Painted Blue - 12. Chapter 12

“You're a genius, Tim.”

Tim gave a lopsided smile as Chase turned the sunglasses around in his hands.

“We couldn't hide them in your hair, so I had to do something else. It's outside, so it works.”

The sport band that had been slipped over the ends of the sunglasses fully concealed the necessary cables, a minuscule hole cut in the end for the wires to go down the back of Chase's shirt unseen.

Chase watched the tech's nimble fingers working the transmitter. “Who's riding with you this time?”

Tim's expressions were usually subtle; the sudden frown on his thin lips seemed out of place. “I don't know his name. Just his family's.”

Tim didn't like using people's last names. Most of the PD didn't really mind. The people Chase knew of that didn't entertain the tech's quirk were of significant enough rank that they had an excuse to hide behind. Except for one person.

“Shaw?” Chase asked.

“He doesn't like me,” Tim said.

“He doesn't like anyone,” Chase scoffed. “It should be a quick meet, at least.” The detective eyed his watch and pushed himself out of the chair. “We've gotta go to the meeting.”

Tim, Shaw, Caceda, Hernandez and a dedicated dispatcher made up the small team for the cafe meet-up. They all seemed far more relaxed about it than Chase felt.

“Twelve oh five,” Cagg announced as everyone checked their time devices. “Roll in forty-five. I want everyone set up an hour before. If we can have eyes on the meet, so can the other side. We need to be there first. Subject is only known as Marshal. No description. He may even send a middle man. This is just the preliminary so let's avoid an arrest. No one get jumpy.” Cagg's steely eyes set on Shaw. “This is a long game. Chase is to make contact, establish that the suspect exchanges access to minors for cash and set up a second meet for an exchange.” His gaze fixed on Chase. “That is all. Do not ask him if he also has powdered rhino horn. Do not ask if he can get you tickets to the game. Am I clear?” Chase gestured in vague acquiescence. Cagg held his eyes for a moment before sitting down.

Chase sighed and pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his forehead as he paced the front of the room briefly. “OK, here's the deal. No one has seen this guy. He's careful. It's possible he's gota lot younger kids than we think. It's possible this isn't his only game. Take this seriously.” There was a flicker of consideration on the faces in the room.

“Spenser will be pulling Mink in for a follow-up at two, so we won't have to worry about interference. He'll also be accessible in case we need to use him to make contact again. We tried to get his bail suspended until after the op, but no dice.”

Same story as before, I'm Chip Cassidy. Looking to add more debauchery to Tristan's party. I'll be pushing for twelve or under.” He couldn't quite stave off a shudder. Shaw looked like he wanted to vomit on someone and then shoot them.

“This is the layout,” Chase nodded to the pictures on the board. “I'll try to place myself over here. It has the best visibility from all sides. Caceda and Hernandez will be playing a couple somewhere over here. They'll have full coms. Don't get too in character, this is a public street.” Hernandez smirked and made eyes at Caceda who refused to acknowledge him.

“Tim and Shaw will have the van over here,” he gestured. “Same cue as before. If I say I'm gonna puke, roll in. Hopefully I won't actually puke on the scumbag. Questions?”

“Yea,” Shaw started. “When do I get to beat this dirtball's ass?”

“Right after I do,” Chase said. “But let's actually stick a charge on him first. Let's go, people.”

The Sergeant approached him with a tip of his head as the room cleared. “Pockets.”

Chase reached in his pockets to start emptying them. He gripped his phone and froze, looking down at it with a frown.

“Give me a second.” Cagg eyed him as Chase stepped away.

The detective had listed Felix's new number under 'DMV'. He could imagine any scenario where someone would get a hold of his phone and have even a remote interest in calling it.

Chase quickly thumbed out the text;Remember what to do if I don't come back. Then promptly deleted the record of it on his end, turned off the phone and dumped it on the table. His holster and badge followed.

The detective had ample time to lock himself in the bathroom to mentally prepare, which turned out to be the best location given that he couldn't decide if he was going to throw up or not.

Chase cupped his hands under the flow of cold water, dipping his face into his palms for the third time. The eyes that looked back at him in the mirror were anxious and too soft. They were Dorian's eyes.

He looked away again, slicking his hair back with wet palms, leaning on the sink and taking deep breaths.

It was easy to be the 'Chip Cassidy' who went to the club. The guy who talked too much, thought too little and partied too hard. It was even easy to be some lonely straight guy looking for a twenty dollar blow job from a strung out hooker on 5^thstreet. Being the guy who was looking for children to molest wasn't something he could tap in to so easily.

When it came down to it, he had always found some part of himself that he could mold into a persona.

Lonely guy buying prostitutes? In a different world, why not? He'd been lonely before. There had been times that he'd been desperate for touch. He never had a problem finding it for free, but what if he had?

Gay guy who liked to party recklessly? Within the realm of possibility. He had his fair share of crazy party stories from his youth. He drank under age a few times. Even smoked pot a time or two in college. If he hadn't always wanted to be a cop, who knows.

Guy who liked sex with children? No. He didn't want there to be any part of him that he could see being that in any world. Teenagers, maybe. His mind latched on to the thought and followed it down a rabbit-hole before he could stop it.

Felix was barely eighteen. Wouldn't he still have been attractive a couple months ago when he was seventeen? A year ago at sixteen? Fifteen? Where would the cut off be?

They say rape is about control. Power. Exerting your will over someone who can't stop you. Especially with children. Isn't that basically what he was doing with Felix? Control. Power.

When Chase looked in the mirror again, whatever it is that looked back made him scrabble straight to the toilet and vomit.

He rinsed his mouth out and left the bathroom without daring to look again.

Tim had him wired and ready in no time. Curly still had the prepared wallet set aside from the night club, cover ID and random business cards still in place.

Chase groaned when the same champagne colored mini van met him at the side door. “The Raccoon-mobile? Again?”

The impound clerk grinned and passed him the keys. “You've established a cover now. Wouldn't want to ruin it!”

“This is your only joy in life, isn't it?”

“I garden,” the clerk said with a smile.

Chase waited until the burn phone said it was two o'clock before he pulled out of the parking lot, hands gripping the steering wheel rigidly.

There was always a measure of eerie detachment in arriving at the scene, seeing your coworkers and everyone behaving as if they were strangers.

The surveillance van was parked less than a block away, Shaw in the driver's seat pretending to chat on his phone. Tim would be in the back, unseen. Hernandez and Caceda had claimed a patio table near the massive cafe windows and she was in the middle of a story involving grand arm gestures and laughs.

It was truly like being someone else.

The host who sat Chase at a table was far too pompous for a glorified waiter, but at least he didn't put up a fuss about the detective being fairly specific about the table he wanted. He ordered some posh coffee and waited.

Trying to look bored while simultaneously taking note of everyone who came and went was an exhausting piece of multitasking.

Chase had already compiled an idea of who 'Marshal' was. Statistically, he would be between thirty and fifty. Marshal was definitely not a Hispanic or Asian name, though he could be black. Most likely a white guy. He was careful, so he'd try to blend in, but he chose an expensive cafe, so he would want to be seen as sophisticated.

The detective compared his mental check-list with everyone who stepped under the sprawling patio canopy.

Movement from the corner of his eye pulled his attention to where Caceda and Hernandez were seated. An older man in a dark, charcoal-grey suit walked directly past them, stepping into the patio from an odd point. Chase wouldn't have taken note of him at all but for the fact that he walked with a cane. And purpose. He traversed the patio with casual ease, as if it were his own living room and walked directly to Chase's table.

“I believe you were expecting me.”

The detective was completely unprepared for a British accent. The heartbeat of hesitation didn't go unnoticed.

“Or not?”

Chase launched to his feet with a broad smile. “You must be Marshal. Chip.” He thrust out his hand.

The man tipped his head, looking down at the extended hand as if the gesture were completely foreign to him.

“Please, sit,” Marshal said. The detective sat back in his chair awkwardly, once again feeling as if he were in the older man's living room.

Marshal unbuttoned his jacket primly and took a seat across the table.

He wasn't a large man. Five eight at most. Thin, but fit. In his fifties. He had black wavy hair cut to his jaw line with liberal streaks of grey.

Chase would have found him completely unremarkable if it weren't for the eyes. He had no idea what color they were. They were so dark that they may as well have been black. His eye lids were heavy and narrow, obscuring most of his eye whites. The dark, flat, colorless pools had all the warmth of a shark's eyes.

Marshal said nothing, only stared at the younger man with his fingers loosely laced, hands on the table.

“It's awesome that you met with me so short notice. I've got this party on the fifteenth.” No response. “So, like I told Jason, I'm looking to spice things up a bit, you know?” Nothing. Chase leaned his elbows forward on the table. “I get that you wanted to meet somewhere open first and don't want to talk about business out here. That's cool with me. We can do all that later. I just kinda need to know what prices we're talking about here.”

Marshal regarded the other man with his cold, dead, shark eyes before taking a slow breath. “I'm afraid I'm only here as a favor to an associate. It seems he's gotten into a spot of trouble with the law.”

Chase's heart leapt straight up into his throat. He put on a lop-sided smile.

“All the more reason to be cautious. We can talk shop somewhere else if you want.”

The older man leaned his elbows on the table, mimicking Chase, down to the half-grin. “We won't be doing business together, Detective Chase.”

Chase absolutely froze. He didn't even dare a glance toward Caceda and Hernandez. He only hoped they weren't on the move.

Marshal's hands were clearly visible, his fingers tenting in front of his chin. Whole seconds passed in the stillness between the two men before the older man's hand moved.

The movement was carefully slow as he reached across the table, gently closed his fingertips on the frames of the sunglasses and pulled them off of Chase's face.

“You have such pretty eyes,” Marshal said, thin lips pulling into a smile. “You shouldn't hide them.” He left the faux glasses to dangle around Chase's neck as he casually reached into his jacket pocket, holding it open enough to show he was unarmed. He carelessly flicked a fifty dollar bill on the table. “I know they don't pay you enough to make this sort of venue habitual.”

Marshal stood, leaning on his dark cane. “Good day, Detective.” It was apparently possible to limp away arrogantly.

Chase made no movement until the man was out of sight, and even then he assumed he was still being watched. He stood smoothly, turned on heel and walked straight back to the minivan without looking at any of the team. Just because he was made didn't mean they were.

Once in the car, he ripped the glasses off and threw them into the passenger seat. He sped all the way back to the PD.

“Which one is Mink in?”

Kathy looked up, startled by Chase's sudden entrance. “Um, four. I thought you were on an op?”

Chase ignored her, ripping open the door to the interview room. Mink barely had time to look alarmed before Chase closed the distance and snatched a handful of his shirt, dragging the large man clear out of his chair.

“You son of a bitch,” he snarled.

Mink stared wide-eyed, securing a grip around Chase's wrists. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Your deal doesn't fucking count after you tell Marshal I'm a cop. It just gets you a maximum sentence, you fucking dumbass.”

Mink had the nerve to look incredulous. “I didn't tell him anything. Why the fuck would I? Let go of me.”

Chase tightened his hold against Mink's struggling. “Who the hell else would have?”

The large man's eyes darted toward the camera in the corner, then the door, then back to Chase meaningfully.

The detective's lip curled in contempt. “You better think really carefully about what you're insinuating and ask yourself if you want to reconsider whatever you're about to say.”

Mink clearly did reconsider.

“I want protection.”

It was Hernandez who got there first and started peeling Chase off of Mink. The blonde would have taken a swing at the other detective had Caceda not been the one grabbing his arm.

“It's not worth it!” She put herself between Chase and Mink, her hands flat on the detective's chest.

“I want protection!” Mink repeated, eyes fixed on Chase imploringly as Shaw and Hernandez dragged him out of the room.

Sergeant Cagg eyed Chase over his clasped fists.

“You sure you didn't tell anyone where you were going?”

“I'm not an idiot, Leroy,” Chase said, leg bouncing nervously.

Cagg leaned back in his chair. “We'll put a unit on your house.”

“No,” Chase protested instantly. He swallowed. “It wasn't a threat. I don't need my landlady getting all twitchy and kicking me out. Put one on Mink instead.”

The Sergeant scoffed. “He won't be able to shit without the evidence clerk hearing about it. We're pulling his phone records. Soon as we can prove he ran his mouth, he'll be nice and safe in prison.”

Chase said nothing.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Chase had begun a vehement protest which Cagg simply spoke over. “Get out of here, shake this off, come back tomorrow and start in on it fresh. You won't be missing much. Just reports and combing through footage. We'll see if street footage got a shot of the car he came in.”

“Is that an order?” Chase grumbled.

“Do I need to make it one?”

They held each other's gaze for a moment before Chase shoved himself out of the chair and left the Sergeant's office.

A small group had formed outside of Cagg's door, Caceda retelling the scene to the rest of day shift.

“Need to talk to you,” Chase said as he passed her, not slowing as he headed straight for her office.

She abandoned her conversation and followed him, shutting her door.

Chase faced her seriously. “Nothing I'm about to say leaves this room.”

“OK,” Caceda said, tone cautious.

“Marshal walked right passed you.” He paced the small room. “He would have had to approach from the back of the building. He knew where all of us were sitting and he made a point of walking right by you so I would know he knew.” He ceased pacing with a scowl. “He made all of us.”

She crossed her arms, eyes tracking the room as if projecting the scene from memory. “How would Mink have known? When could he have told him?”

“I don't think he did.”

“Then who?”

Chase's shoulders slumped. “I don't know. Maybe . . .” He trailed off, the way Mink glanced at the camera replaying in his mind.

“Maybe what?” Caceda pressed.

“Nothing.” He shook his head clear. “This guy is clearly connected. Who knows where he got it. Hawthorne could have clued him in for all we know.”

He rubbed his face in frustration. “It doesn't matter right now. This guy isn't going to just go away. Be careful.”

“You, too,” she said to his back as he left.

Chase took multiple unnecessary turns all the way home, keeping a cautious eye on his rear view mirror. He circled his own block twice. Once he was satisfied that he wasn't followed and there wasn't a unit watching his house, he parked down the street. Even then, he walked around the exterior of the duplex before quietly slipping the key in the door.

The light was on in the back left room. Chase kept his gun hand free as he slowly checked each room in turn. Living room, kitchen, hall bathroom. The basement would have to wait. Turning his back on the two bedrooms was not an option. He quietly locked the basement door and kept moving toward the lit room.

Felix had his legs crossed up in the chair with him, back turned to the door as he hunched over the messy desk strewn with books and notes. Dorian managed not to be distracted by the silver buckle of the collar at the nape of the teen's neck. He turned away from the little bedroom and continued on to check his own room and bathroom. Satisfied about all but the basement, he returned to the hall, leaning on Felix's door frame.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Felix jolted and turned, blinking. “Hey. I didn't hear you come in.”

“Do me a favor and stay in here.” Felix stared in confusion as Dorian dragged the door closed.

The basement was the last place Dorian wanted to have to corner someone. The stairs down were narrow and had limited visibility for the person descending them. There were numerous places where a person could wait completely out of sight. These details made it perfectly reasonable for Dorian to have his gun in his hand.

The basement was empty.

Dorian checked that every window was locked, the blinds securely closed from prying eyes before calling back to Felix.

“You can come out now.”

Dark hair and pale eyes poked out from the room, looking around cautiously. “What's going on?”

Dorian slumped into one of the bar stools with a sigh. “Nothing. Some slimeball trying to rattle me. Just . . .” An anxious knot churned in his belly. “Call me if you see anyone poking around the house.” Felix eyed him suspiciously. “Or any patrol cars hanging around,” Dorian added.

“Should I be worried?” Felix asked.

“About people poking around the house? Probably not. Patrol cars?” Dorian glared into space. “Maybe.”

“What the hell happened?” Felix's dark brows were knitted with concern.

“It's not a big deal. Someone knew my name who shouldn't have. The PD just might get paranoid and have a unit roll by every now and then for a couple days.”

Felix's eyebrows went up. “And them seeing me here . . .”

“Would be bad,” Dorian finished.

The pale teen leaned his elbows on the bar counter with a smirk. “So I'm a dirty secret.”

“The dirtiest,” Dorian said.

“I've always wanted to be someone's dirty secret.” Felix said wistfully. The corners of his lips tugged down thoughtfully. “I always thought he would be married.”

“You have a thing for married guys, too?”

“No.” His eyes tracked toward the ceiling in consideration. “I just assumed that's how it would go. I didn't really figure in a single gay man keeping me a secret.” He looked back at Dorian, eyes narrowing. “You are single, right?”

“For a very long time,” the older man said.

“Because it's hard to meet men in the closet?”

“I'm not in the closet.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “I'm just not out at work. Everyone else knows.”

Felix arched a single brow, lips pursed. “Your land lady knows?”

“Why the hell would I tell my landlady?”

“Who else is there? I've never heard you talk about anyone other than family and people you work with.” The younger man sat in one of the stools, elbows back against the counter top.

“I have other friends,” Dorian scowled.

“Mhm,” Felix spun himself slowly back and forth. “Friends who aren't cops?”

“I majored in criminal justice and went straight from college to the academy. Most of the people I know are cops. Why do I need friends who aren't law enforcement?”

Felix lolled his head toward the older man. “Because you can't tell them you're gay?”

“I could tell some of them. I just don't,” Dorian said.

“Closet.” Felix drew the word out in an annoying, sing-song manner.

“There's nothing wrong with being picky about who I tell. Maybe if you had been more picky you wouldn't have been kicked out or ended up with a rapist.”

Felix ceased spinning in the stool. His expression of betrayal lodged an ache in Dorian's chest.

“Sorry,” Dorian muttered, looking away.

Felix shoved himself roughly out of the stool, stormed down the hall and slammed the spare room door behind him.

It was easy to forget he was a teenager but for moments like these.

Dorian busied himself with tending the fish tank.

It was better to be alone on days like these. Better to be able to process quietly in the private spaces of his own head where he couldn't shove his foot in his mouth. Being perpetually single had little to do with being out or not.

Dorian's shoulders tensed as he heard Felix stomp back up the hallway. He turned in time to see the teen thrust a folded piece of weathered notebook paper at him.

“What's this?”

“Read it,” Felix demanded, an edge to his voice.

The older man made a sour face. “Can it wait? I can only fit one foot in my mouth at a time.”

The teen's brow furrowed petulantly, outstretched hand jerking the paper forward.

Dorian suspiciously took the folded paper between forefinger and thumb, opening it to see a long letter in pristine penmanship. The fold lines were weathered and soft from countless folding and unfolding. The blue ink bled through the creases in a few places that had gotten too damp.

He skimmed the first few lines and frowned.

“Out loud,” Felix insisted.

The older man met his eyes for a moment. Felix's expression remained firm. Dorian turned his attention back to the letter in his hand.

“Son,” he began, “we have given a lot of thought and prayer to what you told us last week. We feel that it is our duty both as parents and as Christians to turn you away from a life of sin and pain. You are a deeply troubled and confused boy and you must pray for the Lord's forgiveness before it is too late,” Dorian paused, considering just speed mumbling through the rest.

Reading an intimate letter was awkward enough. Reading a damning letter out loud after snapping at the person in question was well beyond uncomfortable.

“Your confession of involving Elizabeth in your sinful urges brings both of us deep shame. She has always been a good friend to you and a pious girl. We have discussed this with her parents and Pastor Charles and have decided how best to help you fix your perversion and make amends for your wrongs.” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, his stomach tied in sick knots. “There is a summer camp for boys like you. When you come home healed, you will have our blessing to marry Elizabeth. We hope you will see this as the gift that it is. Mom and dad.”

There was no doubt that Felix had read those words dozens of times. Every sharp barb, every turn of the dagger, every dismissive, callous word. That Dorian had just given them voice made him feel ill.

Felix's eyes were glassy, his nose a bright pink. Dorian just stood looking at him, the letter stretched between his hands, knuckles blanched as he fought the urge to rip it to pieces. He wanted the pale boy to cry. Scream. Something. Anything that would tell him what he was supposed to do with this information. With this writhing guilt.

The slight teen worked his jaw for a few seconds before speaking.

“They handed me that in a bible.” His voice shook with a combination of anger and pain. “Tucked into the pages of Leviticus. The day they packed me up to put me on that bus, I walked out. They didn't kick me out. Being homeless was better than being brainwashed.” He carefully pulled the letter out of Dorian's rigid hands and refolded it, looking very young and small. “And I can't even throw this away because it's all I have left.” His voice finally broke and Dorian drew him in tightly.

Silent tears soaked through the larger man's shirt, bleeding more damp ink stains into the creases of the letter Felix clutched in his hands. The larger man's arms easily encircled the teen's slight frame, hands smoothing over his back slowly.

Felix neither returned the embrace nor pulled away. Dorian held him silently for as long as the boy would allow. What else could he do?

A series of slow, full breaths fed poise back into the pale boy's body, once again feeling solid and grown in Dorian's arms. When Felix finally pulled away, his face was a careful mask of competence. He shoved the letter into his pocket and wiped at his cheeks before giving a slight smile.

“Wanna make out?”

Dorian pulled his head back dubiously. “I'm not really in the mood.”

“Your loss,” Felix said with a shrug, heading to the kitchen.

Dorian watched his back for a moment, a crease of concern forming between his brows. He was too young for the facade to be that easy. That natural. How many of those smiles had been genuine? How many times had the detective misread them?

He was suddenly aware of how little he knew the teen living in his house. And how tenuous his presence was.

“Want to sleep with me tonight?”

Felix turned, rolling his eyes. “I'm not that fragile, mommy.”

“Maybe I wasn't asking for you,” Dorian said.

Felix gave him an odd look, as if the suggestion made no sense to him. “I don't think I'd sleep very well and I start work in the morning.”

Dorian didn't sleep at all.