ausmac
in
lifein1973
Fic: Walkin' the Walk
Title: Walkin' the Walk Part 1 of 2
by ausmac
Rating: Not sure, certainly Blue, time will tell.
Notes: A slow day at work, and my mind has time to wonder. It came up with a gay bar, undercover, and well, the rest followed.
Twelve year old Neville Long had gone missing the day before and his frantic parents were practically camping at Police headquarters as the coppers searched for their boy. Not a runaway, not this boy with his quiet home-loving ways, his comic and action figure collection neatly stacked on shelves in his bedroom.
Gene and Sam had spent all day out on the street and by the end of it they were both exhausted. Gene's patience, never all that extensive, had worn very thin and he'd got to the "bouncing sources against walls" stage by the time the sun had set on another cold, damp Manchester night.
Finally, a name had emerged, a possible twisted 'rock spider' by the name of Frank Lawson. No amount of head-into-wall bouncing had provided an address but the last source had thought he hung out now and then at a club called the Blue Balloon. It wasn't in Gene's district and the usual procedure would be to contact the DCI in charge and get them to check it out. Gene wasn't all that keen on procedure at that time, so Sam found himself crossing into procedural never-never land again as they parked the Ford in a side street and headed for the Club door.
It was a fairly unobtrusive entry, with a bouncer dressed in black watching under cover of a protective awning. He eyed both Sam and Gene but said nothing as they pushed through the door and went down a set of stairs that opened into a foyer.
Inside, the club was dimly lit, a big open room with a bar down one side, a dance floor, and chairs and tables off to the side - fairly typical. It took Gene a moment to realise what wasn't typical.
"Oh, wonderful. It's a bloody fairy den."
Sam scanned the room, noted the lack of female clients, and the fact that a number of men were dancing together on the dance floor. "Looks like it."
Gene sniffed, lit a cigarette. "Lovely, room full of queers, every one of 'em probably bent as a pretzel!"
Sam hesitated for a few moments, then stripped off his coat and turned towards Gene as he unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. "I can handle it."
Gene watched his DI, puzzlement growing with the frown. "Wotcha mean, handle..and why're you getting' undressed?"
"I'll handle it. I know what to do, been undercover before."
"Listen, sunshine, if you think -"
"Do you want to find Neville Long?"
Gene huffed, dragging in on his cigarette. "Stupid bloody question."
"Right, well, someone here will have answers," Sam said quietly, as he pulled his shirt further open and ruffled his hair, "and the moment you announce yourself as DCI hunt, they'll freeze up and we'll get nothin'. Go along with me, alright?" He slid one hand around Gene's arm and smiled up at him. "Two things - follow my lead and don't act surprised, no matter what. Got it?"
Gene looked down at the arm so comfortably settled around his and pursed his lips. "One o'us has got it, that's the problem. Fine, don't scowl at me, my little cream bun. Following your lead and not acting surprised. At this point, I'm right past being surprised and into total disbelief."
"Good. Now, come and buy me a drink." He smiled broadly up into Gene's face. "No surprise, remember?"
Whatever Gene was muttering, Sam didn't hear it as they entered the main area of the Club and the music swelled around them. They stopped at the long bar and waited for the barman to notice them, which didn't take too long.
"Good evening, gents, what's your pleasure?"
"Scotch," Gene said coolly, "and a…"
"House white for me," Sam said, smiling at the barman. "I'm sure it's a good drop."
"Only the best," the barman said, as he began to pour. "You're both new around here."
"Newish," Sam said, as he settled his arms across the bar. "We've been out of town for a while, just got back, thought we'd look in and check out the scene."
"Well, you came to the right place."
They took their drinks, and Sam chatted sociably with the barman while Gene scanned the room. The air was smoky, smelled of old tobacco, stale beer, the faint sweet tang of pot smoke and something else…a musky, salty smell that he finally recognised as sexual. The smell of sex hung in the air like the smoke, tickling at the back of his throat.
He tuned back into the conversation when he heard a name he knew.
"… Lawson is, but Johnny Mack over there probably knows him. They were together for awhile. You a friend of Lawson's?"
"Not exactly. He owes me…a bit of a debt."
The barman grinned. "Good luck, he's tighter than a copper's arse."
Sam laughed and turned, leaning back against the bar. "So this Johnny Mack is, which one?"
"Big bloke, dark hair, beard, red shirt, table at the edge of the floor."
"Thanks, I'll go talk to him." Sam tilted his head at Gene. "Be back shortly. Behave, now."
Gene was about to respond with a suitably snarky come-back when Sam straightened and walked out onto the dance floor. Gene's mouth slammed shut, because grinding his teeth together was the only way to stop his jaw from hitting his chest.
Sam wasn't so much walking as sauntering. His hips were moving with the slightest sway, just enough to get the eyes of every male in the room watching his arse. By some means that wasn't all that blatant, Sam was radiating sensuality and Gene wasn't experienced enough to know how he did it. Maybe it was the walk, the tilt of his head, the half smile as he turned to make his way between dancers, but whatever it was, it was---very effective.
"Good god, he must be a right handful," the barman muttered in a tone of admiring approval.
"You have no bloody idea."
by ausmac
Rating: Not sure, certainly Blue, time will tell.
Notes: A slow day at work, and my mind has time to wonder. It came up with a gay bar, undercover, and well, the rest followed.
Twelve year old Neville Long had gone missing the day before and his frantic parents were practically camping at Police headquarters as the coppers searched for their boy. Not a runaway, not this boy with his quiet home-loving ways, his comic and action figure collection neatly stacked on shelves in his bedroom.
Gene and Sam had spent all day out on the street and by the end of it they were both exhausted. Gene's patience, never all that extensive, had worn very thin and he'd got to the "bouncing sources against walls" stage by the time the sun had set on another cold, damp Manchester night.
Finally, a name had emerged, a possible twisted 'rock spider' by the name of Frank Lawson. No amount of head-into-wall bouncing had provided an address but the last source had thought he hung out now and then at a club called the Blue Balloon. It wasn't in Gene's district and the usual procedure would be to contact the DCI in charge and get them to check it out. Gene wasn't all that keen on procedure at that time, so Sam found himself crossing into procedural never-never land again as they parked the Ford in a side street and headed for the Club door.
It was a fairly unobtrusive entry, with a bouncer dressed in black watching under cover of a protective awning. He eyed both Sam and Gene but said nothing as they pushed through the door and went down a set of stairs that opened into a foyer.
Inside, the club was dimly lit, a big open room with a bar down one side, a dance floor, and chairs and tables off to the side - fairly typical. It took Gene a moment to realise what wasn't typical.
"Oh, wonderful. It's a bloody fairy den."
Sam scanned the room, noted the lack of female clients, and the fact that a number of men were dancing together on the dance floor. "Looks like it."
Gene sniffed, lit a cigarette. "Lovely, room full of queers, every one of 'em probably bent as a pretzel!"
Sam hesitated for a few moments, then stripped off his coat and turned towards Gene as he unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. "I can handle it."
Gene watched his DI, puzzlement growing with the frown. "Wotcha mean, handle..and why're you getting' undressed?"
"I'll handle it. I know what to do, been undercover before."
"Listen, sunshine, if you think -"
"Do you want to find Neville Long?"
Gene huffed, dragging in on his cigarette. "Stupid bloody question."
"Right, well, someone here will have answers," Sam said quietly, as he pulled his shirt further open and ruffled his hair, "and the moment you announce yourself as DCI hunt, they'll freeze up and we'll get nothin'. Go along with me, alright?" He slid one hand around Gene's arm and smiled up at him. "Two things - follow my lead and don't act surprised, no matter what. Got it?"
Gene looked down at the arm so comfortably settled around his and pursed his lips. "One o'us has got it, that's the problem. Fine, don't scowl at me, my little cream bun. Following your lead and not acting surprised. At this point, I'm right past being surprised and into total disbelief."
"Good. Now, come and buy me a drink." He smiled broadly up into Gene's face. "No surprise, remember?"
Whatever Gene was muttering, Sam didn't hear it as they entered the main area of the Club and the music swelled around them. They stopped at the long bar and waited for the barman to notice them, which didn't take too long.
"Good evening, gents, what's your pleasure?"
"Scotch," Gene said coolly, "and a…"
"House white for me," Sam said, smiling at the barman. "I'm sure it's a good drop."
"Only the best," the barman said, as he began to pour. "You're both new around here."
"Newish," Sam said, as he settled his arms across the bar. "We've been out of town for a while, just got back, thought we'd look in and check out the scene."
"Well, you came to the right place."
They took their drinks, and Sam chatted sociably with the barman while Gene scanned the room. The air was smoky, smelled of old tobacco, stale beer, the faint sweet tang of pot smoke and something else…a musky, salty smell that he finally recognised as sexual. The smell of sex hung in the air like the smoke, tickling at the back of his throat.
He tuned back into the conversation when he heard a name he knew.
"… Lawson is, but Johnny Mack over there probably knows him. They were together for awhile. You a friend of Lawson's?"
"Not exactly. He owes me…a bit of a debt."
The barman grinned. "Good luck, he's tighter than a copper's arse."
Sam laughed and turned, leaning back against the bar. "So this Johnny Mack is, which one?"
"Big bloke, dark hair, beard, red shirt, table at the edge of the floor."
"Thanks, I'll go talk to him." Sam tilted his head at Gene. "Be back shortly. Behave, now."
Gene was about to respond with a suitably snarky come-back when Sam straightened and walked out onto the dance floor. Gene's mouth slammed shut, because grinding his teeth together was the only way to stop his jaw from hitting his chest.
Sam wasn't so much walking as sauntering. His hips were moving with the slightest sway, just enough to get the eyes of every male in the room watching his arse. By some means that wasn't all that blatant, Sam was radiating sensuality and Gene wasn't experienced enough to know how he did it. Maybe it was the walk, the tilt of his head, the half smile as he turned to make his way between dancers, but whatever it was, it was---very effective.
"Good god, he must be a right handful," the barman muttered in a tone of admiring approval.
"You have no bloody idea."