Your Move, Creep

It was one hell of a night, and Bodhi was sure it haunted people a lot more than it did him. Sure he was going to be living with the results of Spring Fling for a while yet. But people had died, or left in a lot worse condition than him. Perhaps Muddy Waters should just stop throwing events all together, apparently it only ever really brought trouble. One side or the other used it to their advantage and that left a lot of casualties in the war.

“Okay, but I do appreciate it” he said, dropping the topic as long as the other knew he was grateful for the help. Bodhi very well could have died otherwise. “It’s a pleasure to actually meet you Eddie” the young man said politely, leaning forward to extend an open hand to the man. “I’m Bodhi…. Bodhi Crimson”

Crimson. 

Eddie’s brain instantly went into detective mode at the name, even as he was shaking the young man’s hand. He knew the reputation behind that name and especially who they were associated with. The faint burn of a poorly quelled rage began to build within him. Still, he knew that he couldn’t just accuse someone based on their surname. Some subtle digging was required. 

“I hope you don’t mind.” Eddie began, taking the seat next to the bed. “But obviously the department is conducting a full investigation into the collapse and we’re trying to gather statements from everyone who was there that night.” It was all he could do to keep his tone light. He was just asking some casual questions. “What can you remember? Take your time. No detail is too irrelevant.” 

Wyatt proceeded to scroll through his Spotify anyway, trying to discern what type of music angry nerds listened to. He considered Metallica, but was leaning towards Shania Twain. It was a hard choice.

Glancing up at the question, Wyatt selected a song before he responded, “I’m here for the same reason everyone else is here for. To get answers about the accident.” A drum beat filled the small room as he leaned forward to peer at Eddie with interest. “I have a vested interest. Nearly lost a lung, you know.”

Eddie vaguely recognised the song that came out of Hartman’s phone and it wasn’t totally irritating. Plus, he was almost done with the reports so it was unlikely that it would be any real distraction. And for a third point, objecting would likely earn him the ire of everyone else in the room. As far as Eddie saw it, it was three against one. Even if Wyatt was using a cane. 

The air was dry, the room was chilly, and the metal chair he sat on had a leg slightly shorter than the others. Wyatt was uncomfortable, but only in the way that he wished he had a cup of French onion soup and maybe a neck massage. He sighed and drummed his fingers on his cane, a poor substitute for the wheelchair that he still needed for any distance longer than 100 yards. Unabashedly scrutinizing his companions, Wyatt finally chose to break the silence as he tapped at his phone.

“Any requests for music? Who here likes podcasts?”

Eddie wasn’t even supposed to be here today. Out of the goodness of his heart or, more likely, a desire to upstage his fellow officers, he had taken an extra shift to try and help stem the tide of civilians swarming the Sheriff’s Office. His reward? Being trapped in a room with the woman that he probably disliked the most right now, one of his prime suspects in an ongoing investigation and a colleague so feckless that Eddie only realised that he had bothered to show up when the lock-down had started. It was going to be a long quarantine. 

He sat at the table with the stack of reports that he had managed to take with him to the interrogation room, furiously scribbling on each in turn. For once, Eddie cursed his outstanding work ethic. The stack wouldn’t last him five minutes. And to make matters worse, Hartman had decided to start blathering on. 

“I’ll drop my tone when I want to,” he snapped, his voice only getting harsher the longer this was going on, “But you’re supposed to have a duty to help me when I need help.” The last line practically physically hurt him to say, and he still didn’t feel like he actually needed his help. After all, from first hand experience, people who committed crimes didn’t really care about the legal consequences. They would, however, care if someone, well, dealt with them without the police.

Jeb let out a frustrated groan, thinking that maybe it would’ve just been easier to at least steal someone else’s bike instead of going through the hassle of reporting it to the police. “Waiting my turn will only push me further down the list,” he said, his tone quieter but more serious, “That doesn’t fuckin’ sit well with me. I need that bike for work.” Technically the last bit was a lie, considering he had been going to work for around a month and a half without one, but it sure made it a lot easier. 

At least Jeb was actually coming to the police for help for once, instead of going after this notorious bicycle thief himself. On any other day, Eddie might have even handled it personally. But this was pretty damn far from any other day. “And we will. But, right now, we are understaffed and stretched to the breaking point on the community centre collapse, in case you hadn’t heard. To be honest, as much as we would like to help you, a stolen bike is a very low priority for us right now.” Bigger picture had always been an issue for this kid, as far as Eddie was concerned. “So, unless you have something that trumps the injuries and deaths of a lot of people, you will have to wait your turn. There’s your answer, for the third time.” 

“Please, Eddie,” Clara retorted, intentionally using his nickname rather than referring to him by his surname, which was what she would normally do. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your understanding of the law is admirable, I’ll give you that, but your understanding of people leaves a lot to be desired.” It was something that they had discussed at length before, perhaps even in the very spot they were standing now, but always to no avail. Eddie knew the rules, and the regulations, and the ins and outs of the job to a level of detail that she had never bothered to learn. But Clara knew people. And she was as convinced as he was that her way was the right way.

Picking up her cup, she had another, slightly larger sip of coffee, the scalding hot liquid seemingly sliding down her throat with ease. “And I never suggested that the people involved shouldn’t be held responsible,” she continued, doing her best to sound calm and level-headed despite being deeply frustrated at his inability (or unwillingness) to understand her point of view. “I’m merely asking how you intend to figure out what happened if you can’t get the individuals who might be able to provide insight, who might even be willing to cooperate, to talk to you.” The deputy stopped herself short of saying something along the lines of being able to catch more flies with honey than vinegar, although even without that utterly horrifying cliché, she assumed that the general sentiment was understood.

“As for where my opinion comes from,” she continued, taking a pointed step closer as the annoyance that she was doing her best to tamp down on flashed briefly over her eyes. “Four months ago, I kicked down the door to St. Sabrina’s and put cuffs on my best friend. If you’re suggesting that I object to the names on that list because I’m somehow trying to protect them then you’re sorely mistaken. What I think is based entirely on what I know of their characters and their motivations. You know, as in motive.”

Here they went again. It seemed that Deputies Jones and Reyes were destined to do battle over which way of upholding the law was the best until the bitter end. From Eddie’s point of view, Clara’s assertion of ‘knowing people’ meant very little and, these days, it was becoming borderline obstructive to her police work. Regardless of what she said, Eddie had no doubt that her closeness with Sloan Martin was keeping her from seeing the woman as he did: a selfish criminal who had knowingly put people in danger and aided those would do the same. And he didn’t just mean Spring Fling. “I understand that some people routinely break the law and flaunt it in the department’s face. I also make it a point not to be friends with those who, in all likelihood, I’ll have to arrest one day.” Or, even more likely, see put in the morgue. 

Eddie could just walk away from this right now, although Clara would probably follow him all the way to his desk, maybe even all the way to his home, just to win the argument. His pride and commitment to his point of view kept him by the coffee machine more than anything else. He took another sip of coffee and replied, “Someone will talk, eventually. I do understand people, Clara. Fear, when applied carefully, can be extremely useful. That’s why I went to see Sloan. To inform her of the legal consequences of non-compliance. If she does know something...” Eddie was certain that she did. “...she’ll be erratic now. More likely to make a mistake and give us a lead. Whether she submits to official questioning or not.” He left out the fact that he had gone to see Eva too, although it wouldn’t take too much digging to find out that he had visited her in the hospital yesterday. “I’m not just rattling cages for fun.”

Julian nodded in acknowledgement, still hunched over the file that he was filling out on the floor. He had a headache himself but he was absolutely sure that it was from anything but the booze that he’d drank the night before. The collapse and the aftermath had been enough to sober him up throughout the long hours of the morning that they’d spent trying to mitigate the damage.

“We should probably aim to be a dry department. This town might have too much crime for any of us to be truly off-duty.”

Eddie’s heart practically leapt at the idea of someone finally sharing one of his flagship ideas. Good God, the amount of man hours lost to alcohol in the MWPD was probably in the millions by now. “I’ve proposed it to the Sheriff more than once. He’s not very keen.” Eddie was the only officer who was even approaching being keen in that regard.

Putting her own coffee cup under the machine, Clara selected her usual—an Americano with about four more espresso shots than was strictly necessary—and hit the button. “I would call it coffee-flavoured milk,” she deadpanned, answering him with the same visible severity as if they’d been discussing the relative merits of punishment versus rehabilitation. Which, to be fair, was entirely possible. They certainly had done in the past.

Picking up her mug, she had a tentative sip and leaned against the counter, clearly not bothered with the fact that their little ‘casual’ discussion was blocking the path to the coffee machine. “Of course she was hostile,” the deputy retorted, officially dropping all pretence of being a neutral party to the situation. “You went in with obviously preconceived notions and practically ambushed her in public. Wouldn’t you be hostile in that situation?”

It was a rhetorical question, one that she didn’t bother waiting for the answer to before she turned to face him fully, resting her cup of coffee on the surface beside them. “Look, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t fundamentally disagree with your list of prime suspects,” Clara continued, choosing not to delve into how she’d come to know of it because she’d literally stolen the list from Bax’s office and confronted Mac with it. “But if you think that Sloan knows something, and you might very well be right about that, then you might want to think about adapting your approach to suit her personality. She isn’t difficult and uncooperative by nature. She simply responds a lot better to people who show her a decent level of respect.”

Eddie fought back the urge to inform her that an Americano was god damn hot water flavoured coffee, choosing rather wisely not to die on this hill. He had argued with Clara over a lot of things but he was damned if he was really going to kick up a shit-fit over a beverage. Besides, he had a feeling that a far more pressing ideological battle was on its way. 

As Clara presented her case, Eddie hit the machine again and watched as it spurted out his far superior choice of coffee. “What preconceived notions would these be, exactly?” To be honest, he could hazard a solid guess at what Clara was referring to. He had assumed that Sloan could at least be of some use to the investigation, seeing as she was rather blatantly associated with a criminal element likely to be behind the collapse, among other things. Eddie just wanted to know what Clara had heard. The question was rhetorical, but he answered anyway. “I hardly ambushed her. I sat down across from her in a coffee shop. She didn’t have to stay and she could have asked me to leave at any point. Instead, she chose to hurl insults at me to deflect from perfectly routine questions.”

Eddie almost laughed out loud at Clara’s ridiculous attempt to assert herself as the authority on questioning suspects. Well, almost was a bit of exaggeration. “I always show known criminals the exact amount of respect that they deserve. And I’m sure as hell not to going to kowtow to however they would rather be spoken to. We’re not running a therapy group. A crime has been committed and anyone involved will get the maximum punishment possible.” The machine finally finished spitting out his drink and Eddie grabbed it, taking a sip. “Why do you object to so many names on that subject list, I wonder?” Eddie knew what answer he was thinking of but, once again, he was more interested in Clara’s answer.

Bax’s face scrunched up as he remembered his conversation with Atreus. “He was fired two days ago by Borden. And no, I doubt he’s the perpetrator. He doesn’t seem like the type. But he’s worked for two head Rascals and has history with Hartman. I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily a suspect, but I want to hear what he has to say.“ He didn’t actually know Atreus, but he also didn’t like making snap judgments. Over two decades as an investigator had taught him to suspect everyone and charge one.

“Keep me updated. I’m going to find out if this wedding was real, lord help me,” Bax grumbled. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to send sparks flashing across his closed lids. “And find out how Hartman’s paying for all of this. He can’t be getting all his revenue from a three-month-old bar.”

“Fired?” Eddie confirmed. That certainly did point to something suspect, whether from Borden or Trower. Did Borden find out Trower was planning something at Spring Fling and fire him? Or did Trower find out a Borden plan and quit? Of course, it could be coincidence. But it would have to be a pretty damn large one. At Bax’s elaboration, Eddie replied, “We don’t have anywhere near enough evidence to detain him, so he’d have to submit to questioning.” It was a real coin flip on whether that would happen. The Rascals and the police weren’t as cosy these days, which both delighted and infuriated Eddie. “To be honest, sir, we don’t really have enough evidence to detain anyone.” Despite what he had half-told, half-threatened Sloan with.

“Listen,” Jeb hissed, having a strong distaste to even be in a police station never mind practically beg an officer for help, “That may be the case, yeah? But I won’t be wasting my time. I want to file a report and leave. Not sit around while I wait for you to do something.” In all reality, he just wanted to prove to his grandma that he’d at least tried to get his bike back. Nothing more, nothing less.

He stood facing the man as he narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think I want to be here, asking you to help me?” Jeb had ran into Eddie throughout his teenage years, and none of those times were for good reasons.

It seemed that stress was making Eddie half blind at this point. Only when he actually made eye contact with him did the frazzled deputy realise who exactly he was speaking to. To be fair, he also hadn’t seen him in a while which Eddie had taken as a good thing. At least he wasn’t spray-painting obscenities on the back of the high school this time.

Bodhi had tried his very best to avoid the hospital at all costs, he didn’t have a lot of good memories from such a place, and he tried to avoid reliving said memories as much as he could. However his leg wasn’t going to fix itself, and he could probably drag his mangled limb around for a while, but eventually he’d grow tired. At this point the longer he left it the worse he’d end up in the long run. Which was exactly how he found himself in a room, leg freshly braced, awaiting the return of his nurse with the pain medication and release form. Bodhi’s only thanks came from the fact he didn’t have the learning curve of walking with a cane and useless leg, he’d done that for years.

As he heard someone pause at the door, Bodhi looked up expecting to find his nurse making a return. However it took him a second to actually recognise the man, having attempted to block the night of Spring Fling from his mind completely. Yet this man was one of the very reasons he made it out alive, and with a leg at all. “I hope so. I wasn’t in my finest form last night” he admitted, almost embarrassed at the vulnerable state he’d shown. “It’s a bitch of a thing, but i’ll be alright.” he shrugged, pushing himself to sit up straight as he offered the man a very soft smile. “Thank you. I don’t think I said it after everything. But I really am grateful to you”

Eddie returned the man’s smile and felt instantly awkward, probably due to those muscles rarely being used at all. He found himself wishing that he could block out the events of Spring Fling but, as someone tasked with finding out who exactly did it, he was unable to. Hell, it wasn’t even the collapse that he was the most eager to forget. Maybe it would have served him better to have been as stinking drunk as some of his colleagues. 

“It’s not necessary. Really.” he replied without abrasiveness. He took a seat in the chair by the bed, planning to stay here for at least a little while. A few seconds of slightly uncomfortable silence passed before Eddie finally plucked a conversation topic from the thin air. “I don’t think we ever got the chance to exchange names. I’m Eddie. Eddie Reyes.” 

Graham look at the rest of the office around him, the papers everywhere and the large crowd of people who seemed to be doing nothing. “Not to be rude, but I think it’s best that you stayed, I’m not sure things here would progress without you.” 

“No, I can’t say that I did and I must admit, my memory is a little patchy.” He glanced down and examined his cane before looking back at Eddie. ”What about you and the rest of the force? I thought that you guys were keeping watch for anything suspicious.”

“Well, I appreciate that but I’m not sure it’s quite true.” It was extremely true. One of Eddie’s most frequent thoughts was how quickly the entire office would come crashing down if he ever quit the force. The note on the microwave reminding people not to put metal in there was courtesy of him. It had been less effective than he had hoped. 

“It’s more on the people writing their checks.” Cass amended in vague apology, genuinely uncertain why she was having any conversation with a cop that she didn’t have to be talking to. It was a bad plan considering she was fresh out of prison and fresh out of cash.

“Yep.” She confirmed, more or less masking the lack of ease she felt around him on account of his occupation. “Here to visit family in town.” She lied.

“Fair enough.” Eddie replied noncommittally. To be honest, he was barely listening to the girl. He figured that catching whoever pulled a floor out from under half the town was a little more important than chatting to some random newcomer about the finer points of economics. 

Although it had yet to be proven by science, Clara was certain that her bloodstream consisted of about ninety percent caffeine and ten percent haemoglobin. It was a delicate homeostasis which she had to sustain with regular cups of hot, blacker-than-her-soul coffee, the next of which was due about five minutes ago. She wasn’t quite sure which discovery was more perturbing—finding that the machine was currently malfunctioning, or finding the automaton that was Eddie Reyes about to malfunction along with it.

Taking a deep breath, the deputy stalked up to the offending device and, drawing from every lesson that Wyatt had managed to teach her in MacGyvering shit in a pinch, set about trying to fix it with the limited tools available to her. “Just FYI, Reyes,” she started without looking up from her work, pausing as the machine whirred to life and immediately began depositing white foam into his cup. “Lattes aren’t real coffee.”

Stepping back, there was a palpable tension in the air of things left unsaid, and Clara seriously considered forcing herself to literally leave the premises in order to avoid getting into another wild discussion about the case that she couldn’t back out off. But of course, the ability to walk away from anything just had to be a glaring blank space in her design. God, sometimes she really hated that about herself. “Heard you’ve been talking to Sloan,” the brunette commented as casually as possible, trying her best to ignore the blatant hypocrisy of it all. After all, accosting suspects in public without permission (or any legitimate cause) had her name written all over it—so much so that Bax had literally asked her to stop fucking doing it. For once, it wasn’t Eddie’s methods that she disagreed with. It was his conclusions. “How’s that working out for you?”

Eddie would have made a face at Clara’s ludicrous coffee assertion if he was the type to make faces. Instead, he just replied, “It’s espresso and milk, Jones. What would you call it, exactly?” He was certain that the answer would be suitably strange enough to warrant a rare eyebrow raise or even a half-smile, something only spoken of as legend among the police officers of Muddy Waters. 

But the fragile air of good-humoured camaraderie could only last for so long and Eddie felt himself tense up a little at the mention of Sloan. He had been naive to hope that he might have had more than twenty-four hours before the news of their little meeting reached the MWPD’s ears. It’s not like Clara and one of his prime suspects didn’t know each other far too closely, in Eddie’s estimation. Still, she was trying to play it cool. So would he.