Chapter Text
Precinct 59
" Those things are going to be the death of you."
" Fuck off."
Ambrose watched as the wispy white smoke escaped from his lips and twisted its way out through the opened car window to quickly dissolve into nothing in the atmosphere. He took another drag on the cigarette that rested comfortably between his index and middle fingers. He was on a stakeout with his partner Chris Jericho behind a warehouse in downtown Baltimore. They were detectives in a very much unacknowledged small precinct that most cops in town had never heard of, except when they wanted someone to go into the inner cities to do grunt work that they considered beneath them. For the past few months they had been following a small time cocaine dealer hoping that he would set them on a trail to find the big fish at the end of the line.
Jericho looked over at his partner. His auburn hair was scattered across his forehead as his pale blue eyes looked decidedly bored as he stared out the windshield of the government issued 2002 Ford Taurus. Ambrose was a strange fish but he had an uncanny knack of picking the right guy to follow and watch during these types of operations. For a relatively young detective in his late twenties he had developed a pretty good skill that took most other detectives years to master. Jericho, had not too long ago turned forty-one and was now becoming at ease at trusting his gut and not second guessing himself.
" You're drawing attention to us. We're supposed to be undercover."
Dean rolled his eyes and reclined his seat so that he could stretch out his long legs and place his feet on top of the cracked dashboard.
" We're two white guys sitting in a car in an alley down behind a warehouse at ten in the morning." Ambrose released another puff of smoke from his lungs. " We're either cops or two down low fags about to fuck."
He raised his eyebrow at Jericho who was scowling at him. " Take your pick."
" Well I don't fuck people who smoke." Jericho reached for the styrofoam cup that contained the last bit of coffee that had gone cold for quite a while now. He sloshed it around in the cup wondering if he should drink it.
From the corner of his eye he noticed Ambrose flicking the unfinished cigarette out through the window. He turned to look at the younger man who was wearing a mischievous grin on his face.
" Well the cigarette is gone now." Ambrose smirked at him.
Jericho stared at him for a few moments and then sighed. Ambrose was trying to bait him as usual. He always knew what to say or do to get under his skin. " I'm not fucking you."
Ambrose gave a short laugh revealing his pristine white teeth as he did so. Jericho was always amazed at how white Dean's teeth remained even though some days he smoked like a chimney.
" Well I don't want you to." Ambrose looked over at his partner who put his cup of coffee back into the cup holder. " You're probably a lousy lay anyway."
The way Ambrose said it in such a matter-of -fact manner as if he had spent plenty of time assessing Jericho's physical prowness and had come to that dismal conclusion upset Jericho a bit.
" I've never had any complaints." Jericho responded a bit gruffly. " Besides, the way how you drink and smoke, you probably can't get it up half the time."
Ambrose brushed his fingers over the crotch of his faded blue denim pants. " My cock works quite fine, thank you very much."
He plucked another cigarette out of his pocket but as soon as Jericho saw it he grabbed it from the surprised detective's fingers and threw it out the window.
" I don't care if you want to kill your lungs Ambrose, but you're not going to kill mine." He looked at Dean expecting him to defy him.
However Ambrose simply shrugged his shoulders. " You're in a mood today." He took his cellphone out and started to play a game on it. Jericho watched with a bit of astonishment at how easily Ambrose dismissed him. He sat back in the worn out seat and stared out the window looking at nothing in particular. Sometimes Dean's callous behaviour got to him even though Jericho never showed it. He often wondered why he couldn't brush off Dean's behaviour as easily as he did him. Chris sometimes wondered if the man even liked him at all or only tolerated him because they had been teamed up as partners for the past year.
The next couple of hours passed in relative silence. Being couped up in a car for hours was one of the worse parts of the job but it was what the city paid him for, so Jericho did it.
Just after midday Dean placed his cellphone back into his pocket. The battery was probably dead anyway, mused Jericho.
" Look, I don't think the guy is coming." This was the first time that Ambrose had spoken to him in the two hours. " Let's head back to the precinct."
Chris started the car wordlessly. He trusted Ambrose's instincts over his own. If Ambrose said the guy was going to be a no show then most likely it would be true. Plus Chris was hungry and wanted to get some lunch anyway. They drove down the alley to head to the place that was like a second home to all of them who worked there.
Precinct 59 was located in a small warehouse in a mostly forgotten part of downtown Baltimore. It was surround by other lonely abandoned warehouses that served as housing for rats and sometimes the homeless. A small weathered sign stood over the entrance letting the public know that a police station was there, not that anyone from the public ever came. Precinct 59 was special because it housed only eight detectives and their captain. They did the grunt work for Major Cases and in returned received little to no mention for their contributions. When a major case was solved and a press conference was held, the captain of Major Cases would stand proudly up on the platform with his arrogant nose in the air as he praised and lauded the work of his detectives and always seemingly forgot the ones who lead them down the right path to begin with. Then Commissioner Hemsley would pat the pale Irish fuck O'Shaunessy on his back and they would smile at each other and bask in each other's glory.
There was no reception area at Precinct 59, as no one ever came into the building except for the detectives and on rare occassions when the city remembered to send them office supplies a messenger would drop by. There was one main room where all the detectives sat at their desks. The captain's office was separated from them with some dry wall and a frosted glass door which he usually kept open. It also had one jail cell in the back that was never used because they never arrested anyone. Their job was to follow, spy and sometimes infiltrate but never to confront or arrest. They were under strict orders not to do so from the Commissioner. So the jail cell was used as the supply closet because the city didn't feel generous enough to spare the money for a few bricks or drywall to build one in the warehouse. Surprisingly the two bathrooms, one for the ladies and the other for the gents were renovated and modern and did not fit in with the drab grey walls in the rest of the place.
" Oooora! Oooora!" A hound like sound ripped through the building.
CM Punk rolled his olive green eyes dramatically. He was in his early thirties with two full sleeves of tattoos and a silver lip ring in the corner of his thin bottom lip. " O'Neil, cut that racket out."
Titus O'Neil made his way through the precinct carrying a large tubberware container in both hands. Whoever had told O'Neil that he could be a detective lied to him. The African American was six foot six inches tall and packed with lean muscle. Lots of people mistook him for a basketball star even though none could say exactly who. One of the keys of being a great detective was the ability to blend in with the crowd but O'Neil stood out like a sore thumb. Everyone remembered him no matter where they went, so he had been regulated to desk duty. It just wasn't safe to put him on the streets.
O'Neil laughed and placed the tubberware container on Punk's desk. " You just mad cause you lost that bet on the baseball game last night."
" Whatever," Punk said gruffly. He eyed the container on his desk. " Did Sheila make cookies?"
Titus nodded. " Yup. Chocolate chip. And pass them around, don't play stingy like the last time."
Punk quickly opened the container and smiled at the sight of about thirty chocolate chip cookies infront of him.
He spoke as he grabbed a large handful of about six cookies. " Well maybe she should stop making them taste so good then."
He tapped Roman Reigns who was sitting in front of with the edge of the container. Without turning around the man took the container from Punk as he remained focused on what he was looking at on his computer.
" Did I hear that Sheila made cookies?"
Captain John Cena leaned against the door frame of his office as O'Neil approached him.
" Yeah you know how it is." O'Neil handed Cena a brown paper bag. " She told me to give these to you."
Cena opened the bag and took out a large cookie and the chocolate chips were in a 'C' shape. He smiled and took a bite. " Tell her that I said thanks. I really appreciate it."
" Hey how come he gets special cookies?" Punk whined.
" Because I'm the captain."
" Bullshit."
Titus laughed. " Actually that's what she said. Sheila said that he deserves something special for having to put up with us on a daily basis."
" She's a smart girl." Cena continued to eat the delicious cookie. He looked at Titus. " So when do you plan on marrying her?"
O'Neil plopped down in his chair and threw his hands up in the air. " Man. I ain't ready for that yet. I'm still a young buck with plenty of oats to sow."
" Yeah, and when you're busy planting your seeds the faithful crop might just leave." John folded his arms and looked at him. " Sheila's a good woman O'Neil. It's been what...five years? She isn't going to stick around forever."
Titus fiddled with a pen on his desk. " Yeah I know."
" Or you could just break up with her and let me have her."
O'Neil shot a look at the man sitting next to him. " Are you crazy Orton? Sheila would never go out with you. You've got baby mamas in six different towns."
" Hey, it's only three towns. Stop exaggerating the facts." Randy Orton's smile played on his lips. " I can't help it if women love The Viper." The Viper was Randy's nickname for his dick.
" Well maybe that viper needs to be put down. It isn't safe for it to be running around like that. I'm surprised that I didn't get pregnant from sitting next to you for all of this time."
The entire office bursted out in laughter. John laughed as well as he brushed the crumbs off his face. They didn't have much in the precinct. Hell, it was a big deal when they finally got a new photocopier last year. But they were a close knit bunch. They were more than workmates. They were family.
Punk piped up. " Hey maybe I can take Sheila. I don't have any baby mamas."
O'Neil looked over at him. " Are you crazy? You're my best friend."
" Exactly. So Sheila knows exactly what she's getting." Punk teased.
O'Neil shook his head. " Y'all a bunch of horndogs. Can't take y'all anywhere to meet anybody."
Ambrose and Jericho walked in on the final part of the exchange. Jericho noticed that Ambrose was smiling. He had a nice smile that lit up his entire face that made him look years younger, almost like a college freshman. Jericho became conscious that he was staring at Dean and looked away. That man was slowly seeping under his skin and he didn't know what to do to stop it.