The Late Night Dance

K. Petric

Chapters:

I - The Shiny new badge and three days worth of bourbon

II - You know what's worse than smoking? Being a dick about it.

III - " It's Part of the décor ".

Chapter: I

The Shiny new badge and three days worth of bourbon

As the cigarette butt burned out, the smell of rotten flesh filled the room in the same way darkness consumes the night. A young female's body dressed in what used to be an elegant and beige samite dress, now being thorn and blood spilled. The lifeless body being chained up to an old reinforced brick wall. The body being battered and disorganized in a brutal manner, wrists being covered with scars from years of self abuse and a few tattoos long faded indicating she used to live in a warmer and sunnier setting.

From the outside you could clearly see the patrolling officers discussing the matter with sorrow and fear in their eyes, bystanders curiously walking by looking in the general direction and the media roaming around the perimeter ready to strike up an interview. The old house doesn't look like much from the outside, and old brick house in the outskirts of New Hamsport being sealed off with the strong feeling of "do not enter".

Detective, you are four hours late. Four hours and you reek of piss and bourbon, three nights at your local roadhouse worth of bourbon! This is the last time…

This is the last time for what, Gibson replies while throwing in half a pack of gum while rolling his eyes, because I can assure you, you little speck of nothing, it's not the last time I visit your…

Gibson drop that, come and look at this, a deep voice said with an authorizing tone and a broad boston suburban accent. I want you to meet your new partner Derek.

Derek being a young and upcoming police officer of the law, with a cocky smile, dark hair with sun bleached highlights, and a shiny new badge. Equipped with everything Gibson absolutely despises.

I don't do partners and you damn well know why sarge! Gibson said looking Derek so deep into his eyes he almost got lost. After your last fiasco and what you bloody smell like! The sarge said but quickly getting interrupted by Gibson, three days worth of liquor? Or was it bourbon you so arrogantly pointed out Gibson said locking eyes with the perimeter officer who quickly found himself gazing into the clouded night sky.

...And because of that, you aint got nothing to add to this matter, the sarge said promptly, and that's all I want to hear from you in this matter! And for heaven's sake, lay of Jim's mother will ya?!

I ́m trying so hard sarge but the fact still stands taller than the exquisite statue of liberty, Gibson said with a dull look on his weary face. I just dont give two scents on the dollar about him or his measly feelings. Now onto the more pressing matter, what was it that you so eagerly wanted to show me while ruining my perfect evening? Take a look for yourself the sarge said with a somber tone while opening the door to the old brickhouse, the door being newly renovated with a state of the art locking system, designed to keep people locked in instead of keeping intruders out, the only thing suggesting that this one hundred pound metal door had ever been used was the etched marks on the outside knob and around the keyhole, indicating that the previous owner was a degenerative alcoholic with a severe convulsion and tremble in his hands. The detective writing down a mental note while glancing at his own right hand with anguish, remorsefully remembering the time when he used to have the most abiding hand in the entire PD while proceeding to let out a sorrowful sigh filled with self pity and regret. Quickly realizing both Sergeant Adams and Derek waiting for him to acknowledge and make a statement, but not being able to form a proper sentence and instead mumbled for himself that the door was taken straight out of H.H Holmes famous murder hotel while walking past them dragging his feet to the horendous basement below. The worn out wooden stairs squeaking with every step taken echoing with tragedy, knowing already from the strong tainted foul stench, what he was about to witness.

That ain't a pretty sight sarge the detective said with a disgusted frown upon his face.

Rookie! What do you make of this scene? Give it your best shot, don't feel any pressure, and don't even think about the psychopathic lunatic on the loose who is probably and most likely mutilating another woman in a charming and cozy not at all creepy shed in the woods somewhere in the outskirts… Gibson abruptly stopped ranting when he caught the Sergeants soul stare who slowly turned his head to Derek who's retching all over the place trying hard to keep his new found detective status in check but losing that battle hard against the once beautiful girl with dreams and a future while now being nothing but a rotten carcass. Well I'd say she is, sorry was, in her late twenties, she isn't from around these corners, her slight but fitting tan makes me believe she originates from a warmer place and by the looks of her faded tattoo of those ancient greek letters I would assume she from Greece, the shiny golden ring on her finger indicating that she's newly wed and her beige samite dress is not something one would wear if she thought she was gonna end up like this. So my assumption would be a textbook kidnapping. And what can your textbook make out of the stench? The Sergeant asked Derek while giving Gibson a wink as if trying to apologize for the rude soul stare. I never read anything about the stench sir so I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to, I could tell you that it smells like the Detective but… You are so close to being textbook correct youngblood, but you need to be schooled. Not a single bourbon in the know galaxy smells as bad as this and second of all you are very wrong. But you said I was textbook close to being right? Derek said with a confused and equally still disgusted look on his face. Yes textbook correct not looking down at a corpse correct. While your wild assumption could almost be correct, I am afraid to say that this is wrong. To Gibsons surprise the rookie didn't have a clever comeback instead he took out his noteblock, liked his ink pen to get it going and waited patiently for Gibson to begin. This woman is Olivia Steinfield, whom you've most likely have seen on posters around the department. She is in fact her late twenties, twenty seven to be exact, she is not from Greece the tattoo is actually the name of her… Fraternity Derek, whispered angrily to himself.

What was that? Gibson said with a slight annoyed but curious tone in his voice.I just realised that the tattoo is actually a fraternity sign, Omega Beta Zeta,right?

Correct but don't you ever interrupt me again Gibson said but for the first time in a long time not frowning. Sorry sir, no detective... Derek said but quickly changing it to Sorry Gibson while stuttering not really knowing how to address his new partner. Who is scarily sturdy.

This was one thing a textbook could never teach you, how to address your washed up partner. Call me Gibson Rookie. Now go home, you've seen enough for today, I will finish up the paper works.

Derek with nothing else to say and who never wanted to enter a house like this quietly walked back the way the came from exiting the house thinking about the horrifying body he just witnessed. Knowing damn well that this would be a sleepless night.

Are you really going back to the precinct? The Sergeant said looking confused. Gods no I am going to finish my drink down at the roadhouse. You'll have your papers on your desk tomorrow, Gibson replied while striking up a flame from his old school zippo lighter and lighting his cigarette.

Chapter II

You know what's worse than smoking? Being a dick about it.

Alright everybody gather around for today's briefing the sergeant said looking around the bullpen, trying to figure out if these morons actually paid attention but without fortune. Not a single head was lifted from their computer monitors. God I miss the good old paperback days… The sergeant muttered angrily and annoyed to himself clearings his throat with a broad cough. Alright everybody! Listen up the sergeant said again but this time slamming his hand down on one of the detectives table knocking over an old and cold cup of coffee grabbing everyone's attention with half of the bullpen shooting up from their chairs and the rest frozen still not knowing exactly what to do now.

About today's briefing, this morning the very well known and beloved… For heaven's sake! Where's Gibson?

Probably at Jim's mothers place Derek whispered to another colleague. Who did not understand the inside joke that Derek tried to pull off. What? Why would he be there? What did I miss? The colleague answered in an even lower voice. Derek trying to explain the whole situation from last night but quickly getting cut of by the sergeant. Oh so the new rookie got some insider information about Micheal O. Hensen? Please enlighten us. Derek not being able to mutter a word if his life depended on it was quickly saved by Gibson stumbling through the bullpen, Micheal O. Hensen went missing from his house last night and or morning depending on how much of a cunt you are, at around 4 am, no unusual behavior was reported by his wife or kids just gone, as of this time we do not know whether he is still alive or if he's dead in a ditch somewhere because he refused to sign an autograph.

Lastly and most importantly, the sergeant filled in this is not NH PDs case so I don't want you guys running around trying to unravel this case, if it gets passed on to us, we will welcome it with open arms but for now, focus on your open cases if you have any questions thats not work related you can find it online on your little computer screens, now get back to work,

Gibson my office now! Derek not knowing if he was in trouble too, quickly gathered the remains of his files and joined Gibson to receive his doom. Well almost forty eight hours on the force is surely better than nothing at all Derek told himself.

Where's my file Gibson? Not only are you late, again I must add but you haven't done the one thing you should have done either, the sergeant said while closing the door to his private office. A very nice and clean office, you could easily tell that the Sergeant had spent time abroad serving the country. One medal of honour and two pictures with him standing next to not one but two presidents, his desk made out of a dark mahogany and not more than enough pencils than needed, all sharpen. It's almost finished Sarge, I fell asleep in front of the TV again.

What did you watch before falling asleep? The Sergeant asked knowing full well what ever came out the detectives mouth was gonna be a lie. It's a bit blurry Gibson replied but before he could utter his lie Derek stepped in, guys I… Shut it the Sergeant said with a menacing tone,Not another word from you before I know what was on last night, because I know what was on, "A house full of drama" was on and I can and I will bet my position here that you did not watch that show last night. Guys! Derek said one more time this time with a hint of authority taking both the detective and the sergeants attention, I finished the files from last night. Neither of them knowing what to say, both looking at each other and equally confused on Derek. The sergeant taking the files from Derek's hand skimming through it with not a single bit of trust that it had actually been done last night, realising that the rookie actually had completed the file caught the sarge by surprise. Dismissed! the Sergeant said without leaving his eyes from the file, no not you Gibson, and Derek close the door after you. The sergeant finally lifting his eyes of the flawless file, locking into Gibsons stare. If you fuck this up, or fuck the kid up its all on you, you understand that? The sergeant said gazing down on Gibson, and Gibson knowing fully well that this was his last warning. Not that he cared but someone is going to have to pay the bills. I told you sarge, Gibson said while leaving the office, I like the kid.

Thank you, not a whole lot of people in here would do that for me I won't forget that.

No worries man, Derek replied, we are partners now you know. Do you wanna go and grab something to eat? I don't do lunch Gibson said with his bitter tone back already. Well Chuckies serves bourbon at this time of the hour Derek said turning around and realising that Gibson had stopped walking. Don't Push it Kid, Lets go.

Entering Chuckies is like coming home, the entire restaurant has this welcoming and warm atmosphere to it, stepping in and hearing the doorbell sing with its simple "ding" knowing that you have landed, the smell of new home made pancakes with nutella topping, the place always filled, and depending on the hour of the day you either got your local police force grabbing a pastrami sandwich after a long day of chasing fugitives and at night you have your regulars downing beer like its the end of times. Out on the streets the two doesnt go along very well but here at Chuckies its peace. Which makes it the best place to grab anything you need, everything from local beers made by New Hamports finest microbreweries to a simple lunch. Gibson who is a regular at both hours, now being more annoyed about the constant volume in the restaurant and that fat yuki smell of pancakes in the air.

Grab booth three, I'll order, what's your poison? Gibson said knowing already that the answer is going to be "Chuckies heart warmers", a wrapped salami and gorgonzola sandwich served with the stalest coffee known to mankind, it gets the job done but you could also mix dirt and an energizer and get the same taste and experience.

I'll have the warmer and a glass of water, Derek said while scouting out which booth is three. And a glass of water? You can't be serious Gibson said, the only time water is acceptable to drink is when it's frozen in a… Glass of bourbon? Derek finishing the sentence, I kind of figured

That one out already. My misses would kill me I had a drink on the job man.

Fine, just grab the booth before it's too late Gibson replied.

I will have one warmer happy meal for the kid and one neat mcbourbon for the adult, Gibson said, put it on my tab. Your tab is long overdue Gibbs you need to pay this time, please? Said the bartender begingly. I'll start paying my tab when you stop smoking that fun stuff, idiot. Gibson said grabbing his glass and began heading back to the booth.

The pictures framed and hung around Chuckies displays a simpler time, a timelapse of this corners history. Some pictures being signed by some of the greatest thieves and deputies in the city, some being smashed and crashed while some wears a shiny and fresh frame.

Chuckies lay out was easy, just as the atmosphere would contradict. A fair square with the bar located in the center back with 50's retro style sofas and tables surrounding the establishment, labeled from one to twelve. Gibson could easily navigate through here while being blind folded and downed the barrel, according to himself at least. The third booth is the only booth where you can't see the picture hanging above booth eight picturing Gibson in his prime standing next to the Sergeant who at the time was still only a detective. Gibson hated that photo.

As Gibson took a seat Derek folded his magazine and put it aside. Dude, Derek said, how long have you known the Sarge? You seem to know each other very well but you don't want to show it, like an office romance, you know?

Well, let's put it this way, Between mind and your own business give or take a couple of years, but don't tell him I told you that or its my badge on the line Gibson said slurping down the last drop right before the waitress served Derek his heart warmers. Another bourbon? The young brunette said while keeping a rock hard focus on Derek. Make it two Gibson replied while snapping his finger dragging her out from her Cupid trance. You know the rules old timer, one at a time, the brunette said while snapping her own fingers with the biggest, cockiest and most sincere smirk on her face. Ough I hate those rules Gibson said while gazing at the brunette who waltzed away to the tune of keep on rocking in the free world.

She's something else isn't she? Derek said waving his hands trying to capture Gibsons attention, but to no avail, with Gibson only letting out a big grunt.

You've got to tell me about the Sarge dude, I know I'm new and what happens happens you know.

I told you it's none of your business but if you are real nice and quiet for the rest of your happy meal I can tell you this. The Sergeant earned it, he was the best damn detective on the force, no one even came close, not even me…

You? Derek replied, I thought you were Anakin and him being Obi wan.

Aren't you a cocky one? I was Yoda and he was more like Luke.

So you do know pop culture after all? Derek replied with a shiny white smile, showing off his deep dimples.

Shut it loverboy, Gibson said while picking up his vibrating phone which had two missed calls from the Sergeant. Gibson speaking. Yes. I am on my… sorry, we are on our way.

Come on we need to go, and if you tell anyone about Yoda the next framed picture on these walls are going to be you, with a lovely note saying rest in peace, and no one is going to find your bloody body…

Because you'll be the only one who knows where my body will be hidden? Got it Dexter.

A lover boy's smile met with a pitbulls gaze. Car, now!

As the two entered the vehicle Derek's stomach turned inside out. The smell of cigarettes was unbearable, convinced you could get hooked on nicotine just by breathing in this car Derek locked in his seatbelt and turned to Gibson who've just lit a cigarette.

Seriously dude? Inside the car? Can we atleast turn on the AC or drive with the windows down?

No can do Gibson replied as he tapped the cigarette to let go of some of the ashes. The AC's broken. Well what about the windows? Derek replied.

Have you ever seen a cop driving with his windows down? No? You know why you haven't seen it? Because it doesn't happen.

But you gotta stop doing that, you gotta stop smoking dude, try vaping or something Derek said while covering his mouth and nose with his shirt.

You know what's worse than smoking? Being a dick about it, Gibson said while starting the car.

Joining up with the local enforcers and the media Gibson and Derek walked past the cameras and the media who all are trying to get the best story in the shortest amount of time so it could be published before the body had gotten cold. If there was one word to describe the media it would be just one word. It's quite self explanatory really. Nothing much more than one word. And as we all already know Gibson hates the media more than he hates newly graduated youngsters who are in pursuit of some gut and glory. They fly in the sky, hover and simmer, they are dark and nocturnal, self entitled winners, with no work done themselves they praise it all the same, true or false, rigged or fierce the self built cultures, they are all a bunch of vultures. Gibson quickly realized the bourbon had actually hit him way harder than he ever anticipated it would do, this was a first, well not a first but a first time in a very long time.

Alright, debrief me and make it quick, Gibson said, trying to sound stern and respectable. The flashes from various cameras did not help out in this case. While stumbling under the restricted area tape Gibson drunkenly muttered, I would and could, kill for a brew right now, what's the name of that brew? The warm one that makes you wake up in the morning?

Derek took a long bewildered look onto Gibson and while containing a very big and friendly grin asked, is it the word for coffee that you are looking for? Gibson bravely managed another couple of stumbling steps onto the crime scene knocking over some markers. Yes that brew what is the name of it? Derek now being more worried than bewildered, quietly whispered, Coffee Gibson, the word you are looking for is coffee. As Gibson made an abrupt stop and tried to turn around he noticed that Derek was actually a lot closer than what he actually thought he was, or was he? Gibson could not finish the sentence before another badge carrying loser stumbled onto him while spilling a scolding hot beverage missing Gibson with an inch but at the same time contaminating the crime scene. Gibson figured it was not Derek, because Derek would probably only consume the girlier beverages, like a frappuccino or an iced latté. And this now crime scene contaminating beverage was in fact hot. So no, it could not have been Derek. Something else that made it very clear, some might even say undoubtedly certainly clear that this person badge carrying loser wasn't Derek, was the fact that he could hear Derek's trembling and shivering voice saying, and Derek the brilliant boy could not have phrased it better, Whats up Sargeant? Gibson sighed and looked up at the stone cold face of someone who just dropped their scalding hot coffee onto a crime scene because a sad drunk couldn't once in his life walk the walk. You have an hour to get me a solid clue from this case or it is your badge and gun on my desk. No ifs, no buts, no maybes, no please, or pleads, I have had it with your incompetent, non chalant, no care in the world attitude. What happened, happened, some of us dealt with it while some are still dealing with it, and while you are dealing with it anywhere but close to me. You have one hour Gibson, do you hear me, one measly hour, the clock is ticking. I am going back to the station for a quick change and a coffee with a lid, and when I get back here, the only words I want you to say is, You should take a look at this sergeant. Do I make myself clear?

Gibson who quickly had come to his senses could now tell that he just used his last life line. Derek, who mostly felt sorry for Gibson, tried to get his two cent on the dollar but was quickly shut down by the Sergeant who told him to shut it and shut it tight while masterfully executing a turn and walking out from the scene of the crime while trying to gracefully wipe himself off.

What "ever happened happened?" Derek tried, knowing full well nothing good was gonna come out from it but the curiosity got the better of him. Gibson gave Derek a sad but stern look and for a good second Derek believed he understood, but Gibson knew he had no idea.

Someone clean this up right the fuck now Gibson yelled while taking the first step inside the house of the victim and he could tell right away that Derek, was very soon gonna be in need of a bucket and a large bourbon himself. The door slammed shut, the flashes died down and Gibson got to work.

Chapter III

" It's a part of the décor "