new The Sentinel fic 'One Hour'
I've finished at last my this year TS-Ficathons story.
Title: ONE HOUR
Author: banbury
Beta: wonderful mab_browne
Pairing: J/B
Prompts: cheesecake, hot toddy, nicotine (used two out of three)
Word count: 2609
Rating: PG
Category: slash
Warnings: au
Summary: Simon met a man and had to change his opinion of him several times in an hour
Author's notes: When I finished it and re-read I realized that I have to edit the story and transfer some of the details in the other one, so this fic is TBC and will continue in 'ONE DAY' fic or maybe more, if my fantasy'll blossom forth :-)
ONE HOUR
14.41
Captain Simon Banks stood at the one-way window in the interrogation room for ten minutes listening to the questioning and observing the person on the other side of the glass. He couldn’t decide what to make of him.
Tall imposing man in his late thirties or early forties, well groomed, with money, if one took into account the quality of his clothes. Simon could even say, if someone might dare to ask him, not that that someone really dared, that he was quite a handsome man, the type you could find in a fashion journal, posing in a new garment, or even on screen, acting as…
Simon shook his head. He really needed to take a break. This useless interrogation would gain them nothing new in the case. The most frustrating aspect of all this was that he couldn’t shake off thoughts about this… this man, who was found in the luxurious private club in a very compromising position. Certainly not as a model or a performer; or perhaps rather a performer of a special sort.
Simon didn’t understand why Narcotics brought him here for interrogation. It was obvious he knew nothing about a club as a whole or about a person he was fucking with and who was suspected in working as a local agent for a new drug dealer from San Diego.
He frowned and turned to the door. For a brief second he was sure he felt the gaze of the man on the other side of the glass on him, strangely thoughtful but also derisive; but the moment Simon cast up his eyes he once again appeared to be dozing and answering detective questions with indistinctive sounds.
The Captain slammed the door beside him. And to think, he felt so content, even happy this morning.
Earlier
For once the day was bright and sunny, even if as crisp and chilly as other days this December. That and the awareness that for a change there were no heavy crimes waiting for him first thing upon arriving to Major Crimes had made Captain Simon Banks almost happy. He’d hummed under his breath something silly and Christmas-like while he trotted down the shopping mall looking for some presents. He’d spotted a chocolate boutique near the exit and bought a small box for Rhonda.
He had spent the next couple of hours in the chair in his office with a cup of almond flavored coffee, pineapple danish, a Cuban cigar and the last reports from his officers. It wasn’t until almost lunch when he was interrupted.
“Uhm, Captain?” Taggert hovered in the door way as if he couldn’t decide what to do. It was uncharacteristic for the stocky self-reliant detective, Banks’ most experienced officer.
“Detective?”
“Look, Captain. I’m not sure if it’s worth it, but Narcotics busted several people in “The Blue Velvet”…” Taggart shrugged in response to Simon’s high raised eyebrows.
“The Blue Velvet” was the most difficult to access private club in Cascade. The members of the club were the elite of the local high society and the most influential political and business figures. They were pretty much untouchable. Simon couldn’t remember even one successful bust in the club. Every one arrested or brought up as a witness was released within an hour on one or the other pretext. He was a part of some of the busts back when he was a beat cop and knew first-hand there was a reason to bring charges upon most of the patrons. For one cause or another.
“…There’s a man… you just go ahead and watch his questioning down at Narcotics and I’ll fetch his file, I think we could be onto something with him.”
Simon trusted his detective’s instincts, they usually played out.
14.50
Simon shuffled through the pretty thin file Taggart brought from Narcotics. He could understand now why Joel had thought that it was worth looking at. The man’s name was Ellison, nothing interesting except he was a member of one of the highest-ranking banking families in the Northwest and, more importantly, the nephew of one Harold William Ellison, the man presumably responsible for running the prostitute ring. And not just the prostitute ring - the main participants were children from respectable families.
He’d had enough encounters with the homeless and runaway underage streetwalkers while in Homicide several years ago. He always felt rage just remembering it. But to imagine a kid from a good family being somehow coerced into doing … this…
Simon turned to Joel, “You think we can convince him to help us? We have nothing on him to use as leverage.” He desperately wanted to smoke. He took out a cigar already faintly toothmarked from the humidor and stuck it between his teeth. Damn his doctor for demanding he give up smoking.
“We can always just ask.” Joel fetched out one of the papers from the file. “You see, he came here for something, he hasn’t been to Cascade for over twenty years, left right after the high school graduation and never came back.”
Taggart passed his captain one more paper. “He works as a photographer for some flashy magazines on the East Coast, doesn’t seem to be tough guy - you just need to talk to him … properly.”
They smiled grimly at each other.
“Let’s go.” Simon shut the file and went to the door.
Much much earlier
Simon knew up to the minute when exactly he’d begun his campaign against child prostitution. That happened twenty years ago, but he remembered every moment of that day with absolute clarity.
It’d happened in the winter, in December. He was sure he could recall not only the date, but the day of the week if necessary. Simon was twenty, a year from the police academy, a beat cop, though he already had his eye on a detective's career.
That day had been cold, crisp and grey, filled with the usual problems - drunks, home abuse, fights in the bars. The call had come at the end of his shift - a dead body in an upper-class club near the harbor. Simon and his partner were the nearest officers and had appeared in the lobby five minutes later.
It had been a richly decorated house - three or four common rooms, dining room and bar on the first floor and a lot of private rooms on the second. The decor was all dark green, splashes of gold and mahogany, leather and velvet - a decadent space for the bored leisure.
They’d begun enquiries; the next moment there were a lot of detectives from homicide and forensics. Lieutenant Simmons from Homicide told Simon and his partner to go through the rooms to bring the occupants for questioning.
There’d been not many people. Several high-class prostitutes with the johns, two or three bored wives with their lovers and that was it. The Lieutenant had knocked on the last door. A high-pitched voice had shouted something unintelligible, the door was yanked open and they’d seen two people; a middle age man, stout and of medium height in a grey silk robe at the door - and a boy on the bed.
The first thing Banks had seen then and would remember until his last day, were boy’s eyes - biggest, bluest eyes in the world. They were unmoving, bored, with maybe a slightest hint of curiosity. The boy had looked into Simon’s eyes for several seconds then sighed wearily and closed his eyes.
Only then had Simon’s attention been drawn to elegant manly hands bound to the bed head at the wrists, a lanky torso marred by several bruises, and long widespread limbs. He’d been a tall good looking boy, fifteen or sixteen years old with dark gold hair and an aura of privilege.
The Lieutenant had smiled ruefully at the grey man’s excuses that it was a private affair and they had no rights and they’d begun to quarrel.
Simon hadn’t heard a word. He’d watched the boy for some time then went into the room, quietly freed his hands and asked whether he had to call his parents. The boy had stretched his lips in a polite but hollow smile and said that it was okay, it was all under control. Simon still remembered his voice - boyish, with an undertone of a rich, manly baritone. Then his partner had called him outside and that was the last time he’d seen the boy.
He hadn’t seen him with the other patrons at interrogations and hadn’t heard of any problems with underage sex at The Blue Velvet after, even when he made it to a detective in Homicide. Those no more than fifteen minutes were the longest minutes he remembered - the shortest time he had in his life to know another person and the longest minutes that affected his attitude towards some basic life concepts. His attention to other people's needs, his understanding of the meaning of the family, his attempts to see both victims and criminals as human beings with their own, sometimes deadly, problems - all of that because of hollowness in one forlorn boy's eyes.
15.05
“What?” Simon felt like beating the officer with an inch of his life. “Why didn’t you tell the investigating officer?”
“Listen, Captain Banks, I told him alright.” The officer stood his ground. “I told him there was a lawyer came for Mr. Ellison, his papers were in order and they had no need for him either, so he’s approved release.”
Taggart sighed. “Did you at least ask where they’ll be staying?”
“At the Four Seasons. The lawyer said something like, they always stay in the Four Seasons, because they have the best cheesecake in the northern hemisphere.”
Simon and Joel looked at each other and nodded - the day was relatively uneventful and they at least had time to go and talk to Ellison. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the hotel that Taggart suddenly slapped himself on the forehead. “Cheesecake!”
“What?”
“Cheesecake! Don’t you remember?”
Much earlier
The Captain was furious. They had several overdoses on their hands, and had rousted and tossed every known lab and drug dealer in Cascade, but so far nobody knew anything about that particular batch of heroin. Not their production, looked more like raw material they used to get from Mexico or further South.
Simon went to talk to Simmons who was now the Captain in Narcotics. They already helped with some names, but that time Simon asked him particularly oabout new players.
“Just don’t remind me of that nightmare.” Simmons took exactly two sheets of paper out of the drawer. “That’s all we were able to find on the new supplier. He's worked here for about a year. Never directly, he has several people who deal with the stuff. The man is from San Diego. He works with the Central American drug Cartels, particularly with Don Alessandro Batista.”
Simon nodded. Even he knew that name, although they didn't often deal with the drug cases. “So, you think it must be him.”
“I’m sure, Simon. Sorry, can’t help you more. After a year, we still know a handful of things. This man from San Diego is short apparently, with long hair worn in a tail; he prefers rather informal suits - you know, corduroy or linen, in a crazy professor style. One of our informants saw him once but he couldn’t work with the forensic artist, said it’s difficult to describe the guy. What else? He likes cheesecake, apparently, told him he prefers to stay at the Four Seasons, cause they make the best cheesecake. Oh, yes. He has a bodyguard - rather formidable guy, big, tough, looks like former military, wears formal expensive suits, and you never know when he strikes.”
15.25
“Cheesecake and an expensive suit…” Joel shook his head somberly. “You never knew… I was sure that guy was a nut.”
“Why do you think they are those guys? I don’t like to presume…” Simon didn’t have time to finish, they were at the door to the Wellington suite, the number obligingly provided by the manager who recognized the guests from the description without any trouble.
“Why don’t we call for…” Joel didn’t have time to finish either. They didn’t even had time to knock at the door - it opened suddenly and two strong hands dragged them inside. They were searched, relieved of their weapons and rather harshly sat on chairs.
“Do you prefer to be cuffed or will you sit there by yourself?” The bodyguard was really quite a scary person. There, outside the interrogation room, he looked bigger and tougher. His expensive suit was as immaculate as ever. He stood imperturbably with his arms crossed over his chest and waited for their answer.
“… backup.” Joel finally managed to finish his thought.
“I think we can manage.” Simon was more interested now in the other man who sat on the couch in the middle of the living room. He was undoubtedly short, with long curly brownish hair haloed about his head. He wore a corduroy suit with patches on his elbows and a polo short in matching colors. Notwithstanding this unthreatening appearance, his presence was dominant in the room.
“What can I help you, Captain Banks?” he asked politely enough. “Jim?”
The other man stood at ease near the door inspecting their phones. “There are only two cases that may concern you, Chief, at the moment. The first one is the overdose problem that you looked into yourself already.” The big man closed his mouth and bent his head a little, then shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay.”
Simon watched them in awe. There was something very subtle in their behavior, a strange sense of confidence and self-reliance that ran counter to the all he already knew about them. He could see that the little facts he was given by Simmons made them what they want to be known as. But only if you looked from a distance. Up close the same little facts made them entirely different persons - it was like peeling the skin from the onion.
“You’re feds!”
The smaller one, Chief, smiled and inclined his head. “Bravo, Captain. You know what to watch for, they don’t pay you big bucks for nothing.”
Simon smiled in response. He was pleased with himself.
“And the second case…” Chief looked at his partner expectantly.
Simon turned to him and for the first time in the last hour, he saw how beautiful was the eyes of the other man - bluest eyes in the world.
“You're him.” The realization dawned on him like a punch to his guts. He didn’t know he cared after so many years, still felt the guilt he couldn’t help that boy. “Damn. I tried to find you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I know, I couldn't, it was no help. Uncle Harold made sure of it.” The man, Jim Ellison, stood tall and straight and only a little vein throbbing on his temple betrayed his feelings. The smaller man went to him, hugged him tightly, murmuring something against his chest.
“It’s okay, big guy, you can let it go now, you have help now.”
Simon watched them, noticing Ellison clutching at his friend’s shoulders, and nodded.
“You can count on me, Ellison. You can count on me.”
There was something off in Ellison’s eyes. Simon couldn’t grasped what exactly and then recognized - there was no hollowness and desolation in it. Pain - yes, tiredness - yes, but not hollowness and forlornness. And he knew without doubt that they would get Uncle Harold. Not right now, but in a day or in a week - by all means.
Title: ONE HOUR
Author: banbury
Beta: wonderful mab_browne
Pairing: J/B
Prompts: cheesecake, hot toddy, nicotine (used two out of three)
Word count: 2609
Rating: PG
Category: slash
Warnings: au
Summary: Simon met a man and had to change his opinion of him several times in an hour
Author's notes: When I finished it and re-read I realized that I have to edit the story and transfer some of the details in the other one, so this fic is TBC and will continue in 'ONE DAY' fic or maybe more, if my fantasy'll blossom forth :-)
ONE HOUR
14.41
Captain Simon Banks stood at the one-way window in the interrogation room for ten minutes listening to the questioning and observing the person on the other side of the glass. He couldn’t decide what to make of him.
Tall imposing man in his late thirties or early forties, well groomed, with money, if one took into account the quality of his clothes. Simon could even say, if someone might dare to ask him, not that that someone really dared, that he was quite a handsome man, the type you could find in a fashion journal, posing in a new garment, or even on screen, acting as…
Simon shook his head. He really needed to take a break. This useless interrogation would gain them nothing new in the case. The most frustrating aspect of all this was that he couldn’t shake off thoughts about this… this man, who was found in the luxurious private club in a very compromising position. Certainly not as a model or a performer; or perhaps rather a performer of a special sort.
Simon didn’t understand why Narcotics brought him here for interrogation. It was obvious he knew nothing about a club as a whole or about a person he was fucking with and who was suspected in working as a local agent for a new drug dealer from San Diego.
He frowned and turned to the door. For a brief second he was sure he felt the gaze of the man on the other side of the glass on him, strangely thoughtful but also derisive; but the moment Simon cast up his eyes he once again appeared to be dozing and answering detective questions with indistinctive sounds.
The Captain slammed the door beside him. And to think, he felt so content, even happy this morning.
Earlier
For once the day was bright and sunny, even if as crisp and chilly as other days this December. That and the awareness that for a change there were no heavy crimes waiting for him first thing upon arriving to Major Crimes had made Captain Simon Banks almost happy. He’d hummed under his breath something silly and Christmas-like while he trotted down the shopping mall looking for some presents. He’d spotted a chocolate boutique near the exit and bought a small box for Rhonda.
He had spent the next couple of hours in the chair in his office with a cup of almond flavored coffee, pineapple danish, a Cuban cigar and the last reports from his officers. It wasn’t until almost lunch when he was interrupted.
“Uhm, Captain?” Taggert hovered in the door way as if he couldn’t decide what to do. It was uncharacteristic for the stocky self-reliant detective, Banks’ most experienced officer.
“Detective?”
“Look, Captain. I’m not sure if it’s worth it, but Narcotics busted several people in “The Blue Velvet”…” Taggart shrugged in response to Simon’s high raised eyebrows.
“The Blue Velvet” was the most difficult to access private club in Cascade. The members of the club were the elite of the local high society and the most influential political and business figures. They were pretty much untouchable. Simon couldn’t remember even one successful bust in the club. Every one arrested or brought up as a witness was released within an hour on one or the other pretext. He was a part of some of the busts back when he was a beat cop and knew first-hand there was a reason to bring charges upon most of the patrons. For one cause or another.
“…There’s a man… you just go ahead and watch his questioning down at Narcotics and I’ll fetch his file, I think we could be onto something with him.”
Simon trusted his detective’s instincts, they usually played out.
14.50
Simon shuffled through the pretty thin file Taggart brought from Narcotics. He could understand now why Joel had thought that it was worth looking at. The man’s name was Ellison, nothing interesting except he was a member of one of the highest-ranking banking families in the Northwest and, more importantly, the nephew of one Harold William Ellison, the man presumably responsible for running the prostitute ring. And not just the prostitute ring - the main participants were children from respectable families.
He’d had enough encounters with the homeless and runaway underage streetwalkers while in Homicide several years ago. He always felt rage just remembering it. But to imagine a kid from a good family being somehow coerced into doing … this…
Simon turned to Joel, “You think we can convince him to help us? We have nothing on him to use as leverage.” He desperately wanted to smoke. He took out a cigar already faintly toothmarked from the humidor and stuck it between his teeth. Damn his doctor for demanding he give up smoking.
“We can always just ask.” Joel fetched out one of the papers from the file. “You see, he came here for something, he hasn’t been to Cascade for over twenty years, left right after the high school graduation and never came back.”
Taggart passed his captain one more paper. “He works as a photographer for some flashy magazines on the East Coast, doesn’t seem to be tough guy - you just need to talk to him … properly.”
They smiled grimly at each other.
“Let’s go.” Simon shut the file and went to the door.
Much much earlier
Simon knew up to the minute when exactly he’d begun his campaign against child prostitution. That happened twenty years ago, but he remembered every moment of that day with absolute clarity.
It’d happened in the winter, in December. He was sure he could recall not only the date, but the day of the week if necessary. Simon was twenty, a year from the police academy, a beat cop, though he already had his eye on a detective's career.
That day had been cold, crisp and grey, filled with the usual problems - drunks, home abuse, fights in the bars. The call had come at the end of his shift - a dead body in an upper-class club near the harbor. Simon and his partner were the nearest officers and had appeared in the lobby five minutes later.
It had been a richly decorated house - three or four common rooms, dining room and bar on the first floor and a lot of private rooms on the second. The decor was all dark green, splashes of gold and mahogany, leather and velvet - a decadent space for the bored leisure.
They’d begun enquiries; the next moment there were a lot of detectives from homicide and forensics. Lieutenant Simmons from Homicide told Simon and his partner to go through the rooms to bring the occupants for questioning.
There’d been not many people. Several high-class prostitutes with the johns, two or three bored wives with their lovers and that was it. The Lieutenant had knocked on the last door. A high-pitched voice had shouted something unintelligible, the door was yanked open and they’d seen two people; a middle age man, stout and of medium height in a grey silk robe at the door - and a boy on the bed.
The first thing Banks had seen then and would remember until his last day, were boy’s eyes - biggest, bluest eyes in the world. They were unmoving, bored, with maybe a slightest hint of curiosity. The boy had looked into Simon’s eyes for several seconds then sighed wearily and closed his eyes.
Only then had Simon’s attention been drawn to elegant manly hands bound to the bed head at the wrists, a lanky torso marred by several bruises, and long widespread limbs. He’d been a tall good looking boy, fifteen or sixteen years old with dark gold hair and an aura of privilege.
The Lieutenant had smiled ruefully at the grey man’s excuses that it was a private affair and they had no rights and they’d begun to quarrel.
Simon hadn’t heard a word. He’d watched the boy for some time then went into the room, quietly freed his hands and asked whether he had to call his parents. The boy had stretched his lips in a polite but hollow smile and said that it was okay, it was all under control. Simon still remembered his voice - boyish, with an undertone of a rich, manly baritone. Then his partner had called him outside and that was the last time he’d seen the boy.
He hadn’t seen him with the other patrons at interrogations and hadn’t heard of any problems with underage sex at The Blue Velvet after, even when he made it to a detective in Homicide. Those no more than fifteen minutes were the longest minutes he remembered - the shortest time he had in his life to know another person and the longest minutes that affected his attitude towards some basic life concepts. His attention to other people's needs, his understanding of the meaning of the family, his attempts to see both victims and criminals as human beings with their own, sometimes deadly, problems - all of that because of hollowness in one forlorn boy's eyes.
15.05
“What?” Simon felt like beating the officer with an inch of his life. “Why didn’t you tell the investigating officer?”
“Listen, Captain Banks, I told him alright.” The officer stood his ground. “I told him there was a lawyer came for Mr. Ellison, his papers were in order and they had no need for him either, so he’s approved release.”
Taggart sighed. “Did you at least ask where they’ll be staying?”
“At the Four Seasons. The lawyer said something like, they always stay in the Four Seasons, because they have the best cheesecake in the northern hemisphere.”
Simon and Joel looked at each other and nodded - the day was relatively uneventful and they at least had time to go and talk to Ellison. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the hotel that Taggart suddenly slapped himself on the forehead. “Cheesecake!”
“What?”
“Cheesecake! Don’t you remember?”
Much earlier
The Captain was furious. They had several overdoses on their hands, and had rousted and tossed every known lab and drug dealer in Cascade, but so far nobody knew anything about that particular batch of heroin. Not their production, looked more like raw material they used to get from Mexico or further South.
Simon went to talk to Simmons who was now the Captain in Narcotics. They already helped with some names, but that time Simon asked him particularly oabout new players.
“Just don’t remind me of that nightmare.” Simmons took exactly two sheets of paper out of the drawer. “That’s all we were able to find on the new supplier. He's worked here for about a year. Never directly, he has several people who deal with the stuff. The man is from San Diego. He works with the Central American drug Cartels, particularly with Don Alessandro Batista.”
Simon nodded. Even he knew that name, although they didn't often deal with the drug cases. “So, you think it must be him.”
“I’m sure, Simon. Sorry, can’t help you more. After a year, we still know a handful of things. This man from San Diego is short apparently, with long hair worn in a tail; he prefers rather informal suits - you know, corduroy or linen, in a crazy professor style. One of our informants saw him once but he couldn’t work with the forensic artist, said it’s difficult to describe the guy. What else? He likes cheesecake, apparently, told him he prefers to stay at the Four Seasons, cause they make the best cheesecake. Oh, yes. He has a bodyguard - rather formidable guy, big, tough, looks like former military, wears formal expensive suits, and you never know when he strikes.”
15.25
“Cheesecake and an expensive suit…” Joel shook his head somberly. “You never knew… I was sure that guy was a nut.”
“Why do you think they are those guys? I don’t like to presume…” Simon didn’t have time to finish, they were at the door to the Wellington suite, the number obligingly provided by the manager who recognized the guests from the description without any trouble.
“Why don’t we call for…” Joel didn’t have time to finish either. They didn’t even had time to knock at the door - it opened suddenly and two strong hands dragged them inside. They were searched, relieved of their weapons and rather harshly sat on chairs.
“Do you prefer to be cuffed or will you sit there by yourself?” The bodyguard was really quite a scary person. There, outside the interrogation room, he looked bigger and tougher. His expensive suit was as immaculate as ever. He stood imperturbably with his arms crossed over his chest and waited for their answer.
“… backup.” Joel finally managed to finish his thought.
“I think we can manage.” Simon was more interested now in the other man who sat on the couch in the middle of the living room. He was undoubtedly short, with long curly brownish hair haloed about his head. He wore a corduroy suit with patches on his elbows and a polo short in matching colors. Notwithstanding this unthreatening appearance, his presence was dominant in the room.
“What can I help you, Captain Banks?” he asked politely enough. “Jim?”
The other man stood at ease near the door inspecting their phones. “There are only two cases that may concern you, Chief, at the moment. The first one is the overdose problem that you looked into yourself already.” The big man closed his mouth and bent his head a little, then shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay.”
Simon watched them in awe. There was something very subtle in their behavior, a strange sense of confidence and self-reliance that ran counter to the all he already knew about them. He could see that the little facts he was given by Simmons made them what they want to be known as. But only if you looked from a distance. Up close the same little facts made them entirely different persons - it was like peeling the skin from the onion.
“You’re feds!”
The smaller one, Chief, smiled and inclined his head. “Bravo, Captain. You know what to watch for, they don’t pay you big bucks for nothing.”
Simon smiled in response. He was pleased with himself.
“And the second case…” Chief looked at his partner expectantly.
Simon turned to him and for the first time in the last hour, he saw how beautiful was the eyes of the other man - bluest eyes in the world.
“You're him.” The realization dawned on him like a punch to his guts. He didn’t know he cared after so many years, still felt the guilt he couldn’t help that boy. “Damn. I tried to find you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I know, I couldn't, it was no help. Uncle Harold made sure of it.” The man, Jim Ellison, stood tall and straight and only a little vein throbbing on his temple betrayed his feelings. The smaller man went to him, hugged him tightly, murmuring something against his chest.
“It’s okay, big guy, you can let it go now, you have help now.”
Simon watched them, noticing Ellison clutching at his friend’s shoulders, and nodded.
“You can count on me, Ellison. You can count on me.”
There was something off in Ellison’s eyes. Simon couldn’t grasped what exactly and then recognized - there was no hollowness and desolation in it. Pain - yes, tiredness - yes, but not hollowness and forlornness. And he knew without doubt that they would get Uncle Harold. Not right now, but in a day or in a week - by all means.