Good Cop,
Bad Cop
By Chris Owen and Julia Talbot
Cody sat at the bar nursing his weak rum and
coke. He didn’t want to glance at his watch again, didn’t
want to look like he was waiting for someone, though he was.
He was almost used to this shit—the waiting around. It
seemed like working vice was a lot of waiting. Stakeouts, paperwork,
and waiting, with the occasional bust tossed in just to make
it worthwhile.
But this was different. He’d been sent down here, to one
of the older hotels that wasn’t old enough to be chic and
too old to be ‘nicely appointed’, because one of their
own needed back up. And he couldn’t even take his gun,
which made him vaguely uncomfortable.
The problem with vice was that it was both drugs and prostitution,
and sometimes they mixed. Currently, they were trying to get
a man on the inside of a pretty large and organized ring, a
pretty guy who could pull off looking like he sold his ass but
was still bright enough to be trusted. Cody had been told that
the guy they picked was up to the job, but it seemed the big
boys weren’t completely swayed by the trust part.
So Cody got to put his john training into action. He was sitting
in the dark and rather depressing bar waiting to be ‘picked
up’ by some guy named Pete. Then they’d go up to a
room, make loud and obnoxious sex noises, and he’d leave,
hopefully convincing the bad guys that Pete was what he said
was.
The guys at the station were already having a field day with
this one.
He stifled a sigh and polished off the drink, finally allowing
himself to check the time. Eight after ten. Damn it, this Pete
guy better turn up soon, or Cody’d be half tempted to walk.
Not that he would, but some suit at the end of the bar was starting
to look at him with speculation all over his face.
"Hey. You got a light?" The most obvious question
in the book came from the side opposite the suit, and it almost
made him jump. The kid waiting patiently with a crumpled pack
of cigarettes in his hand was maybe early twenties, blonde with
odd colored gray eyes.
Cody nodded and reached into his jeans pocket, holding the stranger's
gaze. "Yeah. You shouldn’t smoke you know," he
said. Christ, this better be Pete. Then again, if it wasn’t,
maybe he could get the man’s phone number.
"I know. Bad for your health." The kid grinned and
popped the smoke between the softest looking lips he'd ever
seen. They weren't overly full, or girlishly pouty, but they
were perfectly shaped and dark pink, and he needed to get out
more if he was reacting like that. Not to mention that the kid
was waiting for him to flick his Bic.
"Yeah," Cody agreed, finally getting his lighter and
raising his hand. As he sparked the flame, Pete -- if that's
who it was -- leaned in and lit his cigarette, his hand curling
around Cody’s to keep it still. "But then, there are
lots of things that are bad for you, I suppose. Like drinking.
Want one?"
If this was Pete, they didn’t have time and things would
move along. If it wasn’t Pete, he was in deep shit. At
least he’d be there next to a hot man with an amazing mouth.
"Only if you want to get it to go. I was thinking maybe
we could go upstairs. There's a lot of things that are bad for
us that we could try." His eyelashes were surprisingly
dark and thick on such a towhead, and the right set swept down
in a broad wink. Bingo.
Cody nodded slightly and looked at his empty glass still on
the bar. "Mine’s done and gone, and I like the way
you think," he said, standing up. "Why waste time?"
He caught the suit at the end of the bar looking a little depressed
and tried not to feel any sympathy for him. Not like he was
actually getting laid, either.
"Exactly." The cigarette got stubbed out with only
one puff gone. "One thing I gotta make sure though, is
that you understand nothing in life is free."
"So long as I get what I pay for, I pay for quality. It’s
cheap goods that make life a hardship. You got anything worth
my money?"
"Trust me." Those soft, pink lips pursed in a blown
kiss. "I'm worth it."
Christ, the kid could possibly be in the wrong line of work.
Cody didn’t doubt it for a moment and he knew the guy was
full of shit. "Let’s go then," he said, catching
the hard look the bartender was giving them. "We can work
out details on the way."
He didn’t even wait to see if his lead was followed, just
headed out of the bar to the elevators. Damn it all to hell
and back, he actually needed a moment’s peace to remind
his prick that this was work, not fun, and it really didn’t
matter how long it had been since he’d been with anyone.
Even if the answer was far too fucking long.
They were in the elevator before anything else was said, and
he got a sunny grin once the doors shut. "No problem, man.
I'd just rather have them try to kick my butt out there in public
than you try to in private when my jeans are around my knees
and you find out I'm not free, you know?"
One blonde eyebrow gyrated a little, and Cody looked up to see
that they were on candid camera. He grinned back, trying for
natural. Great, it was showtime, and not even a chance to talk.
He hated doing things on a wing and a prayer, but that’s
what the training was for. He stepped a little closer and slipped
a hand around to the small of Pete’s back. "Makes
sense to me," he said, looking at Pete’s face.
"I'm a careful guy, you know? Well, mostly. You? You're
worth some not so careful." The kid bypassed the kissing,
which he figured was a trick of the trade, and went right for
his fly, cupping it in one hand and hitting the third floor
button with the other. "I've always wanted to say 'going
down?' but I'll settled for getting you up."
"Not going to be problem," Cody said with a gasp.
And, unfortunately, it really wasn’t. His hand tightened
reflexively on Pete’s back, his fingers curling as his
cock started to fill.
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