Clean and dirty

Who: Jackson and Jakob
Where: Police HQ
When: morning

It was not a good morning. Jackson had not had his coffee, again he hadn't slept well the night before, and then, there was the paper which had greeted him on his walk to work. As a police officer well versed in the theory of "journalists are liars who just want to sell papers, don't trust them with shit" that was drilled into them on a regular basis, he hadn't been surprised that they had posted the "Local Heroes!" headline. It did not mean, however, that he liked it. It was getting ri-goddamn-diculous how complicated Jackson's life had become.

The Echo was rolled up into a tight tube in his left fist as he marched up the stairs to the main floor, and then across the room to the where Hollis' desk was at. He could pin a small portion of the blame for how crappy he felt on that sanctimonious lying jerk anyway. He hadn't even removed his outdoor jacket, because the first thing on his mind was yelling at someone, and that someone was going to be Jakob Hollis, who had decided that "murderer" was equal to "hero" and had obviously sold his lie-filled story to the papers even though Jackson had explicitly told him he didn't want to be a part of any dirty fucking lies. Yet Jackson's name was mentioned, not as prominent as Danny, but still. He was listed and it made him feel like even worse of a sinner. He didn't want the false credit.

He'd stormed in, smouldering, making an entrance they'd of been proud of in a corny movie, and had ignored the majority of people who were staring at him - thrusting the paper onto Hollis' desk. "What the HELL is this supposed to be?" he fired, scowling brutally at the man. Jackson's usual good humour was shot. Completely fucking shot. Shot like the guy he'd killed, shot like his nerves, shot shot shot.

Jakob had actually slept fairly well the night before, in a stark contrast to Jackson. He'd brought home some server from the Drake, kicked her out before she could get any ideas about sharing his bed, and hadn't wasted a moment of his sleep in dreams. He'd been smiling contentedly down at the paperwork on his desk as he scribbled delicately with a pen, putting the final touches on the body he and Sam had looked into the day before, finalizing their (lack of) findings before submitting it with the coroner's report, and suddenly? There was Jackson. Angry Jackson.

Jakob kept his gaze aimed downward for a moment, hiding his smirk as the paper hit his desk and unfurled, showing the story. He knew about it, but it hadn't been his fault. Well, not entirely. The chief and commissioner both loved hero cops to parade before the city, after all. "I believe it's a newspaper," he eventually said to Jackson, setting his pen aside and gathering up the paper in his good hand, "Are you sure it's me you should be yelling at, and not Gutenberg?"

"No, I'm yelling at you," said Jackson, leaning forwards onto the desk with his fists, "Because I specifically remember you being pretty behind this whole, let's sell ourselves as heroes idea, and I also remember saying I didn't want to be a part of any of your lies, and yet here's my name, clear as God-damned day," he jabbed a finger at the paper randomly, not actually hitting his own name, but still. The point stood.

Clearing his throat pointedly, Jakob ignored both the glare Jackson was giving him and the stunned onlookers around them in the station house as he raised the newspaper up. "Senior detective Hollis was wounded by the perpetrator, and will receive a commendation for risking his well-being," he read evenly, "Detective Jackson Haas and patrolman Daniel McKinnon both pursued the suspect, and were eventually required to use lethal force. Both men will be given commendations for valorous conduct. Patrolmen Sterling, Bonham, and Dupree prevented escape from the building and came to the aid of detective Hollis. All three will be given commendations for their part in the apprehension of the murderer..."

He folded the paper down, eyes shrewd and narrowed on Jackson as Jakob reclaimed his coffee. "Does that sound like how I might sell myself as a hero, detective?" he asked evenly, "Or does it perhaps sound like the memorandum that senior brass might like the newspaper to run in order to make the whole department look good and alleviate some of the city's fears? They..." He trailed off, scouring the article quickly before turning it around to show Jackson. "They even list the names of the uniforms who scoured pointless buildings, brought us coffee, and directed traffic. Every person working this case is getting a citation, Haas."

Jackson did not think anything about anyone's conduct had been particularly 'valorous', and his scowl was not alleviated any by Hollis trying to smooth talk him. "The coffee-bringers deserve a medal a damn sight more than men who shot someone who was running away, that's all I got to say on the damn matter, and you know it anyhow," Jackson sucked in breath and pulled himself back from Jakob's desk, folding his arms and not alleviating his glare any. He considered what Brett had said, about searching the apartment and going through the files. He wanted to go back to that house. "What did you find in that place anyway? How the hell are we even sure he was the right guy? I wanna see the report with my own eyes."

"We found a great deal, actually. I'll make sure you have access to the full case file, so you can see that the tile cutter we recovered matched the wounds on the victims," Jakob told him, his mouth setting in a thin line. Sure, he lied constantly, he was making four cops' salaries courtesy of both mobs in town, and he'd set up a slew of innocent people in his time. This case? Was legitimate. They'd caught their killer, and he'd taken a shoulder full of buckshot in the process.

"The evidence archives should be able to show you the humidor that was recovered, too. A funny thing about cigars, Jackson, is that they permeate their owners' homes. So when you see one and don't smell the tobacco? You open it. Sometimes you find a collection of noses." It had been a gruesome find, too, and Jakob wasn't a man easily shaken by such things. "Regardless of either of our feelings, the commissioner has made his decision. And tonight, one less woman will die. If you know any; a mother, a sister, a friend? Be grateful that they don't have to worry. Now... if you have more outrage, please," Jakob said, waving a hand as if to welcome it, "If not? I'd like to speak with you in private sometime soon, regarding a cold case I'm hoping to reopen."

Jackson snorted, but didn't have the energy to continue his tirade regarding the paper. He also bit back on the urge to punch Jakob when he said the word sister - the point of Jenny was getting sorer and sorer after the little incident with the doll dressed like her - but there was no way Hollis would know anything about Jackson's family problems so it probably hadn't been a dig. He also didn't fully believe what Hollis said about the evidence being sound, but he would examine it for himself. He needed to ease his conscience somehow.

"I got plenty of outrage regarding this entire filthy situation but obviously, you don't give a damn," he huffed at Jakob, "And what cold case? I ain't in your department, Hollis, so unless gambling or narcotics is involved and it's a legit call for my help, which I doubt, get someone else to be your whacking boy."

Jakob sighed pointedly, shaking his head at the tirade and looking back to the files on his desk. It was a play, of course, a little show of resignment, and maybe disappointment to add a bit of sting. "I give a damn, detective, but there is genuinely nothing else I can do about it," he murmured, "And if it was a case for homicide, I wouldn't be asking you for help. The department's seen fit to assign me a partner, at least while I mend. Which, curiously enough, was why I decided to look back into this case. Not walking my routes has freed up quite a bit of time."

He paused to shuffle through loose papers on his desk, glancing at one bit of his file on Brett before obscuring it again, wanting to keep Jackson from gleaning his intent too quickly. "It's a fellow officer, Haas. Or a former fellow officer, that is, who I believe was wrongly accused. It's a legitimate call for your help, as well, but I doubt you'll take me at my word with anything less than a chorus of angels proclaiming as much. So please, I'm sorry to have detained you..." he said, as if expecting Jackson to breeze off at any moment. Internally of course, Jakob held his breath, waiting to see if the bait would be taken.

Jackson was many things but a player was not one of them. He didn't even pretend not to bite, although it was obvious to him that Jakob wanted him to beg for information or some crap. That wouldn't fly. "Name the officer," he said in a straight forward fashion, feeling his ears heat up slightly - this could be exactly the hook he needed if Hollis had found something out about Brett, "And don't twist things around with me because I don't have the patience."

"Not here," Jakob said flatly, lowering his voice just a touch. He wasn't being theatrical, Jakob knew just how many people could be listening for someone else. Especially here. "I've caught some incongruities in case files," he explained, "Little things, yes. But little things in a case that makes no sense? Are better than nothing." Jakob held up a hand warily, leaning in with an apologetic smile. "Whatever bad blood, Haas, I'm sorry for the cloak and dagger. But I need help with this, and it has to be someone who won't bend the letter of the law for any reason. Not even if I'm willing to at times."

Jackson snorted, "Well, your first mistake was admitting to me that you're not above bending the law as you so charmingly put it. But alright, I'll bite. I ain't one to see an innocent man go down. 'Specially a fellow officer. You wanna take a walk with me somewhere less crowded?" he said in a low growl - he still didn't trust Jakob, of course he didn't, not with how strange he was acting and saying things like he needed a 'clean' cop, but he couldn't just let this one slip by - especially when he had his hopes about Brett so fresh at the forefront of his mind.

"I would not admit it if it were something I worried over," Jakob mused, grabbing his coffee in his good hand, "But of course we can walk and speak." He rose with a scrutinizing gaze aimed out into the station house, looking for eavesdroppers, for Sam, for anyone who might seem interested over the two of them speaking at length. "Please lead on, and we'll get to the heart of the matter. You may find this intriguing..."

Jackson turned and walked out of the crowded room, grumbling incoherently under his breath about how this was the dumbest damn thing... but he was intrigued. He wanted to know what Hollis had, and on who, and he hoped to God it was someone he could legitimately help. Once they were out in the corridor Jackson turned over his shoulder to Hollis and raised an eyebrow, "So? What's your latest crusade to get yourself another damn shiny? One day on the front of The Echo not enough for you? Got somethin' else you wanna milk a little unearned glory out of? Hit me with it, and tell me 'bout the poor sucker who'se old dirt we're gonna dredge up," Jackson said scornfully - although it probably didn't fully sell. There was too much humour in it. Jackson couldn't do the cynicism bit with much of a convincing air because he wasn't a cynic. He didn't like Hollis - the guy was slime and liked the look of his own face a little too much - but that was no reason to believe he wasn't genuinely interested in helping out an old officer.

Following after, Jakob had to sigh as he was hit with the accusation once again. It was getting old, being branded a glory hound, and he wanted that record set straight. In truth? If Jakob wanted glory, he would've had it by now. "First, Haas, understand something. Please. I had nothing to do with the newspaper, understood? My... suggestion in the case was for McKinnon's benefit only, the man has the potential to be a good cop. And your constant insinuations that I'm chasing another medal insult me. I don't want recognition, I don't want rank. If I did, you'd be calling me 'captain'."

He smiled thinly, reaching into his coat for a fold of paper that had some loose notes on Brett's case file, but nothing connected to his plans thus far. "His name is Brett Trent," Jakob finally said, offering the slip of paper over, "I was going through case files in the archives for another assignment and his jacket literally fell out. Of course I noticed the discrepancy between his supposed first contact with the O'Malley family and the given account of how long he'd been on their payroll, so I looked deeper. Sadly, I haven't found much else, but his case itself is an anomaly. And in this city? Anomalies always merit a closer look."

Jackson inhaled as he took the paper and scanned over what Jakob had. It was nothing new, or particularly concrete - but the fact someone else was on this? Jackson furrowed his brow and looked back up to Jakob, confused. It seemed too odd to be pure coincidence - did Hollis have some O'Malley tie perhaps? No, he didn't like the guy, but to say he was down and out dirty...there had to be more behind this. "Brett Trent. I know him... He was a friend of mine," he said, trying to talk in the past tense - it might be a fuckup to let slip he was currently in contact with Brett, "He's innocent, he ain't no cop killer, no way. So that much I can help you on. But why'd you need me to chase paper trails? Figure you can do that well enough yourself behind your desk."

"I don't," Jakob told him flatly, "What I need of you is far more simple, and entirely off the record. You'll be doing nothing wrong; violating no laws, or even police protocols. All I need is someone I can call on when I need to who I can trust to bow to no pressure, not senior brass, not payoffs or threats of violence, not even my own influence." Oh yes, he had a plan, and when it was time to let it off the leash? It would hinge on the people he was drawing into it. As beautiful as the chaos would hopefully be, Jakob always watched from the stands, not the playing field.

"To do what, exactly? What the hell are you planning to do with this," he brandished the page of information at Jakob with a sceptical look, "That could require you to come cryin' to me for some unknown reason? You're gonna have to give me a little somethin' to work on. Clearin' Trent's name oughtn't even be all that hard. It's obvious to anyone what knew him he was one of the best men on the force." Something stank to Jackson. He was known for being an interfering shit in some departments (mostly his own) and that he'd give help to most anyone - so all the smoke and mirrors seemed like bull. Why not just wait until the help was needed and come then? Why lay everything out in some convoluted ploy? Jakob Hollis was up to something, and if it fucked up Jackson's legitimate quest to get Brett back into the force? That was bad.

Jakob sighed, giving Jackson a look that spoke of the tedium the man was inflicting on him. "How would you clear a man who stole a sizable lump of money from the evidence lockers, Haas? How would you clear a man who confessed to his crime both to his arresting officers and to his review board? A man who then became a known ally of a criminal organization? You cannot play King Solomon in this matter and simply cleave through the problem, and if you have an interest in helping your former friend? Focus less on how I intend to do this and more on the fact that I intend to."

His eyes narrowed on Jackson as Jakob's jaw set, tensing at one corner for a terse moment before he spoke again. "A direct move will end badly, detective. So swallow your distaste at the prospect and give me an ounce of faith, or forget that I broached the subject in the first place and resume griping about the contents of the newspaper."

"Well then there's the difference 'tween you and me. I care about the hows. You can either straight up get somethin' clean, or you can smear enough mud on everythin' else that the first thing don't look so bad. I prefer the hygienic method. So fuck you. You want my help with somethin' then you can come ask for it if and when you need it, and you can give me better details than... fuckin'... no details. So shove it," he thrust the papers back at Hollis, scowling, "I ain't gonna make promises to you I ain't sure I can morally keep, capice?"

He turned away from Hollis, pulling his hands through his hair. He wanted to help Brett, it was good that someone else had picked up on the fact that he was an innocent man, and it was even better that Jackson knew about it - he could keep an eye. He would help Hollis if the man asked for it in a more forthright way. Like they were equals, not like Jackson was just some handy bub. He would not blindly agree to assist the man on some endeavour that could end badly - not with someone who admitted they weren't exactly shiny. Fuck that noise, and fuck it hard. Jackson was not in the mood. He had beat stuff to do, undeserved handshakes to avoid, and a head full of bloodied hallway and associations with old hookers he wanted to drink away. He didn't need another guilty stain of uncertainty to add to all that. Not right now.

"We'll speak later, then," Jakob said calmly, daring to smile a little as Jackson turned away. How fun, seeing the strain on his fellow officer as his urge to help Trent and his distaste for Jakob made war on each other. "I'll make sure to notify you when there's details meant to satisfy. Enjoy the day, detective," he said pleasantly, turning to head back to his desk. Much like Jackson, Jakob had things to do. Mundane things sure, but in addition? Plans to plan, details to pin down, and a punchline to set up that the whole city would get to witness...