Chapter Text
Eddie's trying not to cringe as Cyndi Lauper comes on rotation for the fourth time since he'd set up shop at Harrington's party. Easy access at the kitchen counter, next to the bottles of shitty vodka. Sure, the music sucks but the money's easy. His wallet's packed with more cash than he's had in weeks, so he won't complain about the shit pouring through the speakers. Out loud at least.
Suddenly, the music cuts out.
"Cops!" Hagan yells.
And then everyone's moving.
Droves of people are rushing out the open back and side doors. People including John Carver who moments ago was buying Eddie's last dime bag of coke off of him, but is now pushing him back into the island. Eddie sucks in a groan as his hip skates the corner of the marble and he tries to scramble for his lunchbox. It's a feeble attempt at making a run for it, but Carver had pushed him hard for literally no conceivable reason. Prick. And now, the lunchbox is laying dismembered on the ground in front Eddie, drugs askew. It's all weed thankfully. A couple of pre-rolls, some loose bud, and a few edibles. Stuff he can hide if he really needs to. Maybe King Steve will thank him if he shoves the cookies into his fridge.
He's falling to his knees to sweep everything back into the black tin lunchbox when he hears Officer Callahan ripping into Harrington. Something about responsibility blah blah blah. And Eddie's stomach wants to claw its way out of his mouth at that. Because if he can hear Callahan that clearly, then he's pretty sure he's fucked. He looks up and he can see that, yep, it's just the three of them. Oh joy.
He swallows down the nausea and tries to move with stealth, hide his stash in the cabinets behind him. Maybe it's the chains rattling or law enforcement's general propensity to single Eddie out. But, it's like he has a fucking homing beacon on him that the pigs can't help but pick up on. Pretty much the second he's standing up straight, Callahan spots him.
"Munson, don't even think about making a run for it. Couch now." He points to what Eddie presumes is the couch where Harrington is sitting, big hair poking out from the side of the wall. He's not used to being allowed to sit on a couch in front of cops. Honestly, he's surprised Callahan hasn't set a lackey on him.
"Didn't know we were getting comfortable, Officer. Are we gonna paint our nails and gossip too?" He lets the sarcasm drip and he hears Harrington snort at that. He leaves the tin box behind him as he makes his way over, hoping that if he's not near it then nothing will come of it. That it'll blend in with the bottles around it, and that Callahan will leave it be, and by extension leave him be. Maybe he'll get off with a phone call to Wayne about underage drinking or something. Though, Eddie doesn't drink while working.
"Yeah, don't think I didn't see the lunchbox Munson, bring that with you. Didn't your parents teach you that sharing is caring?" Callahan sasses him, hands on his hips in a quintessential mom pose.
Okay, so maybe Eddie is like totally fucked then. Though he doesn't have much left on him, he could probably sneak it into the cracks of the couch or something and get off with community service. He grabs for the tinbox, hands feeling clammy with sweat as he does so and makes his way towards the couch. He take his time, not too much of it, but enough so that it conveys that he's not afraid—which is total bullshit, he's pretty sure he's gonna have acid reflux for the next week, at least. Eddie plops down next to Harrington. Not too close but close enough to the crack between couch cushions that he could sneak something in there if Callahan's paying attention to Harrington instead of him.
He's ready for Callahan to rip him—them— a new one. Really he's ready to hear the same speech as always, this time also directed at the pretty rich boy next to him. "You're wasting your potential blah blah blah. Throwing away your life blah blah blah." The usual after school special DARE program bullshit, that people with money and options like to spew to make themselves feel better. But instead, Callahan's not paying much attention to him at all, he's looking at Eddie, sure, but he's not talking to him. He's telling Harrington that he's an idiot for playing the music so loudly, that he's lucky Hopper or Powell weren't patrolling nearby, because they would call his parents. And huh. Eddie doesn't think he could have been paid to predict this. He's been to many parties that have been broken up and he's been lucky enough to not get caught before, wouldn't have been caught this time if it wasn't for Carver, but he's pretty sure cops don't give you speeches on how to not get caught. And they definitely don't cover for you. Which honestly figures, that the one time he'd witness this, would be at a Harrington party. Being rich and having a lawyer as a dad had its perks he guesses. He sort of tunes out the rest of Callahan's speech. Mind running through the treatment, he's about to get. Treatment that he knows is very very different from what Harrington's getting right now.
Eddie realizes Callahan's no longer talking when he sees him snap his fingers an inch from his nose. He jerks back a little at the sudden intrusion, pulling him from his rumination.
"Let's go kid. I'll walk you out." He steps back and waits for Eddie to lead him to the door. He's a little thankful that Callahan isn't cuffing him in front of Harrington. If he had to show up to school with the story of his arrest all over on Monday, he's pretty sure he'd cry. Not in front of anybody actually. But Gareth's couch pillows would know. It's chilly out and there's a breeze that skitters up his bare arms. He probably should have brought his jacket, but Harrington's with more than a hundred people would have been sweltering. He's regretting that. Regretting a lot of things right now. Like father like son, he guesses.
"So what's an eighth go for?" Callahan asks behind him, fishing out his wallet.
Which, what the fuck?
"Sorry?" Eddie croaks out. His mind's reeling, if his head wasn't literally attached to his body he's pretty sure it'd spin off. This isn't the first time a cop has tried to buy off of him. Hopper is one of his most loyal customers after all. But this is definitely the first time a cop has tried to buy off of him while arresting him. Which wow that's fucked up. What is he supposed to do? He's pretty sure if he sells to him, that's more evidence against his own name. But also if he doesn't sell to Callahan does that mean he's gonna be more of a hard ass to him?
"How much is an eighth, Munson? My shift's been over for the last half hour, and I'd like to take the edge off if you don't mind. I know it's gotta be better than the oregano Lewis is pedaling off as pot."
"You're—" Eddie's cut off.
"I am off duty and therefore a civilian. As in, I cannot and will not arrest you," Callahan finishes for him.
"Right. Uhh. All I've got on me are dime bags and pre-rolls, some edibles man. No eighths. But we can do four dimes for twenty and I'll throw in a cookie — they're raspberry white chocolate — for free?" It's a steal. But he'd up-charged Hagan and the basketball team's goons all night, so he could afford this. Especially if it meant no jail and no record.
"It's a deal." Callahan forks over a twenty dollar bill and Eddie slips it into his pocket. Flipping the lid open and fishing out the bud and a ziploc bag with a cookie for Callahan.
"Nice doing business with you, Officer. Do come again." Eddie bows a little and flashes his whitest smile at the man.
"Uhuh. Get out of here kid." Callahan motions at the still night and well, who is Eddie to deny the man? He latches his lunchbox and gets on his way to his van, parked a few blocks down.
If Eddie wasn't so focused on making it to his car before Callahan changed his mind, he'd probably notice that Callahan wasn't leaving the Harrington's , he'd see him slip back inside the house. He'd probably even hear him telling Harrington to get his grinder and pipe through the door as it closed. But Eddie is focused on booking it home, so he doesn't see or hear anything untoward. Instead he walks down the street as quickly as he can without it looking suspicious and swings into his van, shutting the door with an oomph.