Fic: The Price of Love (5/7)
Back to Part 4
* * * DW * * *
"Dad, who are these people?" Dean looked at the scraggly group of women standing behind his father.
"These are--this is our new business, Dean. We're going to settle down a bit, stop driving around so much." John smiled crookedly at his sons.
Dean saw Sam cock his head in interest. Sam was far more vocal about hating life on the road, what with constantly starting new schools and never having friends or anything 'normal.' Dean didn't love it either, but he just let it mostly roll off his back. He concentrated on making things tolerable for Sam, acting as his parent as much as his sibling when John was off on one of his questionable forays.
Still, Dean didn't know what kind of 'business' half a dozen rather scrawny-looking young women represented. Unless it was. . .
"Dad," Dean hissed. "Are they. . .are these hookers?"
"Yes. Meet the lovely ladies of the night I just won!" John looked the motley group over and beamed.
Sam gaped in shock. "Dad, how do you 'win' people?" he asked.
"Let's just say Todd Barker had a very bad round at the poker table." John almost preened, he was so pleased with himself. Dean felt a little queasy and Sam didn't look much better.
Fighting back the urge to gag, Dean asked, "So, what now? You're going to be a pimp? Do I need to go find you a hat with a big feather on it?"
"That's very unsavory, Dean. I'm going to watch over these girls, protect them. In compensation, they'll share their earnings so that I can continue to protect and support them." John stepped over to the women. "Okay, girls, line up and let me get a good look at you."
While the women lined up for John's inspection, Sam tugged on Dean's elbow. "Prostitutes? Really?" he whispered. "This is--this is just gross, Dean!"
"Yeah, I'm not thrilled either," Dean whispered back. Trying for anything remotely positive to be found here, he said, "But hey, if we stop moving around?"
Sam grimaced and Dean couldn't blame him.
John returned to his sons. "Okay, we need to find a place where we can all stay, like rent a few apartments or something. For now, let's get a couple of motel rooms. We'll get them cleaned up and with a good meal inside them and then we can let the good times roll!"
Dean surveyed the women. They were all thin with lank hair and wearing grubby, skimpy clothing. Most of them looked either bored or like they didn't care what was going to happen to them, but the youngest--a blonde who couldn't be over twenty, Dean thought--still had some spark and was looking at them with some curiosity.
"Well, I don't think Dad can make things any worse for them. At least we know he isn't going to beat or rob them. Or get them addicted to drugs."
Sam scoffed. "That's a pretty low bar, Dean."
"We'll just have to see--" Dean began, but John interrupted him.
"All right, let's hit that diner around the corner. Dean, you find a motel we can stay in for now. Tomorrow we can hit the thrift stores and get them some new clothes. Okay, girls, let's roll!" John marched off with the women trailing behind him like bedraggled ducklings.
"Oh my God," moaned Sam. "I can't believe this."
"Yeah. This really is the weirdest thing Dad's done," Dean agreed. "Better hang on for the ride."
* * * SW * * *
When they returned to the D.A.'s office, Henriksen dictated a list of orders that Sam scribbled down while Crowley poured them all a short drink from the bottle in his bottom desk drawer.
"First off, I want to question Max Barnes officially. All we did at Iniquity is make sure he was secured and physically alright." Henriksen said. "Put him in an interrogation room. I need to know everything he did, heard, or saw, especially involving the death of his sister. Next, I want to talk to the witch who placed the original wards."
"That would be Rowena," Crowley said. "Send another FBI man--someone large and beefy if you have one, she laughs at the regular police." He looked over at Sam. "Or send this one. She's partial to him."
Sam chuckled nervously. He did get along well with Rowena for some reason, on the occasions the police had had to speak with her or utilize her talents. It wasn't like she came on to him or anything; it was more like she took a somewhat motherly interest in him, whereas any attempted interaction between her and Crowley devolved into a volley of insults. Sam wasn't sure why either of those scenarios happened.
"I want to open an investigation of corruption concerning Roman." Henriksen continued on. "Taking Iniquity and Dean Winchester down is not going to be a sacrificial lamb to any underhanded behavior on the part of the law. Contact the Chief of Police and get him in here. Time he got more involved with this anyway."
"Will do," Sam answered. He pulled out his phone and dialed the chief.
"Singer here," a gruff voice answered. "What's up, Sam?"
"Hey, Bobby. It's about Dean and Iniquity," Sam answered. "The FBI agent, Henriksen, wants you here ASAP. There's been some new developments that need to be discussed in person. We're at the D.A.'s office."
"Oh great, Crowley," Singer answered mockingly. "And a Fed too. You got Henriksen? I hear that one has a stick the size of the Sears Tower up his ass. This will be fun." He sighed heavily. "Be there as soon as I can, boy."
Sam clicked off, thankful he hadn't put the phone on speaker. "He's on his way."
"'Bobby'? You on a first name basis with the Chief of Police, Sam?" Henriksen asked.
"Singer had a big hand in getting Sam here into college and law school. Became his guardian when John Winchester landed in jail for his final stint while Sam was still a minor." Crowley smirked. "Too bad it was too late to salvage Dean."
Sam was on his feet before he even thought about it. "That's unnecessary." He smoothed his hair back. "He may be running a whorehouse, but he doesn't deserve that."
"Dear, dear, what tender feelings we have now." Crowley rolled his eyes. "It's the big leagues, Winchester, deal with it." He got up and moved to the door of his office. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a pressing matter to deal with." He exited, leaving the door open behind him.
"What's more pressing than this investigation?" Henriksen asked in a frustrated tone.
Sam heard the tap of high heels in the hallway, and a feminine giggle as a door down the hall shut. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.
"What?" Henriksen snapped his fingers. "Come on, what is it?"
Sam dropped his hands and looked up at Henriksen. "He's getting blown or laid by his secretary."
Henriksen stared at him. "You have got to be kidding me."
"Nope."
* * * SW * * *
Sam opened the door of the crappy no-tell motel room and froze.
John Winchester knelt on the queen-size bed, his T-shirt rucked up to his chest. Pookie, the young blonde hooker, was on all fours, her bleached curls shaking and her little boobs jiggling under the intensity of John's fucking. She emitted little squeals with each punch of his hips, although Sam couldn't tell if they were sounds of pain or pleasure. John was clearly enjoying himself, judging from the blissed-out expression on his face.
"Dad!" Sam yelled, turning right around and slamming the door shut behind him. "Jesus, Dad!" He turned and leaned back against the wall, squinching his eyes shut. I'm never going to unsee that, he thought. Goddammit. His stomach flipped, and he clenched his jaw to keep from throwing up.
Sam heard a yell from inside the room, accompanied by a louder squeal from Pookie. The only thing as bad as walking in on his dad having sex was seeing his dad right after he'd climaxed, so Sam took off, running blindly before John could come outside.
Man, he didn't want to ever go into that room again. Or if he had to, he wanted to at least burn the sheets and use a whole spray can of Lysol.
You wouldn't have minded so much if it had been Dean, a little voice murmured in his head. Then it would have been hot.
Sam slowed down, dropping into a walk. Yeah, he couldn't deny it. That would have been hot. Seeing Dean half-naked, screwing Pookie, hell, Dean screwing anyone. Hips churning, mouth open, face all flushed . . . Sam's breath caught, and he chubbed in his jeans. Sam suddenly imagined he was in Pookie's place. It was Sam that Dean was plowing now, Sam's hips that Dean's hands were latched onto, Sam's ass being drilled . . .
Gasping for air as his chest constricted and all the blood flooded into his dick, Sam stopped dead. All of his seething desire, all of his lusting for his brother--however unhealthy it may be--coalesced into his forebrain. Having sex with Dean had only made him want to have more sex with Dean.
I'm having sex with Dean. Sam dropped onto the asphalt of the parking lot. I'm lusting after my brother. He groaned at the combined horror of his thoughts and the physical pain of his erection in his jeans.
He rubbed his face, trying to erase the mental pictures bouncing around inside his brain. Shirtless Dean, Dean coming out of the bathroom with his towel falling off his hips, Dean kissing some girl with his hands on her bare boobs. Unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately--tight living had provided Sam with multiple instances of Dean to perv after.
Then Sam pictured Dean's hands sliding over Sam's chest, pinching his nipples. Tugging on his cock while he rode Dean. Fucking his fingers into Sam's mouth while his cock fucked into Sam's hole.
The epiphany hit him along with the wave of desire. Yeah, Dean was hot. Sexy. Hung. But it was more than his physical attributes that filled Sam's awareness. It was Dean picking him up from school. Dean fixing dinner with whatever they could scrabble together. Dean making sure Sam had the necessities of life, sometimes even before Dean did. Rubbing Sam's aching legs. Tending him through a fever. Laughing at stupid movies with him while they ate junk food together.
The complete comprehension of his feelings crashed into Sam. It wasn't just lust between two young men isolated from normal society, helping each other to get their rocks off. Not just Sam being imprinted by his glorious older brother, his own personal poster boy of sex.
It was love.
I'm in love with my brother.
* * * DW * * *
Rowena entered Dean's office with her usual dramatic flair, mincing in on four-inch heels. Her floor-length emerald silk gown clung to her tiny form and then flared into a full, flowing skirt, the entirety of which was embroidered with gold, copper, and scarlet threads. Her auburn hair was piled on her head and secured with a russet silk headband, with some loose tendrils artfully framing her face.
"Dean! You called, and here I am. I don't normally answer such a peremptory invitation, but I understand the situation is of the direst." She looked at the couch and then at Dean, arching an elegant eyebrow.
"Please, Rowena, sit down and be comfortable," Dean said politely, waving toward the couch. While he might be upset about what happened with the wards, nonetheless Rowena was very powerful. He didn't need to unduly piss her off, at least not until he knew more about what happened.
"Thank you. Perhaps a cup of tea?" Rowena looked around, as though hoping the tea would just materialize.
"Business first," Dean placated her. He joined her, sitting on the chair next to the couch. Benny took a silent stance next to the door of the office, hands clasped in front of him.
"What is the emergency? Tell me everything." Rowena sat back, ankles crossed with her copper slippers peeking out from under her skirt.
"We had a break-in last night." Rowena sat forward, but Dean held up a hand to stay her words. "Not from outside per se, but from people already inside Iniquity. I have two new hires who snuck into the business office, but then something happened. Something that resulted in one of them getting killed. What I want to know is how that death happened, and I want to know it before the police know."
Rowena shook her head, her face serious. "Well, of course that's terrible. Why would I be able to furnish this information for you?"
"Because it was a magical death, I think." Dean pulled up a picture of the Banes twins on his phone. "This is Max and Alicia Banes. They came here claiming they were looking for jobs and I hired them. Last night, they broke into the office."
"Very unfortunate, I'm sure." Rowena sighed. "And again, what has this to do with me?"
"Here, maybe this will clear things up." Dean swiped on his phone and presented it to Rowena. Now it showed Alicia's ruined face, her burnt-out eye sockets gaping huge and dark in her pallor of death.
Rowena gasped. "What--"
"That's what I need you to tell me." Dean swiped the picture away and sat back. "What would do that?"
Rowena shook her head. "I need to talk to the witch, if I may. I need to know what he used and what his purpose was. Intent is a huge part of magic. I can answer you better after that."
"He's already been taken in by the police." Dean shrugged and spread his hands open. "You'll have to tell me what you can in terms of what could create feedback like that from the wards. We know he was using a concealment spell so they wouldn't be noticed during the break-in, but then something went haywire." Dean shook his head sadly. "She was his sister and he loved her. He'd never have done it if he'd thought there would be a reaction like that. He was devastated."
"Aye, I can only imagine." Rowena gave a delicate shudder. "That was a horrible way to go. All right, I can do a little detection spell and see what I can find out from the lingering aura. Take me to where it happened." She stood up and waggled a finger at Dean. "I'll hold ye to that tea. Perhaps even a drop of something stronger in it, after this."
Dean put his hands together and nodded at her. "I'll be happy to provide that. Thank you."
* * * SW * * *
Sam sat in his office, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He gazed outside, registering the fat pigeons and the people moving around on the street without actually focusing on them.
What is happening? Why am I feeling so confused? So many memories had been assailing him for the last weeks, and the dissonance they created in his mind and soul was starting to put him into a tailspin.
His latest memory flashback had stirred up feelings Sam had thought long dispersed. His love for his brother, in both wholesome and lustful forms, had been pushed down for years, sublimated in Sam's quest for a normal, apple-pie life. Physical desire had been re-routed to Jess, with her long legs, thick blonde hair, big green eyes--
No, I didn't. No. Sam's heart pounded as he fell through yet another sinkhole in the journey of self-realization this case had launched him on. Tell me I didn't fall for a girl who reminds me of Dean.
He gave a little gasping sigh, as if to quell incipient sobs. When did this case get so fucked up? When did my life get so fucked up?
A tap on his door was followed by the creak of it opening and the tap of Jo's heels.
"Sam, are you okay?" Her voice was soft and concerned. "Can I get you anything?"
Sam straightened up, adjusting his suit jacket.
"No, I'm fine, thanks. Just. . .a little tired." He smiled at her.
"Sure. Well, someone called the confidential tip line. You know, it's kinda for any case we have going, but this guy, he said--he specifically mentioned Iniquity. So I thought you'd want to see it right away." She handed him a couple of papers.
"Yes! Thank you, Jo. What did he say?" Sam started scanning the transcripts as he listened for her reply.
"He said he works there, but only started recently. He's heard the gossip about how we are investigating them for drugs. I guess. . .well, he must have some real loyalty to them because he says there aren't any drugs being dealt there. Not street stuff, not supe stuff."
"Well, I guess that's to be expected. What else could he say?" Sam sighed and set the paper aside.
"Yeah, that's what I thought too. But then--" Jo paused.
"Yeah? What?" Sam was intrigued about what had ticked Jo's radar.
"He said--well, that he was, um, close to Benny. You know, Dean's second. Like, Benny is his boyfriend. He said there are no drugs at all on the premises, that Dean doesn't even tolerate weed there. The only supes they have are a couple of shapeshifters, so there's no one to even provide things like djinn juice or siren spit."
Sam sat back, thinking over Jo's words. If that were true, then where was the whole drug case? And why were those rumors even floating around? Was Iniquity really clean after all? As kids, Dean had only done a little marijuana once in a while, and never anything stronger. Never fuck your mind up like that, he'd told Sam. It's not worth the buzz.
"So, if that's true, then where did the drug rumors come from? And who is doing what and where with them?" he mused. "Did the tipster leave a name?"
"No, but he said something about how he could hear a lot of conversations because everyone ignores the help." Jo spread her hands. "That's all."
"Interesting. I wonder just who the help is that he's referring to." Sam stood up. "Get me a list of everyone who works at Iniquity that isn't a sex worker. Waiters, bartenders, kitchen staff--everyone."
"On it, boss!"
* * * DW * * *
"Benny, arrange for a press conference ASAP. I want both print and radio there, and I want it live streamed as well." Dean adjusted his tie in the mirror as Benny hovered nearby.
"A press conference? What about, brutha?"
Dean turned to look at him. "We're going to announce the unfortunate death of Alicia Banes that occurred here. In the interests of transparency and public safety, we're disclosing the serious issues of performing magic within a warded building, and also that we had nothing to do with it, police are investigating and so on."
A grin spread slowly across Benny's face. "You're spiking the D.A.'s guns."
"I sure am. Let them try and drag us through the mud, when here we are being all upstanding. I may also throw a few notable names around as 'well-known to Iniquity' without outright saying that they are steady clients." Dean snorted. "No use having sensitive information if you can't use it."
"You got it." Benny hustled off.
Dean pulled out his phone and looked at it. Should he? Which way was better, to surprise Sammy or warn him?
Thumbing his contact list, Dean hit Sam's number. Warning it was.
"Dean?" He could hear the surprise in Sam's voice. "Why are you calling me?"
"I'm having a press conference very shortly. I'm giving you a head's up about it."
"A conference? What about?"
"The sad demise of a beautiful young woman at my establishment. How she died. Why she died. How I had nothing to do with any of it, and that it's all on the FBI and the D.A.'s office." Dean heard Sam's gasp. "I'm not saying anything that ain't true, Sammy. Just letting you know in case you have to duck and cover."
"Dean, you can't--it's all under investigation! You can't go public--"
"I can and I am!" Dean retorted. "I'm a private citizen doing my civic duty. It's not my problem that y'all haven't gotten the answers you need. And I'm not going down for something I didn't do." He sighed. "Just wanted to be straight with you. I don't care what you do with it."
He hung up. Benny returned.
"Noon sound good?"
Dean nodded. "Sounds great." He clapped Benny on the arm. "Time to start shaking up some skeletons, my friend. Let's rattle those bones."
* * * SW * * *
Sam watched Dean's press conference at Iniquity with equal amounts of annoyance and grudging respect. Breaking the news of Alicia Banes' death before the D.A. or the Feds had was definitely a public relations blow. However, Sam had to give Dean kudos for handling the potentially explosive situation so adroitly. By getting out in front of it, he'd demonstrated that Iniquity had nothing to gain or hide from the death. And he'd made the D.A.'s office look slow, if not incompetent, at the same time.
Well played, Dean.
The intercom on Sam's desk chirped.
"Crowley wants--" Jo's voice began.
"Yeah, yeah, headed there now." Sam cut her off, knowing what she was going to say. He got up and headed to Crowley's office.
Crowley was red-faced with bad temper when Sam walked in. He thought he could just about see little curls of steam rising from the portly man's collar and forehead.
"Well, Sam, thank you for joining us," Crowley spat. Sam looked around and saw that Henriksen was also present. He didn't look any happier than Crowley, but he masked it more effectively. Only the muscles bunching at his jaw indicated his stress. "Now please explain what the hell your brother is doing over there!" He waved one hand angrily in the air.
"I have no idea," Sam replied tersely. "But I have to say, he's handled this well. He's out in front of this and we look like we have our thumbs up our asses." Which we kinda do, he thought, but refrained from expressing that out loud.
Crowley looked as if he was about to explode, but Henriksen cut off any further words with an impatient gesture.
"Enough! It happened, so now we have to go on from here. We need to get some answers and get them quickly." He turned to Sam. "Do we have anything back from the coroner yet?"
Sam checked his phone, clicking on the report he found in his inbox and scrolling quickly through it. "Yes, he's finished with the autopsy. He's sending the official findings to us, but the short version is she essentially died from having her eyes blasted out of her face and the trauma caused by that." He looked at Crowley and Henriksen. "For what that's worth."
Henriksen crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, let's go with the theory that in fact she got caught in a magical backdraft between her brother's spell and Iniquity's wards. That's sad, but gives us nothing on the brothel or Dean. So now we're down two agents, have an accidental death, and nothing to show for it."
An idea seized Sam. "Then let's go a different route. Can we trace who called the tip line? Jo said it was someone who works at Iniquity, but not one of the sex workers, who called and said there aren't any drugs there. Let's find out who that was and why he said that. Maybe there's an angle we aren't aware of yet."
Henriksen nodded slowly. "It can't hurt. We got bupkis right now." He looked at Crowley. "If we find out who that was, maybe we can get to the bottom of whether or not the drugs are a fact or just a rumor. We'll still have the money laundering to investigate, but it's a start." He walked over to Sam and clapped his hand on Sam's back. "Good thinking, Winchester." Nodding at Sam, Henriksen addressed Crowley. "You got a smart one here."
Sam flushed, embarrassed by the praise. Crowley glowered at him and Sam beat a hasty retreat.
* * * DW * * *
Dean sighed when he saw Sam's number flash onto his cell. He was going over the last month's financial statements with Benny and Madison, but he knew he needed to take this call.
"Don't go anywhere, I'll make this quick," he told them. "Hey, Sam. What's up?"
"We need to talk to your employees." Sam's voice sounded brisk and all business. "Not the um, the--"
"Sex workers, Sam. It's okay to say that, you won't burst into flames." Dean rolled his eyes, and both Madison and Benny stifled a laugh. Dean put the phone on speaker so they could listen. "Why do you need to talk with them?"
"Someone from Iniquity called our tip line." Dean sat up straight, shocked at the news. "They didn't incriminate you in anything. Quite the opposite. They said that you are not dealing or providing drugs there."
Dean exhaled in relief. All he needed now was someone spreading lies to make things worse. "Well, sure, because--as I keep saying--I'm not. We're not."
"This could be good corroboration for you," Sam continued. "But we need to speak with your staff,. Privately, to ascertain that they are not speaking under duress. If this claim is true, then our further thought is maybe they can help root out why these rumors keep hanging over you."
Dean raised his eyebrows at Benny and Madison, who were nodding in approval. "This sounds real good, Sammy, but why are you so gung ho about proving my innocence all of a sudden?
"Because if it's demonstrably true, it clears our decks as well as yours. Maybe someone's got a grudge against you. Maybe something is going on that you're unaware of. We could work together to ferret out what is going on." Sam took a deep breath. "Dean, I know you. Or I used to. I know drugs were never your thing in the past. But when the D.A. hears that kind of rumor at a place like--"
"Yeah, yeah, we all know what kind of place this is," Dean answered dryly. "Well, it's good to know you're now willing to listen to what I've been saying all along. Who specifically do you want to interview and when do you want to interview them?"
"The wait staff, bartenders, kitchen staff. The people who hear and see things because they get overlooked or ignored."
Dean gave Benny and Madison a questioning look, What do you think? Madison nodded and Benny gave him a thumbs up. "That can be arranged. My only stipulation is that it's you who comes, Sam. You can bring one other person, whoever you want, with you, but you're doing the questioning."
"Okay, agreed. We'll be over tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you."
"Yes, that's fine." Dean clicked his phone off. "Well, what about that, my friends?"
"Very interesting," said Madison. "Clearly they've run into a brick wall so far."
"Yeah," Benny agreed. "But did you catch the part about how maybe we don't know something ourselves?"
Dean leaned back in his chair. "I did. Is that really possible? Would someone here be making deals for shit like that, and we don't know?"
Benny shook his head. "I hate to think so, but we all know there are people who'd stoop to that."
"Agreed, of course," Madison replied. "But here? God, I can't think of anyone I'd suspect that of."
"Me either, but I guess we'll work on finding out." Dean gave them a grave look. "That suspicion can't leave this room. We'll simply say we're cooperating with the police investigation. If there's a rat, we need to find out."
"Of course."
"You got it, brutha."
* * * SW * * *
Sam sat in a small conference room in Iniquity's business suite. Walls paneled sedately in dark wood surrounded a round table that could seat ten in its burgundy leather chairs. A sideboard on one wall held a Keurig and a spinning rack of assorted coffees along with sugar, sugar substitutes, and powdered creamer. A large silver serving tray offered paper napkins, hot cups and lids, and stirrers. Half a dozen bottled waters were also available.
Instead of Henriksen, Police Chief Robert Singer accompanied Sam. Singer had decided that he needed to be more personally involved in the investigation, and both Crowley and Sam agreed that he was a less overtly threatening figure than the aggressive FBI agent. Singer's rather avuncular appearance and manner, however, belied a sharp mind and an impressive breadth of both general and criminal knowledge.
First up, they talked with Madison. She was a beautiful brunette with large, expressive eyes, long dark hair, and a wide, mobile mouth. Sam found her to be intelligent, witty, and hot. He remembered Dean suggesting that Sam would like her, and damn if Dean wasn't right. Madison gave Sam a sultry glance or two, but otherwise kept the meeting on a professional level. She answered questions about hiring, the various employees, and the booking protocols.
"Everyone has a background check run, not just the talent." She pushed a business card over to Sam. "Here's the agency we use."
"'Talent?'" asked Singer. Madison glared at him.
"Yes. Our staff is the cream of the crop, gentlemen. Beautiful, smart, and skilled. We treat them with respect for their talent, and they are the reason we are so successful in our business. It is a business, and we run it competently. We take care of our people." She stood up and smoothed her skirt with one elegantly manicured hand. "If that's all, I'll start sending people in one by one."
"Yes, uh, thank you. That would be great." Sam barely kept himself from stammering like a raw adolescent boy. Madison left, and Singer guffawed once the door was shut.
"'Yes, uhhhhh, thank you,'" he mimicked Sam in a goofy voice. "She get your knickers in a twist there, boy?"
Sam cleared his throat and adjusted the knot in his tie so it wouldn't strangle him, judging by the way he couldn't quite breath. "Nonsense, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh huh. Can't fool me, I seen you since you were a horny little sprout," Singer snickered. "She's just your type. Always wondered why you ended up with a blonde."
"Shut up, Bobby," Sam said, giving Singer a little punch in the shoulder. "Bully."
"Ass."
They both chuckled, and then the next person was ushered in.
* * * DW * * *
"Relax. This isn't going to go any quicker by you pacing like a caged lion." Benny tried to ease Dean's tension.
"Just hate that I can't be present," Dean groused. "I know I agreed to this, and I get why I can't be there, so that they can speak freely and all. But I still don't like not being able to hear what's going on."
"And who said you couldn't?" Benny winked. "Just press that button." He pointed to a button on the intercom landline sitting on Dean's desk.
"Benny, you sly dog! You didn't," Dean exclaimed.
"Oh, I did," Benny purred. "Now let's hear what's going on, shall we?"
They sat and listened as Sam and Singer questioned the cooks, the wait staff, and the housekeepers. Nothing of note was said by any of them. Iniquity was a great place to work, the employees were all paid well and had benefits like good health insurance. To a person, Dean had their loyalty and respect.
"Well, it's not like I don't love to hear that, but unfortunately it isn't getting us anywhere," Dean said after the tenth interview.
"They aren't done yet. We still got the bartenders."
"Oh, Kevin too? How are things going with him?" Dean smirked at Benny.
"He's a good boy." Benny smiled lasciviously. "Smart as a whip too. Knows his computer stuff backwards and forwards. I think he'd be a good addition to the business staff on the tech side." He winked. "And his ass is amazing. Boy is toned."
Dean chuckled, then quieted as Kevin entered and Sam began to question him.
* * * SW * * *
"Yes sir, I'm a bartender here, been about three months now." Kevin Tran sat quietly, only his eyes darting between Singer and Sam belying his nerves. "I used to work as a waiter over at Ellen's Roadhouse Diner, on, on--"
"Oh yeah, I know that place." Singer interrupted. "They still got those good pies there?"
"Yessir," Kevin smiled, relaxing a little. "So Mr. Winchester and Ben--Mr. Lafitte were there having breakfast one day, and they hired me away."
"Uh-huh. And was that Mr. Winchester's idea or Mr. Lafitte's?" Singer asked.
"Mr.--Mr. Lafitte, sir."
Sam and Singer exchanged a look. Lafitte saw something he liked and hired it, Sam thought.
"As a bartender, you must overhear a lot of conversations while you're getting drinks, don't you?" Sam asked casually.
"Oh yeah--yes sir. People always think that waiters are deaf or something." Kevin nodded with a half-smile. "They'll talk about anything. It can be pretty funny sometimes."
"You ever hear anything about drug deals?" Singer said.
"No sir! Never. That's even what I said when--" Kevin shut his mouth with an almost audible snap.
Sam leaned forward. "When you said what when, Kevin?"
Kevin looked anxiously between the two men. "I, um . . ."
"Easy, boy," Singer said gently. "Let me take a guess here. You, loyal to your new bosses for ah, various reasons, thought you'd call the police tip line and tell them there's no drugs here, hoping to take some of the heat off Iniquity."
Kevin's eyes dropped, his black hair hanging down and hiding his face. "Yes sir," he mumbled. "I just wanted everyone to get off of Mr. Winchester's back." He looked back up, and Sam could see the sincerity on the young man's face. "There really are no drugs being dealt here. I'm sure I'd have seen or heard something by now."
"That's fine, Kevin." Sam sat back, glancing at Singer before continuing. "I believe you. But I tell you what. I'd like you to keep listening to everyone, okay? If you do ever hear of anything that seems funny, you let me know. I promise that Dean--Mr. Winchester--won't come to any harm if he's not connected to it. But if someone is doing something Mr. Winchester doesn't know about, then he could get hurt, you know? So, can you do that?"
Kevin sat still for a few seconds. He gave a short nod.
"I can do that. I don't want Mr. Winchester or--or Mr. Lafitte to get hurt."
"Good boy," Singer said. He passed a card over to Kevin. "Here's our cell numbers."
Kevin took the card and stood up.
"Is that all? Are you done with me?"
"Yes, we are for now. Thanks, Kevin."
After Kevin's departure, Sam and Singer looked at each other.
"You think something's going on under Dean's nose?" Singer asked.
Sam shook his head. "Dean's as sharp as they come, but . . . maybe he's being hoodwinked by someone he thinks he can trust. He's been so adamant about his and Iniquity's innocence. It's really making me start to think about a third party working under the covers, so to speak."
"I see whatcha did there, boy." Singer guffawed. He elbowed Sam, who looked blankly at him and then burst into a short laugh. "Okay, let's get the next one in.
On to Part 6
* * * DW * * *
"Dad, who are these people?" Dean looked at the scraggly group of women standing behind his father.
"These are--this is our new business, Dean. We're going to settle down a bit, stop driving around so much." John smiled crookedly at his sons.
Dean saw Sam cock his head in interest. Sam was far more vocal about hating life on the road, what with constantly starting new schools and never having friends or anything 'normal.' Dean didn't love it either, but he just let it mostly roll off his back. He concentrated on making things tolerable for Sam, acting as his parent as much as his sibling when John was off on one of his questionable forays.
Still, Dean didn't know what kind of 'business' half a dozen rather scrawny-looking young women represented. Unless it was. . .
"Dad," Dean hissed. "Are they. . .are these hookers?"
"Yes. Meet the lovely ladies of the night I just won!" John looked the motley group over and beamed.
Sam gaped in shock. "Dad, how do you 'win' people?" he asked.
"Let's just say Todd Barker had a very bad round at the poker table." John almost preened, he was so pleased with himself. Dean felt a little queasy and Sam didn't look much better.
Fighting back the urge to gag, Dean asked, "So, what now? You're going to be a pimp? Do I need to go find you a hat with a big feather on it?"
"That's very unsavory, Dean. I'm going to watch over these girls, protect them. In compensation, they'll share their earnings so that I can continue to protect and support them." John stepped over to the women. "Okay, girls, line up and let me get a good look at you."
While the women lined up for John's inspection, Sam tugged on Dean's elbow. "Prostitutes? Really?" he whispered. "This is--this is just gross, Dean!"
"Yeah, I'm not thrilled either," Dean whispered back. Trying for anything remotely positive to be found here, he said, "But hey, if we stop moving around?"
Sam grimaced and Dean couldn't blame him.
John returned to his sons. "Okay, we need to find a place where we can all stay, like rent a few apartments or something. For now, let's get a couple of motel rooms. We'll get them cleaned up and with a good meal inside them and then we can let the good times roll!"
Dean surveyed the women. They were all thin with lank hair and wearing grubby, skimpy clothing. Most of them looked either bored or like they didn't care what was going to happen to them, but the youngest--a blonde who couldn't be over twenty, Dean thought--still had some spark and was looking at them with some curiosity.
"Well, I don't think Dad can make things any worse for them. At least we know he isn't going to beat or rob them. Or get them addicted to drugs."
Sam scoffed. "That's a pretty low bar, Dean."
"We'll just have to see--" Dean began, but John interrupted him.
"All right, let's hit that diner around the corner. Dean, you find a motel we can stay in for now. Tomorrow we can hit the thrift stores and get them some new clothes. Okay, girls, let's roll!" John marched off with the women trailing behind him like bedraggled ducklings.
"Oh my God," moaned Sam. "I can't believe this."
"Yeah. This really is the weirdest thing Dad's done," Dean agreed. "Better hang on for the ride."
* * * SW * * *
When they returned to the D.A.'s office, Henriksen dictated a list of orders that Sam scribbled down while Crowley poured them all a short drink from the bottle in his bottom desk drawer.
"First off, I want to question Max Barnes officially. All we did at Iniquity is make sure he was secured and physically alright." Henriksen said. "Put him in an interrogation room. I need to know everything he did, heard, or saw, especially involving the death of his sister. Next, I want to talk to the witch who placed the original wards."
"That would be Rowena," Crowley said. "Send another FBI man--someone large and beefy if you have one, she laughs at the regular police." He looked over at Sam. "Or send this one. She's partial to him."
Sam chuckled nervously. He did get along well with Rowena for some reason, on the occasions the police had had to speak with her or utilize her talents. It wasn't like she came on to him or anything; it was more like she took a somewhat motherly interest in him, whereas any attempted interaction between her and Crowley devolved into a volley of insults. Sam wasn't sure why either of those scenarios happened.
"I want to open an investigation of corruption concerning Roman." Henriksen continued on. "Taking Iniquity and Dean Winchester down is not going to be a sacrificial lamb to any underhanded behavior on the part of the law. Contact the Chief of Police and get him in here. Time he got more involved with this anyway."
"Will do," Sam answered. He pulled out his phone and dialed the chief.
"Singer here," a gruff voice answered. "What's up, Sam?"
"Hey, Bobby. It's about Dean and Iniquity," Sam answered. "The FBI agent, Henriksen, wants you here ASAP. There's been some new developments that need to be discussed in person. We're at the D.A.'s office."
"Oh great, Crowley," Singer answered mockingly. "And a Fed too. You got Henriksen? I hear that one has a stick the size of the Sears Tower up his ass. This will be fun." He sighed heavily. "Be there as soon as I can, boy."
Sam clicked off, thankful he hadn't put the phone on speaker. "He's on his way."
"'Bobby'? You on a first name basis with the Chief of Police, Sam?" Henriksen asked.
"Singer had a big hand in getting Sam here into college and law school. Became his guardian when John Winchester landed in jail for his final stint while Sam was still a minor." Crowley smirked. "Too bad it was too late to salvage Dean."
Sam was on his feet before he even thought about it. "That's unnecessary." He smoothed his hair back. "He may be running a whorehouse, but he doesn't deserve that."
"Dear, dear, what tender feelings we have now." Crowley rolled his eyes. "It's the big leagues, Winchester, deal with it." He got up and moved to the door of his office. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a pressing matter to deal with." He exited, leaving the door open behind him.
"What's more pressing than this investigation?" Henriksen asked in a frustrated tone.
Sam heard the tap of high heels in the hallway, and a feminine giggle as a door down the hall shut. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.
"What?" Henriksen snapped his fingers. "Come on, what is it?"
Sam dropped his hands and looked up at Henriksen. "He's getting blown or laid by his secretary."
Henriksen stared at him. "You have got to be kidding me."
"Nope."
* * * SW * * *
Sam opened the door of the crappy no-tell motel room and froze.
John Winchester knelt on the queen-size bed, his T-shirt rucked up to his chest. Pookie, the young blonde hooker, was on all fours, her bleached curls shaking and her little boobs jiggling under the intensity of John's fucking. She emitted little squeals with each punch of his hips, although Sam couldn't tell if they were sounds of pain or pleasure. John was clearly enjoying himself, judging from the blissed-out expression on his face.
"Dad!" Sam yelled, turning right around and slamming the door shut behind him. "Jesus, Dad!" He turned and leaned back against the wall, squinching his eyes shut. I'm never going to unsee that, he thought. Goddammit. His stomach flipped, and he clenched his jaw to keep from throwing up.
Sam heard a yell from inside the room, accompanied by a louder squeal from Pookie. The only thing as bad as walking in on his dad having sex was seeing his dad right after he'd climaxed, so Sam took off, running blindly before John could come outside.
Man, he didn't want to ever go into that room again. Or if he had to, he wanted to at least burn the sheets and use a whole spray can of Lysol.
You wouldn't have minded so much if it had been Dean, a little voice murmured in his head. Then it would have been hot.
Sam slowed down, dropping into a walk. Yeah, he couldn't deny it. That would have been hot. Seeing Dean half-naked, screwing Pookie, hell, Dean screwing anyone. Hips churning, mouth open, face all flushed . . . Sam's breath caught, and he chubbed in his jeans. Sam suddenly imagined he was in Pookie's place. It was Sam that Dean was plowing now, Sam's hips that Dean's hands were latched onto, Sam's ass being drilled . . .
Gasping for air as his chest constricted and all the blood flooded into his dick, Sam stopped dead. All of his seething desire, all of his lusting for his brother--however unhealthy it may be--coalesced into his forebrain. Having sex with Dean had only made him want to have more sex with Dean.
I'm having sex with Dean. Sam dropped onto the asphalt of the parking lot. I'm lusting after my brother. He groaned at the combined horror of his thoughts and the physical pain of his erection in his jeans.
He rubbed his face, trying to erase the mental pictures bouncing around inside his brain. Shirtless Dean, Dean coming out of the bathroom with his towel falling off his hips, Dean kissing some girl with his hands on her bare boobs. Unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately--tight living had provided Sam with multiple instances of Dean to perv after.
Then Sam pictured Dean's hands sliding over Sam's chest, pinching his nipples. Tugging on his cock while he rode Dean. Fucking his fingers into Sam's mouth while his cock fucked into Sam's hole.
The epiphany hit him along with the wave of desire. Yeah, Dean was hot. Sexy. Hung. But it was more than his physical attributes that filled Sam's awareness. It was Dean picking him up from school. Dean fixing dinner with whatever they could scrabble together. Dean making sure Sam had the necessities of life, sometimes even before Dean did. Rubbing Sam's aching legs. Tending him through a fever. Laughing at stupid movies with him while they ate junk food together.
The complete comprehension of his feelings crashed into Sam. It wasn't just lust between two young men isolated from normal society, helping each other to get their rocks off. Not just Sam being imprinted by his glorious older brother, his own personal poster boy of sex.
It was love.
I'm in love with my brother.
* * * DW * * *
Rowena entered Dean's office with her usual dramatic flair, mincing in on four-inch heels. Her floor-length emerald silk gown clung to her tiny form and then flared into a full, flowing skirt, the entirety of which was embroidered with gold, copper, and scarlet threads. Her auburn hair was piled on her head and secured with a russet silk headband, with some loose tendrils artfully framing her face.
"Dean! You called, and here I am. I don't normally answer such a peremptory invitation, but I understand the situation is of the direst." She looked at the couch and then at Dean, arching an elegant eyebrow.
"Please, Rowena, sit down and be comfortable," Dean said politely, waving toward the couch. While he might be upset about what happened with the wards, nonetheless Rowena was very powerful. He didn't need to unduly piss her off, at least not until he knew more about what happened.
"Thank you. Perhaps a cup of tea?" Rowena looked around, as though hoping the tea would just materialize.
"Business first," Dean placated her. He joined her, sitting on the chair next to the couch. Benny took a silent stance next to the door of the office, hands clasped in front of him.
"What is the emergency? Tell me everything." Rowena sat back, ankles crossed with her copper slippers peeking out from under her skirt.
"We had a break-in last night." Rowena sat forward, but Dean held up a hand to stay her words. "Not from outside per se, but from people already inside Iniquity. I have two new hires who snuck into the business office, but then something happened. Something that resulted in one of them getting killed. What I want to know is how that death happened, and I want to know it before the police know."
Rowena shook her head, her face serious. "Well, of course that's terrible. Why would I be able to furnish this information for you?"
"Because it was a magical death, I think." Dean pulled up a picture of the Banes twins on his phone. "This is Max and Alicia Banes. They came here claiming they were looking for jobs and I hired them. Last night, they broke into the office."
"Very unfortunate, I'm sure." Rowena sighed. "And again, what has this to do with me?"
"Here, maybe this will clear things up." Dean swiped on his phone and presented it to Rowena. Now it showed Alicia's ruined face, her burnt-out eye sockets gaping huge and dark in her pallor of death.
Rowena gasped. "What--"
"That's what I need you to tell me." Dean swiped the picture away and sat back. "What would do that?"
Rowena shook her head. "I need to talk to the witch, if I may. I need to know what he used and what his purpose was. Intent is a huge part of magic. I can answer you better after that."
"He's already been taken in by the police." Dean shrugged and spread his hands open. "You'll have to tell me what you can in terms of what could create feedback like that from the wards. We know he was using a concealment spell so they wouldn't be noticed during the break-in, but then something went haywire." Dean shook his head sadly. "She was his sister and he loved her. He'd never have done it if he'd thought there would be a reaction like that. He was devastated."
"Aye, I can only imagine." Rowena gave a delicate shudder. "That was a horrible way to go. All right, I can do a little detection spell and see what I can find out from the lingering aura. Take me to where it happened." She stood up and waggled a finger at Dean. "I'll hold ye to that tea. Perhaps even a drop of something stronger in it, after this."
Dean put his hands together and nodded at her. "I'll be happy to provide that. Thank you."
* * * SW * * *
Sam sat in his office, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He gazed outside, registering the fat pigeons and the people moving around on the street without actually focusing on them.
What is happening? Why am I feeling so confused? So many memories had been assailing him for the last weeks, and the dissonance they created in his mind and soul was starting to put him into a tailspin.
His latest memory flashback had stirred up feelings Sam had thought long dispersed. His love for his brother, in both wholesome and lustful forms, had been pushed down for years, sublimated in Sam's quest for a normal, apple-pie life. Physical desire had been re-routed to Jess, with her long legs, thick blonde hair, big green eyes--
No, I didn't. No. Sam's heart pounded as he fell through yet another sinkhole in the journey of self-realization this case had launched him on. Tell me I didn't fall for a girl who reminds me of Dean.
He gave a little gasping sigh, as if to quell incipient sobs. When did this case get so fucked up? When did my life get so fucked up?
A tap on his door was followed by the creak of it opening and the tap of Jo's heels.
"Sam, are you okay?" Her voice was soft and concerned. "Can I get you anything?"
Sam straightened up, adjusting his suit jacket.
"No, I'm fine, thanks. Just. . .a little tired." He smiled at her.
"Sure. Well, someone called the confidential tip line. You know, it's kinda for any case we have going, but this guy, he said--he specifically mentioned Iniquity. So I thought you'd want to see it right away." She handed him a couple of papers.
"Yes! Thank you, Jo. What did he say?" Sam started scanning the transcripts as he listened for her reply.
"He said he works there, but only started recently. He's heard the gossip about how we are investigating them for drugs. I guess. . .well, he must have some real loyalty to them because he says there aren't any drugs being dealt there. Not street stuff, not supe stuff."
"Well, I guess that's to be expected. What else could he say?" Sam sighed and set the paper aside.
"Yeah, that's what I thought too. But then--" Jo paused.
"Yeah? What?" Sam was intrigued about what had ticked Jo's radar.
"He said--well, that he was, um, close to Benny. You know, Dean's second. Like, Benny is his boyfriend. He said there are no drugs at all on the premises, that Dean doesn't even tolerate weed there. The only supes they have are a couple of shapeshifters, so there's no one to even provide things like djinn juice or siren spit."
Sam sat back, thinking over Jo's words. If that were true, then where was the whole drug case? And why were those rumors even floating around? Was Iniquity really clean after all? As kids, Dean had only done a little marijuana once in a while, and never anything stronger. Never fuck your mind up like that, he'd told Sam. It's not worth the buzz.
"So, if that's true, then where did the drug rumors come from? And who is doing what and where with them?" he mused. "Did the tipster leave a name?"
"No, but he said something about how he could hear a lot of conversations because everyone ignores the help." Jo spread her hands. "That's all."
"Interesting. I wonder just who the help is that he's referring to." Sam stood up. "Get me a list of everyone who works at Iniquity that isn't a sex worker. Waiters, bartenders, kitchen staff--everyone."
"On it, boss!"
* * * DW * * *
"Benny, arrange for a press conference ASAP. I want both print and radio there, and I want it live streamed as well." Dean adjusted his tie in the mirror as Benny hovered nearby.
"A press conference? What about, brutha?"
Dean turned to look at him. "We're going to announce the unfortunate death of Alicia Banes that occurred here. In the interests of transparency and public safety, we're disclosing the serious issues of performing magic within a warded building, and also that we had nothing to do with it, police are investigating and so on."
A grin spread slowly across Benny's face. "You're spiking the D.A.'s guns."
"I sure am. Let them try and drag us through the mud, when here we are being all upstanding. I may also throw a few notable names around as 'well-known to Iniquity' without outright saying that they are steady clients." Dean snorted. "No use having sensitive information if you can't use it."
"You got it." Benny hustled off.
Dean pulled out his phone and looked at it. Should he? Which way was better, to surprise Sammy or warn him?
Thumbing his contact list, Dean hit Sam's number. Warning it was.
"Dean?" He could hear the surprise in Sam's voice. "Why are you calling me?"
"I'm having a press conference very shortly. I'm giving you a head's up about it."
"A conference? What about?"
"The sad demise of a beautiful young woman at my establishment. How she died. Why she died. How I had nothing to do with any of it, and that it's all on the FBI and the D.A.'s office." Dean heard Sam's gasp. "I'm not saying anything that ain't true, Sammy. Just letting you know in case you have to duck and cover."
"Dean, you can't--it's all under investigation! You can't go public--"
"I can and I am!" Dean retorted. "I'm a private citizen doing my civic duty. It's not my problem that y'all haven't gotten the answers you need. And I'm not going down for something I didn't do." He sighed. "Just wanted to be straight with you. I don't care what you do with it."
He hung up. Benny returned.
"Noon sound good?"
Dean nodded. "Sounds great." He clapped Benny on the arm. "Time to start shaking up some skeletons, my friend. Let's rattle those bones."
* * * SW * * *
Sam watched Dean's press conference at Iniquity with equal amounts of annoyance and grudging respect. Breaking the news of Alicia Banes' death before the D.A. or the Feds had was definitely a public relations blow. However, Sam had to give Dean kudos for handling the potentially explosive situation so adroitly. By getting out in front of it, he'd demonstrated that Iniquity had nothing to gain or hide from the death. And he'd made the D.A.'s office look slow, if not incompetent, at the same time.
Well played, Dean.
The intercom on Sam's desk chirped.
"Crowley wants--" Jo's voice began.
"Yeah, yeah, headed there now." Sam cut her off, knowing what she was going to say. He got up and headed to Crowley's office.
Crowley was red-faced with bad temper when Sam walked in. He thought he could just about see little curls of steam rising from the portly man's collar and forehead.
"Well, Sam, thank you for joining us," Crowley spat. Sam looked around and saw that Henriksen was also present. He didn't look any happier than Crowley, but he masked it more effectively. Only the muscles bunching at his jaw indicated his stress. "Now please explain what the hell your brother is doing over there!" He waved one hand angrily in the air.
"I have no idea," Sam replied tersely. "But I have to say, he's handled this well. He's out in front of this and we look like we have our thumbs up our asses." Which we kinda do, he thought, but refrained from expressing that out loud.
Crowley looked as if he was about to explode, but Henriksen cut off any further words with an impatient gesture.
"Enough! It happened, so now we have to go on from here. We need to get some answers and get them quickly." He turned to Sam. "Do we have anything back from the coroner yet?"
Sam checked his phone, clicking on the report he found in his inbox and scrolling quickly through it. "Yes, he's finished with the autopsy. He's sending the official findings to us, but the short version is she essentially died from having her eyes blasted out of her face and the trauma caused by that." He looked at Crowley and Henriksen. "For what that's worth."
Henriksen crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, let's go with the theory that in fact she got caught in a magical backdraft between her brother's spell and Iniquity's wards. That's sad, but gives us nothing on the brothel or Dean. So now we're down two agents, have an accidental death, and nothing to show for it."
An idea seized Sam. "Then let's go a different route. Can we trace who called the tip line? Jo said it was someone who works at Iniquity, but not one of the sex workers, who called and said there aren't any drugs there. Let's find out who that was and why he said that. Maybe there's an angle we aren't aware of yet."
Henriksen nodded slowly. "It can't hurt. We got bupkis right now." He looked at Crowley. "If we find out who that was, maybe we can get to the bottom of whether or not the drugs are a fact or just a rumor. We'll still have the money laundering to investigate, but it's a start." He walked over to Sam and clapped his hand on Sam's back. "Good thinking, Winchester." Nodding at Sam, Henriksen addressed Crowley. "You got a smart one here."
Sam flushed, embarrassed by the praise. Crowley glowered at him and Sam beat a hasty retreat.
* * * DW * * *
Dean sighed when he saw Sam's number flash onto his cell. He was going over the last month's financial statements with Benny and Madison, but he knew he needed to take this call.
"Don't go anywhere, I'll make this quick," he told them. "Hey, Sam. What's up?"
"We need to talk to your employees." Sam's voice sounded brisk and all business. "Not the um, the--"
"Sex workers, Sam. It's okay to say that, you won't burst into flames." Dean rolled his eyes, and both Madison and Benny stifled a laugh. Dean put the phone on speaker so they could listen. "Why do you need to talk with them?"
"Someone from Iniquity called our tip line." Dean sat up straight, shocked at the news. "They didn't incriminate you in anything. Quite the opposite. They said that you are not dealing or providing drugs there."
Dean exhaled in relief. All he needed now was someone spreading lies to make things worse. "Well, sure, because--as I keep saying--I'm not. We're not."
"This could be good corroboration for you," Sam continued. "But we need to speak with your staff,. Privately, to ascertain that they are not speaking under duress. If this claim is true, then our further thought is maybe they can help root out why these rumors keep hanging over you."
Dean raised his eyebrows at Benny and Madison, who were nodding in approval. "This sounds real good, Sammy, but why are you so gung ho about proving my innocence all of a sudden?
"Because if it's demonstrably true, it clears our decks as well as yours. Maybe someone's got a grudge against you. Maybe something is going on that you're unaware of. We could work together to ferret out what is going on." Sam took a deep breath. "Dean, I know you. Or I used to. I know drugs were never your thing in the past. But when the D.A. hears that kind of rumor at a place like--"
"Yeah, yeah, we all know what kind of place this is," Dean answered dryly. "Well, it's good to know you're now willing to listen to what I've been saying all along. Who specifically do you want to interview and when do you want to interview them?"
"The wait staff, bartenders, kitchen staff. The people who hear and see things because they get overlooked or ignored."
Dean gave Benny and Madison a questioning look, What do you think? Madison nodded and Benny gave him a thumbs up. "That can be arranged. My only stipulation is that it's you who comes, Sam. You can bring one other person, whoever you want, with you, but you're doing the questioning."
"Okay, agreed. We'll be over tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you."
"Yes, that's fine." Dean clicked his phone off. "Well, what about that, my friends?"
"Very interesting," said Madison. "Clearly they've run into a brick wall so far."
"Yeah," Benny agreed. "But did you catch the part about how maybe we don't know something ourselves?"
Dean leaned back in his chair. "I did. Is that really possible? Would someone here be making deals for shit like that, and we don't know?"
Benny shook his head. "I hate to think so, but we all know there are people who'd stoop to that."
"Agreed, of course," Madison replied. "But here? God, I can't think of anyone I'd suspect that of."
"Me either, but I guess we'll work on finding out." Dean gave them a grave look. "That suspicion can't leave this room. We'll simply say we're cooperating with the police investigation. If there's a rat, we need to find out."
"Of course."
"You got it, brutha."
* * * SW * * *
Sam sat in a small conference room in Iniquity's business suite. Walls paneled sedately in dark wood surrounded a round table that could seat ten in its burgundy leather chairs. A sideboard on one wall held a Keurig and a spinning rack of assorted coffees along with sugar, sugar substitutes, and powdered creamer. A large silver serving tray offered paper napkins, hot cups and lids, and stirrers. Half a dozen bottled waters were also available.
Instead of Henriksen, Police Chief Robert Singer accompanied Sam. Singer had decided that he needed to be more personally involved in the investigation, and both Crowley and Sam agreed that he was a less overtly threatening figure than the aggressive FBI agent. Singer's rather avuncular appearance and manner, however, belied a sharp mind and an impressive breadth of both general and criminal knowledge.
First up, they talked with Madison. She was a beautiful brunette with large, expressive eyes, long dark hair, and a wide, mobile mouth. Sam found her to be intelligent, witty, and hot. He remembered Dean suggesting that Sam would like her, and damn if Dean wasn't right. Madison gave Sam a sultry glance or two, but otherwise kept the meeting on a professional level. She answered questions about hiring, the various employees, and the booking protocols.
"Everyone has a background check run, not just the talent." She pushed a business card over to Sam. "Here's the agency we use."
"'Talent?'" asked Singer. Madison glared at him.
"Yes. Our staff is the cream of the crop, gentlemen. Beautiful, smart, and skilled. We treat them with respect for their talent, and they are the reason we are so successful in our business. It is a business, and we run it competently. We take care of our people." She stood up and smoothed her skirt with one elegantly manicured hand. "If that's all, I'll start sending people in one by one."
"Yes, uh, thank you. That would be great." Sam barely kept himself from stammering like a raw adolescent boy. Madison left, and Singer guffawed once the door was shut.
"'Yes, uhhhhh, thank you,'" he mimicked Sam in a goofy voice. "She get your knickers in a twist there, boy?"
Sam cleared his throat and adjusted the knot in his tie so it wouldn't strangle him, judging by the way he couldn't quite breath. "Nonsense, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh huh. Can't fool me, I seen you since you were a horny little sprout," Singer snickered. "She's just your type. Always wondered why you ended up with a blonde."
"Shut up, Bobby," Sam said, giving Singer a little punch in the shoulder. "Bully."
"Ass."
They both chuckled, and then the next person was ushered in.
* * * DW * * *
"Relax. This isn't going to go any quicker by you pacing like a caged lion." Benny tried to ease Dean's tension.
"Just hate that I can't be present," Dean groused. "I know I agreed to this, and I get why I can't be there, so that they can speak freely and all. But I still don't like not being able to hear what's going on."
"And who said you couldn't?" Benny winked. "Just press that button." He pointed to a button on the intercom landline sitting on Dean's desk.
"Benny, you sly dog! You didn't," Dean exclaimed.
"Oh, I did," Benny purred. "Now let's hear what's going on, shall we?"
They sat and listened as Sam and Singer questioned the cooks, the wait staff, and the housekeepers. Nothing of note was said by any of them. Iniquity was a great place to work, the employees were all paid well and had benefits like good health insurance. To a person, Dean had their loyalty and respect.
"Well, it's not like I don't love to hear that, but unfortunately it isn't getting us anywhere," Dean said after the tenth interview.
"They aren't done yet. We still got the bartenders."
"Oh, Kevin too? How are things going with him?" Dean smirked at Benny.
"He's a good boy." Benny smiled lasciviously. "Smart as a whip too. Knows his computer stuff backwards and forwards. I think he'd be a good addition to the business staff on the tech side." He winked. "And his ass is amazing. Boy is toned."
Dean chuckled, then quieted as Kevin entered and Sam began to question him.
* * * SW * * *
"Yes sir, I'm a bartender here, been about three months now." Kevin Tran sat quietly, only his eyes darting between Singer and Sam belying his nerves. "I used to work as a waiter over at Ellen's Roadhouse Diner, on, on--"
"Oh yeah, I know that place." Singer interrupted. "They still got those good pies there?"
"Yessir," Kevin smiled, relaxing a little. "So Mr. Winchester and Ben--Mr. Lafitte were there having breakfast one day, and they hired me away."
"Uh-huh. And was that Mr. Winchester's idea or Mr. Lafitte's?" Singer asked.
"Mr.--Mr. Lafitte, sir."
Sam and Singer exchanged a look. Lafitte saw something he liked and hired it, Sam thought.
"As a bartender, you must overhear a lot of conversations while you're getting drinks, don't you?" Sam asked casually.
"Oh yeah--yes sir. People always think that waiters are deaf or something." Kevin nodded with a half-smile. "They'll talk about anything. It can be pretty funny sometimes."
"You ever hear anything about drug deals?" Singer said.
"No sir! Never. That's even what I said when--" Kevin shut his mouth with an almost audible snap.
Sam leaned forward. "When you said what when, Kevin?"
Kevin looked anxiously between the two men. "I, um . . ."
"Easy, boy," Singer said gently. "Let me take a guess here. You, loyal to your new bosses for ah, various reasons, thought you'd call the police tip line and tell them there's no drugs here, hoping to take some of the heat off Iniquity."
Kevin's eyes dropped, his black hair hanging down and hiding his face. "Yes sir," he mumbled. "I just wanted everyone to get off of Mr. Winchester's back." He looked back up, and Sam could see the sincerity on the young man's face. "There really are no drugs being dealt here. I'm sure I'd have seen or heard something by now."
"That's fine, Kevin." Sam sat back, glancing at Singer before continuing. "I believe you. But I tell you what. I'd like you to keep listening to everyone, okay? If you do ever hear of anything that seems funny, you let me know. I promise that Dean--Mr. Winchester--won't come to any harm if he's not connected to it. But if someone is doing something Mr. Winchester doesn't know about, then he could get hurt, you know? So, can you do that?"
Kevin sat still for a few seconds. He gave a short nod.
"I can do that. I don't want Mr. Winchester or--or Mr. Lafitte to get hurt."
"Good boy," Singer said. He passed a card over to Kevin. "Here's our cell numbers."
Kevin took the card and stood up.
"Is that all? Are you done with me?"
"Yes, we are for now. Thanks, Kevin."
After Kevin's departure, Sam and Singer looked at each other.
"You think something's going on under Dean's nose?" Singer asked.
Sam shook his head. "Dean's as sharp as they come, but . . . maybe he's being hoodwinked by someone he thinks he can trust. He's been so adamant about his and Iniquity's innocence. It's really making me start to think about a third party working under the covers, so to speak."
"I see whatcha did there, boy." Singer guffawed. He elbowed Sam, who looked blankly at him and then burst into a short laugh. "Okay, let's get the next one in.
On to Part 6