Trying to take the edge off

Who: Danny and Dutch
Where: One More Round
When: Late

Dutch had to snort to himself as he sat at the splintered and stained length of bar, a glass of gin securely in one hand. What had Louise asked him the day before? Would he be one of the people coming to work hung over? "Bet your ass I am, Lou," he rumbled to himself before swigging down a mouthful of harsh liquor. "Jus' a diff'rent night is all," Dutch muttered, running his free hand down the back of his neck and sighing quietly. How much longer could he keep at this bitter, lonely cycle?

It was a night just like a thousand before it for Dutch, the wind-down from a day in the shop covering the asses of people who only kept him around as a joke. And every time one of them came in, he had to wonder if they'd drop hints of his daughter, his beautiful little Cheyenne. Would they taunt him? Maybe tell him when he could see her again? Today had held neither torment or blessing, today held only the promise of this moment; a solitary drink at the Round and an inevitable stagger to whichever was closer, the garage or the apartment. "My fuckin' life... hit me again, Connie," he called to the barkeep, swigging down the last of his drink and sliding the glass forward.

One More Round was the third stop of Danny's night. He'd already pushed back a few with Jackson, stupid as that kid was about everything in the world turning out alright. You'd think he'd know better with all the shit in his world, but Jackson stayed all bright eyed. After their evening Danny had headed to meet up with Stella at the Kitten Club, but when he got there, she'd already left early to take care of her mom or something. Ki wasn't working the bar either so Danny bailed right away and headed towards One More Round where he could sulk in the shadows and drink until dawn. Janey would just assume Jackson kept him out late anyway.

He stumbled a little through the door and took his place at a barstool one over from Dutch. "Beer," he told the bartender and raised his glass in mock salute as he took down the first third in one gulp.

Glancing sidelong at Danny as he dropped into the next seat, Dutch couldn't help another light snort of amusement. It must've been nice, drinking for fun like the younger guy seemed to. "Get him one on my tab, Connie," Dutch ordered, tapping out an unfiltered cigarette from his pack and looking Danny over again. "Celebrating?" he asked simply, striking a match up and puffing his cigarette to life.

Danny snorted a little as he took another gulp. "Hardly. Trying to take the edge off." He'd spent the night listening to Jackson talking about saving the world and then blown off by his girl. Now he had a stranger trying to chat him up. As annoyed as he was for the company Danny still had some manners. "Thanks for the beer," he said, this time nodding his glass towards the other man with a half smile.

Half a smile was still more than he got back from Dutch, who sat with his eyes aimed down at his drink as he pulled in a crackling lungful of smoke. 'Trying to take the edge off'? It almost made him snort again, almost made him tell Danny to save his time and liver. Dutch knew after sixteen years of trying that it didn't work. "No problem," he eventually rumbled, swapping smoke for drink briefly and smacking his lips in satisfaction as the gin sent a buzz across his tongue.

Not the friendliest of guys, Danny thought, focusing on his drink again. "You always buy cops drinks?" He wasn't in the business of owing favors to common criminals. Not that he really assumed that this guy was a criminal, but he'd stopped trusting most people. Especially people he met in the dark hallows of dive bars.

That got Dutch to pause with his glass still at his lips, lowering it slowly as he took his time and rounded out the embers of his cigarette to a glowing point. His head twisted to regard Danny again, eyes squinting a bit as he worked to recall whether he'd seen this man before or not. There was never a way to tell which cops were safe, if any of them were. Certainly nothing as minor as a few drinks would hinder some of the police in this city, on duty or no. "I like knowin' I do more for them than they do for me," Dutch finally said around his smoke, one corner of his mouth tugging in a smile when he heard the barkeep snicker.

Figures. A common thug with a chip on his shoulder. Danny watched him sideways without pausing from his drink. "You insinuating that I'm no good at my job?" When the bartender snickered he glanced in that direction, his look turning from sullen to surly. "You got a problem too?" Danny was drunk enough that his temper was short. A few more potshots like this and he wouldn't be able to keep his cool long. He settled instead for another drinking, hoping the alcohol would calm him down.

"Not me," Dutch answered, holding the eye contact for a moment before he turned back to looking at the bar, "Buncha ladies missing their snouts might say otherwise, though." He had no clue if this cop was part of the investigation into the killer, but the fact that it wasn't over told Dutch that either the killer was part of one of the families or the police were just inept. "Shit, I miss the part in the paper where laughing's a crime now?" he had to add, plucking a new cigarette free and lighting it off his old one.

Danny's grip on the glass clenched a little too hard on the glass, and his other hand clenched into a fist. This is what happened when bureaucrats got involved working cases. Between Dixon and Hollis they were too busy having a pissing contest to actually get any real casework done. All the while more and more women were dying on the streets. It made Danny sick, but what could he do about it? He was just a beat cop who at best could get called to a scene to take names and interview another set of people who never see anything anyway. "Ain't no harm in it I suppose, I just don't see what's so damn funny." Ok maybe he wasn't going to keep his cool.

Dutch choked on his smoke in surprise at that, head twisting so he could balk at Danny. The eyes that had been squinting and glazed over with resignation were sharp and focused suddenly as Dutch planted an elbow on the bar, leaning in towards Danny faintly. "What's 'so damn funny'? Look around. This is where we come after the cops, the politicians, and the fucking mobs scrape us off their boots, pal," Dutch growled at him, vapors of gin trailing on his breath, "Ain't one person in here been done a favor by a badge to date. You bein' here, that's what's 'so damn funny'."

This was fucking ridiculous. Danny didn't back down though, nor did he flinch or even look away from his beer. Silently he took another gulp, finishing it off and setting it back down on the bar. "Cops aren't really the favor giving type. Not the good ones at least." His tone was even and he didn't look up from his glass as he spun it slightly along the edge of the bottom. "But if you were in trouble and needed help, insinuating I can't do my job doesn't give me much reason to help you out. Why would you need a worthless cop anyway."

"I don't," Dutch told him flatly, digging in his pocket for crumpled cash to pay for his drinks. "Shit, I hope you're crooked. Good cops end up dead cops." That was Dutch's theory, anyway. Back in the day, police who got in the way of the Families tended to disappear in one way or another. "An' I don't need your favors even if you're givin' 'em out," he went on, rising with a groan of stiffness and a pop in his knees, "Or your help. Enjoy the beer."

Danny turned on his stool this time. "I appreciate that you don't want me dead, but I'd rather stay good." Not that he was good. In fact he was owned by the Family, just like any other dirty cop. But just because his worthless excuse for a father got him into that mess didn't mean he couldn't one day pay off the debt and get himself out of it. "Thanks again," he offered, some of the brute out of his voice, but not enough to make him appear weak. Danny knew how to hold his own in a fight, and although there wouldn't be a fight, there wasn't a point in backing completely down until the threat was completely gone.

"Get fucked," Dutch called back sharply, his ire suddenly rising. What the hell was that cop thinking? Strolling in and talking about how the police could help? They'd never helped in the past, the cemetaries of Eidolon City were full of that evidence, from Potter's Field to the classy spots the mobs controlled. Being reminded of it all hurt, though; it made Dutch wish he'd had far more drinks before Danny arrived. He knew now that sleep wouldn't come, that his shithole apartment was off the list of destinations. Which meant the garage, and the distillery above it. "Connie, catch you tomorrow," he called back at the bartender before shoving open the door and stalking into the night air.

Danny didn't really care that he'd pissed off the other guy. Hell he'd gotten a free drink out of the nonsense. The guy wasn't entirely wrong was he though? Cops just weren't what they used to be, but knowing about his own father's failings, Danny wasn't sure if his own idealistic views of the force was valid anymore. Rubbing his eyes in frustration he looked back up at Connie. "Another one?" he asked, handing over the glass.