just_muse_me | 29.9. Life has a tendency to come back and bite you in the ass
After a day of just about everything going wrong that could, Euan couldn’t believe his luck when he managed to get a car parking spot in the same block as he is apartment. It was the only downfall of the place, and he hadn’t considered the irritation of on-street parking when he agreed to rent it. Everything had been quite quick and it was relatively close to the CID, so he had just taken it. It was like winning the fucking lottery when you managed to get parked close to home, and if he wasn’t more of a chilled person, he probably would have done a happy dance.
The case was still progressing, but they seemed to keep hitting dead ends. Thankfully, in the past couple of days, they had managed to clear all of Liam’s family, including Ethan, who had apparently been on a conference call with a colleague in London around the time the bloke would have had to have been poisoned. That was a relief all around, because there would have been nothing worse than shoving that family through yet more painful dramas as a police investigation for murder. The way Evans explained it, it had been quite the ordeal enough when his other half was subject to it. Evans was a whole other story. Since the interesting night of boozing up and random inking, Evans had been pointedly stoic with Euan and Euan was getting bored. Gee was also avoiding him too. She hadn’t stayed at his place in four nights and Euan didn’t even bother trying to talk to her at work anymore. A bloke could only get the cold shoulder so often before he well took the hint. It was why she had gone off on her own again that night when they knocked off and Euan planned to go back to his place, crack into a Guinness, have a joint, and maybe watch some good porn. With a day of false leads and compromised evidence, he decided he more than deserved it.
He was shoving his cell phone and wallet into the pockets of his jeans as he sauntered down the London sidewalk. It was late, pushing ten pm, and it was just starting to get dark now. It was obvious, too, that summer was drawing to an end because there was a chill in the evening air now. He was just deciding on what pizza topping he would have when he called for take away when he approached his apartment block, but pulled up to an abrupt halt when he was met with weird sight. There was a kid, a teenager, sitting on the bottom step of the block with a daggy and overused backpack sitting at his feet. He had on a leather jacket and old ripped jeans, and looked to be hugging himself the way he was sitting. Euan watched him for a moment, but the kid just proceeded to sit there and stare at his scuffed trainers. “Alright, kid?” he asked, leaning down a little to try and catch sight of the boy’s face, but his blond hair was hanging in his eyes and making it hard. The teenager stood up, stumbling back on the stairs a little and grabbing the iron railing to remain on his feet. For a few moments, he just looked like a deer caught in headlights, blue eyes locked on Euan’s face. Euan could actually see him visibly swallowing. He was nervous. “Hey, buddy, if it’s crack money you’re after, I ain’t giving you any, aye. That’s not a path someone your age needs to be on. You waiting for someone? You want me to give ‘em a call?”
“No... I mean, aye,” the kid stammered and wet his dry lips. “I’m waitin’ for someone.” He bent over and collected his backpack, hugging it to his chest.
Euan couldn’t help his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. The lad was Irish. Broad Irish. “Well, spit it out, laddie. Who are you waiting for? Someone here? Why don’t you go inside and knock on the door?” The kid was skittish enough to seem like he was on something, but there were no telltale red eyes or diluted pupils. Maybe it really was just fear and anxiety. Not that Euan could blame him. London was a freaking scary place for a kid to be alone at night, it just had a ridiculous level of homeless kids, and maybe that’s all the boy was after. Some place to be out of the cool evening. He just couldn’t have ever, anywhere in his mind, have anticipated what came out of the kid’s mouth next.
“You,” was the bitten off response and then the boy was digging out in the pocket of his jacket. A scruffy torn and crumpled piece of paper was pulled from the confines of the jacket and shoved into Euan’s hand. “I’m lookin’ for you.”
This was like one of those weird psychological movies that was intended to be a total mind fuck. It took all of Euan’s effort not to snap at the wee bastard to piss off, but he wasn’t even that big of a bastard. In fact, if the kid was homeless, he had every intention of dragging him to a shelter so he could at least be safe and get a meal into him. At the end of the day, Euan was still a copper at heart... he wasn’t the completely heartless bastard a lot seemed to think he was. Still, he was eyeing the kid as he forced himself to look down at the thing in his hand, as much as there seemed to be a part of him telling him not to. Nothing could have prepared him for it. Nothing. It was an old photograph... really old. In fact, if Euan didn’t actually know himself, he wouldn’t have cottoned on to anything. But there was no doubt about it; it was a photograph of him when he was a kid... maybe not much older than the lad standing in front of him. It was a time in Euan’s life he barely had any memory of because he had been so whacked on drugs. The kid in the photo was hardly recognisable even to the man he was today.
Yet, this kid still had this photo, and he knew it was Euan, and that was freaking Euan the fuck out. “Are you a fucking hit man in disguise? Come to take me out? I paid all my debts back, every single fucking one of them. Whatever you’re playing at kid, you don’t wanna be messing with me, alright? So just take your shit, and piss off out of my sight before I call the coppers to turf you into the slammer for the night.” Euan didn’t offer the photo back, though, and nearly leapt out of his skin when the kid seemed to panic and snatch it back anyway.
“No! I don’t... I just...” the boy stammered and Euan wanted to groan in annoyance when the waterworks came, spilling down the kids cheeks. He had a low tolerance for kids at the best of times, but when they turned on the tears, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. He was about to walk away and leave the lad to it, his impatience already stretched from the mere fact the photo had more than spooked him, but he felt a hand grab his elbow and he whipped back around when the kid suddenly had a vice-like grip on his arm. “You’re my Da’. You’re Euan Fitzpatrick and... you’re my Da’.”
Word Count | 1,270
The case was still progressing, but they seemed to keep hitting dead ends. Thankfully, in the past couple of days, they had managed to clear all of Liam’s family, including Ethan, who had apparently been on a conference call with a colleague in London around the time the bloke would have had to have been poisoned. That was a relief all around, because there would have been nothing worse than shoving that family through yet more painful dramas as a police investigation for murder. The way Evans explained it, it had been quite the ordeal enough when his other half was subject to it. Evans was a whole other story. Since the interesting night of boozing up and random inking, Evans had been pointedly stoic with Euan and Euan was getting bored. Gee was also avoiding him too. She hadn’t stayed at his place in four nights and Euan didn’t even bother trying to talk to her at work anymore. A bloke could only get the cold shoulder so often before he well took the hint. It was why she had gone off on her own again that night when they knocked off and Euan planned to go back to his place, crack into a Guinness, have a joint, and maybe watch some good porn. With a day of false leads and compromised evidence, he decided he more than deserved it.
He was shoving his cell phone and wallet into the pockets of his jeans as he sauntered down the London sidewalk. It was late, pushing ten pm, and it was just starting to get dark now. It was obvious, too, that summer was drawing to an end because there was a chill in the evening air now. He was just deciding on what pizza topping he would have when he called for take away when he approached his apartment block, but pulled up to an abrupt halt when he was met with weird sight. There was a kid, a teenager, sitting on the bottom step of the block with a daggy and overused backpack sitting at his feet. He had on a leather jacket and old ripped jeans, and looked to be hugging himself the way he was sitting. Euan watched him for a moment, but the kid just proceeded to sit there and stare at his scuffed trainers. “Alright, kid?” he asked, leaning down a little to try and catch sight of the boy’s face, but his blond hair was hanging in his eyes and making it hard. The teenager stood up, stumbling back on the stairs a little and grabbing the iron railing to remain on his feet. For a few moments, he just looked like a deer caught in headlights, blue eyes locked on Euan’s face. Euan could actually see him visibly swallowing. He was nervous. “Hey, buddy, if it’s crack money you’re after, I ain’t giving you any, aye. That’s not a path someone your age needs to be on. You waiting for someone? You want me to give ‘em a call?”
“No... I mean, aye,” the kid stammered and wet his dry lips. “I’m waitin’ for someone.” He bent over and collected his backpack, hugging it to his chest.
Euan couldn’t help his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. The lad was Irish. Broad Irish. “Well, spit it out, laddie. Who are you waiting for? Someone here? Why don’t you go inside and knock on the door?” The kid was skittish enough to seem like he was on something, but there were no telltale red eyes or diluted pupils. Maybe it really was just fear and anxiety. Not that Euan could blame him. London was a freaking scary place for a kid to be alone at night, it just had a ridiculous level of homeless kids, and maybe that’s all the boy was after. Some place to be out of the cool evening. He just couldn’t have ever, anywhere in his mind, have anticipated what came out of the kid’s mouth next.
“You,” was the bitten off response and then the boy was digging out in the pocket of his jacket. A scruffy torn and crumpled piece of paper was pulled from the confines of the jacket and shoved into Euan’s hand. “I’m lookin’ for you.”
This was like one of those weird psychological movies that was intended to be a total mind fuck. It took all of Euan’s effort not to snap at the wee bastard to piss off, but he wasn’t even that big of a bastard. In fact, if the kid was homeless, he had every intention of dragging him to a shelter so he could at least be safe and get a meal into him. At the end of the day, Euan was still a copper at heart... he wasn’t the completely heartless bastard a lot seemed to think he was. Still, he was eyeing the kid as he forced himself to look down at the thing in his hand, as much as there seemed to be a part of him telling him not to. Nothing could have prepared him for it. Nothing. It was an old photograph... really old. In fact, if Euan didn’t actually know himself, he wouldn’t have cottoned on to anything. But there was no doubt about it; it was a photograph of him when he was a kid... maybe not much older than the lad standing in front of him. It was a time in Euan’s life he barely had any memory of because he had been so whacked on drugs. The kid in the photo was hardly recognisable even to the man he was today.
Yet, this kid still had this photo, and he knew it was Euan, and that was freaking Euan the fuck out. “Are you a fucking hit man in disguise? Come to take me out? I paid all my debts back, every single fucking one of them. Whatever you’re playing at kid, you don’t wanna be messing with me, alright? So just take your shit, and piss off out of my sight before I call the coppers to turf you into the slammer for the night.” Euan didn’t offer the photo back, though, and nearly leapt out of his skin when the kid seemed to panic and snatch it back anyway.
“No! I don’t... I just...” the boy stammered and Euan wanted to groan in annoyance when the waterworks came, spilling down the kids cheeks. He had a low tolerance for kids at the best of times, but when they turned on the tears, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. He was about to walk away and leave the lad to it, his impatience already stretched from the mere fact the photo had more than spooked him, but he felt a hand grab his elbow and he whipped back around when the kid suddenly had a vice-like grip on his arm. “You’re my Da’. You’re Euan Fitzpatrick and... you’re my Da’.”
Word Count | 1,270