Paint it Black

Chapter 7: Squishy Stuff in the Middle

Lassiter wasn't a worshipper of Karma – working in any facet of the cops and robbers gig wiped out most mystical sentiments about ill deeds earning their due. There was no such bunk about “what goes around comes around”. The real truth was that shit happened to everyone whether they were good, bad, or saints.

He pulled up his sleeve for another time check. Only twenty minutes – God it felt like two hours. Surveillance was on the lower rung of police procedure, only a step above courtroom testifying, this one even worse because the perp, oily haired lowlife pond scum, was viewed by the justice system as an innocent man.

There was no way this waste was innocent! Lassiter had sat across from him in interrogation for eight hours. Though he'd never admitted to anything, the smile had never left his face. The smile had widened when O'Hara had entered the room, giving Lassiter his one excuse to “accidentally” upend the chair Rollins had been tipping back in – dropping the leer from face just as quickly. Too bad the bastard hadn't cracked his skull on the concrete.

He looked at his watch again. Rollins had been in the pawn shop for nearly forty five minutes. This was after a stop at a greasy spoon and the nearest porn peddler to the gut rot shop.

Finally the door pushed open again, Rollins toting a small box in his hands. Lassiter sat up straight. Son of a bitch! His hand wrapped the door handle and he'd managed to get one foot to the pavement before common sense returned. The state of California had deemed the man innocent. Aside from some sealed juvvie records, there was nothing in his history to prevent him from walking where he wanted or buying what he wanted. Even if what he bought was a weapon.

He knew where Rollins was staying – some cockroach infested motel on State street. Much as he wanted to follow him, he had some information gathering to do first.

A fake nose, even something a touch more casual than his suit, wouldn't have been amiss. Pawn shop owners weren't known for their inherent love of cops in Lassiter's experience. Right up there with weapons peddlers and smut sellers. Not that Lassiter had any problem flashing his badge to the fringe element just to remind them of where they stood in society. His partner had been reminding him about winning flies with honey but she wasn't there and honey was in short supply.

Two cowbells hanging over the door didn't allow for stealthy entry, not that he'd been trying for it. The musty blend of cracked, dusty leather and gun oil was a haphazard aroma overlaying the subtler scents of rat poison and mothballs. It reminded him of his aunt Ruth's apartment sans the sharper tang of cat piss.

About as cluttered too as far as that went.

“Help you?”

The beefy guy looming over the plexiglas counter across from the door didn't look like he was a man who stood behind that opening question. The only help he appeared to want to offer would be the kind involving a trip to the ER.

Lassiter had his shield up and out while his eyes tracked the two other patrons wandering the aisles. “Head detective Carlton Lassiter, SBPD. The man that was just in here. What did he buy?”

0o0o0

Abby was eating dinner with them again. She hadn't stopped by in several days, nor had Shawn begged her to, uncomfortable enough without both her and his father sharing space. Unlike Gus, she never unequivocally took his side against his dad. Okay, so Gus didn't always either but at least he had the decency to be apologetic about it.

Right now she was in the kitchen with his father, pots clanking and things spitting in oil while the smells from their attempts filled the house. Beside him, sharing the couch, the TV, and the rest of his Spree was Gus. Shawn had only had to tolerate one hand slap, followed by rapid apology, when he'd gone for his own handful of the fruit treat. That, too, he had begun to hate. He was blind, not made of saltwater taffy! Gus should be able to smack him whenever he wanted and not think he was about to snap a rib!