Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2757 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21JS or the characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
The sound of the school bell greeted Booker as he pulled into the parking lot. In no mood to attend classes, he sat in his car and watched the steady stream of teenagers filing into the brown-brick building. At the rear of the crowd, a familiar figure climbed the steps, his gait hesitant, his demeanor forlorn. Ioki was on the case, masquerading as a defenseless nerd. From Booker’s vantage point, he’d nailed the brief, and at that moment, the dark-haired officer felt slightly less alone. Harry was a good man, but he wasn’t Tom, and as furious as Booker was at the self-effacing officer, he missed his presence. Tom McQuaid was a charismatic character, and watching him mouth off to teachers while keeping his endearing personality intact had been one of the highlights of Booker’s working career. But therein lay the problem. Tom McQuaid was a fictitious character, an imaginary being who disappeared as soon as night fell, much like a modern-day Cinderella. Tom Hanson was the flesh and blood man, the cop, the person he should be able to trust with his life. And while he accepted the consensus that Tom was an outstanding officer, he didn’t have complete faith in his coping abilities when facing an unforeseen situation. The nervous disposition of Tom Hanson simmered just beneath the surface of the Tom McQuaid persona, giving credence to Penhall’s Jekyll and Hyde analogy. It was unsettling, and while Booker had managed to overlook the young officer’s eccentricities in the beginning, after his unsolicited stunt that morning, he was mostly glad to be rid of him.
Mostly, but not completely.
As the last peal of the bell died, carried away on the whispers of the warm spring breeze, Booker exhaled a weary sigh and climbed out of his car. He had a job to do, and with or without Tom, he would do it to the best of his ability.
**
Tom pushed his legs harder, his lungs burning as he tried to outrun the sound of Booker’s voice. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the chapel as possible, to leave behind the amused snorts and tinkling laughter that threatened to suck the life right out of his being. Once again, he’d exposed his weakness to his peers, making a mockery of himself for all to see. It was soul destroying, yet oh so familiar, and he wondered why he even cared anymore. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up making a fool of himself, and he couldn’t help but think his public humiliation would follow him from life into death with an anecdotal epitaph engraved on his headstone.
Here lies Tom Hanson
Loved by none
Friend of nobody
He died as he lived
Alone
Entering through the gates of a leafy park, the young officer pulled up abruptly and leaning forward, he rested his hands on his knees. Closing his eyes, he sucked in some air, each breath flowing through his lungs in a tight wheezy pant. Although he had stopped running, his heart continued to pound in his chest, the blood pulsating in his ears drowning out the sounds of the city. Droplets of sweat trickled down his face and opening his eyes, he rubbed a hand over his brow. He was physically and emotionally spent, but he had no choice but to turn around and walk straight back to the scene of his embarrassment. Because that’s what he did. He always returned to his antagonists because as much as he wanted to escape the indignity of their teasing, he had nowhere else to go.
**
When the lunch bell rang, Booker packed up his books and avoiding the line of students filing into the dining hall, he made his way outside. A light breeze whipped the hair from his brow, allowing the heat of the April sun to warm his face, instantly elevating his mood. The first half of the day had flown by in an uneventful haze of boredom. Ioki had played his part well, his obvious intellect quickly singling him out as an easy mark, making Booker’s job that much less complicated. He knew Tyrell would expect him to target the new kid, especially because Ioki—aka Nguyen—was proving himself a shy, goody two-shoed conformist. But while they’d shared three classes during the morning, the dark-haired officer hadn’t had the opportunity to initiate contact. His gut told him he should follow the masses and seek Ioki out in the lunchroom, but his heart wasn’t in it. Time had dulled his anger, leaving the heavy ache of guilt sitting low in his gut. Tom's panicked face was seared into his memory, and he longed for the day to end, so he could seek out the quietude of his apartment and drown his regret in a bottle of whiskey.
“Hey, Brady! Wait up!”
Flipping the metaphorical switch in his brain that transformed him from an undercover police officer into a wayward teen, Booker turned and greeted the approaching youth with a flick of his head. “Wassup, Carter?”
Out of breath, Tyrell jogged the last few feet until he was standing next to his newest lackey. “I’m looking for McQuaid,” he puffed. “Have you seen him?”
Hearing Tom’s pseudonym uttered out loud caused a physical pain in Booker’s heart, and caught off guard, he immediately went on the defensive. “Do I look like his fucking mother? How the hell should I know?”
Tyrell’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Settle down, Brady. Don’t get your panties in a knot. I was only askin’ ‘cause you two have been joined at the hip since coming to Westview.”
“Yeah? Well, just ‘cause we hang out doesn’t mean I track his every move,” Booker shot back, his lower lip pushing into a moody pout. “Maybe he’s sick or playing hooky. Personally, I couldn’t give a fuck. I don’t need him to do what I gotta do.”
“Is that right?”
There was a hint of a dare behind the softly spoken question, almost as if the high schooler was mocking Booker’s capabilities to go it alone. Not one to back down from a challenge, the dark-haired officer’s eyes scanned the quadrangle, looking for a victim. As luck would have it, at that moment, Ioki walked out of the large double doors and down the broad cement steps toward them, his nose buried in a thick textbook. It was an opportunity too good to miss. Booker hated roughing up innocent students, but Harry was mentally and physically prepared for the bullying. Playing the mark was his shtick, after all, it was why he was there.
A sly smile curled one corner of Booker’s lips. “See that new kid?” he asked with a nod in Ioki’s direction. “I reckon he’s just dying to buy some blow.”
Turning his head toward the school entrance, Tyrell squinted against the sun as he observed Ioki descending the wide steps. “You mean the gook? He’s probably poor. You need to prey on the rich kids, Brady. Otherwise...well, let’s just say, if you don’t sell your weekly quota, things are gonna get...interesting.”
The thinly veiled threat wasn’t lost on Booker, but it was the racist remark that had his skin prickling in annoyance. However, as much as he wanted to punch the teenager in the mouth, he reined in his anger and channeled it into giving the best undercover performance of his life. “Check out his clothes,” he suggested. “Nguyen’s one of those rich Asians. His parents probably own a chain of grocery stores or something.”
The racist stereotype left a bad taste in the dark-haired officer’s mouth, but as he watched Tyrell’s lopsided sneer transform into a wide grin, he knew he’d succeeded in changing the teen’s mind.
“Hey, you may be right,” Tyrell agreed, his steely blue eyes sparkling with a greedy excitement. “Go hit him up.”
Adrenaline surged through Booker’s body, the rush quickening his heart. These were the moments he lived for, the deceptive roleplay and whether or not he could pull it off. Having never worked with Harry, he was primarily flying blind, but the unknown only added to his nervous excitement. Tyrell Carson was no fool, and one false move could see their undercover operation shut down before it had even begun. However, the dark-haired officer was egotistical enough to believe in his own abilities. Failure was not an option, not now, not ever. He was going to take down the bad guys or die trying.
Throwing his teenage accomplice a cheeky wink, he swaggered over to Ioki. Their eyes met, and a faint flicker of understanding passed between them. They both knew what to expect, but neither knew how the other would react. After Tom’s meltdown at the chapel, they’d barely had time to speak before it was time to leave for school. It left them at a disadvantage, but as trained professionals, they were prepared for the unexpected. However, that didn’t always mean they would respond in an appropriate manner. Tom was a prime example of what could go wrong when taken by surprise. But with Tyrell Carson hovering in the background, Booker had no opportunity to assuage his new friend before launching an attack. Time was of the essence, and if he were to convince Tyrell of his worth, he needed to go in all guns blazing or risk being labeled a pussy.
And so, with lightning speed, his hand shot out, knocking the book from Ioki’s hand. Before Harry could react, he grabbed a fistful of the undercover officer’s navy blue button-down shirt and twisted the material into a tight ball. “Hey, Bruce Lee,” he smirked. “How’s it going? Wanna buy some blow?”
It was the perfect gibe. Referencing the famous martial artist was a clever way for Booker to sound like a racist asshole while not actually insulting his friend. Harry was renowned for his skills in many traditional forms of Asian self-defense, and Lee was one of his idols. The cunningly thought out put-down was a gesture of solidarity in an otherwise violent confrontation, and Ioki was grateful for the support. Racial intolerance was rife in the force, but he was fortunate enough to have found his niche with the Jump Street team. He was a minority, but he never felt out of place. If anything, he considered his coworkers his family. Their bond went beyond friendship, it was a kinship he treasured, and he loved Judy, Doug, and even Fuller with all his heart. As the new member of the team, Booker had yet to leave his mark, but Harry already felt an affinity with the dark-haired officer he had never sensed with Hanson. Tom was a ghost, an enigmatic outsider whose strange ways and reticent behavior made him difficult to befriend. It wasn’t through a lack of trying, but the metaphorical wall was too thick, too impenetrable, and like those before him, Harry had eventually given up. He didn’t dislike the young officer, he just didn’t understand him, and therefore, unless they were working together, he basically pretended he wasn’t there.
Keen to make a good impression with his new partner, Ioki slipped into character by playing the part assigned to him. “H-Hey, fella, I don't want any trouble. I-I only came out here so I could study.”
Booker glanced down at the book, an amused smile twitching his lips. “Algebra?” he jeered, his hand tightening around Harry’s shirtfront. “Geez, man, you’re really gonna need a snort after reading that. Lucky for you I came along. How ‘bout a gram to help alleviate the boredom of all those formulas?”
“Um...okay,” Ioki replied in a hesitant voice. “H-How much?”
Pausing in thought, Booker looked Harry up and down. “For you, my friend, I’ll sell it for the discounted price of a hundred and ten bucks.”
Harry’s frightened expression shifted ever so slightly. He knew the going rate—as set by Carson—was a hundred dollars, meaning his partner had upped the price by ten percent. It was an amusing yet brilliant improvisation that was sure to put him in Tyrell’s good books. Singling out the minority kid and making him pay extra was the perfect way for Booker to prove his allegiance. The tactic left Harry suitably impressed, and any misgivings he had about working with the rookie member of their team instantly disappeared. There was no longer any doubt in his mind, Booker was his kind of cop, and he knew in his heart they were going to get along just fine.
Reaching into his pocket, Harry pulled out a wad of notes. “H-Here,” he stammered, pushing the cash into Dennis’ free hand. “Take it.”
Booker released his grip and carefully counted the money. When he finished, his face broke into a smile. “Well, look at that. You’ve given me an extra five bucks. Thanks, Bruce!”
Ioki gulped down an imaginary lump in his throat. “C-Can I go now?”
“Not without your goodies,” Booker grinned, and reaching into his jacket’s inner pocket, he pulled out a baggie of bicarbonate soda.
“Th-thanks,” Harry stammered, and pocketing the drugs, he picked up his book and hurried back up the steps.
“Be sure to tell your friends!” Booker called out before turning to address Tyrell, one eyebrow raised in question. “Satisfied?”
A slow grin relaxed the teen’s features. “You were right. Who needs McQuaid? You can sell the lot on your own if you want.”
They were the words Booker had hoped to hear, and handing over their ill-gotten gains—minus his commission—he returned a devilish grin. “Deal.”
**
Later that day
Arriving at the chapel, the first thing Booker noticed was Tom’s absence. With his guilt gnawing at his conscience, the dark-haired officer immediately sought out Hoffs. “Hey, Jude, have you seen Tom?”
Judy’s eyes narrowed, and placing a hand on her hip, she studied Dennis’ face with suspicion. “Why? Do you want to pour more salt on his wounds?”
Embarrassed, Booker lowered his gaze to the floor. “No. I wanted to apologize to him for...well, you know.”
The muscles in Judy’s jaw tightened, but eventually, her face relaxed, softening her features. “He went home early. He wasn’t feeling well.”
The news added another weight to Booker’s load of guilt, and he fidgeted uncomfortably. “Do you think I should go see him?”
Judy took a moment to ponder the question before giving her answer. “He’s hurt, Booker, you embarrassed him in front of everyone and knowing Tom as I do, I think you should give him some space. Leave it a few days and then make contact. Otherwise, you might make things worse.”
Although it wasn’t the advice he was looking for, Booker had faith in Judy’s judgment. “Okay,” he sighed. “I’ll wait. I just hope I’m doing the right thing.”
The lines around Judy’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Trust me, you are.”
But unbeknownst to Booker, his inaction was about to set in motion a nightmare that would ultimately, change Tom’s life forever.
- 15
- 16
- 17
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Cries of a Shadow