HOUSE OF BROKEN SOULS Part 24
Warnings: This Chapter: Sexual situation, hints of dub -con to be on the safe side. Overall: Slash, sexually explicit content, graphic violence
The fiction includes a mental illness storyline. I am not qualified in mental health, everything I know about it is googled. It's fantasy folks, please don't shoot me though helpful criticism is always welcomed.
*Not real. The folks aren't mine. No damage intended. Thanks to Lia (Cheebles) for her patient help & encouragement.
A few days after Caitlin was cut down from the rafter Jensen asked Misha into his office. He placed several photographs on the surface in front of the blue-eyed detective. “What Family activity is there in this area?”
“As in gangs, you mean?” Misha asked for clarification.
“Mafia, mob, family, whatever. Who runs the show locally?”
“Nothing significant. A few minor drug barons, a couple of overgrown pimps. No Sicilian mobsters if that’s what you’re after.”
“Not Sicilian. Irish maybe? Alec, Caitlin’s pimp, does he have connections?”
“He would qualify as an overgrown pimp and wannabe businessman. He scares a few small dealers, he’s got a few heavies, but he’s not mob in the traditional sense.”
“So the names Riordan and Murphy aren’t familiar?”
“I can check but they ring no bell with me. Why?”
Jensen tapped at the pictures and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as Misha studied them. He sat back in his chair as he explained to him. “In 1981 there was a family scuffle in Chicago between two minor mob families. At the time Pa Murphy was in control of business. Pa Riordan decided he wanted more of the action so he put feelers out and found himself a willing informant in the Murphy camp. Unfortunately he turned out to be less than loyal. This wouldn’t be significant if it weren’t for what they did to the unfortunate snitch when they found out.”
“They carved him up.” Misha muttered, studying the pictures.
“It matches Caitlin’s marks almost exactly.”
“and the others?” Misha was sorting through six pictures.
“When Pa Murphy caught up with Riordan he decided to return the favor with his entire family. Ma & Pa Riordan, their two sons and a cousin.”
“but this was so long ago. Caitlin looks about 33 so she would have been what, under 10 years old at the time? Has there been any others since?”
“ I can’t find a thing. Not anywhere. The Riordan family were wiped out and there’s been no known conflict since. It makes no sense and I’m struggling here Misha, but I’m certain there has to be a connection. That,” and he tapped on a picture of a mutilated man’ “cannot be a coincidence.”
“OK Jen. I’ll put some feelers out. See what we can dig up. How’s the rest of it going? Sarge treating you well?”
“Sarge is giving me a permanent caffeine high.” grumbled Jensen “and he checks my desk to make sure I’m not lacing it with whiskey.” Misha tried to hide his mirth but Jensen swiped at him anyway. “ As if I don’t know who asked him to do that!”
“You seem to be doing better.” Misha commented.
“There’s a program, I think work actually helps and I have ..other distractions.” Jensen quirked his lips suggestively.
“Yeah well, about the other distractions, you’re breaking our alpaca’s heart so don’t be too smug about it.” With that Misha let himself out of the room. He didn’t look back so he didn’t see Jensen staring after him with a look of surprise and confusion.
***
Sometime later, Sarge came in with coffee and Jensen called him back, asked him to sit, they talked about his family and long career. “Did you always work here. At this Precinct?” asked Jensen.
“Pretty much. Since I was 20. Seen most others come and go.”
“What was Jared like as a kid?” he didn’t let Sarge see his bright curiosity. He was going to be smooth and stealthy about this, but the Sarge seemed pleased to be able to answer, like a proud father on graduation day. “He was quiet and determined, bright even back then. You know he was a small kid and scrawny. Can you believe that now?”
“No, not really. I don‘t think I‘ll believe you unless I see for myself.”
“Pictures we’ve got of him aren’t the pretty sort.” It was said with sadness. “He was 12 when his mother died. His pa got drunk and worked him over. Blamed him. It was cancer that took her but his pa was well past the point of reasonable. It was the first time, certainly wasn’t the last but damned if Jared was going to admit to it. His pa never got up out of that pit. Just kept drinking. Lost his business, lost their home, moved into the hellhole that was the old Eastside apartments. They’re gone now, or done up like Madison House. If there was any other family to help out , they never showed up. That kid was all that kept them together. His brother was seventeen and more interested in girls and getting out. His sister was younger and he’d do anything to make sure she didn’t go hungry. Stole a few times, cans of beans and loaves of bread, how sad is that?
We tried. Social services showed up on a regular basis but those kids were close. They’d disappear until the officer went away or Uncle Hal would miraculously appear. Jeff was 18 before we found out that Uncle Hal was some homeless guy that Jared befriended. He would get scrubbed up and respectable just to stay a few hours and play family. Got to say the kid was creative, even back then.”
“So, he spent most of his time here in detention?” asked Jensen.
“Oh no. Most Friday nights his pa would go out, spend what little money they had getting smashed and end up in the drunk tank. Thing about the drunk tank back then, is that if someone was prepared to take you home and look after you, it was easier to let that happen than go through the whole courts process. Jared would turn up at around 10pm with his schoolbooks and homework, we’d find a space at one of the desks and he’d study until his pa was brought in. We’d leave him there till his father had sobered a little. Most times he left at five in the morning, his pa stumbling along with him.”
Jensen wasn’t sure how to react to that, his brow furrowed.
“Sounds awful unprofessional now, but you have to look at it practically. The kid could have been cold on the street creating trouble, but he chose to be here. He was safe and warm and most nights he’d help out with notices, coffee and even cleaning up around the cells. Pretty much what he still does aside from the cleaning. There’s a private cleaner does that nowadays. Most nights someone would treat him to some dinner and send him away with something for his sister.”
“Tough deal. It didn’t stop after his pa went away?” Jensen chewed his bottom lip while questions raced in his mind.
“Jay was only 16 when Jeff started to get ill. So, he was back again, picking up his big brother. Smoothing things over, reading Jeff’s architect course books, sketching buildings while he waited, getting by, best he knew how, for years. One day he was gone. Him and his brother, just vanished. Four years he was away, no word or sight of him. We never expected to see him back. The day he walked in to the Station, degree in hand and name on a landmark building he got a standing ovation. It could have gone a whole different direction for him. ”
Jensen raised questioning brows at the Sarge but he sensed the older man clamming up, aware that he had already said too much. “That’s not really my business to comment on. He wants to tell you, he will.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Jensen “There’s something puzzling me though.”
“What?”
“How does a kid with no money, no resources and no family go to University for four years and come back rich enough to buy and refurbish a large apartment building? How did he swing that?”
“Investors I would think. His first building was Farra, it made his mark,” replied the Sarge offhandedly.
“Yeah, I suppose.” Jensen ran his fingers through his hair keeping his thoughts to himself. He’d checked that trail already. Jared had bought the building at auction, with cash. There were no investors, even during the refurbishment. There were few ways to make that sort of money. Organized crime was one of them.
“What do you know about his business? Is there any chance he already knew Caitlin, before Glenview?”
He didn’t get an answer. Sarge hadn’t closed the door, a faint cough interrupted his thoughts. Jared was slouched with his shoulder and hip against the door frame, his arms were crossed over his chest, making his T-shirt ride up to reveal a thin sliver of golden flesh. The dent of his hips was clear over low slung jeans. It was a provocative pose, one he had seen performed by numerous rent boys in his time on the force. Jensen raised his gaze to Jared’s face, where cat-eyes glittered, seductive and dangerous. Jared pushed himself off the wall gracefully. “I was a very, very good whore.” he purred as he crossed the room, reaching to smooth Jensen’s collar with his long, elegant fingers. “You have no idea how expensive I was.” The tips of Jared’s fingers brushed the skin of Jensen’s neck, enough to be knowing, not enough to be perceptible to anyone else and Jensen’s breath caught at the tease. Jared moved them then, smoothing the shirt lapel and patting below the collar, just catching the nub of a nipple through the shirt with his huge palm. As he lifted his hand away he broke character, threw his head back and laughed, a prankster’s chuckle. The Sarge joined in and some tension dissipated but Jared’s eyes remained locked on Jensen’s, daring him to pursue the subject.
“You shouldn’t be in this office Mr Padalecki.” Jensen didn’t back down from the tall man’s stare.
“My apologies, it wasn‘t my intention to bother you. Sarge is needed at the front desk. Just came to find him.” Jared flashed a charming smile as Sarge backed out of the office. He licked his lips and lowered his eyes to stare pointedly at Jensen’s crotch where well fitted pants did little to hide arousal, then looked back locking eyes once more.
“Come in and shut the door Mr. Padalecki.”
“Make up your mind Detective Ackles.” It was a lightly sarcastic tone. He did as instructed anyway. Jensen dropped the blinds and stood next to Jared. Later Jared would wonder at the speed and strength the crippled detective possessed. For now, he found himself pinned against the office wall in a familiar position, Jensen’s hand at his neck. He didn’t struggle.
Jensen‘s mouth ghosted over Jared‘s neck and up to his ear, breath thrilling his senses. “Don’t fuck with me, Jay.” He moved his hand now and cupped Jared’s chin. The younger man made no move to go, instead angling his mouth toward Jensen’s, his lips parted and wet. Jensen moved in at the invitation, no tenderness, lips angling over Jared’s, smashing against them. His tongue darted inside the willing mouth, hot and searching, teeth clashing. Jared’s tongue met it, battling, messy and aggressive. Jared moaned and pushed up against Jensen’s groin, hard-on straining for release. Jensen drew away then, stood back surveying the tall figure, flushed and panting, his lips kissed-pink and his pupils blown. He palmed his own erection through his pants. “For your sake, I hope you haven’t been lying to me Mr. Padalecki.” He moved to open the door. “Maybe the bathroom will be free.“ He gestured at Jared’s crotch. Now. Get out.”
Jared’s attention snapped to him, his body sagged and Jensen thought he saw a faint blush of shame join the sex-flushed face, but it passed in seconds and Jared was peeling himself off the wall with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and striding past him to the door. “When I jerk off, I’ll be thinking of you, jerking off here. Imagine that Detective,” he hissed, as he slammed the door behind him.
Jensen watched him leave and locked his door. He felt hot, flustered and horny in ways he couldn’t explain. He was annoyed with himself for letting Jared’s obvious posing get to him. Smooth Ackles, he thought, real professional. It seemed every time Jared Padalecki entered the equation, Jensen lost his cool and how pathetic was that? He wasn’t going to give Jared the satisfaction, he fought the urge to touch himself, controlled his breath. When that didn’t succeed he reached into his filing cabinet and pulled out a stack of pictures. It had the effect of an instant cold shower but didn’t make him feel any better.
His flask was no longer in the drawer. It seemed like a good time to throw the contents of his stationary holder across the room. It landed with a thump and clatter, pens, pencils and paperclips strewn over the floor. He considered the scattered debris for a moment and decided it could be left where it fell. It was Friday and this evening he had better things to do. He grabbed his jacket and left the building.
Continued in Part 25 here: anniespinkhouse.livejournal.com/7704.html