Fic: The Kept Man (11/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (11/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2222 this part; [20,738 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05, 1.07
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
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. Despite the best of efforts of some comm members, who shall remain nameless, who tried their hardest to distract me while I was working last night, I still managed organize my thoughts to get this next part finished. 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
“Hello Dennis.”
“Detective Chief Inspector Hunt. Why, gosh, I’m so surprised to see yeh,” Gwen smirked, picking at the worn cuff of his tattered jacket.
“Goin’ to tell me what I want to know or would yeh rather waste my time today Denny?” Gene leaned back in his chair, lighting a fag.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Denny sat back, hooking his hands behind the back of his head and stretching out his legs until he almost stepped on Hunt’s white loafers.
“Where’d yeh get the drugs?”
“Well...” Gwen sighed. “Whenever I feel ill, I first go talk to me GP--”
Ray, who’d been standing in the back of the room, grabbed Gwen’s long hair from behind and slammed Dennis’ face into the table. Gene flicked ash from his ciggie to the floor. “Thought yeh said you weren’t goin’ to waste my time, Dennis.” Dennis picked up his head, with Ray’s help. “Where’d yeh get the drugs?”
“Colombia.”
Gene nodded and Ray slammed Gwen into the table again, then picked him back up.
“Well, now, wait, sir! That is the truth. They ship ‘em in from Colombia.”
“Who?”
“Now, I don’t--”
Gene nodded and Ray tightened his grip, but Dennis flung up his hands and waved them frantically.
“Wait wait wait! Okay? Can I explain meself, sirs, ‘fore I ‘ave any more unfortunate accidents with the table?” Dennis looked hopefully from Hunt to Carling. Gene finally signalled Ray to stand back. “Thank you very kindly,” Dennis smoothed his hair and adjusted his ratty jacket before continuing. “Now, as I were sayin’, an’ don’t hit me, I don’t know who ships ‘em into the country. I ain’t that high on the food chain, Mr. Hunt, sir. If I were, could afford better threads for one couldn’t I?” Dennis laughed.
Gene was not amused. The suspect cleared his throat and continued.
“Right, well, one bloke rings me, tells me where to pick up the packs, an’ I go an’ I get ‘em, then divide ‘em amongst me disciples, as it were.”
“Billy Kemble?” Gene asked.
“Good lad. Not too much brains, though. Don’t know where ‘e hides ‘em either, hardly ever wearing clothes, is he? ‘E never gets much though. Just likes to sell a few party favors o’er at the Polytechnic.”
“Which we already know,” Gene growled.
“You, are a smart man DCI Hunt, sir, that’s why. Could I, eh, bum a fag?” Dennis reached towards the pack and Gene grabbed his hand and twisted until Dennis was green in the face from the pain. “No, then. Got that. Thank you,” he wheezed out.
“We know a lot, Denny. Including how those wraps you gave Billy are killin’ your customers?”
“What? Now I never--”
“Stuff’s too pure, innit? Weren’t cut down right when they came over from Colombia, were they? Not good to lose customers, is it?”
“My stuff’s good, sir. Clean. Never any problems.”
“Really?” Gene opened a manila folder and tossed four pictures at Dennis. “Eric Mason. Yvonne Bettis. Jeremy Mackintosh. Trevor Patterson. All dead. All your clients.”
Dennis looked nauseous as he picked through the photos, the lifeless eyes of the cold bodies staring up at him.
“Found replacements yet or still skulking round schoolyards for your next victims?”
Dennis slid the photos back to Gene, nervously shaking his head. “I don’t deal on the streets, Mr. Hunt. Don’t need to anymore. I just, I split up what I get amongst those that do. It’s s’posed to be all ready to go. Mixed an’ everything an’ I just hand it out. If it weren’t done properly, that’s not me fault.”
“Well if you explain it to the jury like that, I’m sure they’ll agree with you.” Gene stood and Ray started to follow him to the door.
“Jury? Wait, what jury! I ain’t done nowt. I didn’t kill them!”
“Kemble’s just a runner, we know that. You, Denny, you on the other hand are a supplier and without any other leads, how do we know you’re not the one who mixes the drugs, hm?”
“I don’t! I swear I don’t.”
“Very convincing,” Ray sneered.
“I don’t know names. Honest! They just ring me. Tell me where to go. What time to be there. I’ve never seen ‘em.”
“When are you expecting another call?”
“I...I...”
“When?” Gene practically threw himself on the table, fingers curled into fists slamming onto the ash-strewn top, causing Gwen to cower back in his chair.
“Soon. It’s never exact. But soon. Tomorrow maybe. The day after.”
“Good.” Gene leaned in further. “What you’re goin’ to do, Denny, is when they call you, you call us and give us the time and the drop-off point. If you even try to give us the slip, you’ll be banged up for manslaughter so fast your brief wouldn’t even know there were a trial. Understood?”
“Loud and clear, Mr. Hunt, sir. Loud and clear.”
*
Sam, love, I hope you can hear me. The doctors, they’ve been showing me these scans, saying something how your brain activity is decreasing. I don’t really understand, sweetheart. I just, I hope you can hear me. I hope you can wake up. Please keep fighting, Sam. Please.
“Who’s on the phone?”
Sam slammed down the receiver on the pay phone as Joni walked past him in the hall.
“No one. Wrong number.”
“Right,” she nodded knowingly. “Sam, you alright?”
He leaned against the wall, draping his arms across his chest. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Nothing. You’ve just seemed sort of...distant the past few days.”
“I’m fine,” Sam lied and it was then that he noticed her smudged mascara and slightly bloodshot eyes. He pushed himself away from the wall. “What about you?”
Joni backed away defensively. “Just as fine as you,” she tried to laugh but it came out more of a sob, a cry she couldn’t stop and Sam immediately pulled her into a hug and held her.
“Hey, hey. What happened? What’s going on?” He tried to soothe her.
“Nothing, Sam. It’s...it’s just work. I can’t...I can’t say anymore.” She pushed away gently but Sam kept his hands on her arms.
“Is it something Warren wants you to do?”
“Oh, aye, you’re a brilliant detective, you are,” she sniffed but smiled.
“Joni, after what you’ve done, I think if there’s anyone who owes you a favor round here, it’s me. Even if it only means sitting down with a few cups of tea and talking about it.”
She lowered her eyes but Sam tilted his own to meet her distant gaze.
“C’mon. One cuppa. What do you say?” He grinned and she smiled back.
“Sure. Okay.”
Sam draped his arm around her shoulder and guided her towards the staff kitchen. After feeling nothing but numb since he’d last seen Hunt, Sam was looking forward to being able to think about someone else’s problems, other than his own.
*
Another day gone. Another pint at the pub. Another drive home to an empty house. She’d left for her mother’s yesterday, leaving a pile of laundry Gene couldn’t be bothered with, a stack of dirty dishes he didn’t feel like dealing with, and a completely bare fridge he didn’t even want to think about.
Juggling the takeaway boxes with the off-license bag, Gene managed to stumble through his doorway and shut the door behind him, only dropping one box in the process. Luckily, the hot, greasy food remained intact and inside the carton, instead of spilling out all over his already dirty foyer, so all was not lost.
Dropping his food off in the kitchen, Gene then divested himself of coat, driving gloves, and suit jacket, leaving it all on the banister as he loosened his tie. The Gene Genie could rest for now. By the time he got around to dumping his meal on one of the last clean plates, it had gone partially cold but Gene couldn’t be bothered to reheat it.
Settling himself on the couch, he flicked on the telly, chomping down his tea while staring without watching whatever brainless program they had on tonight. His mind ran through the cases they had, the cases they’d closed, the cases that didn’t even exist yet but would by tomorrow.
He thought about her leaving, about her returning, about whether or not she would actually return this time and how he might truly feel about that. He thought about Ray’s recent disobedience, Chris’ usual div-ness, and how that Cartwright bird was actually doing a decent job keeping CID’s shite organized.
By the time the test card appeared, Gene had thought of everything he could possibly think of except the one thing he certainly did not want to be thinking about. He chucked the dish in the sink and lumbered up the stairs, back sore from heaving a heavy suspect around his cell during a routine interrogation.
It was too late now. He’d done what he’d done and that was that. The Gene Genie didn’t make mistakes. DCI Hunt never changed his mind. He threw himself into bed, only removing his loafers as he crawled under the sheets, refusing to acknowledge what he knew. That Gene Hunt was a much more fallible man than he cared to admit.
*
“Mr. Warren?”
“Sam. I didn’t call for you.”
“No, sir, but I was hoping I could speak with you, if you had the time, sir.”
Warren set aside his papers and folded his hands on top the desk. “Have a seat, Samuel.”
Sam nodded his thanks and took his place in the chair across from Warren’s desk.
“Now, what is it you’d like to discuss?”
“Sir, I’ve overheard something.”
“Really?”
Sam had to play this right. He couldn’t get Joni into trouble. “That you have someone you need to get in line. Someone who’s bound to stir up trouble for you soon.” He paused looking for Warren’s reaction. “A certain police officer.”
“That matter is under control, Sam. It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“I don’t mean to appear out of line, Mr. Warren, but from what I’ve heard, I may be more suited for the job.”
Warren cocked his head slightly, the only indication he was shocked by this information. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’d be willing to take on this particular job for...what?”
“For whatever you’d deem satisfactory compensation. Sir.”
Warren smiled, the only part of him that moved as he considered Sam’s offer. “Well, aren’t you a clever boy.”
*
When Gene had realized the address of the reported break-in, he told his officers he’d take care of it himself. He didn’t need the whole station finding out he needed a separate flat just to deal with his wife. He parked the Cortina haphazardly in the lot and raced up the stairs, the lift being broken once again.
The trainspotting granny next door must have called it in. Always had her eyes out the windows that one, eager to get some satisfaction out of her day. His door was closed but the frame had been cracked slightly. There’d been no picking of locks on this one. He kept almost absolutely nothing in that flat, only a few pairs of extra clothes, some extra fags and whiskey. God help the poor thieving bastard if they touched his Jura.
He slowly opened the door, gun raised, and entered the room, scanning every corner. Nothing at first, until...
“Don’t hurt me!”
Gene looked to the other side of the bed, seeing the man he least expected curled up in the corner, hugging his knees, a cheap knapsack by his feet.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...I was only...” Sam stammered. Gene holstered his gun but didn’t move further into the flat.
“What are you doing here?” He growled.
“I left. I left him. You were right. What you said. I chose the easy way out but I can’t anymore. I can’t. I--”
Was he crying? God help him if the poor sod was actually crying.
“I’ll be gone. In a few days. I promise. I just, I didn’t know where else to go and as soon as he finds out he’ll be looking for me and--”
“Calm down.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
Gene rolled his eyes and walked into his kitchen. “No I’m not goin’ to arrest you. Bloody waste of space, you’d be.” His whisky was right where he left it. Good. He managed to find a semi-clean tumbler and poured himself a healthy amount.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go. I’ll find someplace else.”
Gene walked back across the room and sat down on the side of the bed facing Sam. “You really left him? For good?”
Sam took a deep breath, staring at the floor. “I looked at all my options. In the end...” he closed his eyes, reopening them when he was looking directly at Gene. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Gene stared back, carefully gauging him, then handed over the glass of whisky. Sam smiled weakly and took it, not sipping it right away.
“I’m sorry, Gene,” he whispered. “I just don’t have a choice.”
“For once in your life, Sammy, I think you’ve made the right one.”
Sam smiled again and Gene could only wonder what had happened to make his smile so utterly sad.
______
Part 12
Author: dak
Word Count: 2222 this part; [20,738 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05, 1.07
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
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. Despite the best of efforts of some comm members, who shall remain nameless, who tried their hardest to distract me while I was working last night, I still managed organize my thoughts to get this next part finished. 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
“Hello Dennis.”
“Detective Chief Inspector Hunt. Why, gosh, I’m so surprised to see yeh,” Gwen smirked, picking at the worn cuff of his tattered jacket.
“Goin’ to tell me what I want to know or would yeh rather waste my time today Denny?” Gene leaned back in his chair, lighting a fag.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Denny sat back, hooking his hands behind the back of his head and stretching out his legs until he almost stepped on Hunt’s white loafers.
“Where’d yeh get the drugs?”
“Well...” Gwen sighed. “Whenever I feel ill, I first go talk to me GP--”
Ray, who’d been standing in the back of the room, grabbed Gwen’s long hair from behind and slammed Dennis’ face into the table. Gene flicked ash from his ciggie to the floor. “Thought yeh said you weren’t goin’ to waste my time, Dennis.” Dennis picked up his head, with Ray’s help. “Where’d yeh get the drugs?”
“Colombia.”
Gene nodded and Ray slammed Gwen into the table again, then picked him back up.
“Well, now, wait, sir! That is the truth. They ship ‘em in from Colombia.”
“Who?”
“Now, I don’t--”
Gene nodded and Ray tightened his grip, but Dennis flung up his hands and waved them frantically.
“Wait wait wait! Okay? Can I explain meself, sirs, ‘fore I ‘ave any more unfortunate accidents with the table?” Dennis looked hopefully from Hunt to Carling. Gene finally signalled Ray to stand back. “Thank you very kindly,” Dennis smoothed his hair and adjusted his ratty jacket before continuing. “Now, as I were sayin’, an’ don’t hit me, I don’t know who ships ‘em into the country. I ain’t that high on the food chain, Mr. Hunt, sir. If I were, could afford better threads for one couldn’t I?” Dennis laughed.
Gene was not amused. The suspect cleared his throat and continued.
“Right, well, one bloke rings me, tells me where to pick up the packs, an’ I go an’ I get ‘em, then divide ‘em amongst me disciples, as it were.”
“Billy Kemble?” Gene asked.
“Good lad. Not too much brains, though. Don’t know where ‘e hides ‘em either, hardly ever wearing clothes, is he? ‘E never gets much though. Just likes to sell a few party favors o’er at the Polytechnic.”
“Which we already know,” Gene growled.
“You, are a smart man DCI Hunt, sir, that’s why. Could I, eh, bum a fag?” Dennis reached towards the pack and Gene grabbed his hand and twisted until Dennis was green in the face from the pain. “No, then. Got that. Thank you,” he wheezed out.
“We know a lot, Denny. Including how those wraps you gave Billy are killin’ your customers?”
“What? Now I never--”
“Stuff’s too pure, innit? Weren’t cut down right when they came over from Colombia, were they? Not good to lose customers, is it?”
“My stuff’s good, sir. Clean. Never any problems.”
“Really?” Gene opened a manila folder and tossed four pictures at Dennis. “Eric Mason. Yvonne Bettis. Jeremy Mackintosh. Trevor Patterson. All dead. All your clients.”
Dennis looked nauseous as he picked through the photos, the lifeless eyes of the cold bodies staring up at him.
“Found replacements yet or still skulking round schoolyards for your next victims?”
Dennis slid the photos back to Gene, nervously shaking his head. “I don’t deal on the streets, Mr. Hunt. Don’t need to anymore. I just, I split up what I get amongst those that do. It’s s’posed to be all ready to go. Mixed an’ everything an’ I just hand it out. If it weren’t done properly, that’s not me fault.”
“Well if you explain it to the jury like that, I’m sure they’ll agree with you.” Gene stood and Ray started to follow him to the door.
“Jury? Wait, what jury! I ain’t done nowt. I didn’t kill them!”
“Kemble’s just a runner, we know that. You, Denny, you on the other hand are a supplier and without any other leads, how do we know you’re not the one who mixes the drugs, hm?”
“I don’t! I swear I don’t.”
“Very convincing,” Ray sneered.
“I don’t know names. Honest! They just ring me. Tell me where to go. What time to be there. I’ve never seen ‘em.”
“When are you expecting another call?”
“I...I...”
“When?” Gene practically threw himself on the table, fingers curled into fists slamming onto the ash-strewn top, causing Gwen to cower back in his chair.
“Soon. It’s never exact. But soon. Tomorrow maybe. The day after.”
“Good.” Gene leaned in further. “What you’re goin’ to do, Denny, is when they call you, you call us and give us the time and the drop-off point. If you even try to give us the slip, you’ll be banged up for manslaughter so fast your brief wouldn’t even know there were a trial. Understood?”
“Loud and clear, Mr. Hunt, sir. Loud and clear.”
*
Sam, love, I hope you can hear me. The doctors, they’ve been showing me these scans, saying something how your brain activity is decreasing. I don’t really understand, sweetheart. I just, I hope you can hear me. I hope you can wake up. Please keep fighting, Sam. Please.
“Who’s on the phone?”
Sam slammed down the receiver on the pay phone as Joni walked past him in the hall.
“No one. Wrong number.”
“Right,” she nodded knowingly. “Sam, you alright?”
He leaned against the wall, draping his arms across his chest. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Nothing. You’ve just seemed sort of...distant the past few days.”
“I’m fine,” Sam lied and it was then that he noticed her smudged mascara and slightly bloodshot eyes. He pushed himself away from the wall. “What about you?”
Joni backed away defensively. “Just as fine as you,” she tried to laugh but it came out more of a sob, a cry she couldn’t stop and Sam immediately pulled her into a hug and held her.
“Hey, hey. What happened? What’s going on?” He tried to soothe her.
“Nothing, Sam. It’s...it’s just work. I can’t...I can’t say anymore.” She pushed away gently but Sam kept his hands on her arms.
“Is it something Warren wants you to do?”
“Oh, aye, you’re a brilliant detective, you are,” she sniffed but smiled.
“Joni, after what you’ve done, I think if there’s anyone who owes you a favor round here, it’s me. Even if it only means sitting down with a few cups of tea and talking about it.”
She lowered her eyes but Sam tilted his own to meet her distant gaze.
“C’mon. One cuppa. What do you say?” He grinned and she smiled back.
“Sure. Okay.”
Sam draped his arm around her shoulder and guided her towards the staff kitchen. After feeling nothing but numb since he’d last seen Hunt, Sam was looking forward to being able to think about someone else’s problems, other than his own.
*
Another day gone. Another pint at the pub. Another drive home to an empty house. She’d left for her mother’s yesterday, leaving a pile of laundry Gene couldn’t be bothered with, a stack of dirty dishes he didn’t feel like dealing with, and a completely bare fridge he didn’t even want to think about.
Juggling the takeaway boxes with the off-license bag, Gene managed to stumble through his doorway and shut the door behind him, only dropping one box in the process. Luckily, the hot, greasy food remained intact and inside the carton, instead of spilling out all over his already dirty foyer, so all was not lost.
Dropping his food off in the kitchen, Gene then divested himself of coat, driving gloves, and suit jacket, leaving it all on the banister as he loosened his tie. The Gene Genie could rest for now. By the time he got around to dumping his meal on one of the last clean plates, it had gone partially cold but Gene couldn’t be bothered to reheat it.
Settling himself on the couch, he flicked on the telly, chomping down his tea while staring without watching whatever brainless program they had on tonight. His mind ran through the cases they had, the cases they’d closed, the cases that didn’t even exist yet but would by tomorrow.
He thought about her leaving, about her returning, about whether or not she would actually return this time and how he might truly feel about that. He thought about Ray’s recent disobedience, Chris’ usual div-ness, and how that Cartwright bird was actually doing a decent job keeping CID’s shite organized.
By the time the test card appeared, Gene had thought of everything he could possibly think of except the one thing he certainly did not want to be thinking about. He chucked the dish in the sink and lumbered up the stairs, back sore from heaving a heavy suspect around his cell during a routine interrogation.
It was too late now. He’d done what he’d done and that was that. The Gene Genie didn’t make mistakes. DCI Hunt never changed his mind. He threw himself into bed, only removing his loafers as he crawled under the sheets, refusing to acknowledge what he knew. That Gene Hunt was a much more fallible man than he cared to admit.
*
“Mr. Warren?”
“Sam. I didn’t call for you.”
“No, sir, but I was hoping I could speak with you, if you had the time, sir.”
Warren set aside his papers and folded his hands on top the desk. “Have a seat, Samuel.”
Sam nodded his thanks and took his place in the chair across from Warren’s desk.
“Now, what is it you’d like to discuss?”
“Sir, I’ve overheard something.”
“Really?”
Sam had to play this right. He couldn’t get Joni into trouble. “That you have someone you need to get in line. Someone who’s bound to stir up trouble for you soon.” He paused looking for Warren’s reaction. “A certain police officer.”
“That matter is under control, Sam. It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“I don’t mean to appear out of line, Mr. Warren, but from what I’ve heard, I may be more suited for the job.”
Warren cocked his head slightly, the only indication he was shocked by this information. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’d be willing to take on this particular job for...what?”
“For whatever you’d deem satisfactory compensation. Sir.”
Warren smiled, the only part of him that moved as he considered Sam’s offer. “Well, aren’t you a clever boy.”
*
When Gene had realized the address of the reported break-in, he told his officers he’d take care of it himself. He didn’t need the whole station finding out he needed a separate flat just to deal with his wife. He parked the Cortina haphazardly in the lot and raced up the stairs, the lift being broken once again.
The trainspotting granny next door must have called it in. Always had her eyes out the windows that one, eager to get some satisfaction out of her day. His door was closed but the frame had been cracked slightly. There’d been no picking of locks on this one. He kept almost absolutely nothing in that flat, only a few pairs of extra clothes, some extra fags and whiskey. God help the poor thieving bastard if they touched his Jura.
He slowly opened the door, gun raised, and entered the room, scanning every corner. Nothing at first, until...
“Don’t hurt me!”
Gene looked to the other side of the bed, seeing the man he least expected curled up in the corner, hugging his knees, a cheap knapsack by his feet.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...I was only...” Sam stammered. Gene holstered his gun but didn’t move further into the flat.
“What are you doing here?” He growled.
“I left. I left him. You were right. What you said. I chose the easy way out but I can’t anymore. I can’t. I--”
Was he crying? God help him if the poor sod was actually crying.
“I’ll be gone. In a few days. I promise. I just, I didn’t know where else to go and as soon as he finds out he’ll be looking for me and--”
“Calm down.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
Gene rolled his eyes and walked into his kitchen. “No I’m not goin’ to arrest you. Bloody waste of space, you’d be.” His whisky was right where he left it. Good. He managed to find a semi-clean tumbler and poured himself a healthy amount.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go. I’ll find someplace else.”
Gene walked back across the room and sat down on the side of the bed facing Sam. “You really left him? For good?”
Sam took a deep breath, staring at the floor. “I looked at all my options. In the end...” he closed his eyes, reopening them when he was looking directly at Gene. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Gene stared back, carefully gauging him, then handed over the glass of whisky. Sam smiled weakly and took it, not sipping it right away.
“I’m sorry, Gene,” he whispered. “I just don’t have a choice.”
“For once in your life, Sammy, I think you’ve made the right one.”
Sam smiled again and Gene could only wonder what had happened to make his smile so utterly sad.
______
Part 12