Old Friends

Who: Brett and Jackson
Where: Fontaine Park
When: Afternoon

Brett tried to avoid Babylon these days. He used to visit - it used to be an easy cover for the reason he never seemed to have a girlfriend. There'd been a group of O'Malley boys who'd go on a regular basis, and Brett would go with them. He'd found out now that the girls talked amongst themselves - and with their erstwhile boss. Whilst nobody else knew, everyone who worked at Babylon had known his secret: that whilst he visited the whorehouse on a regular basis, he never actually did anything but sit in a room for an hour or so and ignore the girl he should have been with.

Now though, it was different. The place had changed since the O'Malley's had taken over. Whilst before it had an open, even respectable and cheerful air about it, an air that said that the girls were there because they wanted to be, because it was their choice to be, now it was much more seedy. Now there was a darkness which hung over it. The group still went - more often, even, now that they no longer had to hand over any money to partake of the goods - but Brett tried to avoid going with them. Even if he did nothing there, he still felt tainted, once he'd been there these days.

But, today, he'd been unable to avoid it. Even pulling out the card of having a girlfriend - which he didn't, but he was getting used to the idea of the fiction - hadn't worked. They'd just laughed at the idea of fidelity and dragged him along anyway. The girl he'd been with hadn't said a word when he'd locked the door behind them, when he'd sat down in a chair and given her a single look. She'd merely lain down on the bed and, eventually, dozed off. She'd had bruising across her thighs, on her upper arm. He'd tried not to look.

In the end he'd stayed longer than he'd first intended. He wouldn't say anything, but there was the knowledge that if she was with him, then she was being spared whatever else she possibly faced. Still, eventually he left - long after the rest of the boys. He had places to be, but he found himself walking, and eventually he hit the park, finding there was a market there. Or what seemed to be a market.

Jackson was on the last day of his "paid leave" and was at a loose end. He was trying to keep his mind off being worried about Jenny and so far he was stuck on 'read the paper' which only made matters worse, considering the story about a killer. Thank goodness that wasn't an area he had to deal with. Drug pushers were less stressful than serial killing psychopaths and no doubt about it. Still, he'd taken his sister home from the hospital early that morning and tucked her into bed and made sure all her locks were turned. Then he'd gone home, and seen them setting up the market in the park. Cold to be having a market. Still, it was a cute idea. And there'd be uniform there, people he knew and could wave at and lord it over them that he wasn't working. Yeah, that seemed like a good plan. He grinned to himself and pulled on his jacket.

The cold still bit slightly as he locked the front door of the building behind him, not before stopping to help old Mrs. Schiner with her groceries. He had long stop expecting her to smile and be grateful, but hell, she was an old woman. You still had to help.

He sauntered briskly through the park. It was still kinda early for there to be many people around but there were a couple okay looking stalls. He stopped by a guy selling fresh Italian coffee and did a slight double take as he caught someone in the corner of his eye. Then a triple take. He'd recognise that scowl anywhere, even though it'd been a damn long time since he'd last seen it. But honestly, there was no way it could be Brett Trent. Hadn't that guy quit the country? It was the only explanation for why he hadn't come to Jackson after everything had supposedly gone down.

Brett had the jacket of his collar turned up against the cold as he wandered from stall to stall, wondering what the hell he was actually doing here. He really should go home and... grab a shower or something. Make himself feel clean again. This morning had just been a stark reminder of how much he loathed the life he had to lead right now. And talking with Eris about things hadn't helped either. Her and her stupid fucking ideas that there could ever be a way out for him. There was no way out, no way at all. Slowing, he stopped at a stall selling roasted chestnuts and bought a bag - even if he didn't eat them, they'd help keep his hands warm.

Jackson paid for his coffee and moved quickly over to Brett. Yeah, holy shit, it was him. Jackson wasn't sure whether he should punch him in the jaw or not - simply saying 'how's it going, heard you stuck your Boss like a pig' didn't really seem like the right way to play it. But no, it would be prudent to give Brett a chance to explain. Maybe he'd just arrived back in town from wherever he was hiding out. Ha! Brett Trent hiding out! It was crazy. It was like he didn't even know him.

"Trent. Holy fuck. It's you. I oughtta arrest you, man!"

Jackson sounded like his usual easy-breezy self, but it was clear that he was only half joking. His expression was quizzical. He was wrestling with himself on how to address one of his best friend's suddenly reappearing from the depths of a 'wanted" poster. At a fuckin' Farmer's Market no less.

Brett heard the once-familiar voice before he caught sight of Jackson and anything he might have said died as he actually caught the words there. Fuck. Generally, Brett had found that most cops didn't try that. There was that whole 'not enough evidence to make it stick' part of the equation. Funny that, given how he was innocent and everything. Still, he knew that lots of the force believed that he'd done it - lack of evidence never stopped a cop from being suspicious, after all. He took a breath and turned to Jackson, looking him in the eye. "You'd never get anything to stick," he said, challengingly.

Jackson's eyebrows knitted. Maybe the 'I oughtta arrest you' track had been a bad call too. He didn't see Brett getting so defensive about a joke, though. People change is what he had to remind himself.

"I wouldn't fuckin' arrest you anyway. Jesus. You know that. Maybe not though - you've been gone a while. I actually thought you'd fucked off to Jamaica or somethin'"
he snorted with laughter and affected the tones of his Italian mother
"You don't call you don't write, wassamatta with you?"
He moved a hand to playfully smack Brett's ear, thought better of it because it felt kind of weird after such a long time, and awkwardly folded his arms whilst trying not to spill coffee on himself. Smooth. It was an invitation though. In Jackson's eyes it would always be innocent until proven guilty, but....there were naggings in the back of his mind. Things that had never added up. Mostly? The fact that Brett hadn't come to him for help.

Brett raised an eyebrow and didn't crack a smile. Jackson hadn't changed at all, and it was hard, knowing that they'd laughed together at one time, but... He didn't know who he could trust anymore. So it was best to trust nobody. And it was best that someone like Jackson didn't get to be too closely associated with someone like him. "You been outta town or something?" he said, maintaining the challenging tone. "Or just hiding under a fucking rock?" Surely he'd heard what Brett had apparently done. He must have heard something if he was threatening arrest - even if it had been a joke.

Jackson had been used to Brett not exactly being a shiny-happy person, but he'd never been on the full receiving end of the death glare. That wasn't okay.
"I've been around. I'm always around. I do my job and I hear stuff. Didn't like to assume anything though, unless I heard it from you. But you're a hard guy to keep a hold on."
He wanted to say 'you think you're too good for the brotherhood?' or something about 'switching teams' but that was kind of a low blow, especially without all the facts. Brett had been a good Cop, and he deserved that much. It wouldn't do to get into a fight because Brett hadn't turned to him to help out. Jackson wanted to be the go-to guy for his friends, for the people he cared about. Jackson liked to think he could fix anything. Instead, he had been shrugged off and ignored. Left to think the worst.

"You wanna hear it from me? I got a new job - quit working for the city, decided to do something else with my life. You're playing a mug's game - I got out. You think you're doing any good, with what you're doing? You're not - you're not even scraping the surface," Brett told him, not pulling any punches, but not admitting to any illegality either. He wondered if Jackson was still working in vice these days, thought back to what he'd seen this morning, where he'd been. Fuck no, they weren't even scraping the surface.

Jackson flinched. Visibly. That was a real bastard of a thing to say. Jackson was his job. Jackson was a burning need to clean up the streets, to get the drug addicts clean and the hookers rehabilitated. He felt like it was a single handed job a lot of the time, but for Brett, someone who he though understood that drive, to say that he was wasting his time? It stung.
"Fuck you. You're rumored to be some cop killer, crooked, in with the scum. You switched teams on us, that's what some of the boys were saying. I wouldn't fuckin' hear it, even though you didn't have the decency...no. You know what? Fine. You're a vigilante now, that it? Some sort of Private Eye, Super Hero? You think you're so much better'n me, come out and say it."
His voice was quieter, his free hand clenched. He didn't particularly want to brawl with Brett, what he wanted was an explanation. He wanted facts. He wanted his friend back. But he couldn't vocalize it, so in the end? His fist would probably do the wordy stuff for him.

Brett didn't think he was better than Jackson. He thought the cop was a naive fool, much like he'd been, back in the day. Watching your dreams become ashes did that to a guy. But for all that he thought Jackson a fool, he knew the guy was better than he'd ever be. Jackson had stuck to the things he thought mattered in life. Had stood up to be counted. He hadn't fallen to the depths that Brett had. No, Brett didn't think that he was better than the guy. Brett knew full well that he was scum. "Believe what you want - people usually do," he said, quietly. He could have picked a fight, and maybe had the guy been anyone else he would have done. Hell, maybe given a few moments more he would, but the way he'd put that - he couldn't bring himself to do it, not right now.

Jackson didn't know where Brett was coming from. This was not the man who was his friend - what had changed? He'd lost his job. But that could've been fixed. He shook his head at Brett, worried for the guy. Something had obviously happened that he was not willing to share. Which was dumb, but he could be stubborn as a mule. The right thing to do was to be there - he'd tried that before without being able to get though, but now, Brett was here. Definitely in the city. He wouldn't give up so easy this time. He tried to shake off his annoyance and be the bigger guy.

"Whatever, Trent. You know where to find me if you need help. If you're into something. I'm always prepared to help out. Even if you're a jerk now. Where you living?"
He added the word 'jerk' with a hint of his usual cocky grin. The situation could be salvaged.

Brett didn't really think that 'jerk' really covered what Jackson should be thinking he was these days. And of all the people he knew on the force, Brett would have expected Jackson to be the first to drop him like a stone. The guy was squeaky clean - as clean as Brett had been. or so he thought. There was a part of him that wondered now, that questioned what he'd known about everyone. He'd trusted, and trusted blindly, it seemed. Someone had betrayed him and he had no idea who - or how far it went. But, damnit, Jackson had been one of the good guys. And if he was still, well, he wouldn't want to know a guy that was what Brett was these days, would he? "I'm living in a different world now, Jackson - and it's not one you want to come visiting," he warned the other guy

Jackson didn't like being told he couldn't handle things. Even if Brett hadn't said those exact words, Jackson had too much pride to let it drop.
"Last I checked there's only one world, Trent. Offer stands - you're in deep and need heads busted? I'm your guy. You can think what you want 'bout what I can handle, but you were a friend. Still are, I guess. Maybe that I want to kick your ass for vanishing and pulling some bad stunts, but you're one of the good guys. I gotta believe that. You know me."
He shrugged and took a sip of coffee. It had cooled while they'd been talking, but it was still strong as hell. Good fuckin' coffee.

Brett wanted to believe that. Jackson reminded him of how he'd been three years ago. That certain belief in the world. But he knew what lay at the end of that path, didn't he? He wouldn't wish that on his worst fucking enemy. Not even now. "You don't go busting heads for the likes of me and we both know it," he said, bullishly. "You wanna kick my ass and you know that there's guys that would have your back for it, but not the other way. You can't count on me, Jack. Yeah, I know you, so I'm telling you - don't count on me. It's better that way." He really wished it wasn't. God, did he ever. Seeing Jackson again, it opened up a hole he thought had long since been closed. He didn't want to walk away from this one - it was harder than all the rest. He'd walked away from each and every one. But Jackson - that was different. Still, he'd try.

Jackson was confused. It seemed to him that if Brett was in trouble, he'd been offered an out. How the hell could he not want it? Jackson was pissed, his old friend resurfacing so randomly, insulting him, and refusing his help. Brett had been his best damn friend in the force, 100% clean, a good man. It had been a fluke that Jackson'd somehow wangled himself the promotion Brett deserved. And then rumours of him becoming a cop killer? Switching sides? He wanted answers. He wanted to make things right and take down the responsible parties.
"I'll kick your ass for being a stubborn asshole. I've busted heads with you a million and one times. Guys like you....the fuck is that meant to mean? Can't count on you? What the hell is going on? Tell me what happened. I can't believe you killed your captain. I can't. Even if that is the line they fed us."
He whispered this, very aware of the uniform and vendors that could overhear their conversation.

Brett was aware of the possibility of people overhearing as well, and he really didn't want to be having this conversation out here. Hell, he didn't really want to be having this conversation at all, but Jackson was a stubborn bastard - he'd always been a stubborn bastard. "I didn't kill Captain Hardy," he confirmed, lowering his voice as well. He dropped his eyes, not able to look at Jackson as he continued. "But not everything... It's not all bullshit." And he wasn't going to get any more detailed about that - after all, he was speaking to a fucking cop. He really didn't want to get himself arrested.

Jackson shook his head in exasperation before continuing in his annoyed whisper
"I knew you couldn't have killed Hardy. I dunno what happened but obviously, you ain't gonna tell me now. Maybe you done stuff you ain't proud of, but you ain't a killer. You're a good man. You decide to get down from your platform of pride and ask for my help, I ain't gonna turn you down,"
Jackson took another sip of coffee, fumbled in his pocket, and handed Brett a small embossed card with his extension at the police station on it,
"I'm back from suspension tomorrow. You wanna talk somewhere less...exposed? Call me."

What was it with everyone trying to 'help' him all of a sudden, Brett wondered. Firstly the broad, deciding that she could fix his entire fucking life like some kind of damn magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat when she couldn't even remember when to take her own damn meds, or find her own way home if she took a wrong turning in the street, and now Jackson - a guy he hadn't seen for three fucking years and who, if he had the brains he was born with, would just write him off and walk away. But there was one thing in that which caught his attention. "Suspension - what the fuck did you do to get yourself suspended? You're a fucking angel, Jack, and we both know it." Like they'd both known he himself was one two. A pair of whiter-then-white cops, back in the day, trusting each other because they were one and the same, and that wasn't all that common. Even less common than Brett had thought, once upon a time.

Jackson had been expecting to have his card rejected and be called stupid or something, so Brett's interest in him letting slip he was on suspension was a suprise. He snorted and grinned somewhat sheepishly.
"Not that I should tell you a damn thing, considerin' how you won't satisfy my curiosity - but I got suspended for doin' my job,"
He pulled his hand through his hair and considered how gung-ho he'd been getting recently. He was sick of playing by rules which he thought were moronic and simply there to protect the villains,
"Actin' dangerous was what the big-Boss said. Me and two other guys found a drug deal goin' down. I faced off a bunch of armed guys, broke the thing up, arrested most of 'em. My partner got shot at, which is part of the damn job so I don't know why he was complaining, and asked for a transfer. I get a week at home to cool my heels,"
He looked back at Brett and slyed another grin,
"Guess they don't appreciate me being so good at my job. Reckless idiot, was the phrase."

Brett did the maths on the dates involved and figured he knew exactly which drug bust the guy was talking about. But, he wasn't going to mention that part - after all, they hadn't exactly been on the same side for it, though Brett had had no direct involvement in that. It had been a Lotus thing - and they hadn't been too impressed to lose the majority of a freshly cut batch to the city, that was for sure. "You losing some of your gloss not - all getting bit much for you?" he asked, taking a different angle on the subject, keeping it well away from himself, and, at the same time, his cautious cynicism waiting to catch his one-time friend out. He knew there had to be something there, somewhere. Brett didn't trust anyone these days - he was just waiting for the betrayal which he considered to be inevitable, whether there was any reason for him to think that or not.

Jackson shrugged, considered the question. He still figured himself to be pretty glossy. He never did a thing that bothered his conscience - he broke dumb rules and pissed off cowards. Different kettle of fish.
"There's a lot of drugs, hookers and illegal gambling in this city. Lotta evil people. Vice is hard grind. Especially when even the force is bent. Hurts me to say that, but I've seen it myself. Good men gettin' taken down by a handful of rotten scumbags who I'd beat on pretty hard if I got the chance. You know that. But too much for me?"
Jackson smiled as large as he had done for the entirety of this conversation and met Brett's eyes with his own,
"Never in a million years."

Brett stared right back. "Never say never, Jack." After all, look where he was now - just the kind of rotten scumbag his former friend was talking about and that he's sworn he'd never be. To Brett's mind, it didn't matter how he got here, it didn't matter that his intentions had been pure, or that he got screwed over. He was what he was now, there was no way out of that. Scum of the earth, a bottom feeder. Good for nothing. And if it could happen to him, it could happen to anyone.

Jackson laughed. Brett Trent, ever the pessimist. Maybe you didn't really change people all that much - just their circumstances. Everything would be okay.
"Okay well look. You've got my card. There's no excuses. I'll have to come looking for you if you don't call."
It wasn't meant to come out like a threat, but honestly it probably did sound like one. Oh well, that couldn't be helped. The paranoia of others was a mystery to Jackson at the best of times - and Brett being captain gloomy was not something he particularly knew how to deal with well. Jackson finished his coffee, tossed the cup into a nearby trashcan, and held his hand out to Brett. I don't have a sword. That's what the handshake represents. It's a gesture of trust.

Brett pocketed the card, but didn't shake the guy's hand, instead he gave him a look that said that Brett clearly expected the guy to know better. "Why?" he asked, instead. "Or is it just that you flat out don't believe any of it. Hell, Jack - go look up my fucking file-" If it even still exists, Brett thought, bitterly. but he wouldn't be surprised if it did - the bits leading up to him being fired, that was. Then again, his assignment that set that up had never been in his official file in the first place. That had been part of the show. "-You should be watching out for your own back, or you'll be up on changes of consorting, if your not careful. Or, what - you in for informants? Think I'd be a good person to know, think I'd know something and tell you? That why you want to talk to me away from prying eyes?" Brett was good at theories - he could come up with a thousand and one reasons for someone's actions that weren't a straight forward 'because I give a damn about you'.

"Seriously? You're not even gonna shake my hand? I got a disease or somethin'? Fuck you, buddy. I ever done anything to make you doubt me? If anyone should be actin' all put out and shitty it should be me. I don't fuckin' understand you a damn"
The informant thing was not even something that had crossed his mind - partially because he was hoping Brett being tangled up with the mob wasn't what was going on. Someone obviously had something on him - and Jackson realised he didn't know that much about Brett's family, for all his claims of them being best friends. It was never something they discussed. It was always work.
"Look, I really mean it that I'm here to help. You can be an asshole all you want, I ain't gonna forget what we've been through together."

"Your hand? Fuck, I just don't think it'd be a good career move for you to shake mine." That and if his higher ups saw him getting matey with a cop, they'd start thinking. What they would be thinking could go a number of ways, but Brett could think of a couple straight away that would lead to no good. Either they'd remember where he came from and start to wonder at him picking up old ties. Or they'd mark Jackson out as a potential source, want Brett to start working on him, using a personal relationship to get the guy off the straight and narrow. "Grow yourself a brain, leave me alone," he said, turning to leave.

Jackson watched the guy go with a strange feeling in his gut, one he could only think of as wanting to shake the crap out of him. Fucking Brett. He was glad he wasn't dead, though. Death was the only unfixable thing. He pulled his hands through his hair as he yelled after Brett,
"Last thing I want anyone to accuse me of is thinking too much! I ain't gonna leave you stuck in whatever mess you're in,"
he sighed. He wasn't keen to just let Brett leave but the guy could be more stubborn than a pile of bricks.
"Ah whatever. I'm happy you're not dead in a ditch. That's all" he added as an afterthought - not quite as loud, but still audible. Fucking Brett Trent. After 3 years. Who would've thought it?