Runaway Husband

12: The Robbery

Andy:

Fuck. My coffee cup is empty. 

"Ow jesus shit!" I groan out loudly as I stand up. I've been sitting in this chair for the last two hours and haven't stretched. Paperwork is so god damn boring and if I fuck it up I have to redo the entire process of writing a report and uploading it. God my legs are screaming at me. I need to walk around or something.

"How many more reports do you have?" Tre groans, dark circles under his eyes. 

"Three," I chuckle. "Need a refill?"

"I got it man. My legs are probably gone anyways."

Ever since we have switched to the night shift we've been trying to adjust our new lives. Tre has been my partner since we graduated the academy. We always climb the ranks together and now as homicide detectives we have to write up the crime scene and evidence we have found. Tonight we had to interview five teenagers involved with a gang shoot out. The youngest was fucking fifteen, already gave his life up to be in a gang. Crazy. They killed an innocent man strolling.

I drag myself to the breakroom and thank god someone already made a fresh pot. Ugh yes. I grab the pot and fill my cup halfway, steam flowing from the top of it. I grab my two creamers and add a dash of both to finish off the cup. Ugh, perfect.

"A true man only drinks it black."

"A true man shuts the fuck up and leaves me alone to wallow in misery with my deliciously sweet caffeine," I chuckle. 

"We need to go back over the Hudson case. Forensics found new finger prints on one of the desks."

Fuck I hate the Hudson case. For one, we haven't found any leads. A thirty one year old successful man was found  in his car at the bottom of a lake. He was strangled and tied to the steering wheel. Fucking crazy. There was absolutely no evidence in the car except for the wire rope used to tie his hands. He was strangled by someone's hands and even if they did leave substantial evidence, it was washed away by the lake. Mr. Hudson was an accountant. He had a family of seven and a wonderful life in Henderson, Nevada. Who would kill such a person?

"Come on, let's get this shit over with," I rub my tired face with my hands. "I'll take you out for an early breakfast."

"Ooo are we going to see your boy toy of the month?"

I choke on my hot drink as I reach my desk. "You make me sound like a whore."

"You should really try it after your last relationship."

I roll my eyes and pull out the next report, typing out the next interview. "Brandon was just a waste of my time."

"Yeah two lame sexless years worth. Which makes me wonder if you are setting yourself up for failure again with a little man with a bun in his oven?"

I shake my head, typing as quick as I can. "Remi isn't anything like Brandon. I was just fucking bored and had extra time to waste. He, I don't know. Was more like a friend than anything."

"Too much of a friend."

"Hush." 

"At least go get your dick wet my man. And hey, we at least know this one puts out! Just maybe a little too much."

"Tre," I groan. "Remi has been through some shit. He's not easy or slutty. And even if he was, who cares? He's allowed to enjoy sex just as much as the next guy."

"I heard the pregnant ones are the real horny ones. Huge freaks in bed that can't get enough. Once he jumps on you he won't get off. He's going to be all, 'oh Andy Biersack you are so big I can't take it! Tie me up to the bed and lick my-'"