Fic: The Kept Man (5/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (5/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2674 this part; [8223 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene (eventually)
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from
talcat given via
culf . Borrowed a few lines of dialogue from canon again. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“Good morning, sir.”
“Mornin’ Cartwright. Ah, tea and Garibaldi’s. You’re a star,” Gene tiredly accepted his poor excuse for a breakfast.
“Thank you, sir.”
He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the WPC had yet to move. “Summit on your mind, luv, or do you just want to stare at my gorgeous figure?”
“Sorry, Guv. It’s...well, I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, sir, but...”
Gene set down the folder he’d just picked up, reclined back in his chair, and crossed his arms, eyebrows raised. Not defensive. Simply interested. “Go on, then.”
“Well, you know how you had me filling out the reports on the Clay case, sir?”
“Yes,” Gene nodded.
WPC Cartwright had hid her hands firmly behind her back, probably because they were shaking ever so slightly. “Well, I was reviewing the file sir, and well...”
“Spit it out Cartwright.”
“The big punch-up that happened last Saturday, between City and United, it never would’ve happened if Clay hadn’t been murdered.”
“We all know that, luv. United practically had it tattooed on their foreheads,” Gene, interest gone, leaned forward onto his desk, and sorted through the mess of papers.
“Yes, sir, but I remember some of the lads we brought in. Two of the United supporters were discussing how someone had been spoiling for a fight all season and finally got his wish. That no one else had wanted a fight until Clay was killed.”
Gene’s interest was well and truly piqued once again.
“The person they were talking about was another United fan. Sir, I was just thinking, and I could be completely wrong, but maybe, what if, it was a United fan who killed Clay, so that he could get the fight he wanted.”
Gene thought for a long minute. “So the City fans would be innocent?”
“Yes, Guv.”
Gene paused again. It did make sense, in a backwards sort of way, and they had yet to turn up any other leads. “In that case, Cartwright, I approve of your findings. Have you got names?”
She pulled a notebook from her uniform pocket and flipped open to a specific page, holding it out to Gene. “I asked them when I heard what they were saying. I, er, may have pretended I was flirting with them, sir.”
Gene quickly memorized the names on her list, stood and grabbed his coat, and tossed her a Garibaldi on his way out the door. “You keep this up, Nancy Drew, you’ll be too big for that uniform.”
“I hope you’re not referring to the biscuit. Sir.”
“Cheeky,” Gene mumbled as he blew into the bullpen, calling Ray and Chris to his side. That girl, there was something different about her. Gene would have to find a way to keep her around a bit longer.
*
Another errand for Warren. That’s all it was. Go to the address, drop off the envelope, get the hell out of there. Just like last time, only preferably without getting six shades of shite beat out of him. Except this time, Sam couldn’t help but wonder how DCI Hunt would react if he knew Warren was doing business all the way up in Higher Broughton.
He smiled at the thought but quickly composed himself. He wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t do that, to Warren. He wasn’t a snitch and having his throat slit was not high on his To Do list. He erased any thought of DCI Hunt from his mind. The slight erection that came with those thoughts took longer to dissipate.
Sam double-checked the flat number on the slip of paper he was given, shoved the crumpled note into his jacket pocket and knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before it was opened by a debonair looking man in a smart shirt, tie, and pressed rust-orange trousers. He was rolling up his sleeves and Sam could see a matching orange suit jacket laid across a chair in the background.
Sam wondered why everything in the seventies had been orange. He dismissed it as a silly notion because it was only 1973 and things could change in a year or so and what had he meant by “had been?”
“Yeah?” The forty-odd year old man drawled. Sam realized he’d stood there a few seconds without saying anything.
“Sorry. Mr. Warren sent me.” He began to take the envelope from his pocket.
“You Sam?” He asked before Sam had retrieved the letter.
“Yes, sir.” He had to be polite, no matter what sort of criminal this man was. He couldn’t let it get back to Warren that he’d been discourteous.
“Come on in,” the man stepped aside, allowing Sam entry. The door was shut behind him.
“I, uhm, I’m supposed to give you this.” He handed over the sealed envelope.
“Wonderful,” he said without a smile and took the letter from Sam’s hands. “Have a seat. I’ll send you back with a reply as soon as I’m finished.” The man motioned to one of two chairs in the sparsely furnished flat.
Sam avoided looking at the man, not wanting to be told off later for inappropriately staring at a potential business partner, but his eyes were drawn upwards as the man laughed at what he was reading. He looked at Sam then back at the letter, rereading it before folding it up and sliding it in his trouser pocket.
“Tell your boss I accept his offer. That the payment will be sufficient.”
“Great,” Sam nodded and rose from the chair. “I’ll go tell him right now.”
Sam was grabbed by the shoulder and pulled back.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to Warren.” Sam’s stomach clenched.
“Didn’t he tell you, son? You are the payment.”
*
“You din’t mean to kill ‘im, did yeh, Pete? Thought, what? You’d rough ‘im up a bit? Stir up a bit of outrage?”
Pete Bond sat silently in Lost and Found as Gene prowled behind him.
“What’s the matter Pete? Lose all your bottle after those City fans creamed your arse in that old factory last Saturday?” Gene’s eyes flickered to the fresh cast on Bond’s right wrist.
“They got what was coming to them,” Burns muttered.
Ray shook his head. “Shouldn’t have said that, mate.”
Bond was out of the chair and against the wall in less than a second.
“Our Guv ‘ere’s a City fan,” Ray explained.
“We’ve got enough crime in this city. We don’t need shite like you stirrin’ up trouble where it don’t belong,” Gene growled.
“It was about pride. Pride in your team. Bein’ the best.”
Gene pulled him forward then slammed him back again. “And you show that pride by goin’ to the match and lettin’ your team fight it out on the pitch, the way it’s meant to be. You show that pride by buyin’ the winner a pint or takin’ the piss when they lose. Not by killin’ one of your own.”
Gene dropped him to the ground. “You’re a disgrace and I thank Dennis Law’s right foot that you’re not a City fan. Lock ‘im up, Ray. I’ll get Chris to start the paperwork.
*
Beep. Beep. Hang in there, Sam. Beep. Beep.
Blood.
“You used to believe in gut feeling. What happened?”
Blood on his hands.
Beep. Beep. You can wake up, sweetheart. I know you can. Beep. Beep.
Blood on his shirt.
Blood on her shirt. “Preserve the scene. Call in SOCO, please.”
“Shit. Shitshitshit!”
Beep. Beep. Please, Sam. Be strong. Beep. Beep.
“Shutupshutupshutup.” He covered his ears. It would help if he covered his ears. It would help if he covered his ears. It would help if he covered his ears. It would all go away if he covered his ears.
Blood. “Oh God. What did I do?” Lots of blood.
“Stop it! Stop. Stop. Get...get a hold of yourself, Tyler. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Did you not see the signs? Do you remember what happened, sir?”
“Calm down. Just calm down, Sam. C’mon. Deep breaths. You’re alright. You’re alright. You’re alright.” Sam slowly lowered his hands and hugged his knees as he rocked back and forth in the corner. It was passing. It was gone. Whatever it was it was gone and he was okay. He was still okay. For now. He looked at the body in front of him. Red did not go well with burnt orange.
*
Gene had received some odd calls in his time but this had to be one of the stranger ones. A scared, breathless voice giving him an address. That was it. He dismissed it at first as a practical joke but as he thought about it he realized there was something familiar about that voice. Twenty minutes later he was inside the building, standing in the doorway of a flat and staring at a body dressed in hideous trousers, lying facedown on the floor.
“Close the door. Please close the door,” begged a voice from the corner. Gene peaked in, saw who it was, and did as instructed. “What happened? Din’t pay the right amount?”
“He’ll kill me. He’s going to kill me. As soon as he finds out, he’ll kill me.”
Gene didn’t have to ask who he was. He knelt down and felt for a pulse. “Don’t worry. This one ain’t dead.”
“You think that matters?” Sam screamed and leapt to his feet, pacing on the spot. “I didn’t...and now...and shit...”
“Sam. Tyler. Listen to me. Calm the fuck down.” The authoritative voice caught the boy’s attention and Sam stopped his frantic movements. Gene thought he should thank Warren for giving the lad some training. “Now tell me. Why did you call me?”
“What?”
“You just committed a GBH, while you were already engaging in an illegal activity, outside of Warren’s patch and you rang up a police officer. Summit seem a bit off about that to you?”
“I...it just felt like the right thing to do,” Sam whispered and sat himself down on the nearby bed, his back to Gene. Hunt crossed to the other side of the room and leaned back against the wall, staring hard at the still distraught man. Sam was staring at the blood on his hands. “Warren would kill me. You’d only arrest me.”
“Tell me what happened,” Gene quietly inquired.
“I was told to deliver a letter to this man.”
“The unconscious bloke.”
Sam nodded. “I thought...I didn’t know what was in it. I didn’t...Warren owed him some money and instead of paying him he decided...”
“To offer up his favorite rent boy in return.”
“When I realized...I panicked. He’s never...done this to me before. I fought back. He hit his head and he went down. I didn’t mean to...Warren’s never...sold me, before.”
“I told you this was goin’ to happen, Sam.”
“There was nothing I could do. I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Did you?” Sam looked up, eyes still filled with fear.
Gene decided to ignore the question. “You’ll have to get out of here. Out of the city. Does Warren know where you came from?”
“No.”
Gene reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, opening it and pulling out all the cash he had. “Then get yourself back home. Forget this ever happened. I can distract Warren enough so he won’t come lookin’ for you.” He held out the money but Sam didn’t take it.
“I can’t.”
“I’ve been around a long time, Tyler, and I can tell you, whatever you left behind it can’t be as bad as all this.”
Still, Sam refused to take the money. “No. I mean I really can’t because...”
“Because what?”
“Because I don’t know!” Sam shouted. “I don’t know where I came from. I don’t know how I got here! I just...I woke up. I think...I may have had an accident. Some sort of accident and then...I can’t...I don’t know anything about me. I don’t know where I come from. I don’t have anywhere to go.” Sam collapsed his head in his hands.
“What, amnesia?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Well...shit,” Gene put the money away.
“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “That’s pretty much it.” He took a deep breath and calmed his hysteria. “So, officer, can you see why I am well and truly fucked?”
Gene stared at the body and then into space. He didn’t know why he wanted to help this man, why he even should. He could just be a brilliant liar. He’d seen it before and Warren wasn’t above this sort of trick. However, the Gene Genie trusted his gut more than his head and every instinct he had was telling him this Sam Tyler was not that good of an actor.
“No. You’re not.”
“Sorry?”
“Not if this isn’t your fault.”
“How is it--”
“Would you stop thinking and listen to me! It couldn’t have been your fault if he was already out when you got here. You came like you were supposed to...”
“Or rather I didn’t,” Sam sighed.
“Tart.”
“Sorry.”
“Knocked on the door but it was already open. He was already down. You checked for a pulse, tried to help, which is how you got the blood on your clothes. When you learned he was still alive, you called for an ambulance then ran off before the police showed up. The police being me.”
Sam shook his head. “He won’t fall for that.”
“He will. Especially when I arrest the man responsible.”
“And how will you do that, Chief Inspector?”
“I know a few scum that would fit the bill for this one,” Gene looked over the barely breathing body.
“You’re going to fit someone up?”
“Don’t worry. I would never fit someone up who didn’t deserve it.”
“It’s wrong. I can’t--”
“And since when did you take the moral high ground, Linda Lovelace?”
“I couldn’t do that. Arrest someone for something I know they didn’t do.”
“Well it’s a good thing you’re not a copper then, is it?” Gene stopped when he noticed Sam was still trembling. He’d nearly forgotten. For Hunt, it was just another day on the job. For Sam, it was literally life or death.
“Sam. Look at me. I know it’s not perfect but do you want to die?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“Do you want your body sliced up and thrown in the canal because we both know that’s what’ll happen.”
“No,” he finally responded. “No, I don’t want to die.”
“Okay. Then do what I say. Go back to Warren. Tell him what I told you.”
Sam nodded then suddenly remembered something else. “The letter! He’ll know if I don’t go back with the letter...”
“Where is it?”
“His trouser pocket.”
Gene knelt down and quickly found the note, the envelope that went along with it lying on the bed. It was all Warren’s unique, own stationary. Gene shoved the letter back inside then walked over and handed it to Sam. “You’ll have to tell him you read it on the way.”
“He’ll be furious,” Sam whispered, staring at the now unsealed envelope.
“Will he kill you?”
“No.”
“Bruises can heal, Tyler. A slit throat can’t.”
Sam closed his eyes and nodded. He started towards the door when Gene gently took him by the elbow and pulled him back.
“You’ll have to sell it, Sam. Really sell it. Do you think you can?” Gene didn’t remove his hand as he stared into Sam’s dark eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah I think so.”
Before Gene knew what happened, Sam’s lips were pressed against his and a soft tongue was probing his mouth. Sam was the one who pulled back, seemingly more shocked than Gene, and quickly removed himself from Hunt’s hold. Once he realized Gene wasn’t going to hit him, he backed away.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t...I should...I’m gone.” He ran to the door, turning back at the last second. “Thank you.”
Gene watched him leave, a sense of loss mixing painfully with the familiar twinge in his groin, and knew he was in very, very deep shit.
_______
Part 6
Author: dak
Word Count: 2674 this part; [8223 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene (eventually)
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from
talcat given via
culf . Borrowed a few lines of dialogue from canon again. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“Good morning, sir.”
“Mornin’ Cartwright. Ah, tea and Garibaldi’s. You’re a star,” Gene tiredly accepted his poor excuse for a breakfast.
“Thank you, sir.”
He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the WPC had yet to move. “Summit on your mind, luv, or do you just want to stare at my gorgeous figure?”
“Sorry, Guv. It’s...well, I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, sir, but...”
Gene set down the folder he’d just picked up, reclined back in his chair, and crossed his arms, eyebrows raised. Not defensive. Simply interested. “Go on, then.”
“Well, you know how you had me filling out the reports on the Clay case, sir?”
“Yes,” Gene nodded.
WPC Cartwright had hid her hands firmly behind her back, probably because they were shaking ever so slightly. “Well, I was reviewing the file sir, and well...”
“Spit it out Cartwright.”
“The big punch-up that happened last Saturday, between City and United, it never would’ve happened if Clay hadn’t been murdered.”
“We all know that, luv. United practically had it tattooed on their foreheads,” Gene, interest gone, leaned forward onto his desk, and sorted through the mess of papers.
“Yes, sir, but I remember some of the lads we brought in. Two of the United supporters were discussing how someone had been spoiling for a fight all season and finally got his wish. That no one else had wanted a fight until Clay was killed.”
Gene’s interest was well and truly piqued once again.
“The person they were talking about was another United fan. Sir, I was just thinking, and I could be completely wrong, but maybe, what if, it was a United fan who killed Clay, so that he could get the fight he wanted.”
Gene thought for a long minute. “So the City fans would be innocent?”
“Yes, Guv.”
Gene paused again. It did make sense, in a backwards sort of way, and they had yet to turn up any other leads. “In that case, Cartwright, I approve of your findings. Have you got names?”
She pulled a notebook from her uniform pocket and flipped open to a specific page, holding it out to Gene. “I asked them when I heard what they were saying. I, er, may have pretended I was flirting with them, sir.”
Gene quickly memorized the names on her list, stood and grabbed his coat, and tossed her a Garibaldi on his way out the door. “You keep this up, Nancy Drew, you’ll be too big for that uniform.”
“I hope you’re not referring to the biscuit. Sir.”
“Cheeky,” Gene mumbled as he blew into the bullpen, calling Ray and Chris to his side. That girl, there was something different about her. Gene would have to find a way to keep her around a bit longer.
*
Another errand for Warren. That’s all it was. Go to the address, drop off the envelope, get the hell out of there. Just like last time, only preferably without getting six shades of shite beat out of him. Except this time, Sam couldn’t help but wonder how DCI Hunt would react if he knew Warren was doing business all the way up in Higher Broughton.
He smiled at the thought but quickly composed himself. He wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t do that, to Warren. He wasn’t a snitch and having his throat slit was not high on his To Do list. He erased any thought of DCI Hunt from his mind. The slight erection that came with those thoughts took longer to dissipate.
Sam double-checked the flat number on the slip of paper he was given, shoved the crumpled note into his jacket pocket and knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before it was opened by a debonair looking man in a smart shirt, tie, and pressed rust-orange trousers. He was rolling up his sleeves and Sam could see a matching orange suit jacket laid across a chair in the background.
Sam wondered why everything in the seventies had been orange. He dismissed it as a silly notion because it was only 1973 and things could change in a year or so and what had he meant by “had been?”
“Yeah?” The forty-odd year old man drawled. Sam realized he’d stood there a few seconds without saying anything.
“Sorry. Mr. Warren sent me.” He began to take the envelope from his pocket.
“You Sam?” He asked before Sam had retrieved the letter.
“Yes, sir.” He had to be polite, no matter what sort of criminal this man was. He couldn’t let it get back to Warren that he’d been discourteous.
“Come on in,” the man stepped aside, allowing Sam entry. The door was shut behind him.
“I, uhm, I’m supposed to give you this.” He handed over the sealed envelope.
“Wonderful,” he said without a smile and took the letter from Sam’s hands. “Have a seat. I’ll send you back with a reply as soon as I’m finished.” The man motioned to one of two chairs in the sparsely furnished flat.
Sam avoided looking at the man, not wanting to be told off later for inappropriately staring at a potential business partner, but his eyes were drawn upwards as the man laughed at what he was reading. He looked at Sam then back at the letter, rereading it before folding it up and sliding it in his trouser pocket.
“Tell your boss I accept his offer. That the payment will be sufficient.”
“Great,” Sam nodded and rose from the chair. “I’ll go tell him right now.”
Sam was grabbed by the shoulder and pulled back.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to Warren.” Sam’s stomach clenched.
“Didn’t he tell you, son? You are the payment.”
*
“You din’t mean to kill ‘im, did yeh, Pete? Thought, what? You’d rough ‘im up a bit? Stir up a bit of outrage?”
Pete Bond sat silently in Lost and Found as Gene prowled behind him.
“What’s the matter Pete? Lose all your bottle after those City fans creamed your arse in that old factory last Saturday?” Gene’s eyes flickered to the fresh cast on Bond’s right wrist.
“They got what was coming to them,” Burns muttered.
Ray shook his head. “Shouldn’t have said that, mate.”
Bond was out of the chair and against the wall in less than a second.
“Our Guv ‘ere’s a City fan,” Ray explained.
“We’ve got enough crime in this city. We don’t need shite like you stirrin’ up trouble where it don’t belong,” Gene growled.
“It was about pride. Pride in your team. Bein’ the best.”
Gene pulled him forward then slammed him back again. “And you show that pride by goin’ to the match and lettin’ your team fight it out on the pitch, the way it’s meant to be. You show that pride by buyin’ the winner a pint or takin’ the piss when they lose. Not by killin’ one of your own.”
Gene dropped him to the ground. “You’re a disgrace and I thank Dennis Law’s right foot that you’re not a City fan. Lock ‘im up, Ray. I’ll get Chris to start the paperwork.
*
Beep. Beep. Hang in there, Sam. Beep. Beep.
Blood.
“You used to believe in gut feeling. What happened?”
Blood on his hands.
Beep. Beep. You can wake up, sweetheart. I know you can. Beep. Beep.
Blood on his shirt.
Blood on her shirt. “Preserve the scene. Call in SOCO, please.”
“Shit. Shitshitshit!”
Beep. Beep. Please, Sam. Be strong. Beep. Beep.
“Shutupshutupshutup.” He covered his ears. It would help if he covered his ears. It would help if he covered his ears. It would help if he covered his ears. It would all go away if he covered his ears.
Blood. “Oh God. What did I do?” Lots of blood.
“Stop it! Stop. Stop. Get...get a hold of yourself, Tyler. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Did you not see the signs? Do you remember what happened, sir?”
“Calm down. Just calm down, Sam. C’mon. Deep breaths. You’re alright. You’re alright. You’re alright.” Sam slowly lowered his hands and hugged his knees as he rocked back and forth in the corner. It was passing. It was gone. Whatever it was it was gone and he was okay. He was still okay. For now. He looked at the body in front of him. Red did not go well with burnt orange.
*
Gene had received some odd calls in his time but this had to be one of the stranger ones. A scared, breathless voice giving him an address. That was it. He dismissed it at first as a practical joke but as he thought about it he realized there was something familiar about that voice. Twenty minutes later he was inside the building, standing in the doorway of a flat and staring at a body dressed in hideous trousers, lying facedown on the floor.
“Close the door. Please close the door,” begged a voice from the corner. Gene peaked in, saw who it was, and did as instructed. “What happened? Din’t pay the right amount?”
“He’ll kill me. He’s going to kill me. As soon as he finds out, he’ll kill me.”
Gene didn’t have to ask who he was. He knelt down and felt for a pulse. “Don’t worry. This one ain’t dead.”
“You think that matters?” Sam screamed and leapt to his feet, pacing on the spot. “I didn’t...and now...and shit...”
“Sam. Tyler. Listen to me. Calm the fuck down.” The authoritative voice caught the boy’s attention and Sam stopped his frantic movements. Gene thought he should thank Warren for giving the lad some training. “Now tell me. Why did you call me?”
“What?”
“You just committed a GBH, while you were already engaging in an illegal activity, outside of Warren’s patch and you rang up a police officer. Summit seem a bit off about that to you?”
“I...it just felt like the right thing to do,” Sam whispered and sat himself down on the nearby bed, his back to Gene. Hunt crossed to the other side of the room and leaned back against the wall, staring hard at the still distraught man. Sam was staring at the blood on his hands. “Warren would kill me. You’d only arrest me.”
“Tell me what happened,” Gene quietly inquired.
“I was told to deliver a letter to this man.”
“The unconscious bloke.”
Sam nodded. “I thought...I didn’t know what was in it. I didn’t...Warren owed him some money and instead of paying him he decided...”
“To offer up his favorite rent boy in return.”
“When I realized...I panicked. He’s never...done this to me before. I fought back. He hit his head and he went down. I didn’t mean to...Warren’s never...sold me, before.”
“I told you this was goin’ to happen, Sam.”
“There was nothing I could do. I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Did you?” Sam looked up, eyes still filled with fear.
Gene decided to ignore the question. “You’ll have to get out of here. Out of the city. Does Warren know where you came from?”
“No.”
Gene reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, opening it and pulling out all the cash he had. “Then get yourself back home. Forget this ever happened. I can distract Warren enough so he won’t come lookin’ for you.” He held out the money but Sam didn’t take it.
“I can’t.”
“I’ve been around a long time, Tyler, and I can tell you, whatever you left behind it can’t be as bad as all this.”
Still, Sam refused to take the money. “No. I mean I really can’t because...”
“Because what?”
“Because I don’t know!” Sam shouted. “I don’t know where I came from. I don’t know how I got here! I just...I woke up. I think...I may have had an accident. Some sort of accident and then...I can’t...I don’t know anything about me. I don’t know where I come from. I don’t have anywhere to go.” Sam collapsed his head in his hands.
“What, amnesia?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Well...shit,” Gene put the money away.
“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “That’s pretty much it.” He took a deep breath and calmed his hysteria. “So, officer, can you see why I am well and truly fucked?”
Gene stared at the body and then into space. He didn’t know why he wanted to help this man, why he even should. He could just be a brilliant liar. He’d seen it before and Warren wasn’t above this sort of trick. However, the Gene Genie trusted his gut more than his head and every instinct he had was telling him this Sam Tyler was not that good of an actor.
“No. You’re not.”
“Sorry?”
“Not if this isn’t your fault.”
“How is it--”
“Would you stop thinking and listen to me! It couldn’t have been your fault if he was already out when you got here. You came like you were supposed to...”
“Or rather I didn’t,” Sam sighed.
“Tart.”
“Sorry.”
“Knocked on the door but it was already open. He was already down. You checked for a pulse, tried to help, which is how you got the blood on your clothes. When you learned he was still alive, you called for an ambulance then ran off before the police showed up. The police being me.”
Sam shook his head. “He won’t fall for that.”
“He will. Especially when I arrest the man responsible.”
“And how will you do that, Chief Inspector?”
“I know a few scum that would fit the bill for this one,” Gene looked over the barely breathing body.
“You’re going to fit someone up?”
“Don’t worry. I would never fit someone up who didn’t deserve it.”
“It’s wrong. I can’t--”
“And since when did you take the moral high ground, Linda Lovelace?”
“I couldn’t do that. Arrest someone for something I know they didn’t do.”
“Well it’s a good thing you’re not a copper then, is it?” Gene stopped when he noticed Sam was still trembling. He’d nearly forgotten. For Hunt, it was just another day on the job. For Sam, it was literally life or death.
“Sam. Look at me. I know it’s not perfect but do you want to die?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“Do you want your body sliced up and thrown in the canal because we both know that’s what’ll happen.”
“No,” he finally responded. “No, I don’t want to die.”
“Okay. Then do what I say. Go back to Warren. Tell him what I told you.”
Sam nodded then suddenly remembered something else. “The letter! He’ll know if I don’t go back with the letter...”
“Where is it?”
“His trouser pocket.”
Gene knelt down and quickly found the note, the envelope that went along with it lying on the bed. It was all Warren’s unique, own stationary. Gene shoved the letter back inside then walked over and handed it to Sam. “You’ll have to tell him you read it on the way.”
“He’ll be furious,” Sam whispered, staring at the now unsealed envelope.
“Will he kill you?”
“No.”
“Bruises can heal, Tyler. A slit throat can’t.”
Sam closed his eyes and nodded. He started towards the door when Gene gently took him by the elbow and pulled him back.
“You’ll have to sell it, Sam. Really sell it. Do you think you can?” Gene didn’t remove his hand as he stared into Sam’s dark eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah I think so.”
Before Gene knew what happened, Sam’s lips were pressed against his and a soft tongue was probing his mouth. Sam was the one who pulled back, seemingly more shocked than Gene, and quickly removed himself from Hunt’s hold. Once he realized Gene wasn’t going to hit him, he backed away.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t...I should...I’m gone.” He ran to the door, turning back at the last second. “Thank you.”
Gene watched him leave, a sense of loss mixing painfully with the familiar twinge in his groin, and knew he was in very, very deep shit.
_______
Part 6