the cop and the whore

Who: Jackson & Eris
Where: One More Round
When: Night

Jackson's first day back at work had been long. Longer than he liked, and more filled with crappy paperwork than he liked, too. Being stuck behind a desk was not part of his job description, as far as he was concerned. So now? He was glad to be doing some actual police work, even if it was off the time card. A message hand-delivered, telling him to come and meet and greet an informant on some girls getting trafficked into the country. Probably Lotus types. It was sketchy, but it had found it's way to his desk, and he couldn't not follow it up.

One More Round. It was not a drinking establishment he frequented being how he was quite visibly a police officer, but he'd been antsy away from real work for such a long time and as such? Jackson was taking risks. Nothing new there then.

He walked in to the dank aroma of beer and cigarettes just as a band was warming up. Lotta faces in this place he recognised, which was not always a good thing. He took the table closest to the door and declined the pouty waitress' rather abrupt offer of a drink. Doubtless nothing in this place was legal - especially not if some of the murmurs and dour looks being sent his way were anything to go by. Guilty consciences everywhere. Scum. Now all he had to do was wait until this informant came and found him - Jackson had a wad of bills and a gun, should said informant need bribing of one kind or the other. You never knew.

Then, two large guys came up behind him. One tall and bald, the other short (in comparison. His partner was build like Godzilla) and bearded. He thought he caught a glimpse of knuckle dusters on a chain around the tall one's neck. Wonderful.

"You boys need somethin'?"

"You the cop?"

Baldy asked with an air of defiance. Jackson got the distinct gut feeling that these men probably didn't care about girls being trafficked. Fuck "Detective Haas, yeah, I assume you boys left me the note?"

The shorter of the two men snorted, and clapped a hand on Jackson's shoulder. Jackson did not appreciate this, and pushed himself out of his chair. The bearded man growled and suddenly Jackson realised there was something cold and hard jamming itself into his stomach. The guy moved quickly for a midget. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Look, Detective, you wanna see the fella with the info, you need to come out back with us. Get me?"

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "You have a gun pointed at an Officer of the law. You might want to watch what the fuck you're doing, buddy. I'll come out back but put that thing the fuck away if you don't want me to arrest you," Jackson hissed, meaning every word. He'd had a gun on him before. It gave him a slight case of the sweats, sure, but you couldn't show fear in front of dogs.

Beard laughed, dug the gun in harder, and Baldy was now manoeuvring Jackson by the shoulders toward the back door.

This is not going to end well, he thought, seeing how the eyes which had been fixed on him somewhat permanently since his arrival were now all completely averted. If only he could loose the dwarf and reach his own piece, it'd be okay.

Only there was no chance of that. Once in the back alley? There were two more guys, their faces shadowed by the hats they were wearing. The bald man whispered in Jackson's ear,
"Sorry, Golden-boy, but we know some folks who ain't too happy with the shit you pulled last week. Got somma our compatriots put behind bars. We don't like that, an' now we don't like you."

And they were on him. The flurry of blows (he had been right about the knuckle dusters) had him on the ground and then the kicking started. Jackson knew he couldn't take on four heavily armed thugs - not when he'd been so taken by surprise especially. He curled up, shielding his face as best he could. Took the beating for a good 5 or 10 minutes (it felt like forever) before one of them, laughing, called the assault off. Jackson thought his eyesocket might be fractured, although his entire face felt like it was exploding, and he could taste blood, although he was unbelievably thankful that the gun which had been jammed against him previously had not been used. Yet. He groaned, and curled up into a tighter foetal position, hating himself that he had been taken for such a fucking mug.

Then, there was a blade at his throat, and Baldy was pressing his face against Jackson's, and the yellow of the ugly man's teeth was all Jackson could focus on. There was blood in his peripherals.

"Okay, Detective Haas, this is a warning. You're not dead this time, because frankly, we like to give dumb cops the benefit of the doubt. But you bust anything of ours up ever again? You won't walk away from this alley. Now get some fuckin' rest, you stupid fuck, before you even think about arrestin' any of us!"

The men laughed, threw him hard onto the litter strewn ground, and were gone. Jackson felt hazy. He was sure his lip was split and that his left eyebrow was bleeding heavily. He was also pretty sure that his torso would be a delightful shade of bruise for the next, oh, 3 years? But nothing felt broken, apart from maybe his face.

Well, the band had been warming up. And then there'd been whatever had been going on with Obvious Cop Man and Thugfaces. After that it had fairly quickly escalated to people saying things that insulted other people and touchy, nervous drunks being pissy at one another were never a good combination, and a brawl broke out. And that was when The Shrouded Angel was done, really. She didn't do brawls. She exited stage fucking left, and whoever was left in the bar to pick up the pieces could just listen to the jukebox if no one had put someone's head through it.

Walking along the side of the alley, the rain pouring down hard, she flat out ignored the water as it torrented down on her. Since her forced house arrest, Eris actually liked being rained on. She liked feeling the elements when she could. So it was nice, in a way.

What wasn't so nice was seeing the crumpled form of the guy who'd got dragged out. Walking up, she stopped in front of him, gazing down. She was vaguely surprised he was still breathing, actually. "I'm fairly certain, sugar, that there's nothing in this alley you actually want in open wounds." she told him, bending a little to get a better look.

Jackson became vaguely aware that someone was talking to him over the noise of the rain. Someone female and wise-assy. He was in too much pain to respond with appropriate sass, and instead groaned (again. He was getting good at it) and squinted up at her through the blood and rain.

"Nice observation, ma'am," Jackson said, sounding weak - every word was a bit of a strain on his bruised sides - but he had to man through it. "You gonna help me get up, or are you just gonna let me lay here and get an infection? I'd prefer the former if I'm honest."

He thought that her voice had sounded kind of familiar, but he couldn't be sure. Anything could've sounded familiar over the pounding in his ears. Usually he'd be too proud to accept help from the fairer sex, but she was right about the alley not exactly being hygeine central, and he didn't trust his ability to support his own weight right now. Fucking pathetic.

"If I hadn't been contemplating helping you, I would have kept walking past. I'm just making sure you aren't going to lash out and knife me for trying." she told him, since it was a valid concern. Not only with her specific situation, but the last time she'd been in this alley with someone else, the guy had chased and grabbed her, and then there was the killer out there. Plus, wounded animals were tricky. Sometimes they just snapped at whatever was closest. Men definitely fell into that category. She did stand and offer her hand, though, thinking that he seemed familiar to her too, but she couldn't quite place him yet. The rain was distracting, and so was the whole he looked worked over, which he was, so that didn't help her recollection. "C'mon, then."

Jackson coughed, and spat a large globule of blood into the ground in front of him. Ugh. That was not good. His left eye was swelling shut, but the right one was not too bad. He squinted at the woman and shook his head as he reached for her hand, attempting a grin (which was probably more disturbing than anything considering his mouth was full of blood, but his heart was in the right place),

"Thanks. Really. I promise no stabbing. You ain't the one who beat me up. Obviously the people you're used to dealing with ain't quite the chivalrous types."

He hauled himself up, wincing, holding his battered side and clinging to her arm. Yeah. She was definitely familiar, but he couldn't fuckin' place it. Maybe he'd just seen her working in the bar.

"You a waitress or somethin'?"

"Chivalry died a long time ago, Officer." she said, since yep. Obvious Cop. So, she might as well call it as she saw it. "But I'll take a promise of no stabbing." She didn't expect him to cling to her arm, but then he was doing so, and she didn't know what else to do so she let him. Most of the time these days she didn't make much contact with anyone. The most she did was with Brett, and that was generally small touches, nothing for very long. He was twitchy and she was reserved. "A singer, actually. You interrupted my set." she answered his question. "And you need medical attention." she pointed out. He just shouldn't go back into the bar to get it. That would be terminally stupid. "If I take you upstairs and give it to you, do you promise to be a good boy?"

Jackson blinked at the woman, still trying to place her, but mostly he was a little taken aback. He was slightly stunned at her offer of being taken upstairs. Sure, she said nightclub singer, but here she was in the back alley of a bar with a reputation 'bout as clean as a tar pit. "Officer is right. Detective, actually. Pity I'm such a sore thumb, huh? Mighta got off a little lighter with my beatin'. I'm in the Vice Squad. So uh, you know, you might wanna watch who you're offerin' what."

He hoped she got what he was saying. He didn't mind hookers, really. Sure, it was pretty down and dirty as things went, but most of them never hurt anyone. Most of them were just victims of their pimps and madams and dealers and who knew what else, but if he knew where one was operating from he'd have to start making calls, and that could cause the chick trouble.

"I recommend you don't go advertising that when you're in the presence of thugs and they out number you about ten to one." she told him, watching him out of the corner of her eye. At the out he offered her, just in case, she arched a brow. "I offered you a few bandaids and some disinfectant." she stated. "Last time I checked, Vice wasn't cracking down on the first aid supply problem in the city." she finished drily. "Do you want it or not?"

Jackson nodded, still wincing with each movement. Jeez, he hadn't taken a thumping this bad for quite some time. He was getting slack - or the criminals were getting better. Maybe both. "Yeah okay. Disinfectant I can do, so long as you ain't got any more guys hidin' up there to finish me off! Thanks, it's decent of you."

The crack about guys hiding was a joke. Jackson didn't learn lessons quickly - the woman was being kind, so Jackson believed the face of it. She didn't seem like the kind to be hiding the Russian Mafia in her bedroom.

Although she did seem familiar. It was bugging him. He was sure he'd never picked her up for anything, but near everyone he knew he knew from police business. Maybe it'd be clearer once they were out of the rain and his eyes weren't filled with gore.

No one goes up there but me. she thought. And Brett, when he's feeling like easing his conscience or whatever it is he stops by for. Stopped by for. Past tense, Julia. Get with it. He never did say he was coming back. She was concentrating more on getting towards the stairwell, which would at least get them out of the rain. She stepped in, then hit at the wall a few times, getting the christmas lights she had strung up there to actually come on and stay on so they had something resembling light. Then she started leading him upstairs, giving him the rail-side so he could use that as well to get along. When she got to the top, she dug out her keys, then glanced at him. "...could you give me just a second?" she asked.

Getting out of the rain was good, although the stairs were a lot harder work than Jackson had bargained for, but he set his jaw and manned his way through it. His legs were actually not too bad, but his head hurt the a son of a bitch, and his bruised ribs were screaming at him to just go and curl up back in the alley.

"Take all the minutes you want, honey, I think I'm just going to lean against this bannister and weep like a little girl for a bit, kay?" He smiled again, more tight lipped, not really looking at her. He was trying to put on a jovial front for the pretty lady and not doing the best job of it. But hell, a dude could try.

She smirked faintly at that. "I'll just take a second. You get all your little girl weeping done while I do that." she said, then let herself in. She shut the door, then went and removed the notes Brett had written her for her meds. She put them in the drawer, and realized that she might mess up now, but she'd have to figure it back out. Then she gave a quick look around to be sure there wasn't anything else to get rid of, but really? She had a bare apartment. She didn't have a whole lot in the first place, and definitely nothing terribly incriminating. She was about the only illegal thing in the place. Then she went back to the door and opened it up. "If you're done crying, you can come in now." she said, and she handed him a towel she'd snagged from the bathroom.

While she'd been inside Jackson had done a little deep breathing and doubling up on the railing. No weeping though. He pulled himself up straight as he could and walked past her into the apartment, grabbing the towel on the way. He rubbed it over his head and removed as much blood and rain best he could, breathing in sharply with pain. Yeah, it hurt like a bitch alright.

"You're an angel, you know that?," he said, removing the now bloody towel and finally looking at her properly, his face still hurting, but feeling cleaner at least, "You know what's buggin' me though? Aside from the extreme bruised-ness? I know you from someplace."

I know, and I'm really hoping right now you don't remember, because if you do, I'm probably fucked. Because I think I remember you too and it sure as hell isn't recent, so it's probably back when I had Babylon... she thought. Instead she smiled. "I don't think anyone's ever called me an angel before." she said. Sure, it was her stage name, and she'd actually been called that a ton of times in her life by various people, but that was generally after she'd given them the ride of their life. "Probably just from the stage." she said. "I'll get the first aid kit. Have a seat." she said, gesturing over to the little grouping of furniture she had in the large, wide open loft. It was sort of like a living room, it just didn't have walls. "You want a drink?" she asked, thinking most people who were that beat to piss would likely want one.

Jackson accepted the chair gladly and slumped down into it. The apartment was rather spartan, but he didn't comment. His own place was hardly a decorators dream. "Drink'd be good. Dull the ache a little, huh? Scotch if you got it, beer if you don't. Thanks."

He was looking at her harder now though. He hadn't missed the smooth line and the change of subject. He could be a big dumb jerk but he'd interrogated enough people to recognise avoidance when he saw it. He felt kind of bad being suspicious of a girl who was trying to help him out - but he had just been duped massively and paid for it. Being careful, was all. "How long've you been working there? One More Round? Long-standing gig?"

"Not that long. Mostly since the new year." Eris called, pausing and looking at herself in the broken mirror on the bathroom. She exhaled, and removed her coat, knowing not having the collar there would reveal the scar around her neck, but it would be rather odd of her not to do that. So she quickly took a brush and ran it through her hair, bringing it over her shoulders and letting the rest of it down, to hide it better. He could chalk it up to her trying to look nice for him. Then she took the kit and headed back out towards him, setting the kit down on the table near the chair. She walked over to her cabinet that had her collection of alcohol on it, and she poured him a scotch. "What were you looking for when you came in? Or is that top secret police business?"

It kind of dawned on Jackson slowly as he watched her with her hair down. It should've struck him before really. But what with the head wound and the rain and the excitement and the whole...her not meant to be alive thing. Well. He'd only met her once of course, and it couldn't really be possible because she was supposed to be dead but hell, Brett Trent was supposed to be in another country. Everyone was supposed to be somewhere and they all just kept turning back up. If anyone could escape their own death it was probably her. She had always been a god-damned piece of work.

"Not top secret, especially as it turned out to be a set up. I was supposed to be meeting someone about a tip on some trafficked girls coming into the city. You'd maybe know a thing or two about that line, though, huh, Eris?"

His tone was colder. Yeah, hookers he didn't mind, but she wasn't ever just a hooker. She'd been head hooker. Queen of the Pimps. And people said she'd run her girls clean but he didn't care. She still sold them like some sort of commodity. He made moves to get up from the chair, but he was still pretty sore, so instead he gritted his teeth and glared at her.

"People just keep crawling out of the woodwork recently. This some sort of joke? You inviting me to your apartment? Jesus christ, I am a grade A moron sometimes."

She froze when he said her name. She looked up sharply from where her eyes had been on the kit, and she leveled them on Jackson. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she backed up a few steps. Even if he didn't get up to go after her, she still backed up. She didn't say anything immediately, and wound up backing up until the back of her hip hit the cabinet and the bottles jangled a little from being jarred.

Eris waited. She waited until she was sure her voice was going to come out steady before she spoke. "No. I wouldn't know anything about that. I never did that." she said first. Because it was true. All of her girls had come off of the streets of Eidolon City, and a good chunk of them had been there from the begining. "And no. It wasn't a joke. You were hurt." she pointed out. "And apparently that's my downfall now." Figures, the first time she ever opened her place to someone, honestly with the intention to do something good, she'd get fucked over for it. Karma, probably.

"It didn't strike me at first, you know, 'cause you're meant to be dead and I was bleeding profusely. But shit, it's you. What the hell happened that Eris Stockard lives in some crash pad above a seedy nightclub? That ain't your style."

He sounded disgusted, and he was. Although yeah, she had tried to help him, but it was Eris Stockard. The amount of times he'd come close to shutting her down before some little twist or manipulation got him stationed somewhere else. Things were never cut and dry. Benefit of the doubt was one thing, but she'd have to do some pretty convincing talking before Jackson believed he was in this apartment out of sheer chance, the same night he got wailed on by a bunch of thugs who worked for drug pushers and pimps. Pimps like Eris.

She heard it, of course, and there was a part of her that sparked up by it. That was more what she expected out of people. That was what she likely deserved. It didn't mean she wasn't scared, but it burned away some of the shock. "Eris Stockard doesn't live here." she said. And that was true, in some ways. Or a lot of ways, really. Not one this guy was going to believe, but still. "A singer does. And she lives a quiet life, and keeps her head down, and she's now learned not to try to help anyone who wind up getting their asses handed to them and bleeding on her doorstep." she said, an edge beneath her tone. Well that explained why she recognized him and all. He clearly knew her. She remembered vaguely, him sniffing around, and ties she had higher up the food chain would reassign him.

Jackson laughed, somewhat harshly. "So what, you're the good twin? C'mon, honey. It's me. You must've recognised me. I know we only met face to face the one time, but I'm pretty sure I tried damn hard enough to make myself a thorn in your side that'd you recall it. No good playing the 'you got the wrong gal' card with old Jackson. I'm dumb as mud, apparently, but not that dumb."

Her tone seemed genuine enough. But she was a liar. Jackson didn't know how many old faces he could handle reappearing suddenly and changing their tune about who they were. Brett Trent as some mobster badguy. Eris Stockard playing the lonely cabaret singer routine. It was bullshit.

"You're misunderstanding." Eris said. "I'm not denying who I am, I'm saying she's dead. She died a--" she stopped, then shook her head. "A while ago." She didn't have an accurate assessment of how long. Time really fell into a black hole for weeks there, where she could only remember bits and pieces. Even now, her sense of time was still fucked. Days felt like longer, hours sometimes felt short. Her internal clock had stopped keeping time at all. "If you haven't noticed, I haven't gone back. And if I do, I'm dead. Very, very quickly. They already almost did it once I don't really want to hand anyone an excuse to finish me off." Really, lying at the moment wasn't going to help her case. One thing she was sure of, though. If he nailed her? Brought her in? The O'Malley's were going to find someone on the inside to punch her ticket right quick. She gave herself forty-eight hours before they were fitting her with a toe tag.

Jackson leaned back into the chair. He wanted to leave. A lot. But neither his body nor his curiosity would let him yet. So okay, he'd talk to the ghost of Eris Stockard. It was ridiculous. "Fuck. I have a very weird few days, you know that? So okay. I'll play your game. I'll have a conversation with a so-called dead girl. You had a change of heart after the Mob got scary on you? Big deal. It don't mean you've changed, it just means you're hiding out. Waiting to make a play so you can get your Whorehouse back. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't broadcast your whereabouts to my colleagues? Because after the amazingly fun time I had trying to shut you down, it really would not pain me to see you behind bars."

He sounded less harsh though. Because thinking about it, she had brought him into her house knowing he was a cop. Eris wasn't dumb. She was a lot of unpleasant things, but Jackson wouldn't pin her with dumb. Either she was putting poison in that Scotch or she had genuinely wanted to help. Poison would be easier to get his head around - but Jackson figured maybe, just maybe, a near death experience would make you re-evaluate your alignment in life. If she wasn't lying through her shiny white teeth - which he didn't doubt either.

"What you should be doing is trying to shut it down now." she snapped. That internal ire flared up, though it wasn't really about him. It was about what Brett had told her about what was happening there. "Now, it needs to be shut down. Now, it needs to get those fucking mob assholes out of there and away from my girls." This was why Brett had considered not leaving her the gun. If she thought for a second she could get away with it she'd have walked in there and started shooting mobsters in the eyes until she ran out of bullets. She knew she hadn't answered his question, hadn't given him the reason not to tell people where she was, or haul her in himself. But that first issue hit closer to home, so it was more immediate. Impulse control wasn't exactly something that was top notch anymore for her. Not with the brain damage.

Jackson was a little taken aback by the outburst. "You think I don't try? I got a lot to work on. Ain't many of us who can say that. Police force gets polluted real fuckin' easy. Anyway, who the hell are you? If you hadn't opened the fucking place in the start then it wouldn't be so well established and dug in. It's easier to stop them opening than it is to shut them down outright." That wasn't completely true, but Jackson was damned if he was going to take a moral lecture from her of all people. Her girls. Sure. Not their Mother's girls. As far as he was concerned it was people like her who made innocent women turn into street walkers.

He sighed and looked her in the eyes. Maybe she did look different. Maybe that conniving sparkle he remembered the first time he had met her had gone out. He believed that people could see the error of their ways. It just seemed so unlikely from her of all people. His ribs hurt and so did his head, he shifted slightly in the chair, wincing. Work was gonna be fun as hell tomorrow.

"Try. Harder." She snapped. "Don't let them reassign you. Dig for it. Fuck, I could get you names. But that place used to be a respectable establishment, and it kept the girls safe, and nothing happened there that wasn't fully fucking consensual. They got treated when they were sick and when they wanted a night off they got it and I took care of them, and gave them a better life and they came in and it's probably their worst fucking nightmare." And she needed to shut up, she knew she did, she needed to calm down, and not be screaming at a police officer that could at any time decide it was time for her to shut her mouth and get the cuffs on.

Jackson laughed with less sarcasm and more genuine mirth. Yeah, weird week. "Jesus, first I'm talking to fuckin' Brett about the merits of bein' a good cop like he don't already know 'em and now I'm talkin' to you about why a brothel should be shut down. Maybe you have changed Stockard. Seems everyone I knew in the old days has changed apart from me."

She was right, of course. He wanted Babylon gone. Always had done. But he got caught up in drug busts and gambling rings - it was still important, of course it was, dragging scumbags off the street and into jail, even if he did get the odd bruising for it. But that was just an excuse. Serial killers and prostitution rings - this city was too much for the few good cops it had. But Jackson knew, right in his heart of hearts, that if anyone could close that place it was him.

"Names are a good start, if you're serious about this new leaf thing. So would that Scotch actually. Hold the rat poison."

She blinked when he said 'brett'. She couldn't help it, she was already upset, and she flat out didn't have the control she used to have so while before? Back in the day? She would have been able to cover having a reaction, she didn't now. She froze for just a moment as he spoke, and it took her a second to catch up with the rest of the statement. Then she looked away, towards the drink she'd poured him. She reached out and took it, walking over to hand it to him. She had one arm across her stomach, where she was partially hugging herself. "It's not poisoned." was all she said, tone quiet.

Jackson raised the glass to her, still really not sure why he didn't just fucking leave, before downing a good half of it. Yeah, that'd help kill the throb. He caught her wince, too, and wondered what the hell that was about. Then something clicked in his brain - what she'd said about names. And what Brett had said about being in deep....no. There was no way... although coincidences had been thick on the ground recently. "Eris, Brett....Brett Trent isn't one of your names, is he?"

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped using my name. I don't actually care what you call me?" I won't remember anyways. Probably. "But just...stop." She never knew if anyone was listening and people around here--they didn't know. And she didn't want any of them deciding to cash in one hell of a payday with the O'Malleys. She walked back over to the cabinet and considered getting herself a drink. It also gave her something to look at that wasn't him. "No. That isn't one of my names." he said. "I'd need a little time to get you specific ones. I know some O'Malleys have moved in. I think some of the Russians have. I don't know for sure, I haven't been back, I've just...heard. That was bad enough."

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a ridiculous conclusion to jump to, but he'd been worrying about the guy, her strange out-of-the-blue meeting had been playing heavy in his thoughts. And Eris's obvious reaction to the name 'Brett' had struck a chord. But he was being a doofus. Brett was a common name. Maybe it was some boyfriend of hers or something.

"Yeah I didn't think it would be Trent. Forget I said anything. O'Malley's are everywhere these days, and I'd figure the Russians. Nothing those fucks like more than a little whoring. And okay, I won't use your name...you want I should stick with Angel?"

He asked this sarcastically. The idea that he had only just referred to her as such was absurd. She was being weird and paranoid and Jackson didn't really know how to deal with an Eris that wasn't an ice-queen bitch who could hate on with ease. It was harder to hate on this woman who stood before him now. She was, softer. Or something. Jackson couldn't place it. Wasn't his forte.

"I don't care what you call me." she said, tone again, quiet. "If you write down your name and phone number, I can get you names. I'll...have to talk to some people, but I can do it." she said. She would do it. Then she poured herself a drink and knocked it back in one shot, pouring herself a second and giving it the same treatment. Squeezing her eyes shut, she stood there for a moment, then crossed to the fridge. She took out the ice tray, and a dish towel. Cracking the ice, she tied the towel together, and walked back over to him, holding it out at arm's length. "Your eye looks like shit." she said, her way of telling him what the ice was for. Still, there was a decided lack of edge to her tone.

Jackson took the ice gratefully and applied it. His eye felt like shit, too. He didn't doubt that he looked like a big swollen eggplant. "Thanks. For helping me out, even though it's probably caused you a big headache. You wouldn't have done that before," he sighed again. He wasn't going to turn her in. She was in hiding, he didn't want to be responsible for her getting executed, and yeah, she wasn't exactly holding a brothel party time in her front room. He'd keep an eye. But no, no police yet. He dug into his pocket with his free hand and gave her his business card with his extension embossed on it.

"Call me. And don't worry about me handing you in - I'll keep an eye on you myself."

She looked at the card, and then walked over to her bedside table and opened the drawer, taking out a pen. She wrote down 'get names of those taking over Babylon then call and tell him' on it, so she didn't just look at it later and not know what the fuck it was for. Then she left it on her nightstand, her writing down so he didn't see it, and she walked back over. "I will." she said. Then she stopped for a moment, looking away, then back. She picked up the first aid kit, and got out a cotton swab and dabbed disinfectant on it, and reached out to dab it against his skin. "If you keep too good an eye on me, you're going to draw attention. You don't exactly blend in, now do you? And if you are recognized for who you are, and they see you coming up here, well. I'm going to look about as pretty as you when they get through with me, and that's if I'm lucky. It's a lot easier to disappear some random girl than it is a cop."

Jackson winced as she dabbed his face with the alcohol, but let her do her thing. He was tired, tired of all the crazy and sleepy from the combination of yesterday's late night and today's beat down. He sighed slightly at Eris' reluctance to cooperate with him keeping tabs on her. Didn't she realise he was doing her a massive favour, that goddamnit, she probably didn't deserve - but you had to give people a chance for redemption if it seemed like they were capable of it.

"Just because I said I wouldn't hand you in doesn't mean I trust you. So yeah, I'm going to make sure nothing illegal is going on as far as you're concerned. I make the call not to take a criminal in, then it's on my conscience if you start selling girls again. Or anything, for that matter. You so much as jaywalk then that's my crime as much as it is yours, from this point onward. You say you've changed, that Eris Stockard is dead or whatever, and I don't want you getting killed because of me if what you're saying is true, but I'd have to be a freakin' idiot to just believe it 'cause you say so. You musta known that when you figured it was such a bright fuckin' idea to bring me into your apartment," Jackson said, swallowing the rest of his scotch and looking at Eris with a slight twinkle in his puffy eye, "Not that I ain't greatful for you playing nurse for me, honey. But you know I can't just let you drop away into the city without makin' sure you're on the straight and narrow for real."

"What I'm saying is true. You saw the bar down there. They think that some cop is up here all the time? They're going to think I'm an informant. And it'll be far too easy for someone to just walk up here, kick my door in and put a bullet in me than it would be to figure out what I might be saying to you." she told him, being honest there. The place was full of shady people. The reason she'd chosen it was because the owner was okay with keeping her secret so long as she made him money, and the mob didn't come here. So no one was going to accidentally ID her and end her little adventure in surviving brain damage. "But you're going to do what you're going to do. I request subtlety. Please don't just let people spot you coming up here. It's likely to get us both killed. Try not to stick out so much around here, period. Next time they might not stop."

She took out a bandage, and put it onto his cheek, starting on another cut. "I didn't think you'd recognize me. I just...saw someone very hurt." she said. "And I know the people around here. They see an easy target? They're not going to be so nice about it. Especially if the wrong person saw you. Might figure taking down some apparently squeaky-clean cop would be just the feather in their cap that could get them a leg up in the world." Because in a lot of circles in this city--it would be. She looked at him as he looked at her, not saying anything for a moment.

"Let me ask you something." she said. "Do you know what it's like for a woman who's born on the wrong side of the tracks in this place?" she asked. Her tone was light. It was a real question. There was no sarcasm there, no cynicism. "Do you know what it's like for people like my girls. Who were born with nothing. You accused me of trafficking, earlier, Officer, and I've never once done that. I've never once even talked anyone into working at Babylon. My girls are my girls because this is a city that chews you up and spits you out, and it's especially hard on the women. Men like those who run the joint...to them the women, they're nothing. They're something to use up and throw away. I made sure everything that happened was on their terms. I made sure they weren't getting knifed in alleys or raped and kicked down. I helped them not be victims. And maybe what their career is offends your delicate sensibilities, but it's what they have. And you can sit there, and you can be as high and mighty as you want, but maybe you should take a look under the rocks in this city, and look at it all from someone who started from beneath them. There isn't a lot of choice. I at least made sure there was some." She stopped speaking, and put another bandage on his cheek, by his jawline, touch gentle. "I would appreciate it if you did not find it necessary to arrest my girls when you take Babylon down. They're doing the only thing they know how to do, and shutting it down will rescue them from whatever they're enduring at the moment...but it won't save them. Jail won't either."

"Well, like I said, I'm real greatful," said Jackson, still trying to disguise the fact he was flinching whenever she touched him, not to mention when she said the word 'rape' which always got a bit of a twinge from Jackson even if it was a subconscious one, "Maybe you're workin' towards Angel after all, huh? But as far as Babylon goes, that wonderful den of fun n' games wasn't part of that. You wanna help girls who've had a tough time, run a shelter. I don't by your spiel. Maybe you treated 'em better than the other pimps but that's still what you were."

He paused for a moment, thinking of Jenny. Yeah, there was no way he could ever say that Babylon was a good place. Women weren't meant to be put into a situation where there only choice was to use themselves up. A woman's body was something holy as far as Jackson was cocnerned. Which was maybe a little hypocritical, considering he wasn't innocent of having the odd fling. But it was different. There was breakfast involved. And respect.

"Anyway, as far as saving these girls goes, that's what I wanna do first and foremost. That's why I do this job, honey, so you don't need to tell me the State Pen ain't gonna do 'em any good. That's a place for the scum, not the victims, as I figure it. But someone's gonna have to help 'em out as far as feedin' and clothin' goes - and it shouldn't be someone who's doing it by charging for a little ride out back at the same time. So yeah, don't think I'm gonna just turn Babylon back to you. Ain't no such thing as 'lesser' when it comes to the two evils."

"You still don't get it." she said. "Let me tell you something, Jackson. Good and evil? Are not synonamous with Legal and Illegal." she continued, finally finishing up and she moved back away from him, back over towards the wall, which was about as far as she could get from him without leaving the little circle of furniture. "You're missing the way it works. You're missing that a shelter? Doesn't come from nothing. You need money for that. Charity is something that dried up in this town years ago and there's exceedingly little to come by. And it's their choice. And I didn't talk them into it." She was silent for a moment. "I also never said anything about getting Babylon back. I don't want it. I just want some reassurance that my girls aren't going to be hauled off to jail, and that they're going to be saved from the pigs who've got them now."

Jackson snorted. The idea of Eris giving him a moral lecture was not one he was going to dwell on. Of course she wouldn't think such a small issue as legality was one worth stressing over, but Jackson knew different. If everyone followed the law then there wouldn't be these problems - the law was there to create justice. It wasn't like some set of arbitrary rules designed to make life easier - it was a guideline, it was security, and it was all Jackson really knew.

"Well look, as far as gettin' those women out of a tough predicament and puttin' your mob scum in jail? I'm your man. This bastard serial killer has a lot of men tied up with it, but I ain't working it - Babylon is my personal department of depravity. You get those names, you need help, call me."

It was funny to think how many times he'd said 'You need help? Call me' in the past two days. His sister, Brett, and now Eris. It was laughable, how this city spat people into your lap you never thought you'd see again in a million years. "I swear. All these old faces are gonna be the fuckin' death of me," he said more to himself than to her - and not sounding annoyed. Hell, Jackson lived for 'protect and serve' - there was nothing to get annoyed about.

She truly hated the phrase 'your mob'. She'd had nothing to do with that. She'd been neutral ground, never giving in to either of the mob families. Ultimately, it had been that that had gotten her killed. But it was also fairly clear that Jackson wasn't actually listening to a lot of what she said, and she wasn't surprised. So she said nothing about it. "I won't be." she said to his comment about people being the death of him. "And I won't need your help." she said. She wasn't about to start calling a cop over anything. It'd just be signing him up for coffin measurement. No good would come of it, not for him, not for her. "I'll get you the names as soon as I can." Which meant looking up Brett. Brett, who she was still positive had washed his hands of her. He's not going to be happy about this.

Jackson cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her slightly. That sounded a little more like the old Eris he'd butted heads with in the past, that ice-queen tone of voice. "So you're just gonna summon up some shady mobster contact who so badly wants to kill you and you don't want a little good hearted muscle backin' you up? Well I guess it's nice that my company is such a turn off!"

Jackson was clearly just kidding. He hadn't expected her to call him up asking to help shake down a contact or whatever the fuck it was she was going to do. It was just his dumbass flirtatious nature shining through. He shifted forward in the seat slightly, still aching, but feeling like the scotch had taken the edge off. She'd done a pretty good job on patching him up, it would seem. "I guess I should heel it, huh? If you're done fixin' me up? It's getting late and nice boys like me should be in bed. Especially if they got serious work to do in the morning."

"Sweetheart, you don't want someone like me calling you up for favors." she said. "Besides. I already have a few I'm working on paying back." Pausing, she eyed him a moment. "Could you give me warning? When all's said and done, and you plan on going into Babylon, could you let me know?" Hell she still didn't even know if he was going to flip on her and haul her in when it was over, but she could still possibly get something out of there. Or less herself and more she could ask him to get something out. And possibly give it to someone else. She'd reserve judgment on whether or not she'd even ask though, depending on his behavior in the meantime.

"Warning?" That rang a bit of an alarm bell. Jackson frowned at her. He'd been planning on letting her know anyway, just out of decency and because she seemed concerned for the well being of the girls, but now that she actually asked, Jackson's cop-brain activated. "What for? You got things even more incriminatin' than what I already know about you hidden away? I'd like to know about anything I'd need to know about before hand. Not keen on surprises."

"Nothing like that." Eris said. "If you're going to haul me in, you've got more than enough, I'm sure." He did, after all, have the ability to make sure she was absolutely no one's problem in very short order. "I just want to know." she told him. Which wasn't strictly true, but Eris was one hell of a good liar. Plus, it was true enough. It just wasn't the whole story. If he didn't tell her she'd pay attention to the papers, and have to try and go in herself when it was said and done. That would likely be stupidly dangerous, but she'd do it anyhow.

Jackson nodded. He'd give her that for now. He was going to have to keep his wits about him with this one though. "Yeah okay. I'll let you know. You can't come help out though, no way!"
Joking again. But half-heartedly. He was realising that he had actually agreed to something massive. And who would he have helping him? Danny? Danny was freaking out badly enough as it was. Danny was a beat cop. Brett was...captain Jerkface, and in something deep, which Jackson also wanted to remedy. It was going to take time to pull a trustworthy team together.

"So look. How'd they get you out of that place anyway? They just strong arm in and crack your neck, or what? How'd you survive it? Figure I oughtta know what I'm up against. Heck, they can't even finish off one skinny broad right, they can't be that scary, can they?"

Eris flinched. She couldn't help it, she did it just like she'd twitched when she heard Brett's name. She also looked away for a long moment, before she looked back at him. "I don't know, exactly. They got rid of my bodyguard somehow. I don't think he's dead but he wasn't around. Maybe he was paid off, maybe he was just distracted. Either way, he wasn't there. They came in when they knew I'd be sleeping, I'm sure they had someone watching out. They sent in a few of them. A group." Wow did she ever not want to be discussing her murder. So her speech was a little halting, and she shrank against the wall a little more, arms hugging herself more tightly. That was, until she tilted her head back, and pulled her hair aside, to show him the scar around her neck. "Then the slipped a belt around my neck and the lights went out. I woke up later, I'd been dumped in the river. I just wasn't as dead as they thought I was." And she didn't mention a thing about how Brett had actually been the one who saved her. Who opted not to dump her in the river when he'd figured out she was alive. Like she didn't mention the irreversable brain damage she'd suffered either. "Don't underestimate them. It'll get you killed fast."

Jackson's expression softened when she showed him the scar. That didn't look like bullshit. That looked like maybe she really had been left for dead. That'd have to do bad things to a person. He'd seen that before, that shrinking away and freaking out act, in girls who'd been broken and left behind. He was really fucking bad at dealing with it, though.

"Looks nasty. I'm sorry to have to bring it up. But I ain't keen on the idea of dyin' young and pretty, so you're right. I can't go in blind. Still, you're here, you're alive, you're surviving. Don't kill ya then it makes ya stronger, right?"

He sighed and leaned forwards to look at her, his eyes as sympathetic as they could be for someone who was beaten up and faced with an old foe. He hated seeing people broke up like that. Made him uncomfortable.

No, what doesn't kill you leaves you a ghost. A broken record with a shelf life, with an existence that barely registers. I'm biding my time til I get found out and murdered, Officer, oh shining beacon of all that's good and legal. I'm one rumor to the O'Malley's away from being a corpse. she thought but she didn't share it. She wound up not answering him at all, and she just looked away, off towards the window. He could interpret that however the hell he wanted.

Jackson sighed and pulled his hands through his hair, standing up with some effort and making a start to walk towards her. Then he thought better of it. What was he gonna do? Be a shoulder to cry on? That'd go down well.

"Okay well look. I'm ready when you have the info. And I'm gonna drop by again, check up on you. Make sure no-one's finished the job, and that you're keeping your nose clean, and all that...stuff. And thanks. For the drink and the TLC." He paused and scratched his head wondering if he should say something else. He really sucked at this kind of thing.

She looked back at him, and nodded. "Then I suppose I'll see you." she said. "Be careful on your way out. Don't go in front of the bar, and duck out towards the park. That'll be your best bet not to be seen." she told him, thinking he really couldn't handle another beating tonight. He'd wind up a whole lot of dead, if that happened. That wouldn't help anyone. And even if his presence in her life was something that made her already risky existence even riskier, he still might be able to help with Babylon. And she was willing to give a lot for that. Including her own safety. "...and you're welcome." she added at the end, since he'd thanked her.