dirty lives [missedstations & setthys]

[Setthys]

The night drew out the dregs of the city - all the dirty little creatures who didn't dare expose their varied depravities to the eye of the sun. Like children (and some of them were), they assumed that because they couldn't see anybody, that they themselves could not be seen, and that the night was theirs to do with as they pleased. In this, they were creatures of habit - never learning, or changing. They were predictable and, in a sense of the word, reliable, always to be counted on when it came to the nightly visits the same filthy watering holes to sate their sundry vices.

That made Jackson's job easy. Even when word did get out about the police crackdowns - which happened quite often - the night crowd rarely thinned. Part of it was fair trade: the pimps were always willing to trade off a few bodies if it meant a bit of lenience next week, or a blind eye in the coming month. The rest, as far as Jackson cared, came down to sheer stupidity. The smart criminals were the ones who walked around during the day, with badges, or suits and ties, or country club memberships, who drove Mercedes and Crown Vics.

With a smirk in the rearview mirror to the single passenger in the backseat, Jack turned hard into the police parking lot and sped hard towards the cruiser zone. An equally sharp, jarring brake brought the car to a dead stop. Shutting down the engine, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "I'd offer, but..." Jack waved towards the grate separating the halves of the car.

He rolled the window down a slit, lighting up and leaning his head back a bit, watching his passenger with the sideview mirror this time. Jackson's own reflection was a dark one, the flare of the cigarette stark against the background of his dark features. There was a day's worth of stubble apparent under the shadow cast by his cap, and his skin looked like coffee with a bit too much cream in it - overall the effect was a distinctly Mediterranean one.

Barely two breaths into the cigarette, the side door of the the station swung open. The cigarette was flicked out the window as soon as Jack recognized the figure who'd emerged. "Fucker," he muttered to himself.

Jack pulled the keys free and stepped out of the car, waving at the suit-clad figure, who didn't respond. Opening the passenger door, he roughly pulled the other man up and gave him a little shove before grabbing his shirt collar. With a little nod towards the door of the station, Jackson pushed his elbow into the man's back. "Let's head on in, eh, missy?"




​

 

[missedstations]

It was hard to run from the police when you were bent over a crate with your pants around your ankles and a john's cock up your arse. All the john had to do was tuck his dick back into his pants, but Anthony was lucky to have managed to make himself decent before he was cuffed and shoved in the car. Not even the time to dump the little bag of coke he had in his back pocket. Shit. Anthony was no dealer, but he knew plenty – and sometimes they did make him carry samples. Send them some business. And in exchange they didn't beat the shit out of him. (Sometimes even gave him a free fix! It sure deadened the feeling if they felt like fucking him after.)

Anthony just glared at the cop. Asshole. Like he'd offer even without the grille.

Anthony was probably more 'pretty' than handsome, but definitely not effeminate. Maybe his skin was porcelain white, and his long red hair was tied up in a ponytail, but the lines of his face were sharp. His looks got him plenty of business, at least. The right amount, so that he had enough to pay the rent and eat after paying all the bribes. The fact he was too skinny was probably due to drugs and cigarettes. Whores of his kind didn't have the luxury of choice when it came to those habits.

As for those other things, Anthony did try to take care of himself. He worked out a little, and he went to the doctor as often as he could afford. Hopefully he was disease free – the last batch of tests had been negative, and he did try to make most of his clients use condoms. Not that all of them listened, but this wasn't a profession without risk. Anthony simply wasn't sure what else he could do. As pathetically stereotypical it was, he was a an abused fostercare kid with less education than the average dog.

“Fuck you,” Anthony replied, wanting to bite the cop. He was feeling a little vicious, considering the indignity.

He stumbled a little when Jackson pushed him unexpectedly, and Anthony turned his head to glare. “So what are you then? Some sort of fag-hater?” He'd been beaten up by the police often enough to have given up caring about provoking them. Cops might leave a few bruises, but these days broken bones and hospital stays involved too much paperwork.

 

[Setthys]

Jackson jabbed his elbow in a bit harder when the redhead glared at him. "That depends." He scrunched up his nose. "You some kind of fag?"

Leaning in close, he pulled Anthony's collar back just enough to make it uncomfortable, and whispered, "Or maybe you're just a goddamn cocksucker, like my good friend Ron over here." Jack pointed his chin towards the man in the suit, and then raised his voice and directly addressed the man, false cheer positively dripping from every word. "Ain't that right, Ronnie?"

Ronnie didn't respond beyond a brief, foul little glare. Jack chuckled to himself. Arriving at the side of the station, Jack yanked Anthony to a halt while he opened the door, and then carried on steering him into the building. He stopped just outside a draconian, iron-barred door that led into the main room of the station, and the big central holding cell. Looking into the room, he swore under his breath. The holding cell was packed full - mostly johns and junkies, who'd be released next day on bail, but they weren't going anywhere overnight. Interrogation room it was, then.

Walking next to Anthony, Jack lead him further down the hallway and round a corner, pushing open the first door with one boot. The room was empty, and dark. Good enough for him.

He pushed the whore in first, and shut the door before turning on one of the sets of lights. A bit of ambient lighting did wonders when it came to his brand of interrogation. Jack smiled a little at the thought, and let go of the handcuffs. "Up against the wall, legs spread." Waiting for the man to comply, he leaned against the door. After a moment, he slid the lock shut. Best to be on the safe side. "I bet you know the drill, don't you?" Jack snorted, shaking his head. "Fucking queer."
​

 

[missedstations]

“I only suck cock professionally,” Anthony replied, a little sarcastic. Plenty of people did the metaphorical version just to get a little more ahead in their jobs, to suck up to their superiors... Anthony only did the literal form, instead picking sharp words in his dealings with 'superiors'. What did it matter what people ended up thinking of him? Sure, it got his nose broken once, and probably would again, but sometimes, it was just worth it.

An empty room? No one else around to see. Facing away from Jackson, Anthony bit his lip briefly.

Jackson got the modicum of obedience as Anthony complied with the command. He was sore from the earlier fuck – too little lube – and Jackson's grip had been tight. The little edge of pain made him wary, and he flinched when he heard the lock close. He was glad he'd refused the john's insistence to have a line of his own. Never good to be off your head when dealing with cops.

“What're you gonna do? Smack me around a bit? Give me a few nice bruises, a couple of cracked ribs?” False bravado – Anthony preferred to avoid pain as much as any person, but he was trying to make this man think that he was indifferent to any treatment that he might receive here. It wouldn't be the first time he got roughed up by any means, and that was probably why there was the tiniest tremble in his voice. He was trying to be confident, but he wasn't entirely sure.

He was ridiculously conscious, all of a sudden, of the switchblade in his boot, of the drugs in his backpocket. (Other contents were maybe a fifty in cash, some change, a few condoms and a packet of lube. Far less incriminating.) At least he had no ID on him! There was no need to make things easy.

 

[Setthys]

Jack pulled his hat off, tossing it on the table and rubbing the back of his neck as he watched Anthony move to the wall. Jack was so used to dealing with strung-out types, who'd kick and scream and scratch any chance they got, that he almost felt cheated by the lack of complaint coming from the redhead. Halfway through the ass end of a double shift, though, Jack didn't dwell on it.

"Kinky," he commented, moving to stand behind the man. "Maybe if you ask nicely - " Jack gave him a solid push to the center of the back, pressing him against the wall with one hand as he started to frisk with the other.

He grazed quickly over the shoulders, the sides, the arms – while dealers were always creative when it came to stashes, Anthony didn't look like a dealer. Not ugly enough. Moving to the pockets, Jack pulled out a handful of small change and condoms from the first pocket. The condoms pretty much confirmed what he already knew. The lube only reaffirmed that. Pulling the fifty out next, Jackson whistled, waving it by the man's ear a moment. "Must've been some fancy service."

The bill disappeared into one of Jack's pockets, and he slipped his hand into one of Anthony's back pockets. He pulled out two ziploc baggies – some white pills and some white powder. Stepping back – he'd found what he was looking for – Jack removed his hand from the other man's back.

"Turn around," he ordered. He grabbed the man's chin, quickly looking him in the eyes to see if he was hopped up on anything. Apparently satisfied, Jack quickly released him, giving him a little slap on the cheek and a smile. As far as whores went, this one wasn't too bad looking.

"Now, you don't seem too bright." Jack moved to the table, throwing the drugs next to his hat and leaning on one of the chairs. "Want me to tell you how much time this can land you? And then maybe you can tell me why I shouldn't send your junkie ass to prison?"

"Or maybe we can start simple. You wanna tell me your name?"

 

[missedstations]

Anthony made a distinct sound of protest as his ribs said hello to the wall. Even though he knew exactly what it was that was in his pockets, he couldn't not tense, gritting his teeth.

The money had been a tip, mostly – no one managed to charge that high round here. Something about a fool and his money came to mind... As bizarre as it was, some people actually liked Anthony's tendency to speak his mind.

“Hey! I earned that,” he said, keeping his eyes on the note, and his expression falling ever so slightly when he saw the cop pocket it. “I needed that, asshole.” And he did. It was always more comfortable to pay his rent with money rather than any of those other currencies that went in the underworld. Plus, the local dealer wasn't too happy about him recently. It meant that he might need to pay more in protection fees for no other reason than someone might have had a bad day.

When he first left home, he did try working legally. But then it turned out that minimum wage was far too low to live on. Unless you liked living in single room basement flats and counting every penny spent on food. At first, whoring had been easy money. And then he got his first criminal conviction. What manager would want to employ someone who'd been convicted for soliciting? Failing drugs tests didn't particularly help either...

“Bastard.” Anthony hadn't appreciated the slap at all, glaring and narrowing his eyes. Very green they were, like poison.

“No.” He didn't want to tell this cop his name, because then they'd find his previous record real easy, and that would just suck. This way, they might get bored before they found out. As to why he shouldn't be sent to prison...

“I'm not a junkie,” Anthony replied, indignant. Not really – he did swallow the occasional pill, and take the occasional line, but he'd kept off things like meth and heroin. Anthony really didn't fancy that particular death.

“I could give you some of my extra fancy service,” he suggested. Well. Trying to bribe the cop. That definitely wasn't one of his better moments, but he wanted out of here, and he knew that he really didn't want time in prison.

 

[Setthys]

Jack smirked; he'd been called far worse over the years, though he wasn't quite as thick-skinned as he let on (few were). The man's glare, however, bugged him. Jack held his gaze for only a few seconds before looking to the table, poking at the items he'd tossed there. It was a pretty tame collection, all things considered: no weapons, no toys. At least not in his pockets.

"No?" The cop narrowed his eyes. There were only a few reasons people didn't give their names, and none of those reasons were good. "And why might that be?"

"Not a junkie? Guess you're not a whore, either, are you? And this," he stopped to pick one of the baggies off the table, "must be fucking sugar." Jackson took a step forwards, flicking the bag at the man and smirking. "I should just let you walk out of here right now, then, huh?"

Reaching to his side, Jack pulled his baton from his belt. He eyed it a minute before looking back up to his guest. "I don't care for liars." Shooting the man a too-wide smile, he moved back to the table, tapping the hard plastic of the baton against his hand. It wasn't his favourite tool (too unwieldy) but it looked mean, and broke bones like nobody's business, so it was okay as far as brutish intimidation went.

The proposition caught him off guard. He looked to the table for a second before turning to face the nameless man again. "I don't much like fags, either," he commented, although he was clearly sizing the man up. It was far from the first time he'd been offered favours, and certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd accepted them.

Pulling out the chair to his side, Jack rapped the baton against the wood. "How about you come sit here. Let me know how fancy we're talking."

 

[missedstations]

Anyone who stayed around here for longer than a few weeks knew certain things. That whores like Anthony survived by keeping their mouths shut. That they paid for talking in more than just jail time. So Anthony would really rather keep his mouth shut. About his name, about who it was that made him do a little dealing. He flinched when the bag was thrown at him, wishing he'd had time to dump the drugs. Though maybe it wouldn't have helped anyway – it didn't look as if he'd had much luck of the draw with this cop. He bit his lip, keeping his eyes on the baton and on Jack's hands.

“I don't like having the shit beaten out of me,” Anthony replied. He'd answer what questions he had to, but he would prefer to say nothing at all if he could get away with it.

As if whether Jack liked fags...Well... Plenty of his johns claimed not to be gay, or to hate fags. They still fucked him and gave him money for it. It was irrelevant. Most men just liked having their cock sucked, and who was doing it was not that important. It was the look that Jack gave him that was. Anthony was in with a chance here.

He sat down.

“Whatever you like,” he told Jack. He really meant that too. Whatever it was that Jack was into, Anthony was willing to do, just to keep himself out of trouble this time. He knew it was a slippery slope, offering himself to a cop like this. Who knew where it ended! Plus, with cops, it was always difficult. They could take what they want and then do what they liked.

“I'm good and I know what I'm doing.” A forced smile as he put a hand on Jack's thigh. “I'm sure you'd like me if you gave me a chance... All I ask is that you don't book me and take me somewhere else to do it.” It wasn't much, but he was desperate. Police weren't the only thing he was scared of.