Chapter Text
It is so fucking humid out that Sebastian’s clothes are starting to stick to him. He has been sitting in his idling car at a corner in one of the shittier parts of Krimson City’s business district for almost an hour.
A couple of drunken college students stagger out of a bar ahead of him, talking too loudly, laughing too loudly, until one of them doubles over and vomits into the gutter. They don’t interest Sebastian, and neither do the other patrons of the bar, the broken-down old men who shuffle in through the doors but never seem to shuffle back out, the businessmen who are discussing how much trouble they are going to be in with their wives even as they decide to have just one more drink.
Sebastian is on the lookout for a very specific type of person tonight. He shifts in his seat, trying to unstick himself from his dress shirt and slacks, then reaches up to loosen his tie a little, seeking some relief from the choking heat. He glances in his rearview mirror and confirms that the dark blue Crown Victoria is still parked at the corner of the next street back.
When Sebastian looks forward again, a man halfway down the block catches his attention. He is older than the college crowd, maybe around thirty, and his clothes are expensive but worn. His dark hair is swept gracefully over one side of his face, which is narrow and angular. He is inexplicably wearing a blazer in this heat, but the top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone, baring his pale throat and part of his chest, almost as if he is advertising something. Perfect.
He is heading Sebastian’s way, and Sebastian rests one hand on the steering wheel and his other elbow on the edge of the open driver’s side window. He tries to act casual, to look like he’s done this before, even though his heart is beating faster as the man approaches.
The man’s stride is purposeful as he comes down the sidewalk, only slowing as he nears Sebastian’s car. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asks, raising the eyebrow that isn’t concealed by his hair. Sebastian can’t quite place his accent but guesses that he is European, or at least wants to appear European.
“You give head?” Sebastian asks.
“My, you are very direct,” the man says, but he doesn’t miss a beat, circling to the passenger side of Sebastian’s car and getting in.
“Turn left,” the man says. “I know a place.”
Sebastian pulls away from the curb, glancing in the rearview mirror to see the Crown Victoria pull out into the street behind him. He turns left at the intersection.
“How much?” Sebastian asks.
“You’re not with the police, are you?” the man asks, then adds, “Turn left again.” His hands are constantly in motion, clasping and unclasping, toying with the material of his pants, picking at his fingernails. Sebastian turns left onto a street lined by industrial warehouses.
“Do I look like a fucking cop?” Sebastian shoots back, making a sweeping gesture that encompasses his unshaven face, rumpled dress shirt, and loosened tie. “How much?”
The man seems to take everything in before he replies, “Fifty.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Sebastian splutters, almost hitting the brakes right there, because fifty bucks for a blow job is steep for Krimson City.
The man’s face is impassive. “I’m worth it. Or you can just let me out here.”
“Fine, fifty it is,” Sebastian grumbles, reaching for his wallet. He takes out fifty dollars and hands it to the man. “But you’d better be good.”
“I am good at many things,” the man replies, tucking the money into his pocket before going back to his fidgeting. “Are you certain that fellatio is all you are interested in?”
Sebastian almost hits the brakes again at the word ‘fellatio’, because that is something you don’t hear every day, and certainly not in this part of town at this time of night.
“There,” the man says suddenly, pointing to a dark alleyway between two buildings. Sebastian approaches it slowly, because he is definitely not going in there.
“What other…services do you offer?” Sebastian asks, trying to keep the man from noticing that they have slowed down considerably.
“One hundred for intercourse. If there is something in particular that you want, name it and I will give you a price,” the man replies.
“Well,” Sebastian says, stopping his car at the mouth of the dark alley, “sounds like you might have just what I need.”
The man tilts his head, squinting slightly at Sebastian through his visible eye, and Sebastian can’t really blame him, because this is one of those situations where the code phrase doesn’t sound particularly natural in the conversation.
It doesn’t matter though, because within seconds, the Crown Victoria is screeching to a halt behind them, and the arrest team is moving in, guns drawn. The man whirls around, looks at the arrest team and looks back at Sebastian. The look in his eye is something very close to betrayal.
“Easy,” Sebastian says. “Hands on the dash.” It has been his experience that when people are scared and strung out on cocaine, as this man seems to be, a calmer approach is more effective at preventing erratic behavior. The arrest team unfortunately does not seem to subscribe to this theory, because they are right outside the car now and making a god-awful racket.
At least the man complies with his command, though his hands are shaking as he puts them on the dashboard. In fact, his whole body is shaking, and Sebastian feels a twinge of sympathy, because he is sure that this man didn’t want this life. No one wants this life.
“Don’t move! Hands where we can see them!” bellows Garrett. He’s in uniform, though his broad shoulders and crew cut make him look like a cop no matter what he’s wearing, and he is taking his role as point man for the arrest team very seriously. He yanks the passenger door open, keeping his gun trained on the man the whole time. “Now step out of the car slowly! Keep your hands up!”
The man steps out of the car, still graceful despite his trembling and the fact that he is holding his hands somewhat awkwardly in the air in front of him. Garrett holsters his gun, though the three patrol officers around him keep their weapons out, and takes the man’s hands, securing them in cuffs behind his back. Sebastian can feel the tension leave the air as the patrol officers put their guns away, and he opens the driver’s side door and steps out.
“This is the last one for me tonight,” he says to Garrett over the roof of the car. “I’m off at two hundred.”
“Sure,” Garrett answers. “Who’s our new john?”
“I think Lorton’s up next,” Sebastian answers. “Hold on.” He gets out his cell phone. This traffic isn’t worth tying up a patrol frequency.
He locates Detective Michael Lorton’s contact information and types out a text message.
You still on the sting tonight?
He glances over at Garrett, who has taken the man they’ve just arrested by the elbow and is leading him toward an unmarked patrol car. “Hold up Garrett,” Sebastian calls after him. “Don’t search him yet.”
Sebastian is already two steps ahead. If Garrett is going to put the man in a patrol car, he’s going to have to conduct at least a preliminary search of his person, and if he does that, Sebastian is willing to bet he’s going to find narcotics. Better to have less people handling those narcotics, especially when one of those people is a hot-headed young patrol officer who is eager to prove himself by any means necessary. Garrett turns to look at him.
“I’ll take care of him,” Sebastian says. “I have to go back to the precinct anyway. I’ll just have Lorton bring my car around.”
“Suit yourself,” Garrett replies with a shrug. He starts to walk back toward Sebastian, taking their new prisoner with him. Sebastian’s phone buzzes, and he looks at it to see a message from Lorton.
Yeah, I’m in the library parking lot with the surveillance team. Where are you guys?
Sebastian texts back, Near the corner of 8th and Shaw. Can you bring my car over here?
Garrett waits until Sebastian places a hand on the prisoner’s elbow before walking away to regroup with the arrest team.
Sebastian turns to the prisoner. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and reaches into his other pocket to turn off the hidden microphone that broadcasts his voice to the arrest team. “I’m Detective Castellanos. Did those guys give you your Miranda rights?”
“I know my rights,” the prisoner says. Sebastian can detect a faint tremor in his body, but his voice is calm, dispassionate. His response doesn’t really answer Sebastian’s question, and Sebastian decides to err on the side of caution.
“Well, I have to give them to you again,” Sebastian says, before launching into the usual spiel. He doesn’t even need the pre-printed card anymore, which is a good thing, because it’s probably in his glovebox or something.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.” He pauses for a moment to give them some time to sink in. “Do you understand these rights?”
“Yes,” the prisoner says, letting his head tip back in what Sebastian interprets as exasperation. His hair falls back from his face, and Sebastian catches a glimpse of a heavily scarred area around his right eye before he shakes his hair back into place.
“Whoa,” Sebastian says reflexively, because it’s a bit shocking to see such a vicious looking scar on the face of a man who is otherwise so put-together. “What happened-” He catches himself. This isn’t the time for questions, at least not that kind of question.
There is an eruption of noise behind him, and he turns to see Garrett and another rookie patrol officer whose name he doesn’t know talking animatedly. From the looks of it, they are in the middle of a very raunchy story.
“This way,” Sebastian says, taking the prisoner by the arm and guiding him down the street in the opposite direction. They are still well within sight of the arrest team, but at least it’s a little quieter. “Sit down,” he says, pointing to a low concrete wall- more of a construction barrier, really- that borders the deserted street.
The prisoner sits down on the barrier, and Sebastian stands across from him, still within arm’s reach in case he decides to do something stupid, like run. Even when he is sitting down, he is moving, one leg bouncing as he looks from side to side. Suddenly, he stops and turns back to Sebastian.
“You know, I meant what I said about being worth it.” He has composed himself again, and his voice has a ring of pride to it.
This isn’t the first time someone has tried to buy or negotiate or fuck their way out of an arrest warrant, and Sebastian responds, “That’s not going to work on me.”
“Because you’re straight?” the prisoner asks.
“Because I’m a decent human being,” Sebastian replies; then, after a pause, “And I’m straight.”
The prisoner shrugs and goes back to fidgeting. Sebastian can only hope that Lorton gets here soon, because it’s been a long night. He’s been playing the john in their prostitution sting operation for almost eight hours, and they’ve already made arrests on four female prostitutes, plus the man in front of him. Two of the women are repeat offenders though, and if the behavior of this man is anything to go by, it’s not his first time being arrested either.
Sebastian has only been on the Vice and Narcotics Squad for a year, but he’s starting to wonder whether these operations are doing any good. They just keep arresting the same people over and over again, and all it seems to accomplish is getting them off the street for a short time. Although, considering how dangerous the streets of Krimson are becoming for prostitutes and addicts, it may be for their own good.
He is still deep in thought when Lorton pulls up in Sebastian’s unmarked car. Sebastian flags him down, and Lorton drives up next to the concrete barrier, shuts the engine off, and gets out of the car.
“Thanks, Lorton,” Sebastian says as Lorton throws him the car keys.
Lorton is young, recently promoted to detective and assigned to the Vice Squad, and he’s not a bad kid. He has plenty of enthusiasm for the job but still has a lot to learn, as he demonstrates immediately when he sees the prisoner.
“You got hit on by a dude? Gross,” he says, making a disgusted face.
“Lorton.” Sebastian injects a note of warning into his voice.
“Okay, sorry,” Lorton says quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
“Keep it professional,” Sebastian admonishes. “Sting car’s over there.” He jerks his thumb toward the car he drove over here. “Just take it back to the library lot, and they’ll get you set up.”
“Got it,” Lorton says, taking off toward the sting car at a jog. Sebastian considers telling him that there is no need to run, but realizes that the kid is about to spend several long, boring hours getting propositioned and grabbed by prostitutes, so maybe he needs to work off some of his excess energy.
Sebastian turns back to the prisoner, who is still fidgeting. “Do you have ID on you?”
The prisoner shakes his head. Of course it’s not going to be that easy. Sebastian goes to Plan B.
“What’s your name?”
“Stefano Valentini.”
Sebastian fights the urge to roll his eyes, because ‘Stefano Valentini’ is one of the more ridiculous street names he’s heard. It’s common for sex workers to adopt a false name, and many of them choose names that sound classy, but this one is over the top.
“Okay, we’ll just see about that. Stay right there,” Sebastian instructs. Keeping his eyes on ‘Stefano Valentini’ the whole time, he circles the concrete barrier and approaches his vehicle. He opens the passenger side door and grabs his radio, walking back to ‘Stefano’ as he calls in the request.
“Dispatch, this is Castellanos.”
“This is dispatch. Go with your traffic.” The voice on the other end of the line sounds like its owner has also been up all night.
“Can you run a social for me?” Sebastian asks.
“No problem,” the dispatcher answers.
Sebastian turns to ‘Stefano’. “What’s your social?”
‘Stefano’ rattles off his social security number at such a high rate of speed that Sebastian has to ask him to repeat it twice before he can relay it to dispatch. Sebastian waits for an answer while ‘Stefano’ rolls his shoulders and wiggles his fingers behind his back. Sebastian is starting to wonder if Garrett cuffed him too tightly.
His radio crackles to life. “Comes back to a Stefano Valentini. DOB: 12/22/1985. Male, five-foot-ten, one hundred forty-five pounds, black hair, blue eyes.”
“That’s him,” Sebastian replies, because that clearly describes the man in front of him, and damned if his name isn’t actually Stefano fucking Valentini.
“Need anything else?” the dispatcher asks.
“No thanks. Have a good night,” Sebastian says before tossing the radio into the open passenger side door of his car. Stefano is staring him down with a frustratingly smug look on his face, but Sebastian ignores him. He doesn’t let his emotions get the better of him when he’s dealing with suspects- not anymore.
“Alright Mr. Valentini,” Sebastian says, reaching out to take him by the elbow again. “I need you to come around to the hood of my car.”
Stefano gets to his feet and obediently follows Sebastian around the concrete barrier and up to the hood of his car.
“Do you have anything on you that could hurt me?” Sebastian asks. “Any weapons or needles?”
Stefano is quiet for a moment before he says, “I have a knife.”
“And where is the knife?” Sebastian asks. It’s not unusual for someone in this line of work to carry a taser or small knife for self-defense, especially these days.
“In the left inner pocket of my jacket,” Stefano replies, staring straight ahead of him.
“Don’t move,” Sebastian cautions as he takes hold of Stefano’s cuffed hands in one of his and reaches around Stefano’s body with the other to unbutton his jacket. He manages to do it one-handed and then slips his hand inside the jacket, where he encounters the handle of the knife, grasps it, and draws it out.
“Holy shit.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, because this is not the kind of knife he was expecting. It is every bit of ten inches long and intricately designed. “You weren’t kidding.”
Stefano gives no indication that he’s heard him, and, after staring at the knife in disbelief for a few seconds, Sebastian reaches around the open door to set the knife on the passenger seat next to his radio.
“Anything else on you that you shouldn’t have?” he asks. Stefano stares straight ahead and says nothing.
Sebastian sighs and tries again. “Before I can put you in my car, I need to pat you down and search your pockets. Am I going to find anything else?”
Stefano continues to stare straight ahead in silence, and Sebastian is willing to bet that he is going to find something else, but clearly Stefano isn’t going to give him any help in that regard.
“Hold still,” Sebastian directs. “I’m going to pat down your upper body and search your jacket pockets.”
He starts at Stefano’s shoulders and pats down his arms and torso, then checks the remaining pockets of his jacket. His right inner jacket pocket holds a cell phone and five hundred dollars of currency plus the fifty dollars of marked police money he got from Sebastian. Apparently he was having a pretty successful night.
Sebastian sets the phone and money on the passenger seat as well. He turns back to Stefano.
“Going to search your waistband and pants pockets now,” he says, as he slips his fingers into Stefano’s waistband, making a complete circle of his body before moving on to his pants pockets. He knows he’s getting close, because Stefano is rigid under his hands, and as he passes his hand over the front right pocket, he feels a telltale bulge.
Stefano lets all of the air out of his lungs in a rush as Sebastian slides his hand into his pocket and retrieves exactly what he knew he would find, a tied-off plastic baggie containing a white, powdery substance.
“Is this what I think it is?” Sebastian asks, holding the baggie up in front of Stefano’s face. Stefano makes no move, no attempt to respond. Sebastian might as well be talking to a statue. It doesn’t matter though, because he’ll field test the powder as soon as he’s back at the precinct, and it’ll be positive for cocaine. He is certain of that.
He finishes up the search, finding nothing else of note. It’s really only a preliminary procedure to make sure that he can safely transport Stefano anyway. The deputies at the jail will perform a much more thorough search.
As he closes the passenger door, he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye and turns to see Stefano rolling his shoulders again. He reaches for Stefano’s hands, holding them just long enough to determine that they are cool to the touch. Garrett definitely cuffed him too tight.
“Are you going to behave yourself if I switch your cuffs to the front?” Sebastian asks. He doesn’t do this for everyone, but he needs to adjust them anyway, and Stefano was courteous enough to tell him about the knife so that Sebastian didn’t cut his hand when he tried to search him.
Stefano nods, and Sebastian undoes the cuffs, lets Stefano make a few circles with his arms to get the blood flowing again, and re-cuffs him with his hands in front this time.
“Alright, let’s go,” Sebastian says, taking Stefano by the upper arm and leading him to the rear door of the car, which he opens. Even though it’s an unmarked vehicle, the back is secure for prisoner transportation, and he waits for Stefano to slide onto the bench seat before he shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and turns on the air-conditioning, because he is done with this heat.
Sebastian starts to type up his preliminary notes on the laptop mounted on his center console. Stefano is silent, though after a few minutes he goes back to fidgeting, twisting his hands over and over each other in front of him and picking at a seam on his pants. When he transitions to drumming his fingers on the barrier that separates the front seat from the back, Sebastian has had enough.
“Can you knock that off? It’s really fucking annoying.”
To his credit, Stefano does stop, dropping his gaze to the floor and sitting in sullen silence while Sebastian finishes his notes. It’s clear to Sebastian now that Stefano has been arrested before, probably for crimes similar to the ones he’s committed tonight. He knows the drill. He isn’t complaining that Sebastian lied to him, or throwing around words like ‘entrapment’, or trying to talk his way out of this. Apparently the offer he made Sebastian out on the sidewalk was his last ditch attempt.
Sebastian closes the laptop, shifts into drive, and turns the car around. He waves to the arrest team, which seems to be regrouping for the next run, and heads back to the precinct. Stefano is silent the whole way there, eye still trained on the floor.
Back at Krimson City’s First Precinct, Sebastian walks Stefano to a secure interview room, removes his handcuffs, and leaves him there for a few minutes while he returns to the car to collect the evidence. The field test on the white powder is positive for cocaine, which is no surprise, but it also means that Stefano is now facing a felony charge, and the stakes are considerably higher.
Sebastian swings open the door to the interview room, and Stefano startles into a sitting position from where he’s apparently been resting his head on the table. Here, under the harsh fluorescent lights, he is very pale and the dark circle under his eye is pronounced.
Sebastian sits down across the table from him and starts in with the usual information. “As you have probably figured out, you are under arrest-”
“For what?” Stefano interrupts him.
“Prostitution, carrying a concealed weapon, and possession of cocaine,” Sebastian shoots back. Stefano’s expression doesn’t change, but he does seem to go a shade paler than he was before. “I’ve already gone over your rights with you. Do you want to waive those rights and make a statement?”
“No,” Stefano replies. “I want an attorney.”
“Okay then,” Sebastian says, getting up from the table, because those are the magic words that make the questioning stop. Stefano has definitely done this before.
After that it’s all paperwork. He takes Stefano down to the magistrate, swears out his warrants and drops him off with the deputies to be booked into the jail. Sebastian warns them that Stefano will probably need to detox so that they can at least put him in the medical block. Then it’s back to his desk at the precinct to document and voucher the evidence and put the cocaine in the mail run to go to the state lab for official testing.
When Sebastian comes back from the evidence room, he finds Joseph Oda already sitting at his desk. He and Joseph work opposite shifts but share a desk, so in a weird way they’re kind of like roommates. Joseph is holding the phone in one hand, and the other is pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, which Sebastian knows is not a good sign.
“I don’t know either,” Joseph is saying. “I mean, of course she was still using, but I didn’t think-”. He pauses, nodding a few times as several seconds go by. “Thank you,” he says finally before hanging up the phone. He swivels to face Sebastian, interlaces his fingers behind his head, and leans back in his chair.
“Sandra Paxton’s dead,” he says. His tone is matter of fact, but his expression is strained. “Looks like an overdose. Some homeless guy found her body under a bridge out by the power plant.”
“Holy shit,” Sebastian breathes. “Isn’t she the third one this month?”
“At least,” Joseph replies.
“Do you think someone found out she was a snitch?” Sebastian asks.
“Seb, you know how much I hate that word,” Joseph says. “And I don’t know. She helped me set up a couple of buys from a low-level dealer. Nothing that would have led to this.”
“Unless she attracted the attention of someone who wasn’t so low-level,” Sebastian muses. Then he asks, “Is the tox screen back? Are you sure it was an overdose?”
“Slow down,” Joseph says, tilting his chair upright again and crossing one leg over the other. “I’m not investigating her death, because I’m not a homicide detective anymore.” He looks pointedly at Sebastian. “And neither are you. Kidman just called me as a courtesy to let me know that Sandra won’t be working with me anymore.”
“Right, how courteous of her,” Sebastian replies, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He doesn’t have to with Joseph, because Joseph of all people understands how ridiculous it is that the rookie detective they were assigned to train two years ago has lasted longer in Homicide than either one of them.
Of course, Kidman also never got caught on videotape beating the shit out of a suspect in an interview room, never mind that the guy had murdered his three-year-old daughter for fuck’s sake. Sebastian is willing to admit that he loses control on occasion, and that he might have been particularly short-tempered at the time of ‘the incident’, as he and Joseph now call it, but god damn it that asshole deserved exactly what he got. Unfortunately his sergeant didn’t see it that way, and Sebastian was reassigned to a position where he could be ‘less emotional.’
Sebastian still doesn’t fully understand why Joseph was transferred from Homicide with him. Joseph was present during ‘the incident’ of course, and in fact Joseph was the only thing that kept Sebastian from actually killing that worthless piece of shit. Sebastian doesn’t know what happened behind closed doors at Joseph’s disciplinary hearing, but he does know that an hour later, Joseph was right there with him clearing out his desk in the Homicide section and that later that evening was the only time Joseph ever accepted his invitation to come out for a beer.
Homicide detective or not, this has been a frustrating string of cases, and Sebastian can’t let it go just yet. “It’s gonna be like the others though.” He shakes his head as he sits down on the edge of the desk. “The report will come back ‘cause of death undetermined; suspected drug overdose; no sign of foul play,’ and then even Kidman won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“Well if there’s no sign of foul play, then what would Homicide do about it anyway?” Joseph asks.
“Come on Joseph,” Sebastian groans. “You know as well as I do that these people aren’t overdosing by themselves-”
Joseph opens his mouth to speak, but Sebastian cuts him off. “-Okay, some of them are overdosing by themselves, but not all of them.”
“I agree,” Joseph says. “That’s sort of the point of working with the informants. We go up the chain until we reach whoever is selling to the people who are dying.”
“But we’re not getting there fast enough,” Sebastian retorts. “The snitches-”. Joseph glares at him, but he presses on. “-keep turning up dead before we can make any progress. There’s something else going on here. Maybe a new drug, maybe some other factor- I don’t know, but Homicide’s not getting the job done.”
“Probably because they’re busy with murders that can actually be solved,” Joseph answers. Sebastian starts to speak again, but Joseph holds up a hand, silencing him. “Look, Seb, I can ask for the tox report on Sandra, but I seriously doubt anything would still be in her system at this point. Go home and get some sleep. Your shift ended half an hour ago.”
“Fine, I will,” Sebastian says, pushing off of the desk and onto his feet. He knows Joseph is right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to walk away from an unsolved case. “Stay safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Seb,” Joseph says with a smile before turning back to his computer.
Sebastian heads for the door, but calls over his shoulder, “Oh by the way, I think I left some important files for you in that desk somewhere. You should probably take a look.” He is out the door before Joseph can realize that what he actually left in the top drawer of the desk is a bag of Joseph’s favorite candy, and he is halfway across the parking lot when his phone buzzes with Joseph’s text message.
Thanks Seb.
Sebastian types back, No problem.
He considers driving his department-issued car home, but opts to take his personal vehicle instead, because even at almost three in the morning, it’s about ninety degrees out and his jeep with the top down sounds much better than a stuffy patrol car. He climbs in, starts the engine, and pulls out of the parking lot. He doesn’t particularly want to go home, but there’s nowhere else for him to go.
It takes him less than twenty minutes to reach the small house in the suburbs. The grass is getting a little too long, and the bushes are starting to encroach on the front windows, but Sebastian can’t be bothered with that right now. Myra was the one who liked to work in the yard, and Myra isn’t here.
He parks in the driveway and goes to the front door so he doesn’t have to see Myra’s car in the garage. He unlocks the door and pauses for a moment, hand on the knob, because even after two and half years, even at a different house, he can smell smoke. He can feel a heat emanating from the house that has nothing to do with the summer night, but at least he’s not hearing the screams. He waits, sucking in a huge lungful of clean air, and opens the door to find the house exactly as he left it- empty.