Family Bashings

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“You wanna drive?” Doyle dangled the keys in front of Kord. The former undercover cop had been silent since they’d left the captain’s office. Kord glanced up, as if he’d heard a sound he couldn’t make out. Doyle looked into the man’s clear green eyes and saw something more than anger. Pain? Regret? Frustration? Doyle couldn’t tell.

“You sure you want to risk your life? I mean…isn’t that what you’re not so good at doin’?”

The remark hit home and Doyle knew that’s exactly what the blond hunk was aiming for. Kord was establishing the pecking order and, even if he was a Class A f**k up, he knew he was better than Doyle. That’s how most of the other cops saw things. It made life miserable and time at work almost unbearable. But Doyle had decided to endure the pain, push it to the back of his mind. He could do that now with this guy, too.

“How bad can you be?” Doyle regretted saying that as he folded himself into the passenger seat. He had no idea what kind of yahoo this guy was although the outlines of the problem were slowly emerging. He steeled himself for the ride.

Kord turned the key in the ignition, gripped the steering wheel, and glanced out the window. “Blast off!” he shouted and stepped on the gas. “Just kidding.” He eased up as they sailed through the parking lot, narrowly missing the tail of the captain’s new Lexus. He slowed the car when they neared the exit to the street. He applied the brakes and let the car idle. “Where to?”

Doyle looked over the contents of the folder. “The case involves the beatings of gay men outside several afterhours clubs. Two of the men are still in rehab. The case got a lot of press two years ago but it was never closed. You hear about it?”

“I was undercover until a couple days ago. The only things I heard about were drugs, whores, and guns.”

“They hit a real dead end with this one,” Doyle said. “Few witnesses. No other leads.”

“Great. What’s that asshat captain expect us to do?”

“He expects us to fail,” Doyle said.

“Hey, that’s brilliant, Sherlock. I already knew that much. The bastard couldn’t have made it any clearer.”

“That’s Captain Herd. A real sweetheart.”

“I don’t like him,” Kord said. “It’s visceral. As soon as I saw him, I hated him.”

“I know what you mean,” Doyle agreed. The captain had disliked Doyle even before the Incident. Doyle suspected the captain was homophobic. He’d never say as much but it was hidden in everything: cases, partner assignments, and more.

“And I don’t like to fail,” Kord added. “I’m not letting that turkey win.”

“So, we start at the beginning and see if they missed anything when they worked the case the first time. I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

“You’ll have to fill in the details. It’s all news to me.”

After giving some case background, Doyle said, “We need to reinterview everybody we can. It’s not a long list, the first investigators, Kaine and Keegan, just skimmed the surface, looks like.”

“So who do we have?”

“There were six victims. One is in rehab with severe brain damage. Three refused to talk the first time around, and one of them is also still in rehab. That leaves two others. Not sure about where they are.”

“Any more?”

“There’s the witness list, which is pretty thin with only three or four names. And the club people: owners, staff, and the rest. We need to at least talk to as many as we can.”

“Makes sense. So, where to first?”

In response, Doyle gave him the name and address of the first nightclub on the list, Club Rome.

“Who’s gonna be at an afterhours club at seven in the morning?”

“These clubs don’t close until the wee hours. There’s often some staff that stay around cleaning up and prepping for the night. There may still be people there at this hour. Closing time for them wasn’t all that long ago.”

“Sounds like you’re the expert,” Kord said and tapped the address into the navigation app on his phone. “This place isn’t far.”

“While you drive, I’ll give you the details on the gay clubs and what went on before and after the attacks.”

“Hard to believe.” Kord shook his head. “I go from taking down big-time drug lords to chasing after queens.”

“Just so you know…” Doyle said, smiling to himself. If Kord wanted to chase him, he’d run as slow as he could. But that didn’t mean Kord could get away with being a boor.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We gotta be all PC and watch what we say. It’s all la dee dah and roses. This sucks.” He pounded hard on the steering wheel and the car answered with a shudder.

“Could be worse.”

“No, it couldn’t. I’m sittin’ here with a fag detective who, from what I’ve heard, is like poison to everybody else on the force. And that poison is gonna rub off on me. Add to that, I get pulled from a crucial undercover op, and all my work on that case is f****d to hell. So, no, things couldn’t be much worse.”

“Captain could’ve given us a week to come up with something. That’d be worse.”

“Great. Three weeks to f**k up. No leads. No way to succeed.” Kord barked out a harsh laugh. “What’s stoppin’ us?” He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and the car shook again. There was a lot of strength and anger in those arms.

“Let’s roll then,” Doyle said.

Kord stepped on the gas. More gently this time and they moved out onto Eighth Street. Philly looked good in the morning light, everything appeared clean and new. This part of the downtown was getting a major and much needed overhaul, Doyle thought, as they passed by the empty husk of The Gallery, one of the country’s first downtown malls. It hadn’t succeeded but was being given a complete makeover. Nearby, new condo and apartment buildings were filling the empty lots that had been a blight on the city. Things were looking up after a long downturn. Despite their predicament, Doyle found himself feeling hopeful.

“I wanna make sure you’ve got my back, McCann. I heard you’re not too good at that s**t. You know, protecting your partner. Not that I think this assignment is gonna be dangerous. What’re they gonna do, beat us to death with dildoes?”

“Not everything you hear is true.”

“No? Then why’s everybody steer clear of you like you’re some kind of rattlesnake.”

“Long story and you don’t wanna hear it.” Truth be told, Doyle didn’t want to tell it. If the actual story got out, it could mean his former partner would be in serious trouble. He knew Kord was smart enough to figure out the truth from the story Doyle had made up to protect his former partner. So, he didn’t even want to tell that version to the hunk in the driver’s seat.

“We’ve got three weeks side by side. Plenty of time for a long story.” Kord’s voice was low and almost kind. But Doyle wasn’t taking any chances.

“Maybe. We’ll see. But what about you? I can’t understand why they yanked you out of your undercover assignment. I mean, you were making progress on the case, right? And you seem like a guy who’s got a lot of self-control. Maybe even good sense. And you’re cool under pressure.” Doyle said, deflecting as best he could.

Kord laughed, a sterile, harsh sound. “A model of self-control. Yeah. That’s why they pulled me. They dicked me over good, for something that everybody does. There’s something else going on with that op. I know it. Somebody had it in for me. But I don’t know the real reasons.”

“Like you said, we’ve got three weeks cheek by cheek, maybe we can figure out what happened. In the meantime, you need to clean up your act or we’ll both be lining up for unemployment.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“We can beat this.” Doyle didn’t feel as hopeful as he sounded but he promised himself that he’d do the best he could.

“So, you’re not worried? The big shot gay detective isn’t worried?”

“Of course, I’m worried but I’m not gonna let that stop me…or you. We’ll crack the case and make an arrest.”

“I’m with you. I wanna see that rat’s face when we collar somebody. But when I’m being realistic, I don’t think the captain cares if we close this case or not. I think he intends to get rid of us both.”

“You could be right. The captain’s a lying bastard.”

“No ‘could be’ about it. Workin’ undercover, I met plenty of guys like him. On and off the force. Under that ugly exterior is somethin’ uglier. Even dangerous. He wants to get rid of us both.”

“I know why he hates me. But what the hell did you do?” Doyle asked, mostly because he didn’t want to think about what Kord had just said. “Why would they wanna cut you loose? Good undercover cops aren’t easy to find.”

“You ever work undercover?”

Doyle thought about the years he spent hiding his true self, kicking around in the closet waiting for something. Pretending he was straight, pretending to like women, attending the drunken cop parties, carousing with straight cops as they picked up any woman who threw herself at them while he hung back, pretending to be too drunk to perform. That’s about as undercover as you get. Denying yourself even to yourself. You never really believe it all, you know you could have a different life, a better life. But to keep your job, to keep from getting ostracized, you stay in that closet and pretend.

“Not exactly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You either did or you didn’t.”

“If being in the closet counts, then I did.”

“Don’t be a p***y. That doesn’t count. Being undercover is a lot more than hiding behind your beard’s skirts.”

“Being in the closet takes a lot out of a person. Lying every day. Pretending. Saying one thing and thinking another. I ought’a know.”

“Bein’ undercover takes everything out of you. Everything. You leave your real life back in the dumpster. You become somethin’ you never thought you’d be. You do things…” He paused. Doyle looked over at him and saw the color rise in his face. Not the color of embarrassment but of anger and fury.

“You went over the edge?”

“You do things because if you don’t, you get made. Then you get killed.” He brought the car to an abrupt stop at a red light. Both of them were flung forward then back.

“Maybe you should let me drive,” Doyle said.

“Maybe you should check your candy ass and watch how a real man drives.” He gripped the steering wheel waiting for the light to change. “Where exactly do we find this place? The GPS says we’re close but I don’t see it.”

“Walnut at the corner of Eleventh. Not on the ground floor. And there’s no parking at—”

Kord peeled out and the car flew over the streets until they came to Eleventh. Just as Doyle had said, there was no parking. That didn’t stop Kord. He jumped the curb with the car and parked it on the pavement in front of Club Rome. The first of the afterhours clubs where two years before several male patrons had gotten bashed with alarming regularity. After the events at Club Rome, then other clubs were hit.

“Nice parking,” Doyle said. “I’ll have to remember next time I can’t find a space.”

“Gets the job done. Who’re we seein’ in this dive?”

“The manager’s name is Giorgio. The report says he witnessed one of the bashings but couldn’t give details. I tried calling him to see if he’d be willing to talk again, but his phone goes to voicemail every time.”

“Let’s get this over with. I have my doubts about people like this. He’s probably a drama queen and didn’t see what he thought he saw.”

Doyle tried the door. This club didn’t open until ten in the evening so even if staff had stayed to clean up, he didn’t expect the door to be open and was surprised when it was.

Pushing the door in, they were faced with a dark vestibule and a long set of stairs. The club was located on the second and third floors of the old building. The first floor housed a twenty-four hour diner that came in handy for patrons spilling out at all hours.

“Funny thing about this—” Doyle started.

“Yeah, barrel of laughs this place. Looks like a scene in a serial killer flick.”

“I didn’t mean this place. I meant the diner.”

“What about it? Just a greasy spoon. Probably has ten million health code violations.”

“Maybe, but the guys who caught this case two years ago, don’t seem to have interviewed anybody in the diner. Not management or servers or customers. It wasn’t mentioned at all in their report.”

“Well, maybe no one had much to say. Or could be nobody would talk.”

“That might be but neither Kaine nor Keegan bothered to make a note of that. They should’ve.”

“A candy ass and a stickler for the rules.”

“When it comes to closing cases, everything helps.”

“We can hit the place on the way out. It’s not goin’ anywhere.” Kord pushed past Doyle, sliding his body against the detective to get through the narrow doorway.

“In a hurry?” Doyle asked, still savoring the feel of the man. And his scent—masculine and heady. Doyle couldn’t even describe it. All he knew was that he wanted more.

“I wanna get this done. Places like this give me the creeps.”

“Big bad undercover cop is unnerved by the possibility of gay men.”

“Shut it and let’s move.” He clumped up the dimly lit stairs, his pants hugging his butt so nicely that Doyle couldn’t pay attention to anything else. A sudden gust of wind slammed the door shut behind them. Startled, Doyle jolted forward and his face came into contact with Kord’s ass.

“Hey!” Kord growled. “At least buy me a beer first.”

Doyle laughed, glad to see the gruff hunk had a sense of humor. “I will.”

“Don’t get any ideas, McCann.”

“The guy we’re looking for is named Giorgio, the manager. But the placed is owned by Andrew Podesta. Ever heard of him?”

“I met the guy once or twice,” Kord said and there was something in his voice that said he knew a lot more than the name.

“You think he’ll recognize you from undercover work?” Doyle was concerned that this might compromise the investigation.

“Even if he does, so what?” Kord said. “That was a long time back and this is an entirely different investigation. He hadda know that there were some undercover operations goin’ on. Maybe that’s why we never found anything on him.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.” Kord chuckled and started up the stairs again. He stopped abruptly before reaching the top, as if scoping out the place before proceeding. This time Doyle was paying attention and managed to stop before he planted his face in Kord’s rear a second time. He wondered if Kord had halted on purpose so Doyle would do it again. But he dismissed the thought.

“I figured an undercover guy would know the name. But you’ve even met Podesta. Must be something being the youngest son of the head of a Mafia family. I’ve seen his picture and he’s the stereotypical young Mafioso. But this club is supposed to be one of their legitimate businesses.”

“Yeah, right, legitimate.” Kord laughed. “He tries to give us any bullshit, I’ll handle him. Just leave me alone with him for a minute.”

“We’re not playing by your undercover rules. Not if we wanna make a clean collar.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do it your way,” Kord snapped. “For now.”

The stillness was eerie. Since the front door was open, there should have been someone here, some sound or activity. But the detectives were surrounded by silence.

When they reached the top of the stairs they were faced with the sight of Andrew Podesta, beaten and bloody, his body sprawled on the carpeted floor of the club’s vestibule.