Chapters 1-5
Rated: Adult
Warning: Puppy Play, Dom/sub
Skip to 6-10
Skip to 11-15
***
"Oh man, this is police harassment."
"Calm down, Chief, you're just here as a witness. I'll get you back to your kennel as quick as I can." Jim smiled as the young man glared at him. Usually Jim had more control, but with the divorce from Caro and the sudden rash of murders that had him working eighteen hour days and now this hate crimes case, Jim just couldn't pass up the humor of the situation. He pushed through the doors to the precinct, herding his witness along with him.
"There is nothing illegal about what we were doing," Sandburg growled, but then the image of Sandburg growling like a cocker spaniel forced Jim to bite the inside of his cheek.
"Oh, I worked vice long enough that I could come up with a statute or two," Jim said as he considered just what Sandburg and Mr. Espinoza had been up to. "Bestiality, for one," Jim said with a straight face just to annoy Mr. Sandburg. The man turned a deep shade of red.
"Not funny. There were no animals involved, there was no sex involved, and just because you're some uptight prick who only uses missionary position doesn't mean that everyone is wired the same. Mr. Espinoza has a right to his interests." Jim blinked in the face of that attack. Usually his size was enough to dissuade people from getting so aggressive with him, but then Sandburg had already surprised Jim several times, and he'd only known the man an hour.
"Mr. Espinoza? You aren't even on a first name basis with the man you wag your tail at?" Jim asked as he guided the witness to a chair. He walked around and dropped into his desk chair before looking up at one Blair Sandburg, student at Rainier University and high-priced escort. At least Jim hoped he was high-priced because he deserved a hell of a lot of money providing those particular services.
"There is nothing wrong with wanting to have an unconditional relationship that doesn't rely on promises or societally imposed roles defined by our gender."
"No, just one based on money," Jim pointed out as he started his computer and flipped through his notepad.
"Social constructs are reinforced by small-minded people like you," Sandburg growled as he finally dropped into the chair across from Jim.
"I'm sorry, Chief, I'll drop the…" Jim waved his hand as he struggled to find the word to describe it… "thing." Sandburg glared at him.
"I really do appreciate you coming forward as a witness, and I will try to make this as quick and painless as possible. I'll have you back to…" Jim paused again, struggling with the sarcastic comment that wiggled its way up his throat… "work just as soon as possible."
"I didn't have to let you guys know I'd seen anything."
"I know, Mr. Sandburg."
"I was trying to do the right thing, man, and it's not like it wasn't embarrassing for me."
"I'm sure." Jim congratulated himself on not saying something sarcastic. Personally, if he'd been in that same situation, he wouldn't have come forward for anything less than a murder, not with that… equipment… on him.
"Man, you're just dying to say something shitty here, aren't you?" Sandburg asked with narrowed eyes.
"Buddy, I'm doing my best to keep a straight face, so let's start with when you first noticed the suspects." Jim opened the program for witness statements, and skipped by the background information. They could do that later, but he really did need any information Sandburg could give him on these gay bashers who had targeted the upper-west gay community with its tea-houses and art shops and high-end bars with boys dressed in glitter and silk.
"I was watching out the upstairs window, just people-watching, and I noticed these three guys who came out of the alley between Roxanne's and the Starbucks. They came out into the light from the streetlamp and then one of them hit the other on the arm and they all three disappeared back into the alley. And I told you all this already," Sandburg pointed out. Jim just kept typing as he tried to keep up with the kid's mouth. When he finally caught up, he sighed and looked at the kid.
"I know this can be a little tedious, but going over the facts again often help witnesses to remember additional details."
"Or it helps witnesses invent memories. Man, the more often you repeat a story, the more likely a witness is to invent details. The National Institutes of Mental Health found that less than 50 percent of eyewitness identifications were accurate, and that even an hour after an event, a witness might make up as much as 20 percent of the details from their own imagination without even realizing it."
"You aren't studying to be a defense attorney, are you?" Jim asked as he looked at his witness in dismay. On the stand, the kid would be next to useless if he went off spouting facts like that.
"An anthropologist," Sandburg corrected him.
"So, you're trained to observe, so let's get this done as quickly as possible before that scientific brain of yours starts making up that 20 percent of the details," Jim said. Considering how the uniforms had found him, Jim really didn't even want to think about what the kid might make up as his imagination filled in the gaps.
"When did you see the men next?"
"There was a tranny coming down the street."
"Miss Comfrey?" Jim asked as he glanced down at his notebook.
"I don't know. She was dark-skinned, tall, had on a blue dress with a white shawl and a blond wig."
Jim nodded as he typed in the additional information. That matched one Robert "Rosie" Comfrey well enough to make the connection to the victim.
"Okay, so what did you see?"
Sandburg didn't answer right away, and Jim looked up. The young man had gone white, his hand gripping the side of Jim's desk in a familiar pose: shock at having seen something horrible and been unwilling, or in Sandburg's case, unable to do anything to help.
"Chief, she's going to be fine. You did good; you did everything you could given your situation."
"Oh man. I just felt so damn helpless."
"Technically, you were," Jim said, and he felt very proud of himself that he managed to choke back the rest of his comment. Despite his own amusement at the situation, the kid had put himself and his reputation in quite a bit of risk to come forward, and the uniforms at the scene had given him one hell of a hard time. Of course, the kid had given it right back to them, so Jim wasn't sure who he felt more sorry for: the kid clutching the blanket around himself or the six uniformed cops the kid had verbally beaten into submission. Jim had to pull the kid away and shove clothes at him just to get him to stop berating the officers.
"So, you saw the tranny coming down the street," Jim prompted, using Blair's own words in an attempt to get the kid talking again.
"And all of a sudden, two of the guys jump out of the alley and grab her arms. The third one punches her in the stomach." Blair stopped.
"What next," Jim prompted.
"I went to the door, threw my shoulder against it to try and get Mr. Espinoza's attention, so I didn't see the next bit, but by the time I got back to the window, I could just see her leg sticking out of the alley with a torn piece of blue dress laying on the sidewalk. I knew I had to do something, so that's when I broke the window and chucked the lamp out."
Jim bit down an urge to call Sandburg a good dog for that bit of clear thinking. The crash of lamp from the second story of the town house had caught people's attention. Rosie Comfrey had suffered fewer injuries than any of the other hate crimes victims so far.
"Describe the suspects," Jim said as he typed as fast as he could to keep up.
"One was a few inches shorter than Miss Comfrey, or at least shorter then Miss Comfrey plus her heels—four or five inches shorter. That one had on a blue jacket with a big circle on the back and some sort of writing. The one who did the hitting had on a sweatshirt, just gray. He was about an inch taller than jacket guy. The third guy I didn't really get a good look at."
"Would you recognize any of them?" Jim asked.
"No way, man. It was dark out and I was way too high to really see their faces even if I hadn't been totally freaked out."
"Chief, maybe you shouldn't go back there tonight. That might not be the best… situation, especially given that you've had a hard night."
"Oh, man, no way. Mr. Espinoza paid for two days, and not only did you guys go traipsing through his house, but you made him talk about things that were totally private. He does not deserve that. And some of the accusations those cops made were way out of line. Plus, being in that wheelchair makes it really hard for him to pick up around the place, and he's probably still fussing over all the things you clods knocked over or moved. He needs the release."
"Sandburg, that kind of release is called prostitution, and it is against the law," Jim pointed out. He didn't want to run the kid in, not after the night Sandburg had, but he wasn't comfortable delivering the kid back to the perv in the wheelchair either. He could admit to feeling just a little protective of the kid. He chalked it up to respect for the kid's nerve, both in interrupting the attack, and in letting himself be seen by the uniform who'd shown up at the scene.
"No way. I do not do intercourse in any of its varied and beautiful forms, at least not for money," Sandburg winked, and even though he knew the kid was yanking his chain, Jim could feel the heat in that look. "What I provide is strictly about fantasy."
"And Mr. Espinoza likes to fantasize that you're a dog. He should just get an actual dog," Jim said dryly. According to the uniform, Blair had been wearing a leather harness around his legs that kept him from standing up, mitts on his hands that preventing him from using his fingers, kneepads, and a tail that Jim was truly not even going to think about.
"An actual dog makes an actual mess, besides, it's all fantasy, man. He likes the control," Sandburg shrugged.
"And that puts you out of control," Jim pointed out. He didn't know why it bothered him, but for some reason it truly did.
"He's safe. He just likes to play out his fantasies in a setting where he doesn't feel like he's out of control. Besides, the worst he ever does to punish me for getting a little too hyper is to put me in the front room for an hour. He's a sweetheart, and right now he's alone and probably frustrated out of his mind when he expected a weekend of relaxation.
"Punish? Chief, no amount of money is worth degrading yourself like this." Jim struggled with himself. After years of working vice, he knew he couldn't convince anyone to quit if they weren't ready to, but he really disliked the thought of Sandburg humiliating himself by crawling around on the floor like a dog.
"Degrading?" Blair asked with a laugh. "Oh man, it's really something to just forget all the worries about school and money and which woman I've pissed off this week and just play. I get to lay by the fire and eat treats and annoy Mr. Espinoza until he puts me on the leash just to keep me from stealing his slippers. Man, don't knock it until you've tried it."
Blair stood up, and Jim couldn't even find a comeback for that. Of all the speeches he expected—the 'I need the money' line or the 'it's none of your business' counterattack or even the 'I'm turned on by it' bullshit—he never expected Sandburg to claim it was fun.
"Look, I've got to use the bathroom. Will you have that ready for me to sign when I get back? I really need to head back to Mr. Espinoza's tonight."
"Uh, yeah," Jim agreed as he looked at the computer screen. "The bathroom is out those doors and to your left."
"Thanks, man," Blair said as he turned toward the doors. "Oh," he added as he turned back around with a smile, "thanks for being worried about me. You're not so bad when you stop acting like an asshole." Blair turned and headed out the doors. Pulling out the driver's license that he'd confiscated from Blair at the scene, Jim started typing in the required information at the top.
For a second, he fingered the license. Not even knowing why he was doing it, Jim pulled out his a pad of paper and jotted the name and license number down on a piece of paper and tucked it into his billfold. After all, he might have some official reason for calling Blair Jacob Sandburg sometime in the future. Jim went back to typing the information into the computer.
TWO
***
Jim slipped into the back of the crowded lecture hall. God, it still smelled the same, like dusty paper and sour sweat. However, unlike Jim's undergraduate days from years ago, this lecture hall was fairly full. One of the students in the back thumbed a controller sending a little electronic man running, but most of the students whispered to each other.
He slipped into a seat before Mr. Sandburg could spot him.
"So, who has an answer?" Sandburg blurted out, and the man practically bounced from one side of the lecture hall to the other.
"Something borrowed, something blue," a voice shouted out.
"Good try Ms. Saunders, but that little gem came from the Victorian times. 'Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue, and a Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe,' a little ditty that many believe actually came from a Scottish custom that a groom put a silver coin under his foot to bring luck and ward off evil spirits… and considering many grooms had never seen their brides before the wedding, they needed all the luck they could get. So I congratulate you on going for the superstitions since the medieval folks were a superstitious bunch, but you're off by a few hundred years."
A ripple of laughter went through the room and even the video game man seemed to be paying attention.
"The wedding cake," another voice yelled out, this time from near the back. Jim remembered his undergraduate years, and the people in the back never spoke in class. Hell, they usually weren't awake. Hell, Jim remembered his own dreaded required psych class with the bored TA lecturing off the professor's notes. Back then, Jim had been the student sitting in back and never answering. That class so many years ago might have even been in this same room.
"Not even close, Mr. Clark," Sandburg said cheerfully. "The Romans broke bread in the medieval days, bread being associated both with fertility and with Christ, but that wedding cake didn't show up until years later, and then it was something of a wedding game to torture the happy couple. People would bring these small cakes and stack them up as high as they could." Sandburg mimicked the stacking with one hand layering over another. "The couple would have to kiss over those cakes to ensure prosperity, but if their friends were truly evil, those cakes would get stacked so high the happy couple would have to go tumbling into the pastries just to get that kiss. It makes the whole mashing your loved one's face in the cake a little less shocking, yes?" Sandburg laughed, and then he bounced to the opposite side of the room.
Jim was man enough to admit that he hadn't expected Sandburg to be such a good teacher. Considering the man's talents at playing human sex-toy, Sandburg's enthusiasm for medieval weddings just seemed odd to Jim. Then again, everything about this witness seemed odd to Jim. So odd that when Jim got the message that Sandburg wanted to talk, he'd driven over rather than have a conversation over the phone.
"Come on people, remember, what is the basis of marriage in this time period?" Sandburg challenged the class.
"Sex!" someone called out.
"Mr. Brooks, you may have sex on the brain, but the men of this day and age could just go hire a working girl and scratch that itch. Hell, if the man had any status, he could just push his female servant down and do her. That little piece of male-domination lasted for centuries. In the 1600 and 1700's, female indentured servants who hired on to work in the colonies, both black and white, often got pregnant from their masters, and for each pregnancy, six months would be added on to the end of their sentence making it a virtual life sentence as they were raped over and over. And yet, society felt no sympathy for them because these disgraced women weren't giving their masters all the work their masters were due because of the pregnancy. So, unlike some people in this room, men of the time period had no trouble getting sex."
Jim hid his smile behind his hand as he watched Sandburg bounce back to the lectern. "Come on, I gave you these notes; Duby, Bartheleny, and de la Ronciere ringing any bells? I know you couldn't have slept through the whole thing. I have it on good authority that I have a voice far too annoying to sleep through."
"Androcentric," a woman called out from near the front.
"Ding-ding-ding. We're getting warmer. Thank you Ms. Ross. So, if marriage was all about male power, I'm looking for a tradition that goes all the way back to the beginning, and it sure isn't the blessing of the bed where your fathers watch you have sex to make sure everyone knows where the parts go. Man, these days, that will get you arrested."
"The father walks the bride down the aisle and gives her away," a boy from the front row said.
"And Mr. Paggoti is our winner," Blair said happily as he pointed at a boy who looked, at least to Jim, like he was about twelve. "The bride isn't likely to prostate herself on the ground in front of the groom or change her hairstyle to reflect her married status, but her father still typically gives her away. So, next week, you have your papers on marriage due. I want to know what current marital ceremonies tell us about our society. Become one with your inner social scientist. And people, this time, use citations. The library is your friend."
The class groaned, but even Jim could tell they did it more for effect than because of any honest displeasure.
"Dismissed! Get out of here," Blair told them with a laugh. Many students did leave, chatting in pairs and clusters as they filed out the doors at the back of the auditorium, while others clustered around Blair… Mr. Sandburg.
Jim sat, waiting, while the last few students finally wandered away, leaving Sandburg collecting his notes and overheads off the front tables.
"Interesting lecture, Chief," Jim said loudly.
"Is that why you're here? To get a little background on social institutions?" Blair asked as he shoved papers and pens and folders into a satchel. He didn't even bother looking up, so obviously he had already spotted Jim.
"You called me."
"Yeah, the operative term being called. I didn't expect to have a cop show up in the middle of class," Blair said as he finished packing and headed for the door, which meant heading straight for Jim.
"It's not like I announced to the class that I was a cop," Jim pointed out. He didn't expect the sharp bark of laughter.
"Oh man, you like… scream cop," Blair said with an exaggerated shudder.
"Hey, I worked undercover for a year," Jim said with a frown.
"Okay, if that's true, you were either going undercover as a dirty cop or a hired thug because your alpha-dog vibes are not subtle," Blair said as he headed past Jim and out the doors.
"Hey, look who's bringing dogs up," Jim shot back. It didn't help that Blair was right… he'd gone undercover playing a small-time heavy with an interest in dog fights and gambling.
"Oh man, I did not call you to continue this conversation."
Jim blinked, momentarily forgetting that he had come because Blair had called him about the gay-bashings on the upper-west side of town. "I'm sorry, Chief. So, you had some information?"
"Man, did you just say what I think you said?" Blair asked as he stopped in the middle of the hallway, forcing students to detour around them.
"What?"
"A big alpha-dog cop apologizing—man, that is totally against stereotype, but that's why I called you."
"Am I going to get a straight answer here, Chief?" Jim asked, for some reason unaccountably frustrated at Blair's surprise that he would apologize.
"Sorry. I'm just a little wired from class."
"And I'm hoping that's wired on an academic high because I would hate to have to toss your car." The minute Jim said the words, he wished he could grab them back. Sandburg had done nothing but try to help, and Jim was threatening him with arrest, not procedure when dealing with a witness. However, Blair just laughed.
"Okay, that's totally alpha-dog behavior. When threatened, even verbally, show dominance or display power in order to regain the upper hand. And if it would make you feel better, you can toss my office and my car. Do you want to handcuff me while you do it?" Blair asked in a teasing voice, and Jim tightened his jaw.
"Why did you call, or did you just want someone to play the straight-man for your act?"
Blair started walking down the hall again, and Jim followed, feeling more and more like he was out of his depth. "Some of the guys down at the clubs will talk to me. I'm not one of them, but I'm not some cop coming in with his attitude and his homophobia. Anyway, these three have been working the area longer than you know, getting worse and worse as time goes by."
"Which means they're gearing up for a kill," Jim said quietly.
"Oh yeah. That's the pattern. But I convinced a couple of their early victims, ones they didn't hit so hard, to talk to you. They're scared, but I think they might be able to identify these guys."
Together they had reached a door marked "Artifact Storage" with a hand made sign taped below stating "Blair Sandburg."
"So you called me?" Jim asked as he followed Blair into a makeshift office carved out of the middle of a storage room.
"Hey, like I said, you're not bad when you aren't being an asshole."
"Names?" Jim asked as he pulled a notebook out of his pocket.
"No way, man. Look, I know you're better than most… you called Rosie Comfrey "Miss" without even batting an eye, but no way am I giving you names and letting you go down there by yourself."
"Chief, this isn't open for negotiation. Give me the names of the victims, and I will do my best to handle the situation with diplomacy."
"Yeah, like you did with me?" Blair challenged him, and Jim could only tighten his jaw to keep from saying something totally inappropriate. "Look, every culture has its own rules, and this culture values privacy above all else. They barely tolerate me, and if I give you names, man, it will not end well."
"They barely tolerate you?" Jim asked. Okay, he had missed a step in there somewhere. "From what you and Mr. Espinoza got up to, I assumed—"
"Yeah, you assumed, but one, I do not have sex with clients, and two, the gay community is not really accepting of bisexuality. Lots of them think of it as the cowards way out… a homosexual man's way of adapting himself to society by lying to himself about being attracted to women."
"And that's not the case?" Jim hadn't meant to have that come out as a question, and Blair glared at him.
"Man, your enlightenment is very limited, isn't it?" Blair asked. "I am perfectly capable of seeing the inherent beauty in both the male and female forms. However, I am not seeing any way in hell that I'm going to just give you names. They wouldn't talk to you, and after I betrayed one of the most important mores in that society, they wouldn't ever talk to me again."
"Chief, I am not taking a witness with me on an investigation."
"Then I guess you're going to have to work the case on your own, and I'll keep trying to get information on my own."
"Chief, I need those names." Jim stepped forward into Blair's personal space, standing no more than an inch away so that Jim could almost imagine that he felt the heat from Blair's body.
"You aren't getting them," Blair said as he crossed his arms.
"I can haul you in front of a judge, and that judge can throw your ass in jail for contempt until you give me names," Jim threatened.
"Oh man, totally alpha-dog tactics. Small problem, though. I'm not an alpha-dog. I don't even pretend to play that game. So, if you want to haul me off, get out those handcuffs and I won't even argue, but you're not getting those names."
Blair held out his wrists, and they were standing so close, that his hands ended up resting on Jim's chest. Jim fought an urge to do exactly that… to cuff the kid and then give him a wedgie until names started popping out the other end.
"You do what I tell you, and you stay in the truck until I give you the all-clear," Jim snarled instead.
"Yes, sir," Blair smiled. "You know, usually people have to pay to boss me around so much."
"Don't push it," Jim threatened.
"Man, you don't know me very well. I always push it," Blair laughed. Jim didn't answer as he put his hand on the small of Blair's back and guided the man out of the building. Simon was so going to kill him for this breech of procedure, but Jim had a feeling Blair wasn't the kind to give in, and Jim really needed to find these three before anyone died. So, Jim would temporarily have a mascot. After all, he'd always wanted a dog growing up. Jim smiled at his own joke as the two of them headed out of the building.
THREE
***
"So, is the street safe from random old ladies ready to pummel me with their handbags?" Blair asked from the seat of Jim's truck. His feet rested on the step as he leaned out the open door, but true to his word, he stayed in the truck as Jim stood outside the club. Jim gritted his teeth at the sarcasm. He might have gone overboard a little to order Blair to stay in the truck, but he was way out on a limb in terms of the department regulations he was breaking by even bringing Blair.
Right, so he could go in there alone and try to get these guys to talk, but Jim had a nasty suspicion that Blair was right. After all, this case only passed to Major Crimes after the local detectives struck out at every turn.
Jim scrubbed his face with a hand and sighed. He just hated that the kid was right because taking the kid with him during an interview would destroy his value as a witness. If the case got shaky or if these new leads turned into a dead end, the DA would hang Jim's balls on the courthouse fence for tainting the only witness who hadn't been bludgeoned into unconsciousness and lost their short-term memory.
But then again, Blair hadn't seen all that much. Jim made up his mind and vowed to deal with the DA later. "Come on, boy," Jim said as he patted his thigh in an imitation of calling a dog. Blair hopped down and then slammed the truck door so hard that Jim flinched.
"Nice. And just think, you were the cop who treated me best," Blair said as he rolled his eyes. "And actually, you're still treating me better than most of those assholes did," he finished as he walked to Jim's side.
"They're good guys; they just didn't expect that... situation," Jim explained.
"Riiiiiight, which is why, after I explained, they insisted on harassing Mr. Espinoza and trying to humiliate me?" Blair asked sarcastically. Jim would have been more concerned about Blair's humiliation if the kid seemed embarrassed by anything. So far, it seemed like he could discuss any topic without hesitation. In fact, the more Jim did not want to discuss it, the more willing Blair was to wade right in.
"Look, I can't justify their actions. I stopped them as soon as I got to the scene," Jim pointed out.
"Man, I'm sorry; you're totally not responsible for other cops acting like dickwads, and I need to not take that out on you."
"No problem, Chief. Those guys really were out of line," Jim agreed. "Look when we go in, just don't get in the middle of the interview. Provide the introductions, and let me do my job," Jim asked as he pulled open the heavy door to the club.
Inside, overly bright florescent lights made everything look cheap and tacky. Of course, most of the club was cheap and tacky with plastic palm trees, ugly red fake-leather chairs, and a dance floor that sagged in the middle.
"Blair," a man called out cheerfully. "What are you doing back here in the middle of the day?" A thin man in a Queen t-shirt appeared in the door to the back room, a towel in hand.
"This is Jim, the guy I told you about."
The guy stopped, and looked at Jim with the same enthusiasm with which Jim considered spiders that had crawled up his drain and into his shower.
"Hey," the man offered, his voice cold and flat.
"Jim Ellison, this is Steve Sulley," Blair introduced them.
"Nice to meet you," Jim held out his hand, and tried to school his face into a friendly expression.
"Uh huh," the guy answered while just eyeing Jim's hand like it had something slimy dangling from it. Jim lowered it. Okay, this was going well.
"I'm investigating the hate crimes we've had down here," Jim started.
"There ain't no 'we' here, tough guy. WE've had hate crimes down here forever, but YOU lot only get interested when it hits your papers. When you have to explain to your kids what transvestite means or see your city in the national headlines, then all of a sudden you start caring." Steve crossed his arms and radiated hostility.
"I understand how..."
"If you tell me that you understand how I feel, I'm going to kick that cute ass of yours right out on the street," the man interrupted.
"Dump the attitude, Steve," Blair cut in. "That whole driving straight guys away by acting like a flirt won't send Jim running out of here, and it's not going to stop the fact that these assholes are eventually going to kill someone."
"So maybe you should stick with girls for a while," Steve offered with a sneer in Blair's direction, and Jim felt his temper fray.
"Oh man, that is just one serious lame-ass cheap shot, and you know it." Blair shook his head disbelievingly. "But you're the one who won't even give a statement when you could be helping take these assholes off the street."
"Yeah? And who's going to take down the assholes after them, or the ones after the ones that come after them? The cops spend so little time down here that we're sitting ducks, and then they come down here with the questions and the attitudes and expect us all to kiss their asses and thank them for finally putting a foot inside one of our bars."
"Yeah. I know," Blair's voice dropped into a soft lull that made Jim bite back the angry retort he had ready. "I know this sucks, but we can only fix on thing at a time. Ellison's an asshole, and he probably hasn't ever been down here before, but he didn't look at me like I was a piece of shit for working Mr. Espinoza. True, he won't let it drop, and if I hear one more dog joke from him, he's going to wake up one morning and find 'schmuck' tattooed on his forehead, but he took me seriously."
"Look," Jim said as he glared at Blair, "I want to catch these guys. I don't know if the local officers are doing their jobs because this isn't my beat, but as long as I'm down here, I will treat everyone fairly, and I will give you my best effort."
The fury drained from Steve, making him look as old and worn as cracked shoe leather. "I don't want to get in the middle," he said softly. Jim nodded, understanding the fear. The police could only offer so much protection, and victims had to live in the neighborhoods with the very people who attacked them. And in the end, a restraining order was just a piece of paper, and right now, with no names, Jim couldn't even offer that.
"I can't promise you anything," Jim said slowly. "We may need you to testify, but since they attacked you so long ago, you wouldn't make the best witness for the more serious assaults. I'm going to recommend to my captain that we take your statement, have you work with an artist to come up with some composite drawings, attempt to identify the three suspects, and then put them under surveillance. That way, hopefully, we can catch them in the act."
Steve pursed his lips as he turned his back on them.
"Please, man. I don't want that to happen to anyone else," Blair pleaded softly.
"And you say he's straight up?" Steve asked as he turned and pinned Blair with his gaze even though he was definitely talking about Jim.
"Yeah, he's an asshole, but he's an honest one, and he's a good man," Blair promised. Jim didn't think he'd ever gotten a better reference.
"Sounds like just your type," Steve laughed.
"No way, man. I've had enough cops see me in the tail already, thank you every much," Blair laughed back, and Jim went back to repressing exactly how a human puppy could have a tail.
"Will you come down and make a formal statement?" Jim asked, ignoring the rest.
"If Blair's there, yeah," Steve agreed slowly.
Jim tightened his jaw. If Jim showed up with Sandburg, he was going to have even more to explain. Simon might be willing to overlook one or two discrepancies in a report, but in person, Blair was a whole lot harder to ignore, as Jim was quickly finding out.
"No problem. I'll be with you every step of the way," Blair promised, neatly taking the decision out of Jim's hands.
"I gotta change; I'll be right back."
Jim waited until Steve left the room before he turned on Sandburg.
"No problem?" he demanded as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Hey, I was trying to get him to agree. It was your plan, I was just backing your play," Sandburg said, his eyes wide with innocence. Jim glared down at him.
"And how am I supposed to explain your presence in the precinct?"
"Hey, I'm being a good citizen here."
"You're being a pain in the ass."
"Oh man, I can totally be that too," Blair agreed, "but I was trying to help out, and the caveman routine is getting old."
"You were just supposed to provide the introduction."
"And I did."
"Chief," Jim growled, his patience running thin.
"Would you rather he not give you any statement?"
That made Jim take a half step back. "No," he admitted ungraciously. "I want to catch these guys, but you're a witness, not a detective."
"Hey, if anyone asks, just say you're running me in," Blair said with a quick wink. "If you want, you can even handcuff me to make it look better," he teased. He turned around and held his hands behind his back, smiling at Jim over his shoulder.
The tightening Jim felt in his groin caught him off guard. Normally, he didn't notice witnesses' bodies or even men's bodies, but Blair's wide smile and curved neck as he looked over his shoulder bypassed his brain and tugged at something more visceral.
"If I put anything on you, it's going to be a gag," Jim threatened.
"For the right price, you're welcome to gag me," Blair agreed amiably as he turned back around. "There's something really liberating in not having to come up with the right answers because your mouth is stuffed full of someone's gag," he nodded.
"What have I done to deserve this?" Jim asked the universe at large as he turned back toward the door. Behind him, Blair laughed.
"Oh man, karma is a bitch, isn't she?"
"Yeah, she is," Jim breathed softly to himself as he realized that taking Sulley in for a statement mean the three of them crowded onto the front seat of his truck. The small back seat on his extended cab was full of fishing gear that he would not risk losing in the bed of the truck, but with all of them on the front….
Jim rubbed his forehead as he considered driving all the way to the station with Blair pressed against his thigh. Maybe he needed to see the doctor because he hadn't had this much trouble since Junior High when his science teacher had been the girl's cheerleading coach and had dressed in the cheer outfit every Friday. Karma was a huge, hairy, roller-derbying, WWF champion of a bitch.
FOUR
***
"Ellison," Banks bellowed even as he was opening the door to his office. Jim flinched.
"Coming, sir," he answered as Simon Banks stood in the open door, glaring at the two witnesses seated by Jim's desk. "Henry?" Jim called, and Henry Brown looked up from his paperwork.
"What's up?"
"Can you take Mr. Sulley down to Interview 3 to work with our artist?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, sure, no problem," he agreed as he stood up and smiled at the reluctant witness. As Steve stood up, so did Blair.
"I need you to stay here, Chief," Jim said as he let his hand rest on Blair's shoulder, pushing the man back down. Blair sank back down into the cheap plastic chair without a fight, but he glared up.
"I said I'd go with Steve," he protested. Jim kept his hand on Blair's shoulder, holding him down.
"You stay here with your boyfriend. I'll be fine," Steve interrupted before Jim could explain procedure and the need to prevent any more contamination of the witnesses' statements. Jim narrowed his eyes, but Steve had already turned and followed Henry out the precinct doors.
"Stay," Jim said absent-mindedly as he grabbed the statements off his desk and turned toward Simon's office.
"Woof," Blair said sarcastically as he crossed his arms and settled back in the chair.
Simon was still standing at the office door when Jim came in, fully prepared to accept the consequences of his decisions. Simon closed the door firmly behind him, the universal signal that someone was about to get their ass chewed, and the captain wanted to do the chewing in private.
"What the hell is Sandburg doing here?" Simon immediately demanded before he walked around his desk and dropped into his chair.
"It's complicated, sir," Jim started.
"Uncomplicate it."
Jim sighed and sank into one of the seats facing Simon's desk. After taking the kid's second witness statement, he wasn't even sure where to start. "Sandburg has been investigating the gay bashings. He has a list of bars he's visited, he'd conducted what he called a cultural geography survey, and he's interviewed at least three dozen people, eight of whom seem to be earlier victims."
Jim could see Simon's eyes open wide in surprise and maybe even a little hope, but Jim shook his head. "And all his notes are in a code he refuses to explain. He can tell me the exact day and time when the interviews took place, but he won't give names or locations. The only name he will give is Mr. Sulley's and that's because he volunteered to come in and work with a sketch artist." Jim put the reports on Simon's desk and sat back.
The captain opened the first witness statement, browsing through quickly. "So, it's the same MO? Same attackers?"
"Probably," Jim agreed. Sandburg had gotten such specific information that Jim was almost certain the attackers were the same, but he'd already put himself far enough out on this limb already.
"Probably?" Simon demanded, his frustration clear in that growled word.
"It's the same pattern, but some of these attacks took place months ago, and the victims weren't as badly injured."
Simon fell silent, and Jim knew exactly what his captain was thinking.
"They're escalating," Simon said as he flipped the page of Sandburg's statement. The man had gotten details on every attack, but the names he'd provided in the report made Simon frown. Zsa Zsa Gabor was attacked at location 3-A-4. Three young men had caught Christopher Columbus at location 2-M-43 and broken an arm. The report continued for three pages like that. Details of crimes that made Jim itch with a need to arrest someone, and ridiculous names.
"What is this shit?" Simon finally demanded as he slammed the report down on the desk.
"It's all he would provide. Sir, this kid is…" Jim stopped as he just could not come up with a word to describe one Blair Jacob Sandburg.
"The kid is a witness, and he'll find himself in lock-up if he doesn't start being a cooperative witness," Simon snapped as he got up and stormed around the desk. Part of Jim wanted to provide some sort of buffer between the captain and Blair because the captain's rare rages were the stuff of legend, but then again, Jim wasn't sure whether Blair wanted or needed any protection.
"Mr. Sandburg, would you be so kind as to join us, please?" Simon called from the office door in his best 'said the spider to the fly' voice. Jim watched as the young man came in the office, his hair pulled back in a ponytail and his glasses riding low on his nose. The kid looked almost calm as he sat down next to Jim without an invitation.
"Mr. Sandburg, we always appreciate the involvement of good Samaritans," Simon started, and Jim half-expected the professor to start a lecture on the historical significance of Samaritans to the lives of early Christians. "But your refusal to share information is putting lives in danger." Simon took his seat and looked at Blair with a deadly seriousness.
"Oh man, do you really think I'm so stupid that I don't know that? Hell, I offered Christopher Columbus a blow job if he'd just give you a statement."
Jim hid a smile behind his hand as Simon coughed, his eyes watering as something obviously caught in his throat. If Jim had to guess, he'd say that the man was choking on Blair's words. The captain grabbed his coffee, swallowing several mouthfuls before putting the cup down and trying again.
"Mr. Sandburg, your involvement, especially considering your past… indiscretions, places us in a difficult situation."
"I do not do drugs, I've never perjured myself, I have a good reputation in the community, and if a few small-minded Puritans have a problem with me getting naked and playing a fantasy with a kind old man, a man they would probably just prefer to stick in a nursing since they're too busy with stabbing each other in the back in order to get ahead, then they can just kiss my ass." Blair shot back, his familiar fervor now turned on Simon, and Jim could admit that from the sidelines, it was amusing.
"No matter what your intentions, your actions are giving the future defense attorney standing to challenge this case. I need to make sure that doesn't happen, so give the names of the witnesses to Detective Ellison, and this time he will interview them without you there to taint the statement with the appearance of impropriety," Simon glared at Jim and the detective just nodded agreeably. If Simon could get a name out of Blair, he'd be happy to do the interview.
Silence settled in. Simon waited, his fingers steepled as he stared at Blair. Blair leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed.
"Well?" Simon finally demanded.
"Well, what?" Blair asked with a surprised blink. No way did Jim buy that expression, but it did make Simon sit up as he tried to figure out how to approach the world's most difficult witness. Jim could sympathize.
"What are their names?" Simon asked, his voice the calm before the explosion.
"The American Anthropological Association guidelines require that I do everything in my power to ensure that my research does not harm the safety, dignity, or privacy of the people with whom I work. I can't divulge information on my research," Blair answer in a voice that made him seem almost apologetic. Almost.
"This isn't an anthropological study. This is a crime investigation," Simon countered.
"The killing fields of Rwanda were both; the terms are not mutually exclusive."
"This is my investigation," Simon stood up, leaning over the desk so that he towered over Blair in his chair, but the kid didn't even blink.
"And this is my research on how subgroups interact with authority structures. My doctoral committee has already approved my initial proposal, and I cannot break my ethical code of conduct at this point." Blair's very calmness made Simon curl his hands into fists, and Jim knew the frustration. If someone just got in your face, you could arrest them or just hit them, but with Blair, there wasn't anything there to strike back at, at least not without bullying on the kid.
"There is no researcher-researchee privilege, so either you give up those names, or you will leave this office and go straight to a holding cell for interfering with a police investigation," Simon nearly whispered, his control obviously thinning.
"I understand, man. You do what you gotta do. This will be interesting though. I wonder if the case could make it to the Supreme Court because it would be seriously cool to get a new civil right named after me like Miranda."
Simon stood up straight, his patience gone. "Jim, arrest this man and get him the hell out of my office!"
"Yes, sir," Jim said as he stood up and grabbed Blair's arm. "Come on, Chief. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say and can will…"
"So I guess it's time for those handcuffs now," Blair interrupted as he allowed Jim to pull him out of Simon's office and back to Jim's desk.
"Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. Do you understand?" Jim continued.
"Yeah, no problem," Blair said as he sat down and promptly reached for Jim's phone. "Hey, you don't mind if I use it, do you?" Blair asked, the handset already halfway to his ear.
"Knock yourself out, Chief," Jim agreed even though standard procedure said that all prisoner calls had to go through the pay phones down in booking. Technically, Jim should take Sandburg down and dump him on the uniforms. Instead he pulled out his handcuffs. Blair tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear so that he could hold out his left hand without even pausing as he dialed.
Jim snapped the cuff shut around Blair's hand and snapped the other end of the cuff to the inconspicuous ring set into the front of his desk for just this purpose.
Jim sat typing a new report while Blair left a message at the first phone number and then dialed again. This time he asked for a Dr. Stoddard and eventually, Jim got to hear the whole story from Blair's point of view as he described the oppressive police with their small-minded tactics to someone at the university. Jim was perversely pleased that he came out of it as nothing more than the "schmuck who took Blair's statement and was processing the arrest" while Simon ended up getting called every name in the book, some of which Jim didn't even know, and Jim had a pretty damn good vocabulary.
Eventually, Blair dropped the phone back down and looked over, pushing his chair closer to the handcuff anchor.
"I suppose calling out for pizza would be pushing it," he said with a smile.
Jim shook his head. "I wouldn't if I were you," Jim agreed. "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand that right?"
"Oh man, you are a bulldog. I'm waiving my rights, not that I'm going to tell you what you want, but I'm more than happy to give you a piece of my mind on a number of other topics, like abuse of power and ungrateful assholes."
"Sandburg, you can't waive your rights until I've read them all to you," Jim explained. "Do you understand all your rights and do you still wish to make a statement?"
"Oh yeah, totally. I understand that your boss is totally screwing up any chance of catching these guys. I can go into the clubs and get people to talk. Yeah, so far Steve has been the only one willing to go public, but this isn't going to convince anyone else to step up to the plate," Blair complained with a tug on the handcuff.
"I know, Chief. I understand that you just want to help, and my best advise is to either give us the names," Jim held up a hand to hold off the explosion he could see brewing in Sandburg's face, "or to get a good lawyer and argue it in front of the judge."
Blair sank back into the chair. "I should do another paper on the interactions of high-status males in a hierarchical power structure. You totally can't help me out here, can you?" Blair asked.
"Against Simon?" Jim asked, shocked at even the thought, and even more shocked at the lack of shock he felt as he considered it. "I can't do much to help you out. I would say that you need to stand mute at the hearing and then contest the whole procedure," Jim suggested. Shit, when had he started giving the suspects his best legal advice?
"Thanks," Blair nodded. "The university is sending down a lawyer, and Dr. Stoddard said the same thing. The university is going to challenge the entire arrest, so I guess I'm going to have to just not talk for a while."
"Is that possible?" Jim teased as he typed in the address.
"Very funny."
"I suppose we could get you a gag if you wanted."
"Ha ha." Blair's voice sounded unamused, but Jim didn't miss how the edges of his eyes crinkled with a contained smile.
"Something in a nice dog-bone style maybe," Jim mused.
"I'd prefer something cock-shaped, if you're offering," Blair countered, and Jim's fingers twitched, typing garbage into the report as he completely lost all concentration. He glanced up, and Blair was definitely smirking at him.
"Little shit," Jim accused him as he backspaced over his mangled report.
"Oh hell yeah. When I can't seem to turn off the words, I love sucking on something big, pulling it down into my throat and swallowing around it, feeling it forcing my mouth to open wider and wider."
"You do have the right to remain silent," Jim said as he squirmed in his seat.
"Yeah, but you don't have the right to walk away and leave your dangerous prisoner all alone. This might not be so bad," Blair answered as he smiled sweetly at Jim.
Jim groaned. As the kid would say, he was so totally screwed.
FIVE
***
Jim walked in the door to Interrogation 2, not really sure why he'd been summoned, but then he really didn't know why he hadn't gone home. Maybe he just wanted to avoid the privacy, and the temptation to indulge in a fantasy that was entirely inappropriate considering that Sandburg was a witness. Jim just kept reminding himself of that fact as he faced Blair, and from the suit, Blair's lawyer.
"Detective Ellison, my client has expressed concern about Steven Sulley," the woman said without looking up, her eyes focused on the reports in front of her… Jim's reports.
"I want to know if someone took him home and made sure he got there okay. This was not a safe thing for him to do, you know," Blair said. He went to cross his arms, but the one handcuff, now attached to the table, prevented the motion, and he sighed with frustration.
"I had Rafe take him home. He's fine," Jim promised.
"And what did you tell him about me? Did you tell him that you'd arrested me for trying to help?" Blair demanded. His lawyer looked up and put a soothing hand on Blair's arm.
"I would recommend that you not speak to the police," she suggested, and Jim wondered where she'd been when Blair had tortured him with descriptions of his favorite sex acts in enthusiastic terms that would have made Hugh Hefner blush. Jim had always thought of himself as sexually adventurous, but he was a tired out old dog compared to the kid. Unfortunately, his body seemed all too interested in learning a new trick or two.
"I told him that you'd been arrested for withholding information on an investigation," Jim said, ignoring the lawyer. It wasn't like he was questioning Blair; Jim had given up on that after an hour.
"Oh man, why did you do that? By tomorrow morning, everyone down there will know that you guys have sticks the size of baseball bats stuck up your asses."
"And they'll know that you won't give them up," Jim countered.
"Detective," the lawyer interrupted loudly. "The interrogation is over, and I would like some privacy with my client."
Interrogation… right. Jim bit back a desire to point out that the kid got more information than he gave up. Instead he just backed up a step toward the door. Let the lawyer deal with this mess, he needed to get home and get some sleep.
"No, Ellison can stay," Blair contradicted her.
"We need to talk."
"Hell yes, we need to talk. We need to talk about the fact that they had no right to arrest me for conducting legitimate academic research, but there's no reason why the detective can't stay."
"The presence of a third party negates the lawyer-client privilege." The woman had given up the papers, and focused on Blair. Jim could already see the wisps of frustration curling around the edges, and she had only known Sandburg for thirty minutes.
"Man, if he's out there, he's wondering what I'm saying in here, and it sets up this whole confrontation situation that is not healthy. I'm not hiding anything."
Jim hovered in the open door as he waited for Sandburg to win the fight with his lawyer. Of course, if he was completely honest with himself, he wouldn't wonder about what Blair was saying to his lawyer. He'd probably spend more time wondering if the kid really could deep throat as enthusiastically as he could describe deep throating. By the time Blair was done, Brown had turned red, even with his dark skin, and Rafe had fled the bullpen.
"I'm not worried about his feelings. We need to discuss the legalities of your situation," the lawyer tried.
"Jim, what are the legalities of my situation?" Blair asked. Jim struggled to contain a smile as he became the accomplice in Blair's verbal terrorism instead of the victim.
"Chapter 9, section 69: A person who witnesses the actual commission of a violent offense shall as soon as reasonably possible notify the prosecuting attorney, law enforcement, medical assistance, or other public officials, meaning the witnesses you interviewed have to come forward. Chapter 9A, section 76, subsection 020: A person is guilty of obstructing a law enforcement officer if the person willfully hinders, delays, or obstructs any law enforcement officer in the discharge of his or her official powers or duties. Since you won't tell me their names, you are willfully hindering my investigation."
Jim couldn't normally just rattle off state laws, but every word he'd typed into the report against Sandburg had stayed with him. Hell, he'd even tried to talk to Simon once Blair's lawyer showed up, but the captain had been on the phone, and from his expression, it wasn't a conversation Jim wanted to interrupt.
"See, Jim knows the legalities of the situation even better than I do, so he can stay." Blair got a victorious expression as he looked at the lawyer.
"Blair," the lawyer tried again, her voice tight, but Jim closed the door and took a seat at the table, even when she glared at him.
"I am protesting this situation."
"Is that really section 69 or are you just giving me shit?" Blair asked, completely ignoring his lawyer.
"It's really section 69; it's just a number, Sandburg."
"Yeah, but it's a fun number. I like that number," Blair waggled his eyebrows, and the lawyer made a small strangled sound.
"Chief, don't get yourself excited over nothing," Jim said as he leaned back in his chair. As much fun as it was to watch the lawyer's slow blush, this wasn't helping Blair.
"We really don't have an interest in putting Blair in jail, but even if the charges are dropped, a judge can require his testimony and put him in jail for contempt," Jim pointed out to the lawyer.
"But you don't have a judge's order right now. You have a mishmash of laws that can't be applied to this case. Section 69" the woman blushed "applies to witnesses, not victims."
"And a couple of his interviews were with witnesses," Jim pointed out.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that they're any safer if they come forward," Blair said, his free hand gesturing enthusiastically.
"Blair," the lawyer's voice was slow, the tight tone of a woman on the edge. "I'm going to try this one more time. You need to not speak in front of the detective." Jim understood the woman's frustration, but Blair had already given him a full statement. Blair held up his free hand, palm forward in surrender, and then he looked to Jim and gave him a conspiratorial look that made the lawyer snap her pencil. Oh, the woman was definitely not getting paid enough to deal with Sandburg.
"Furthermore, the statute allows witnesses to refuse to come forward in the case of threat to their persons or their family," the lawyer said as she turned back to Jim.
"Oh man, they're really hanging out in the cold. I have documented evidence that, even with the attacks, the police are under-patrolling the area."
"Blair," the lawyer warned darkly without looking at him. "And even IF you can show interference, which would require that you show that the witnesses are compelled to come forward under section 69, the statute is a misdemeanor."
"Punishable by a year and $5,000." Jim watched Blair pale, and it made him feel about two inches high. He was definitely talking to Simon about the ethics of pursuing this case.
"A year. Oh man, no way. A year and I'll have to start all my dissertation work over again. No fucking way," Blair protested.
"Blair, let me handle this. In fact, let's talk in private before we go any farther," the lawyer said as she slapped her hand on the table and turned to Blair.
"Maybe you two should talk," Jim said as he stood.
"You would do this to me?" Blair asked, looking up, and Jim flinched back from that look. The kid really knew how to place his blows.
"Chief, I'm not happy with any of this. And that includes you doing these interviews on your own. You're right that this isn't a safe area, not for witnesses, and not for someone trying to dig up information."
"So, you're admitting that the witnesses have a reasonable expectation of personal harm?" the lawyer pounced. Jim didn't answer, but he looked at the woman and hoped that she knew her business.
Jim turned away and headed out into the hall. He could still feel a heaviness pulling at his stomach even though he had done the best he could by the kid.
"Simon," Jim said, surprised to see his boss heading down the hall toward the interrogation rooms.
"That kid," Simon growled. "I have just spent the last hour on the phone." Simon stopped, but Jim could feel the aggression rolling off the man.
"His lawyer's in with him," Jim eventually said when Simon seemed to focus on chewing his cigar a little too long.
"Well, I hope you got something out of him because we're kicking him loose," Simon growled.
Jim just looked at his boss, shocked. When Simon made a decision, he didn't change his mind easily. Even though Jim had planned to argue Blair's case, he had already prepared himself to lose.
"I got a call from the commissioner who got a call from the governor. She got a call from an old professor of hers, Eli Stoddard, who had a long talk with her about professional ethics. A politician concerned about ethics." Simon snorted his disgust.
"So, we aren't pressing charges?"
"Not unless we both want to find new jobs," Simon agreed. "Brown said you were still down here, so kick the kid loose and tell him to steer clear of our case. If I see him down here again, I will arrest his ass myself, even if it's just for littering."
Simon turned around and headed back toward the bullpen, his fury making other officers move aside as he passed. Not entirely happy at how things had happened, Jim went back to the interrogation room.
"Detective," the lawyer snapped. "I am conferencing with my client, and I am on the verge of filing a complaint."
Jim pulled out his handcuff keys. "I came to process the release paperwork. Chief, the charges are dropped, and I just need you to sign some documents before you can go home."
"Whoa, really?" Blair asked, a slow smile transforming his face.
"Seems like Eli Stoddard has some friends in high places, so let's get you out of here." Jim reached Blair's side and leaned over to unlock the cuff. Blair rubbed his wrist as he smiled up, the bounce back even as he sat in the chair.
"I'll drive you home after we finish up," Jim said as he smiled back. Oh, this was such a bad idea. Such an incredibly bad idea. And Jim hadn't wanted something this much in a long time.
"Detective, *I* will take my client home. So please hurry with the forms so that we can leave now," the lawyer interrupted. For a half second, Jim considered challenging her right to drive Sandburg home, but he took control of his very out-of-control feelings and shoved them to the background where they belonged.
"Simon doesn't want to see you back here. If someone is willing to give a statement, have them call me," Jim said as he pulled a card out of his pocket. He held it out, a peace offering between them, and Blair looked at it for a second before he reached out for the paper.
"Thanks, man. I can't just let this drop, you know?" Blair asked, and Jim did understand.
"Be safe, Chief," Jim said, and then he forced himself to walk away. He had to pull up the release paperwork since he never sent Blair's jacket down to the booking desk. Behind him Blair and the lawyer whispered, and Jim could almost imagine that he could hear them all the way back to his own desk.