FIC: Logan's Street (Criminal Intent)

Jul. 16th, 2006 | 09:17 pm
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Dear Muse: What the hell?

Title: Logan's Street
Author: rysler
Date: 07/16/2006
Source: Law and Order: Criminal Intent, Mike/Bobby friendship, Mike/male sex
Rating: Explicit. Dark.
Summary: Mike knows his role in Major Cases.

I protect them. I take care of them. The limp-wristed intellectual and the two girls I could break with my pinkie. They brought me in for muscle. I was told to keep my fucking mouth shut, because talking was not what I was there for. They already had people for that part.

"Major cases?" I'd given my captain the evil eye when the transfer came through. I'd been putting in transfers for everything, waiting for the break. I'd walk a beat, I'd dig up stinking corpses in the Bronx, I'd wash cars for the brass. I had enough years on the job that I could apply for all kinds of crap.

"It's a pension," my captain said.

"You want me to follow the money?" I folded my arms and stared him down. "I'm no good for that."

"It's One Police Plaza. I thought you'd be more excited."

I rolled my eyes. "It's where cops go to die," I said.

"Funny, I thought that was Staten Island."

He had a point. But I wasn't wearing a fucking suit. They knew my record when they stamped the papers. Mike Logan's still a cop. They gave me a bitch of a partner, and I learned my place. Couldn't possibly be as smart as Ms. F.B.I. The other one in the squad, Eames, she'd worked Vice, she wore leather instead of tailored tweed, she had promise, but she'd been around Goren too long. Could finish his sentences.

She thought cases were solved with words. Her and Barek, they had mouths on them.

Goren knew what I knew. Cases were solved with power. Brute force, wielded any way it needed to be wielded. Goren was too smart to let on, but I watched him break people, and I enjoyed it. I had his back.

He'd tried his mumbo-jumbo on me, once. Testing me. Or maybe that's just how he fucking communicated.

"Logan, I know how it is." His voice was so quiet, not like my father. Like an older brother. The kind of older brother who went to college first, and took you under his wing, taught you how to drink and how to flirt, but most of all, how to play guitar and read poetry about birds and what it meant to be a real man.

That's what he was offering me now, because I reminded him of his father. He'd escaped, and he missed it all the same.

"I know about the prostitutes, the lack of serious relationships, the ammorality..." Goren chuckled, looking down, slightly away from me, as if humbling himself before me. "I know it drives Carolyn crazy, because she thinks you're soulless, but you're not soulless, are you? You'd take a bullet for her and you wouldn't even think about it. You just know the score."

Goren put his hand on my shoulder. I could smell his aftershave, mint, not spice, like high tea. But his voice was gravel and smoke, and his size, the strength of his fingers gripping my arm, was letting me know that he was no sissy.

"Bobby..." I stepped back and raised my hands. "I don't do cops. I'd like to think my mistakes are all in my past."

"Sure." He stuck out his hand. I shook it. He had a strong, sturdy grip. "We'll get to know each other on the job," he said.


He laughed. "I'd have thought you'd make some crack about my partner."

"Eames?" I shoved my hands in my coat pocket, and said, "I figured if she had an interest, she'd let me know."

Goren nodded. He left me to the job.

The job now was shoving my cock down the throat of a junkie skel. He was sucking like he enjoyed it, pushing his face into my crotch so that my open pants flaps scratched his cheeks. I admit it felt good; his thin lips and hollowed cheeks offered what warmth they could against the New York winter. I grabbed his hair. In this dirty apartment building hallway, unheated, with discarded needles under my patent leather shoes, I was as hard as a rock in his hot, sucking mouth.

I'd shown up in his shanty with an erection in my jeans. Holding up the plastic bag of crack, I'd told him what he could do to avoid jail. People on the street hated the police more than they feared the mob, he'd never tell me what I wanted to know if I wasn't on the take.

When he leered at me and asked for the bag, I'd grabbed his hand and put it on my crotch. "Don't get smart with me. It'll be the best you've had in months."

I closed my eyes and rested both hands on his head in supplication--if only Barek could see me now--and came in his mouth. He choked and gagged. His lips left me as he doubled over, coughing, my semen dripping onto the concrete floor. He smiled.

I zipped up my jeans and knelt beside him. "You work for me, now." I tossed the bag on the floor, under his nose. He nodded.

"Tell me what you saw here, when you were so high you hoped it was a vision."

He began crying. "I pretended I was dead. I let the needle stick out of my arm, while they brought the body in. They tried to burn it. The stench..." His tears dripped off his nose.

"Who were they?"

"Charlie. Charlie Day. He's given me free junk, ever since. Hoping I'll poison myself."

I'd never thought a dealer like Charlie Day would sell to girls on the Upper East Side, but here was our connection. I could bring up the ashes and the fingerprints, and Goren could tell Charlie why his mother never loved him. No mention of witnesses.

"You're going to move. We're going to bring forensics here, and you're going to be gone."

He nodded. His bloodshot eyes only saw the bag of crack. "Thanks, man," he said, as if I had given him something.

I held my breath until I got out of the building. I didn't want to breathe anymore of that scene into me.

Goren was waiting.

"He wanted to do that, you know," Goren said, walking beside me down 87th.

"Because I'm so virile?" I asked, laughing. I could see my breath, and walked through it's cloud. I liked the cold in New York. It reminded me nothing was burning.

"Because it made him feel worthy and used at the same time. It was the lowest he could go, and there was a comfort in that. In knowing..."

"The score," I said. "So I was his enlightening?"

"Isn't that what we always are for them? Letting them unburden themselves. Spill their secrets. Confess that they have done horrible, unspeakable things."

"So we show them the bottom."

Goren said, "And it comforts them."


"What if he tells someone what he did to a detective in a dirty hallway?"

I shrugged. "Let him. I take each moment as it comes."

I had a gold shield and a desk at One Police Plaza. I breathed through my mouth and counted my wrinkles and worked out three times a week. What could they do to me now?

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