The man reached inside and yanked Loren’s gun out of the holster, sticking it in his own waistband before beckoning with his hand toward Loren’s phone.
Loren grunted a protest, but he grabbed his phone and handed it to the guy. What else could he do? His mind started to race with possible scenarios and solutions.
The man pushed Slats ahead of him up the cracked walkway toward the front door to the house, his gun jammed hard into Slats’s back. Someone inside pulled the door open, and Loren followed the other two into a dim, foul-smelling entryway. A second thug inside held a sawed-off shotgun loosely in his grasp.
“Have a seat, gentlemen,” the first guy said, waving the gun toward the living room.
Slats collapsed into an old, cracked leather recliner that was sitting against a wall, but Loren crossed his arms and stared at the first man, remaining on his feet.
“What’s with my phone, dude? I just got it last week, and it’s kinda new.”
“Just wondering who the last person you called is, amigo,” the man said, smirking. “Lemme do a quick redial, just take a second.”
Loren shrugged in seeming unconcern, but his mind was racing. This was a definite mud check, seeing if Loren had touched base with anyone due to the sudden change in plans. He subtly tensed, ready for anything, balancing on the balls of his feet as the man hit the redial button and held the phone up to his ear.
The thug paused, a frown crossing his face, and then he grunted, “Yeah, who’s this?”
He listened for a few more seconds, then clicked off and held the phone up, waving it around.
“That was—”
Before the guy could finish whatever it was he was trying to say, Slats whimpered and then cried out, “He’s a cop! They’re making me help him!”
Everybody froze for a few seconds, and then the man threw the phone to the floor and pointed his gun at Loren.
“—your dentist’s office,” he finished grimly, taking a few steps closer.
“Yeah, confirming my cleaning for next week.” All Loren could think to do was try to bluff this out. “And Slats is fuckin’ with you, man, I ain’t no cop.” He spread his arms wide. “Check me for wires, a vest.”
Slats realized what he’d done and tried to backtrack.
“Yeah, I was just fucking with you,” he said in a weak voice, visibly shaking in his chair, sweat gleaming on his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
The second dude, the one holding the shotgun on Slats, hadn’t said a word throughout the entire exchange, but now he growled, “Shoot ’em both in the head.”
“Nah, homes,” said the first thug. “Let’s just take ’em over to the warehouse, tie ’em up and, uh, question ’em for a little while. They’ll talk.”
He advanced on Loren, holding his gun sideways like some ridiculous TV gangster, and Loren reached out almost lazily and took it from him, immobilizing the man’s arm in seconds in a hold that would have snapped his wrist if the guy hadn’t gone down to his knees.
The second guy was wide-eyed with shock at the sudden shift in power, and he swung the shotgun toward Slats, who screamed and cowered in the chair. Loren brought the gun up and shot the thug through the shoulder, the shotgun the man held going off involuntarily but missing Slats’s head by a mile. The thug fell to the floor, writhing in pain, howling.
Loren had his knee planted on the back of the first guy’s neck, and he kept the pistol pointed at the second dude. “Hand me the fucking shotgun, you useless piece of shit,” Loren growled at Slats, “or at least kick it over toward me.” Slats picked the gun up with shaking hands and passed it to Loren, stepping over the second guy who was still rolling on the floor, his hand clutched to his bleeding shoulder.
Loren could hear sirens as they screamed up to the front of the house, their backup alerted by the sound of gunfire, their location having been narrowed down by Loren’s urgent call from the truck. As he knelt there holding his gun on the two immobilized thugs, he marveled at Jabber’s forethought and ingenuity in faking that phone call on the fly with no idea of what was going on. That was the kind of agent he’d love to be someday.
Soon the cavalry crashed in, guns drawn, an ordered chaos reigning for the next several hours as paramedics were called, thugs were arrested, evidence collected, guns taken for ballistics. Loren was placed on immediate paid administrative leave since there were shots fired and a suspect wounded, and the minute he could, he went home, fell into bed, and slept for an entire day.
Even so, when he awoke, Loren didn’t feel refreshed, but rather drained and emotionally spent. His cover was now blown, thanks to that fucking Slats, and he wondered if his chance at furthering his career was blown too. He felt bitter and on edge, delayed reaction setting in and making him shake with a combination of fury and fear. It had been so close, that gun pointed right at him, the asshole’s finger on the trigger.
The next couple of days were spent with investigators, both the feds and the police department’s internal affairs unit. Loren was interviewed, reinterviewed, and interviewed again. It was deemed a good shooting, and no one was worried about that, but the paperwork and bureaucracy involved with a police officer discharging a firearm during the course of his duties was incredibly detailed and voluminous. At last Loren was cleared to go back to work, and he met with Jabber one day in the other man’s office at the ATF.
“Listen, Smitty,” the agent said with a rueful tone. “You know you’re no good to the task force as an undercover now because of that douchebag Slats. I got him kicked off the payroll, that’s for fucking sure. He can get his free drugs elsewhere.”
Loren gave a grim nod, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth together. God, he was so fucking pissed at that spineless poser.
“You did an outstanding job for us, and your attitude was stellar,” Jabber continued. “I just wanted you to know that we’re all sorry to see you go.”
“Thanks, man,” Loren said. “I can’t say it was all fun and games, but I learned a shit-ton from you. You’re a hell of an agent.”
They shook hands, and Jabber clapped him on the shoulder as he walked Loren to the door.
“The invite to ride along on the trafficking bust is still open,” Jabber said. “If you want, I’ll let you know when it’s going down.”
“Do that, please,” Loren said gratefully. “I’d appreciate it.”
Loren said his good-byes and headed back to the police substation. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen from here, if he’d just be sent back to Oregon now or what. Loren fought the urge to punch something. There was so much bitter disappointment with the way things had turned out for him professionally with all of this, and he sure didn’t feel ready to say good-bye to Eliot, not yet.
When he got back to the station, the lieutenant beckoned him into his office. He got right to the point.
“Listen,” he said, pointing his finger at Loren. “You’re a heck of a guy. A team player, a smart cop. I know a good thing when I see it.”
Loren smiled, and said, “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”
“I ain’t about to let you go back up to Podunk, Oregon”—he pronounced it
Ore-ee-gone
—“without offering you a chance to come down and work for me. The chance of a lifetime.”
The lieutenant grinned, his tongue firmly in his cheek, and Loren felt surprised pleasure spread through him.
“Wow, sir, what a compliment. I just—wow.”
“Detective junior grade, there’s an opening with Vice. One year’s probation, you’ll be working with a detective supervisor in the field for at least three months before you’re assigned a permanent partner. If you want it, the job’s yours.”
Loren’s mouth dropped open. Detective. The goal he’d been chasing for the last several years. But that meant moving down here permanently, leaving his home state, the city he loved, his family, his friends—
His agonized indecision must have shown on his face because the lieutenant’s voice softened as he said, “Think about it, Smith, a’ight? Since the holidays are coming up, I can give you ’til the first of the year to make a decision and then wrap things up there in Oregon if that’s what you decide to do. Take your time, but keep me in the loop.”
Loren gave a dazed nod. He’d never expected this, never expected a career goal to fall within reach, even after that clusterfuck of an undercover op. He thanked the lieutenant and shook his hand, then went to clean out his locker. He had some vacation time coming from the department up in Oregon, and he thought this would be the perfect time to take it. He could think, spend some time down here getting more of a feel for the city, spend time with Eliot—
He drove to Eliot’s apartment building and bounded eagerly up the steps to the second floor, catching Eliot himself on the landing right outside the apartment.
“Hey,” Eliot said with surprised pleasure, his face lighting up, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to move into Loren’s arms for a lazy kiss hello.
“Where are you off to?” Loren whispered against his lips, loving the way Eliot wrapped around him, his lithe body pressing close.
Eliot slid his fingers up into Loren’s hair and sifted through the thick strands. “Mmm, gonna do a couple of errands,” he murmured. “Come with? Unless you just want to go back inside for a little while.” He mouthed along Loren’s throat, his meaning clear.
Loren cast a longing glance at the closed door and the bed waiting behind it, but he forced himself to take a step back.
“Later,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching down to adjust himself, watching hungrily as Eliot did the same. “Let’s do your errands.”
Hand in hand they strolled down the stairs and out into the bright sunshine, letting go of each other as they exited the building. They ambled down the street and into a small twenty-four-hour bodega so Eliot could buy a few candy bars, some bags of trail mix, and a bottle of cheap vodka.
Loren followed as Eliot then headed for a small rundown park and straight for a stringy-haired old man sitting slumped on a bench. He sat down next to him and touched his arm, and the man’s face lit up with delight.
“Hey, Sam,” Eliot greeted him, and he opened the liquor bottle and helped the man take a few sips, steadying the bottle for him. He tucked a bag of trail mix in amongst Sam’s belongings before patting the man on the shoulder in good-bye and walking back over to Loren.
“What’s his story?” Loren asked as they moved off. Eliot glanced back at the old man.
“I’m not sure what his history is, but one day when I was out here just walking by, I caught some punks trying to roll him. I ran over and made enough of a scene that they took off.” He shuddered at the memory. “I was high as a kite and didn’t really know what I was doing. There were four of them and one of me. But I scared them off somehow.”
Loren ran his hand up and down Eliot’s back and squeezed the back of his neck. “Jesus, El. You were lucky you didn’t get hurt.”
“I helped him pick up his shit and put it back in his shopping cart, and then sat with him the rest of the night. I bought us some vodka to drink at one point, and I noticed how it helped him perk up, be more verbal. So it just turned into a thing that I do.” Loren opened his mouth to say something, but Eliot continued, “When he’s not getting the medication he needs, Loren, it’s the only thing that gives him any relief. Nobody will help him and nobody cares. The vodka can’t hurt him, not anymore.”
They continued down the street, and all of a sudden Eliot pulled away and strode toward what looked like a bunch of old rags piled against a building. When Eliot knelt down, the rags shifted and Loren could see it was a woman, matted brown hair hanging in her face.
She gave a rotten-toothed smile, and her faded eyes lit up with happiness.
“For you, my queen,” Eliot intoned, and presented a chocolate bar to her like it was a jeweled scepter.
She accepted it regally and rasped, “We thank you.”
“How are you this fine day, my lady?”
She looked around with suspicion and hissed, “I think the Scots are coming. My bitch cousin Mary wants my throne. I’ll have her head!”
“From mine enemy let me defend myself; from a pretend friend, good lord deliver me,” Eliot quoted in a soft voice, and the woman didn’t bat an eye, just tapped him on the shoulder with her chocolate bar as if it were a sword and she was knighting him.
Eliot pushed to his feet and headed back over to Loren.
“That quote was something else,” Loren commented, impressed. Eliot shrugged.
“I looked up and memorized a few Queen Elizabeth quotes just for her,” he murmured, a thread of amusement in his voice. “It makes her happy.”
“Is this what you do all day, then, El?” Loren asked.
Eliot shoved his hands in his pockets, but he walked close enough to Loren so their shoulders brushed.
“Not every day,” he answered. “But when I think about it, I try to come out and visit a few of them, especially Sam.” A fond smile lit up his face. “I like him a lot. For some reason I just feel like I understand him, want to help him.”
“You mentioned maybe wanting to do social work back in high school,” Loren said, and Eliot shrugged. “You never did anything with that?”
Eliot didn’t answer, and Loren got the feeling this was a painful subject, so he dropped it for the time being.
They wandered the neighborhood for a while longer, Eliot stopping every now and then to talk to the denizens of the streets, not bothered by their filth, their mental state. Most of them were happy to see him, though one or two didn’t even seem to know he was there. Eliot slipped them a few dollars or just touched them on the shoulder as he spoke to them, giving them a little human contact, which they seemed to relish.
“You enjoy this,” Loren observed at one point as they strolled back toward Eliot’s apartment, “and you’re good at it. They respond to you.”
Eliot stopped short and sank down onto a nearby bench. He didn’t say anything for a minute, though Loren noticed him digging his nails into his forearm, leaving red gouges. He reached out and covered Eliot’s hand with his own.
“What is it, El?” he asked, and Eliot shook his head. “Can’t you talk about it? You
always
have something to say, baby.” The teasing and the endearment came naturally, and it got a slight smile out of Eliot. Dusk was falling and the streetlights blinked on, bathing the rundown old neighborhood in a soft glow.