Shady Meetings

Who: Brett and Jackson
Where: Docks
When: Fucking arse o'clock in the morning

At least it wasn't raining. Small damn mercies and all. Rain was all it ever seemed to do these days, though that had its benefits. There were less people around when it was raining and those that were around definitely weren't stopping to watch who was doing what or going where. That had worked to his advantage the night before, but Brett couldn't deny that not getting soaked to the skin wasn't a very appealing trade off.

He'd left his car in an alley a few streets back, and he walked with an easy confidence - sticking to the shadows and acting like you were doing something wrong only attracted more attention from the sorts that hung around down here. He'd learned that back in his rookie days, and it was something he'd never forgotten, even if he no longer had the badge to back it up. Still, he was being cautious, not taking a direct route to his destination. This particular stash was in a warehouse a few lanes over, but it'd be a death sentence to be caught with that kind of information, especially considering what he'd handed over to Eris. He wondered if she'd done her delivery job to Jackson yet. He'd be definitely keeping his ear to the ground, next few days, that was for sure.

Jackson hadn't been able to sleep. After seeing Maya into her cab, he'd stopped in on Jenny, hung out for a bit to make sure she was eating, and put her to bed. To make sure the doll thing was just a weird coincidence and not some hideous veiled threat. But she seemed okay, she was reading something, and she had smiled more than was usual. Good signs.

Then he'd gone home and stared at the ceiling for eternity, his brain cells giving him a beating. Danny had pulled the trigger but Jackson was the one who had thrown the shot, and Hollis expected them to lie, to be 'heroes' when all Jackson could think was "murderer vigilante lawbreaker hypocrite bastard". He could keep a hold on the desire to bust shit up if he was with someone, if he was working, but alone in his bedroom? No. He was slipping off the path he had so carefully paved for himself. The path with "no littering" signs and white picket fences and smiling children. The path where no family was ripped apart by drug barons. He'd bent rules when he'd been sure of himself - of course he had, sometimes it was called for - but to shoot an unarmed man in the back?

He wanted this cat-and-mouse train of thought out of his head.

So he'd followed up on Maya's sketchy lead. Here he was, back again, in the night air with his gun holstered underneath his coat and his cuffs attached to his belt loops. On the beat, catching criminals, proving to himself that he was still Jackson Haas, he could still do his job, he could still make the streets safe. Eventually he stopped by the warehouse Maya had told him and peered through some of the windows. No sign of movement yet, but it wouldn't hurt to hang out at least until the sun rose. Just to make sure.

Brett had chosen this place for a reason. He was trying to balance his risks. He had hiding places for information all across town - he'd picked up quite a lot over the last few years. Some of it, of course, was old, out dated, useless now. Some of it was little more than gossip, some of it was low level shit. Some of it could cause some people some serious fucking problems. It was a mixed bag, he just tried to note down everything that could be of some use some day. That day had always seemed impossibly far away until she'd come along.

But he'd chosen this place for a reason - and that was because he did actually, at times, have a legitimate reason to be down here. At times he did some work with the Jade Lotus. Guard work, mostly - at the fridges. Of the 'stand here and make sure that nobody gets a look into the area' type. But, it meant that he could be down here with a bullshit story if he was caught. It wasn't much, but it gave a cover to anyone who did happen to see Brett Trent somewhere he wasn't strictly meant to be. It was a start. Usually, though, he saw nobody, and he didn't expect this night to be any different as he approached his target, coming around the side of the warehouse. He'd never had a key, but there was a loose window down the side that he'd never mentioned to anyone. That was his usual way in. He slowed, though, as he caught sight of a familiar frame looking through the window. Shit.

It was pretty obvious there was nothing going on inside the warehouse, at least not just yet - it was possible he'd already missed them, or that today just wasn't the day, or that Maya had been talking crap. Anything, really, it had been a pretty faint hope - but it had kept him busy. He shifted his weight and turned away from the window, deciding that he'd scout around the area just in case. Then he did a slight double take. There was a shadowy figure approaching slowly. Never a good sign.

Jackson slipped his hand inside his coat and placed his hand on the handle of his gun, very very unwillingly. He was loathe to pull the thing out, but did it anyway, and aimed for the figure's legs. No more mistakes, he thought to himself, hating that he was actually more afraid of having to pull out his gun than he was of the shady character lurking in one of the worst neighbourhoods in town. Fucking pussy.

"Hands on your head, no sudden moves, Police," he growled, squinting into the shadows trying to work out if it was a Lotus boy or not. Those bastards tended to be sprinters if you caught 'em off guard, "Step into the light where I can see you."

Brett held his hands out away from his body, palms towards Jackson as he stepped under the street-light. He didn't particularly want to come off as threatening, but he didn't want to lift his arms up and reveal the pistol at his waist either. "Calm down, Jack, it's only me," he said in a tone that was meant to be reassuring. It was definitely much more like the tones he'd used back in the day than anything he went for these days, that was for sure. But, he wanted the guy pointing the gun at him to be focusing more on the fact that they'd once been friends, and not on the fact that Brett was in a dodgy part of town, and whilst he had a great excuse for being here to give his current employers, it wasn't one that worked so well with the cops.

"Fuck," hissed Jackson, slipping the gun back into it's holster with obvious relief, "If you knew it was me you should know a damn sight better than to sneak up on a fella like that..." You could kind of hear it, as the realisation manifested in Jackson's tone. Brett wasn't a cop any more. Brett was in trouble. This was Jade Lotus territory where a drug deal was rumoured to be going down. A massive one. It really didn't take a genius to put two and two together. "Although I guess sneaking around is part of what you do now, huh? Wanna tell me what you're doing here exactly?"

Brett dropped his hands back to his sides, but stayed where he was. "I wasn't sneaking, Jack - I was going for a walk. No crime in that, now, is there," he said, still trying to keep his tone light, though there was an edge that he couldn't help there. He didn't generally play nice these days - he was out of practice. Hell, even before all of this, he'd generally been the one playing 'bad cop'. He was more temperamentally suited to it.

"Just walking, in the middle of the night, here. Of all places. Sure. You wanna know why I'm here, Brett? Because honestly if it has anything to do with your walking tour of Crimeville we're gonna have one shitstorm of a problem."

Jackson had his hands on his hips and was scowling. He had told Brett to call him and get some help out of whatever he was in, he did not want his old friend to be a criminal, but the evidence was stacking against him pretty hard - and Jackson was feeling less forgiving than he usually did. There was the call of that path again, straight and narrow, and how he'd been widening it by helping whores and letting his friends shoot people. That wasn't going to be how it worked any more.

"I'm insomniac," Brett told him, maintaining eye contact. After all, why tell the truth when a lie was more believable. Or maybe Jackson wouldn't find it so unbelievable to be told that Brett was after information to pass to Eris, so that she could in turn pass it to Jackson. But Brett wanted that middle man - or woman, as the case may be. "So - why are you here?" he asked, fairly sure that he wasn't involved.

"Got word of another Lotus deal. Thought I'd come check it out," Jackson didn't see the point in lying there, he was never exactly a deep cover kind of guy, "Mighty huge coincidence you're at the exact same warehouse, huh?" Jackson wouldn't of had problems believing Brett couldn't sleep, but he did have problems believing that he'd come strolling down this neck of the woods unless he had business here. Heck, no-one came to the docks unless they had business.

"Last time I looked, I wasn't yellow skinned or pointy eyed," Brett replied, easily not bothering with anything like political correctness. He made a show of looking down at himself, in case he'd changed or the like. He was the same as he always was - scraggy suit, unshaven face - the only difference was the scratch marks and bruised bite marks on his neck, that still stood out against his skin, a reminder of his night last night. "So i don't think I'm your guy. Good luck with the hunt, though - maybe you'll get lucky..."

Jackson snorted, not caring about Brett's less than PC description - he dropped the word "chink" as much as any other cop when discussing the Jade Lotus - but more affronted by Brett acting like he was stupid. "They hire white guys, not often, but it happens. So long as you ain't Italian I don't think they give a fuck, you know that. You know all of this crap, we worked more'n one case involving the Lotus ourselves. So just cut the bull. Tell me why you're here.... you know I'm willing to help you if you're in a bad spot. Just don't make me have to arrest you first."

Brett looked like he was in a bad spot, too. Not that Jackson could talk with his eye still an attractive shade of puce, but Brett looked kinda like he'd been throttled. Or not... Jackson's gaze settled on what looked like a bite mark and raised a judgemental eyebrow.

Brett had opened his mouth to give a snappy and bullish reply when he clued into where Jackson was looking. God, he was gonna kill that bitch next time he saw her. He was willing to bet that she'd done it on purpose - marked him where people would see, just because she could. It was just her kind of thing, she was probably getting a kick out of it. "What?" he asked, challengingly. It didn't make him feel that much better that maybe the marks would distract Jackson from the idea of arresting him.

"Nothing," said Jackson with an air of superiority, "Figured most people stopped getting hickeys in high school, that's all." Jackson wondered who Brett had been screwing, and it brought him back to the idea that the reason he'd (apparently) gone so off the rails was because of some personal life drama bullshit that Jackson hadn't been aware of. People did stupid things when it came to pretty women, Danny was living proof. Another reason why Jackson didn't do commitment.

"Clearly not," Brett shot back, not backing down. He recognised that air about Jackson right now. That 'I'm better than you' air. And it pissed him off, because the guy was right. He was better than him. He'd stayed on the straight and narrow, he was still the good cop, he was still everything that Brett had once been, that was all he'd ever wanted to be, that he wasn't any more and never could be again. And pushing it in his face like that, it pissed him off, made him want to take him down a peg or two. "Course, what would you know, Haas? When was the last time you actually spent more than a few hours with a girl?" He was clutching, he knew - but he also knew that the guy didn't exactly do long term. Course, neither had Brett, not really, but he'd had girlfriends, or the show of girlfriends. He'd put put he easy front.

"Pretty much never," shrugged Jackson - the fact that it was a remark was obviously supposed to wound wasn't missed, but it was slightly off mark. Jackson had never exactly wanted hugs and fuzzy-bunny relationship bullshit. He also didn't miss how defensive Brett had become, and that was more interesting, "Glad you've found someone you're gonna let take bites out of you - who is she? She the reason you're in deep?" His tone was still judgemental, but he sounded concerned too. Brett had been a damn good cop and now he wasn't, and if he was tangled up with some dangerous mob girl then a) he was a moron and b) Jackson would be there in a flash to help dig him out from under her and her family ties. Especially if it meant he got to put more of the criminal element away in the process.

Brett glared at him. "I never said I let her." Of course, he hadn't stopped her either. But they'd not exactly been concentrating on being gentle with each other at the time. He'd probably hurt her more than she'd hurt him, though in less obvious places. "And who said I was in deep? You don't know shit about me, and if you're going digging, then for once in your life, you might wanna try a more subtle approach." Because, friend or not, Jackson was a cop, and as he'd pointed out a few times now, he could arrest Brett in an instant, if he was given a reason to. Hell, he did enough digging and he'd definitely have a reason to, but Brett wasn't gonna go selling himself up the river that easily.

"To me it seems obvious that you've got yourself tangled up in a whole mess, you hinted at it your damn self when I ran into you the other day, and I don't doubt you want out. I do know you, just like you know me and that I don't do subtle. We worked together, you pick shit up, so fuck it, you made a mistake. You ain't one of the bad guys. I already told you I'm willing to help." Which was true. He would help. He would happily help clear the name of a decent cop, and if it meant he got to arrest scumbags in the process? Awesome.

"You ran into me the other day and you wanted to arrest me for murder," Brett reminded him. Sure, the guy had backed down from that, but it had been a shitty opener. Then again, as had already been raised - Jackson didn't do 'subtle'. "So sorry if I'm not jumping up and down to tell you anything." What was it with people deciding to 'rescue' him all of a sudden. "Look, do yourself a favour - don't worry about me. I'm a big boy, i can take care of myself." Plus, the guy was already helping - or would be if he played nice and did his part. But Brett really didn't need his name connected to that, especially not via Jackson, who never had been very good at lying.

Jackson rolled his eyes, "I was just shocked is all. Wasn't really gonna arrest you. No proof and no belief on my part. Look, I ain't gonna talk in circles with you, you jerk, so quit with the martyr 'I can fend for myself' part. Who're you strung up with and what're they makin' you do? Simple question. So spit it." Jackson called Brett a 'jerk' with a lazy familiarity rather than any malice, although the fact that he was lurking on the docks where still fresh in his mind. Jackson just couldn't bear another friend of his to be stuck in some circle of badness due to a pretty face. Fucking Danny had ruined everything, and Brett was doing the same - wasn't anyone just a decent guy any more? Seemed not. Not even Jackson felt decent any more. He felt like a killer, and he wanted to make up for it. He wanted to help. And the fact that Brett wasn't letting him? It stung and irritated. He had no idea what Brett was involved in, but if he was doing small jobs for some criminal types then that could be fixed - and whatever they had on him? It didn't matter. Lies got rinsed out in the rain. That was Jackson's thinking on the matter.

Brett almost laughed, the way Jackson put it. As though that really was some kind of simple question. And maybe it was, from where Jackson stood. Maybe it was simple and easy for Brett to stand there and talk about the jobs he'd done for the O'Malleys. About the pain he'd caused. The suffering. About the jobs he'd done. About how the highlight of his life now was acting as a fucking bouncer to make sure the hands off policy at the Kitten Club was enforced - with menaces, where needed. About how that climb down from where he'd once been was a highlight because it wasn't working in the ever more shady shit he was expected to do. Because it wasn't being loaned out to the Lotus as watchman for their drug deals. Because it wasn't acting as a cleaner for corpses because he had in depth knowledge of crime scene techniques and knew what the fucking cops would look for. Because it wasn't finding ever more inventive ways of breaking someone's fingers to get them to talk. Yeah, really fucking simple - what a confession to the boy in blue. Right.

"No problem, officer - just taking a walk," Brett said, formally, after a moment or two. On one level, it felt bad - he still remembered the days when he and Jackson would talk over a drink or two after work. When he counted the guy as one of his closest friends. And with talking to Eris, he was fairly sure the guy was even straight. That he wasn't one of the fuckers that had screwed Brett over and ruined his life. But now, in a way, Jackson as a straight cop was even more dangerous. Because Brett knew he was a criminal. He didn't want to be one, he fucking loathed himself for the fact he was one. But he knew he was scum, and he knew he would deserve everything Jackson could, and probably would, throw at him. And he didn't want to go down. Like he didn't want to die. No matter what that said about him.

"Fuck. You," snapped Jackson - his sunny disposition was shot, along with the back of that guy's head and he was finding it worryingly easy to get angry, "You're just gonna give up that easy and take your fucking lot then maybe I ought to just arrest you. Seems to be that's what you want, me to just leave you be and believe you're a criminal. Well, you know how I deal with criminals 'cause it used to be your way of thinkin' too. Fuck it. Trespassing. How about that? I don't have the patience. Good men got a fucking duty to stay that way. You won't take my help then maybe you are just one of the other. Don't wanna believe, can't quite, but you've changed."

Jackson made a show of removing his cuffs from his belt loop and gave Brett a look of thunder. Maybe he'd do it. He probably wouldn't, but the likelihood of simply punching the guy out was getting a lot higher. He didn't feel like himself, felt like there was a valve in his head filling with something and no way of getting it out. Almost like after Jenny'd been attacked. Not the same, but similar. Flashes of blood on cheap dirty wallpaper and the words 'running away' wouldn't leave his mind. Even hours before with Maya, he had been twitchier and more paranoid than any Jackson Haas he was familiar with.

"Public. Fucking. Place. Jackson," Brett growled back. If the guy was going to threaten to arrest him, then he was going to remember that Brett knew the law just as well as he did. "So, unless you got any reason to colalr me for B and E or shit like that, back the fuck down." He glared at the other man silently for a moment, taking a half step backwards. "Look, man - times change. People fucking change. You can think what you like about me, but whatever you think, you're no fairy fucking god mother - and, really, thank fuck for that - but now, leave it. Just go, do your job and the city'll be a better fucking place for it. You always were a damn good cop, Haas - better than to arrest a guy without actually having any proof to back it up. That's not your style, we both know it. You don't fit people up. just cos and I don't want to be the shit that brings you down to that level." He wondered if that was a cheap shot - getting himself out of trouble by bringing up Jackson's better nature. But the thing was, he meant it. Jackson was the ideal - he'd always be the ideal. Jackson was still everything Brett had wanted to be. And Brett - well, it would take something more away if Jackson lost that. And in that moment, thinking about it, Brett knew that he'd do almost anything to keep that alive - to keep it so that Jackson would always be the Good Cop. Be that beacon Brett could never now hope to be.

Jackson shook his head. Brett didn't know. Didn't know anything. Jackson had always had squeaky shiny-white morals. Until yesterday afternoon when he himself had been a part of the worst kind of frame up, the kind that ended in death and lies. The cause of it, even. So yes, people changed and not always for the better. But not that much. Because he wanted to make up for it. He wanted to better himself so badly it fucking hurt, and he couldn't not believe the same was true of Brett. So he wouldn't arrest Brett. He hadn't thought that he would, he just needed to channel that rage somewhere.

"Then don't. Don't bring me down to that level. Tell me what happened to you. Who's it gonna hurt? Me? Ain't it my decision if I get hurt for an old friend or not? Way I see it you got two options," said Jackson, his hand still on his cuffs, but with slightly less conviction, "Both of which end up in me finding out what I wanna know one way or another. Here, or in an interrogation room." It was a massive bluff, because Brett was right, without proof Jackson wouldn't pick Brett up for being suspected in the drug dealing that was rumoured to be going on.

Brett raised an eyebrow and this time he did snort a laugh. "Right, sure - two ways only when you stop a guy just cos he's taking a walk after dark. Tell you what, Jack - you tell me what I'm meant to be doing here. What you've decided I'm mixed up in." Brett knew it was a line - after what he'd said a few days ago, and hell, after the evidence that was out there from the past, they both knew he was mixed up in something, if not actual details. "Or tell you what, take your hand off your cuffs and drop it." Because, really, Jackson didn't want to know. He didn't want to know details - and Brett didn't want to tell him. Because he didn't want to end up in jail. And then it was a toss up - which would be worse, ending up in jail, or learning that a straight cop would turn a blind eye for an old friend. And Brett thought with that he'd die a little more.

"I won't drop it. Okay? I don't have a fucking clue what you've done. Some pretty girl with nice teeth pulls you in," he spat, gesturing at the bite marks on Brett's neck with obvious scorn, "She turns out to be some mob dolly, you get strung up for killing the captain and now you're hooked on her and the work. I don't have a damn idea. Deliveries? Making sure big dumb guys like me don't stumble in on the goods - which explains damn well perfectly while you just happen to be here of all fucking places," Jackson sighed and pulled his hands through his hair, frustrated, "I'm not gonna arrest you. Dunno why I keep threatening it when we both know I won't. 'Cause I'm an idiot maybe? But that ain't no reason for you to not trust me. Hell. I can help. You can give us information in exchange for your old job, or something. We can work shit out and get everything fixed."

"My old job?" Brett asked him, actually surprised that time. "Is that what you think? Jack - I don't want my old job back. Not for anything." After what he'd been through, he could never trust them again. not really as individuals, and definitely not the force as a whole. And that was without getting into the corruption he'd put himself through. he could never go back, he knew that. "They fucking fired me - there's no going back. For me, or them. And there's no 'mob dolly'. Come on - you fucking knew me better than that. And I don't have any information to give - you've got better sources, I'm sure," he said, backing away from that. He wanted to believe in Jackson, but all the same, he couldn't take that final step. He needed Eris as that go between - for her to be that source of information. He had to believe it would go better that way.

Jackson blinked. Kinda threw him, that admission. He couldn't imagine a Brett Trent who didn't want to be a police officer. It was like... well, it was like him not wanting to be a police officer. Bizarre. "You're too proud to let them admit they made a mistake if we get everything cleared? And you're cuttin' yourself off like that for what? You still ain't answered my question."

"It's not that fucking simple, Jack - and it's too long ago now. Just do yourself a favour and drop it. I'm cutting myself off from that because that's the truth of it. I'm not coming back, Jack - I'm never coming back. And it's not pride that makes me say I don't want to come back. Me and that force? Wouldn't sit right with each other any more." That worked both ways, in fact. Brett wouldn't go back because he didn't trust the majority of the cops there any more. Between what had been done to him three years ago and the dirty deals he'd heard about since, trust was in very short supply. But even without that, Brett knew that he was not the kind of guy they needed on the force. Not anymore, not with how far he'd fallen. They needed clean guys, good guys, guys who hadn't done the things he'd done.

"Why the hell wouldn't you want to come back? That makes no sense. Unless you like what you got now better - long innocent strolls in the dumbfuck early hours included," he said sarcastically, still not really getting it, "You were the best damn cop I ever knew who wasn't, well....me. And heck, even that's up for some debate these days." Jackson said with a roll of his eyes and a slightly sad grin.

"What's up for debate?" Brett asked, caught by that comment. That worried him - there'd never been anything up for debate about Jackson Haas, golden standard of decent cops. There couldn't be any debate about that, that wasn't allowed. The world still had to have something good in it, even if that something couldn't be Brett. "What the fuck's going on, Jack?" he asked, the wall coming down slightly and some honest to god concern showing through for once.

"I'll tell you if you tell me," said Jackson, not without mischief, it was easy to talk to Brett even if they weren't exactly drinking buddies any more - he never pulled any bullshit about 'how are you feeling', which sat pretty perfectly with Jackson, "But seriously... I dunno. People don't do things my way any more. That fucked up serial killer. Didn't even have a shred of proof and he gets shot in the back of the God-damned head running away, and they want to sell us like we're heroes? That ain't right. It's fucking stupid. Stupid stuff that can be fixed if I keep doing what I do which is helping people. So back to the original fuckin' subject, which is you, and what I can do to get you back on the good side."

"It definitely him?" Brett asked, ignoring the fact that Jackson was trying to change the subject back. He wanted to know what had gone down exactly that had his former friend off balance, and shooting a man would definitely do that - he wasn't just going to let it go like that. Plus, he was sick of repeating himself for the time being, though he was under no illusions that he could avoid it forever. "You pull the trigger?"

Jackson shrugged, and tried to sound nonchalant, "Not me. Uniform. He aimed to disable but... he was unstable at best and I didn't realise. Figured he was making a kill shot. I lunged at him, threw the shot. Our guy goes down and leaves his brain behind him. Other Detective on the scene says it's our guy, but without questioning, how do we know? And hell, either way, I don't believe for two seconds in being a vigilante - you know that. Law's there for a reason. Gotta give people faith in somethin' - gotta let 'em know there's civilized justice, not just street justice. Which is why you and I were good at what we did. Why we gotta stick to it."

"Without questioning - if you got the wrong guy, that means the right guy's still out there on the street," Brett agreed. he'd known loads of cops that were good with a fix up. Some of them just wanted to make themselves look good with a big arrest, others subscribed to the theory that 'everyone was guilty of something'. Brett - he'd believed in getting the right guy for the right crime. he understood the importance of that. The importance of giving people something to believe in, and making sure the real danger was off the streets. Now he believed in Jackson Haas, believed he was still doing that. "Wasn't your choice - and the guy's dead. There's nothing to be done about that. Fucking shitty situation, but that's what you got to work with. You find evidence at his home? Anything to suggest... or was the guy clean?" Under the circumstances, circumstantial evidence was better than nothing.

"Didn't search the apartment myself. Jakob Hollis - know the guy? Slimey fuck. He said the apartment was rife with evidence. Ain't seen it for myself though. If I get my way there'll be an inquiry and we'll get to trawl the place - still don't change the fact I killed an unarmed man who was runnin' away though. That's something to make up for. Everyone's got something to make up for. So. What've you got?" Jackson had managed to switch his tone from quiet and regretful to a weird forced camaraderie that was kind of pathetic and patronizing at the same time. He was going to keep dragging everything back to Brett if it killed him.

"Yeah, I know Holis. Or of him anyway. Never actually worked with the guy," Brett said, equally determined to keep it on Jackson. "You didn't kill him Jack - you said it yourself, uniform did. And you were trying to stop him. Shit happens, not your fault. Stop beating yourself up over it and if it bugs you that much, go down to the fucking apartment and search it yourself. Pull the files and the evidence up, look over it. Screw Hollis and whatever he says." He figured that Jackson could manage that much, especially for some dead guy that wasn't connected to anyone. That was the one thing that Brett had been sure about with this whole thing - that the killer wasn't mob tied. To either side. Someone, somewhere would have talked if that had been the case. If it hadn't been random. And if it had been random, and the guy had been connected? With a loose cannon like that, most organisations knew how to take care of their own problems. He hated it, but occasionally he had to grudgingly admit that it worked.

"Shit happens. I could say the same to you. How are we any different right now? You're giving me all the Police-guy advice, and you say you don't want your job back? Bullshit. You've got Cop in your damn blood." Jackson had his arms folded and was looking at Brett with scepticism. He didn't want to talk about himself any more - that wasn't what he cared about, and he could deal with it on his own.

"You? Are nothing like me, Jackson - so you can stop that fucking shit right there. And yeah, can give you all the advice - I have lost the badge, but I haven't lost my damn memory. I know how the system works, but that doesn't mean to say I want back in. I couldn't work in the system. There aren't enough guys like you in there, Jack. You might be able to do it, but I couldn't. And nobody would trust a guy like me anyway. I went back, there'd be rumours, there'd be stories and people would make sure that they got out. And it'd look really fucking bad. And that would be assuming that I'd want back in - which I don't. I really, really don't. You could offer me that right here and now and say everything else would be wiped clean and I wouldn't go back," Brett told him, trying to actually get that through Jackson's thick fucking skull.

"You are a guy like me, dumbass. So come back. Even up the score. Stop hiding behind whatever bullshit's going on with Madame Bitesalot and your shady dealings or whatever. Fuck the rumours. They're just that. Clean up, and come back, and I'll help. You're being freaking ridiculous." Jackson believed that, too. He could be remarkably slow on the uptake when it came to people feeling differently about things than he did. He'd never been that good at just... getting it. And this wasn't something he was willing to drop, even if it was getting repetitive and frustrating. He had convinced himself that he could wear Brett down. That was what he wanted to believe, and so he did.

Brett just stared at Jackson at that. "You know, Haas - I never saw it before. Just how fucking dumb you could be. You really think it's that fucking easy? That there's some kind of..." He broke off, shaking his head. "Look, you stupid fuck - I'll make this nice and simple for you. Use small words. You're a good cop - no matter what you think of what happened the other day, you're a good cop. And I'm not gonna put you in a position where you'd have to make a choice about whether not to be a good cop just because you think that if I tell you all my fucking woes or whatever shit you want you can just fix it." And that was the nearest he was going to come to admitting that those 'rumours' weren't all false. And there was more that probably hadn't hit people's ears yet either. After all, he was a nobody, and as long as he stayed a nobody, nobody cared very much. "And if I did? Just clean up, come back - I'd be dead, Jack. Dead. And, really - I quite like living. Hell, if they knew we were even having this conversation, I could be dead. So don't try and help me - it'll go very badly for one of us."

Jackson laughed sharply, "Well hell, Brett, you just said the wrong damn thing if you want me to leave you alone. Someone's threatenin' your life then I'm gonna get involved. Dumb or not. Dumb's on my side if it stops me giving up on people. Part of that good cop thing we was talkin' over. So who the hell is it? Lotus boys'd be my guess considering you're down on their part of the dock. Pretty yellow girl steal your heart and you get lumped with her brothers, that it?"

"The only person threatening my life right now is you," Brett shot back at him. "Stay out of this - I've looked out for myself for the last three years, I don't need people suddenly coming in to try and 'rescue' me." What was there, some kind of fucking competition on here or something? "And there's no girl - get your head off the girl, she's got nothing to do with it." he didn't address the question about 'who', he just wanted Jackson to drop it. For both their sakes.

Jackson didn't miss that he said "she's got nothing to do with it" - which was an obvious tick that he was protecting someone. Love was the goddamned Devil as far as Police were concerned, or so it seemed to Jackson. He would leave that alone for now - he was more interested in which group of nasties Brett was tied with. Who's heads he could bust on his old buddy's behalf.

"Listen," snarled Jackson, his knuckled clenching, his annoyance rearing up a little stronger when Brett accused him of being a threat. That was rich, "You went off the radar. I looked for you at first, but you didn't back in touch, and so you've got no-one but yourself to blame if you've been stuck for three years. Don't turn three years into a lifetime. You told me you like livin' - well you ain't. You ain't living if you're under someone's fucking influence and stuck in some life that ain't yours. So just tell me who the hell you're working for."

"I'm dealing with it, Jackson," Brett shot back, his voice loud against the night - louder than it should have been, but a way from a full on shout. The cop was clearly getting to him. Enough that he went against everything that he'd said so far. Enough that he rated what Eris was doing as 'dealing with it', that he allowed that maybe she'd be able to help him, maybe what she was doing stood some chance of succeeding, of getting him out. He'd refused to admit that to her, he'd stood by the belief that it would all come to nothing.

"Yeah, you're dealing with it? How? Lurking on dockyards and avoiding old friends? How exactly is that dealing? Refusing to come back to your old job and covered in fucking scratches to boot. Don't seem like you're dealing to me." Jackson was matching Brett's volume and even slightly exceeding it. Although a yelling match in this neighbourhood was not exactly a wise idea, Jackson was kind of beyond thinking straight.

"Yeah, well not everything's what it seems, Jack," Brett shouted back at him, his ire well and truly up now. "So stop fucking acting like you fucking know it all, because you don't." And he shouldn't want to. but, of course, he did - because that was just who the guy was. Yet more evidence that Jackson was actually the guy Brett had always thought he was.

"I don't know a damn thing because you won't fucking tell me what's going on, you jackass!" shouted Jackson, his rage finally fully surfacing, "What do I have to do to prove that I'm fucking trustworthy, that I'm not going to sell you out and put you behind bars when what I really want to do is have you back on the force? You call me dumb but Jesus fucking Christ, you have to be the most bullheaded moron I ever came across!"

"You don't wanna know, Jackson," Brett shot right back at him. "I'm not a fucking boyscout any more and I'm not gonna tell you shit that's gonna end with either you actually arresting me, or you not being able to slept for that fucking guilty conscience crap you've got going." And Brett knew that one, knew it very well - he'd had the same thing going on himself in the past. Knowing the narrow road and making sure he never stepped off it. He wouldn't ask Jackson to step off that road - but he wouldn't go down for it either.

"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't fucking ask, so don't dictate to me. You don't get to do that. You've done something worth arresting then I'm probably gonna catch you out sooner or later anyhow, especially if it's Lotus - they're my fucking speciality - so I'd rather hear it from your mouth and judge for my own damn self." Jackson advanced on Brett slightly, not looking like someone you'd exactly want to spill your deepest secrets to in his current state of pissiness.

Brett didn't back off as Jackson came towards him, and he didn't break eye contact either. Why did it feel so much fucking worse the more he came to the conclusion that Jackson really could be trusted? It had been years since he'd trusted anyone and, in a way, that was easier. When he'd been isolated, alone, when the world had just fucked off. And now all that was breaking apart and fuck it but that was harder. "Not Lotus," he said, after a moment or two, his voice lower, and he was listening for sounds as he said it, for any kind of indication that they weren't alone. "...O'Malley."

Jackson had been prepping himself to throw a punch but when he heard the name 'O'Malley' he backed down, his breath catching in his throat, trying to calm down "Fuck. Fucking Mick upstarts. Well okay. The O'Malley's. That, I can handle. Look..." Jackson trailed off, wondering if he should bring Eris into the equation, and their deal regarding Babylon. There had been more than one O'Malley name on that list, "...I've got some information regarding the O'Malley's that means I can take a lot of them down in one swoop if it doesn't all go to hell and doesn't turn out to be some elaborate fucking ambush. If you've got anything else you can add to that? Then great. We can put a lot of dangerous people in jail. Put that information to good use and kill more'n one bird - use it to clear your name."

Brett didn't know whether to laugh, or to shake the guy. He was a trusting fucking fool, that was for sure. He was just fucking lucky that Brett was on the level - going around shouting his mouth off about his plans like that. Perfect fucking illustration why Brett didn't want to tell him shit. And clueless to the fact that it was Brett's information in the first place. "...Or use it to take me down with," Brett pointed out. "I'm sure I don't have anything you don't already know." And Brett knew that what Jackson had wasn't enough to completely topple the O'Malleys. Enough to really make them rocky, sure, but there were some wily bastards in that family. "This mean I should keep my head down? If you're gunning for them? Time to be elsewhere?"

"I'm gunning for everyone, always am," said Jackson, no hint of self-awareness at how arrogant that sounded, "But yeah. It's time to get the hell away from them. Here's your opportunity. Use it. You can come and stay at my place if you need somewhere to hole up, I mean it, just... don't be bringing no bitey women to come have sleepovers." Jackson was perhaps a little optimistic to move from wanting to punch Brett's lights out to offering him a place to stay and slinging jokes about his sex life, but hey, that was Jackson. No sense of when to shut up and give in.

"And there you go, being a dumb fuck again," Brett told him, resisting the urge to reach out and slap him upside the head. "Fucking offering me a place to stay? When you're going after... I'm gonna do your health and career some good and pretend you never said that." Brett had his own plan about the oncoming storm. He couldn't walk now. He walked now, just before the shit hit, especially with his history and they'd find him. One way or another they'd find him, because they'd be looking under every rock. Either the O'Malleys, or the Syndicate, whatever was left. he needed to stay where he was for now. Stay, ride out the first part of the storm like he was a good little soldier - and then if and when it all started breaking apart, then he could just become one of the rats, deserting that sinking ship. For all he'd told Eris there was no way out, he was beginning to be able to see one. He just didn't see where it led. Definitely not back to his old life, that was for sure. And not necessarily anywhere good.

Jackson clenched his jaw. Brett was just not taking any of the ropes being offered, and that outright sucked. "Well, the offer's there, if you decide to stop being a mule about the whole damn thing. You know where I live." Jackson still felt like it might have been somewhat of a breakthrough, though. Getting Brett to admit who he'd been dealing with, and give him the knowledge that Jackson was working on taking them down. "And look, I'm not completely useless. You can trust me with this - I'll get them and they'll be off your back. Things get better."

"Jackson - I'm not being a fucking mule. I'm being realistic. I work for the O'Malleys. You're gunning for the O'Malleys. I got anywhere near you and one of two things are gonna happen. Either I'm immediately gonna be highlighted as a guy that spilled to the cops and I'm gonna end up at the bottom of the bay. or you're gonna be caught harbouring and you're gonna be suspended. Again. Maybe fired. And the city needs guys like you. So don't give me any of that 'you know where I live' bullshit. Grow yourself a fucking brain - you're gonna need it," Brett told him. Sometimes he was surprised that Jackson had gotten as far as he had, but really, the guy was a damn good cop. He could just be a little naive at times.

"You ever hear of witness protection, dumbass? We say you've got names, you're safe from both the O'Malleys and the Police. There's always options, always, and if you're too fool-stubborn to take 'em then obviously someone's gotta force you into it," Jackson said, the familiar superiority back in his tone, "That someone's gonna be me. So suck it up and get used to the idea that I wanna help and you ain't chasing me off with your attitude problems. I know you too well."

"Witness protection? Yeah, stupid - course I've heard of it. And I'm not going anywhere near it. Right now? You're the only cop that I come anywhere near trusting. And you're not forcing me anywhere, so don't even try." Someone, somewhere had got him into this place in the beginning. Someone on the force. Possibly more than one person. Possibly everyone - he didn't have the first fucking clue. But it could be anyone, and they could be anywhere. He wasn't putting his trust in the cops, he would never do that again.

"Well, at least you trust me. You've got a fucked up way of showing it though," said Jackson, sighed and pulling his hair out of his face, "Look, any drug deal that was possibly going down has either been and gone or been scared off by us yelling our asses off, so I really don't wanna hang out here to watch the sun come up - an' I ain't leaving you here, so can I least drive you back to wherever the hell you live now? Just so as I know where to look you up once I got all my dirt organised in such a way we can use it to get you home and dry?"

"There was never any drug deal tonight, Haas - whoever you got your info from led you wrong there," Brett told him. What was going to be ruined though was any chance of Brett getting his information any time soon. He'd just been involved in a long conversation with a cop. he didn't think anyone had seen them - he was fairly sure about it, but he wouldn't be taking any chances. His stash would have to wait. They'd have to do without it. "And I have a car, few streets down, so you don't need to drive me anywhere." Or know where he lived. Especially not until he'd been able to let Eris know that Jackson wanted that particular address.

Jackson cocked an eyebrow, "You know when the deals are going down then that might be somethin' you wanna slip my way - that's some information I don't happen to have, also I thought you were out walking - didn't know that involved a car," said Jackson with a slight sneer, making it obvious he still didn't believe that little story.

"I'm walking, aren't i? Just cuz i didn't step right out from my door and start, doesn't mean I'm not out for a walk," Brett told him, brashly. He knew Jackson didn't believe him, but that was the other guy's problem. They could both know Brett was lying, but Brett was sticking to his story, because he wasn't going to tell why he was really around. "And I don't know when the drug deals are going down - I just know if there was one, I wouldn't have been able to get this far into the docks without being stopped." He only ever knew when a deal was going down if they needed him as watchman, and then he didn't exactly get a whole lot of notice. Hours, usually, at most half a day, sometimes they just found him, drove him and dropped him off. After all, when it came to Lotus shit, he was just hired help.

"Alright well, either way I'm headin' out," said Jackson scowling slightly - he was tired and he had information to paw over, and now the O'Malley's were his new number one concern on that list, "So look, you got my number, and I mean it - the second you decide to see sense and call me, I'm there. You gonna give me a way to contact you, or am I gonna have to go Detective on your ass?"

Brett considered that. "No - if I give you my number? And you've got shit going down with my bosses? I'm screwed if anyone finds out. I'm already gonna have to get rid of your card. Look, you do what you gotta do with whatever info you've got. And I'll be in touch." He paused, then pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled down an address. "If you need to get hold of me, you can leave a message in the mailbox at this address, for a girl called Ginger - but if I hear that you've talked to her? At all? I will disappear so fast on you. And don't go bringing shit down on her, cuz she has nothing to do with all of this, she can just make sure a message gets to me." After all, they lived in the same building. Brett was just relying on the hope that Jackson wouldn't do something stupid like stake the place out. Brett knew he was fucked if he did, but he was putting his faith in the fact that Jack wouldn't want to give anyone reason to suspect an old friend, and maybe if he had a message point, he would stop sniffing so much. Maybe. Between that and the shit that was gonna start going down with the O'Malleys, Brett was seriously thinking of moving, at least for a short time.

Jackson wanted to growl something about Brett not giving him orders, but instead, he simply nodded curtly and took the address, slipping it into his inside pocket. Just because Brett was barking at him what he could and could not do didn't mean he had to follow through. The fact that Brett had now given him something resembling contact details was a breakthrough, and if there was a girl he could ask about him and an apartment he could watch on the downtime? Then maybe that's what he'd do. "Ginger. Sure. Got it. She the chick with the teeth?" he asked, trying to keep the mood light, "Whatever, make sure you do stay in touch, slip off their radar, the O'Malley's, not mine - alright?"

Brett gave Jackson a look. "No, Ginger's not 'the chick with the teeth'. What part of 'she's not part of this' do you not get?" Jackson's attempt at humour was lost on Brett, and he hoped that he wasn't making a mistake, bringing an innocent woman with two young kids into all of this. Ginger could be annoyingly cheerful at times, but she'd never actually done anything wrong. Eris liked her, anyway.

Jackson rolled his eyes and grinned, Brett had never exactly been the best at taking a joke and apparently now he was even worse. "Take the stick out of your butt, Trent, I won't give the girl any problems. I promise," then,he held out his hand to Brett - remembering their previous meeting where the other man had refused to shake, "So are we good? Or getting there? You're gonna let me do my thing?" by which he meant 'help you get out of this bullshit and back into the force', but honestly, it was a statement which could be taken in a multitude of ways.

Brett looked at the hand, glanced around the empty street, then shook it, quickly, before dropping it. He wasn't kidding around when he'd talked about Jackson being able to get him killed. He knew he was starting to play a very dangerous game, but he'd signed up to this, and whilst the rest of the force might have screwed him over and forgotten about him, he still remembered what it was all meant to be about. "Just watch your back," he advised, his only answer.