," was what Hunk said, but his eyes told a different story. "Anythin' else you wanna know?"
Turning his head, Lance raised an eyebrow at Keith. To his satisfaction, the marshal sighed and inclined his head slightly. Fine, he seemed to say. You were right. He's not guilty. "No," Lance said. "That's it."
"Okay. Cool." With quick movements, Hunk served up one of the still smoking baked goods, his smile back as he held out the plate. "Garlic knot, anyone?"
:::
5.15 AM
Keith was perched on the side of the bed – eyes fixed on something on his phone, leather jacket still on – when Lance came into the guest room.
"Oh dios," Lance said with a groan, "don't tell me you're one of those hardcore people who sleeps fully dressed."
The way Keith's hair slapped against his cheek when he spun around would've made Lance laugh, if not for the split-second of alarm in his eyes. Somehow he must've not heard Lance's knock.
"Jeez. Relax." Rolling his eyes, Lance took one glance out into the hall before closing the bedroom door. No point keeping it open and risk waking up Hunk – the guy had practically toppled to bed the second Lance assured him 'We can clear out the guest room later, the bed's clear, it's fine.' It meant they hadn't had a chance to talk everything out, but well. Tomorrow's problem. "Also," he said to Keith, "if this is your last-ditch effort to get me to drive you to a hotel? Not happening. Especially since you and your Marshals office didn't book one before you left – which I still think is so dumb, by the way."
Keith exhaled, words clipped as he asked, "What are you doing here?"
Lance held up the laptop he'd brought with him. "Pidge sent me some new stuff they'd found… which is great since all three of our suspects seem to be dead ends. Except maybe Hunk's boss, but I don't think we'll need to question her."
"What do you mean?"
Lance toppled down on the bed, leaning back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh as he flipped the computer open. A sigh he might've exaggerated a little, just to annoy Keith (which by Keith's look he succeeded with).
Pidge's email was still open when the computer screen turned on. Clicking on the attached screenshot, Lance turned the screen around for Keith to see. The anonymous message was short enough he had it memorized anyway.
'I got you the data you wanted. You better pay what you owe me, Sendak, or else.'
Keith frowned. "Where'd Pidge find this?"
Lance twisted the computer back his way again. "They reconstructed it from some of Sendak's deleted emails. Their theory is he paid a hacker to steal data off peoples' phones." Pursing his lips, he drummed lightly on the keyboard. "Looks like their partnership ended badly. Maybe this hacker person's the one who hired Haggar?"
"Maybe." Keith's eyes hardened. "Where'd Pidge say they're located?"
"They didn't. The location was untraceable."
Silence descended in the room, both of them thinking hard.
"Iverson, Bandor and Hunk's boss… why them? Why hack these three people?" Lance leaned back against the pillows again, frowning up at the cream-colored roof. "What do they even have in common? More than living in L.A., obviously."
Keith opened his mouth to respond, but stopped as the phone he'd left on the nightstand vibrated. All Lance had time to see was a message notification before Keith scooped it up, shifting to hide the screen from view.
Interesting.
"Who's that? A coworker? A friend? A looover?"
The look Keith sent his way made it clear what he thought of Lance's questions: none of his business. Which obviously meant he needed to know.
Crossing his arms, Lance couldn't help but smirk. "Ohh, so it is a lover. Wow."
"What? No!"
"Don't worry, Mullet. Your love life's safe with me. I just hadn't pictured you as the holding-hands, long-walks-on-the-beach kinda guy, but–"
"It's not a fucking lover, it's–" He stilled. "Venice Beach."
"... Venice Beach texted you?"
"No," and Lance couldn't help but feel disappointed as Keith shoved his phone in his pocket – so much for finding out who it was, "Iverson and Hunk both mentioned Venice Beach. I don't remember if Bandor–"
Wait.
"He didn't, but," mind racing, Lance sat up, "some of those leaked pictures of his… they were taken there."
"They were?"
"Yeah." He looked up, meeting Keith's gaze. Heart thrumming. "The hacker must be set up close by."
This chapter was one I struggled quite a bit with, especially to set things up while trying to keep people in character and not make the pacing drag... still don't know if I'm completely happy with it, but I like it better than my first draft at the very least!
I also tweaked the summary a little - I liked the other one a lot, but this one feels more in line with the story's "heart", if that makes sense.
Until next time :)
