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Ask Me No Questions and I'll Tell You No Lies	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2448 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
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The traffic had been light for a Saturday night and Hanson wondered if people were choosing to stay home rather than contend with the unseasonable wet and cold weather that had befallen Los Angeles. Rain pelted down onto the pavement as passing vehicles splashed up sprays of water from the overflowing gutters, staining Tom’s jeans with mud. He shivered with cold but he refused to allow himself to feel any self-pity. There were kids that lived out their existence on the streets because they had no choice. He at least had a warm apartment to go home to once the assignment was over.
Blowing on his frozen fingers in effort to get them to work, he pulled his black knitted cap further down onto his head and buttoned up his red lumber jacket. The fingerless gloves he wore offered little warmth against the bitterly cold wind that howled through the neon lit streets and he struggled with the fasteners. Glancing down the street, he could see Booker and Ioki casually cruising up and down the pavement, each looking as cold and wet as he felt. He began to question the validity of the eyewitness accounts about a man in a black BMW. So far, none of the Jump Street team had seen a car matching the description and since Aaron’s disappearance, there had been no other reports of missing teenagers. Hanson wondered how long Fuller expected them to spend on the streets, pounding the pavements night after night in the freezing rain. It could well be that the man was an out-of-towner and had already fled the bright lights of L.A. for greener pastures.
Leaning against the cold bricks of an insurance building, Tom again glanced over at Booker. The dark haired officer was reclining against a light post, casually smoking a cigarette. Just as Hanson started to turn his head away, he saw Captain Fuller approach Booker and the two men stood talking for several moments. The young undercover officer looked annoyed but Tom could not tell if he was playing a part or if he really was angry with his superior. Eventually, Booker followed Fuller around the corner and out of sight. Tom sighed heavily. He could no longer feel his feet and he longed to take a hot shower. However, he quickly remembered that there were homeless people enduring unspeakable hardships every day and he pulled himself together. It was miserable but he would put up with it without complaint; he owed the city’s destitute that much.
Stamping his feet to try to get some feeling back in his numb toes, he saw Booker sauntering towards him, a cigarette dangling from his lips. When he reached Tom, he smiled smugly, tossed the butt onto the pavement and ground it out with the toe of his boot in a grand gesture. Hanson was not amused and his bad mood intensified. Glaring at his colleague, he frowned in annoyance. He hated it that Booker could so easily goad him but he was too tired and hungry to pretend otherwise. “What?" he asked irritably, as Dennis continued to grin at him.
Booker’s dark eyes danced in delight. The last few hours had been as boring as hell but being able to provoke Tom was a good way to pass the time. It was so easy it was hardly sport but Dennis did find it amusing that he needed to do so little to piss Hanson off and get a reaction out of him. It certainly broke up the tedium of standing on the cold, wet streets for hours on end.
“I spoke to Fuller,” he replied in a cheerful voice that only seemed to annoy Hanson further. “We’re to give it another two hours before calling it a night. We go back to the ‘Y’ and then tomorrow we hand the case over to the local precinct.”
“Thank God,” Tom muttered under his breath.
Dennis tilted his head on one side and gave Hanson a pseudo sympathetic look. “Awww, what’s the matter Tommy?” he asked in a baby voice. “Finding it a bit tough are we?”
Hanson felt his blood pressure rising and he gave Booker a scathing look. “And you aren’t?” he shot back angrily.
Booker shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve done worse,” he replied calmly, secretly enjoying Hanson’s discomfort. “But don’t worry Tommy. Only one more night and you’ll be tucked up safe and warm in your bed.”
“Fuck you,” Tom spat and he turned and walked away with Booker’s taunting laughter ringing in his ears.
**
As the hour struck 1.30 a.m. and the temperature plummeted, Tom stood on the sidewalk staring out into the traffic. He only had to endure the next half an hour and he could go back to the YMCA and get dry and warm. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he started to walk further up the street when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black BMW pull up to the curb. He clenched his fists as adrenalin coursed through his veins and his heart began to race. Strolling over to the car, he waited until the tinted window opened. “Hey,” he said pleasantly, giving the man inside the car a boyish grin. “You lookin’ for some lovin’?”
The middle-aged man eyed Hanson up and down. “How old are you son?” he asked in a low voice.
Tom chewed on his lower lip, hoping against hope that the man would buy his story. “Sixteen,” he replied softly.
Leaning across the passenger seat, the man opened the car door. “Get in,” he instructed.
Hanson cast one last look down the street before climbing in beside the man and closing the door.
**
Booker leaned against a light pole with his right foot crossed casually over his left as he repetitively flicked his lighter on and off with the palm of his hand whilst his eyes scanned the wet streets. Although he had not admitted it to Hanson, he too was feeling the effects of the cold, wet, stormy weather that was so unfamiliar for Los Angeles. Not that he would ever let Tom see that he too was miserable; there was no fun in that. Making Hanson crazy relieved the boredom and the only way he could do that was by keeping up his tough exterior.
Thinking of Hanson, Booker turned and gazed down the street. His hand immediately stilled when he saw Tom approach a black BMW. Shoving his lighter in his pocket, he moved slowly down the street so he could get a closer look. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed in horror as he watched Hanson climb into the car and close the door. He immediately broke into a sprint as the car pulled away, desperate to catch a glimpse of the tag. As the BMW disappeared into the traffic, Booker stopped and slammed the palm of his hand against a brick walled building. “IDIOT!” he cried out, ignoring the surprised looks of the few homeless people who were still wandering the streets. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
Raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, he turned back and saw Ioki running towards him. “Was that Hanson getting in the car?” Harry yelled.
Seeing his chance, Booker sprinted off in the direction that the car had gone. “Call Fuller!” he shouted over his shoulder to Ioki. “Get the patrol cars searching for the BMW!”
Arriving at the end of the block, Booker stopped and his eyes frantically searched the intersection. He caught a glimpse of the BMW several blocks up the street and he took off again, panting heavily as he raced along the slippery pavement. Stopping for a second time, his eyes darted from left to right but he could see no sign of the car. Making a quick decision, he ran to the next set of traffic lights but as he stood hunched over with his hands resting on his knees whilst he caught his breath, he knew it was hopeless. The car could have turned down any number of side streets and he had no chance of searching them all on foot.
“Damn it,” he muttered as he straightened up and jogged back to find Ioki. He felt a chill of fear run down his spine and he shivered not from the cold but from the panic that he felt rising in his body. Hanson was an exceptional police officer but this time, he may have unwittingly put himself in a treacherous situation with a dangerous, psychotic man.
Booker could only hope and pray, that Tom knew what he was doing.
**
Following the man into a disused building, Tom walked up the stairs to the first floor and into a small room. As the door closed behind him, he tried to tighten his grip on the gun that he had secreted in his jacket pocket. However, hours of standing on the cold, wet streets had numbed his fingers and he could barely feel the cool metal against his hand. His heart rate quickened as he furtively glanced around the room. There was a bed, a chair and a small alcove that Hanson guessed led through to a bathroom. He attempted to relax and push the uneasy feeling he had aside and concentrate on keeping his wits about him. Although trained for this kind of situation, he felt nervous and jumpy and adrenalin pumped through his body. He had not slept well since he had been living at the YMCA and he was now beginning to question his judgment. By getting into the car with the suspect, he had put himself at unnecessary risk. The smart thing would have been to keep the man talking in the hope that either Booker or Ioki would have noticed and called for backup or at the very least, memorized the tag. Now, he was here on his own with a psychopath and not one of his colleagues knew where he was.
Taking a deep breath, he attempted to steady his trembling hands. Turning around, he gave the man a grin. “So,” he purred softly, hoping to lull the suspect into a false sense of security. “What do you want me to do?”
The man stared deep into Tom’s face and his lip curled cruelly. “You look just like my son,” he murmured and his eyes glinted callously.
The statement took Hanson aback and he found himself faltering. “Um, okay,” he replied as he increased his grasp on his gun and silently willed his frozen fingers to come to life. “I guess that’s a good thing.”
Ignoring Hanson’s comment, the man shrugged off his coat. “Turn around,” he instructed, throwing the jacket onto the chair that stood next to the unmade bed.
Tom scowled, hoping his look portrayed that of a disgruntled teenager. “I don’t turn my back on anybody,” he responded with an arrogant snort.
“I said… turn around,” the man commanded in a low, menacing voice.
Realizing that he needed to do as the man asked so that he could arrest him in the act, Tom reluctantly turned and faced away from the suspect. After ten seconds of waiting, he began to spin back around when an immense pain exploded in the back of his head and he fell to the floor with a cry. Dazed, he struggled to sit up but the man hit him again from behind, knocking him back down onto the dirty carpet. He managed to lift his head and he felt blood pouring down his face, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. Pulling out his gun, he waved it drunkenly at his attacker. “Stop,” he gasped as the room spun before him. “I’m a… police… officer.”
The man stepped forward and kicked the gun out of Tom’s hand. It spun several feet across the room and landed against the door. Hanson tried to get his addled mind to work but the ferocity of the attack left him feeling dizzy and confused. When his vision cleared for a moment, he could see that the man was holding a truncheon like black stick. He attempted to drag himself towards the door but the man easily intercepted him. “Going somewhere?” the man asked, his voice sounding somewhat amused as he grabbed Hanson by the legs and pulled him towards the bed. “Where’s the rush? You may not be a teenage boy but I’m pretty sure I can still make you scream.”
Terror gripped at Tom’s heart and he tried to get his arms and legs to move. However, the man had no problem overpowering him and he found himself lying on the bed as the man tied his arms to the bedposts. “No!” Tom cried out weakly, his failing body useless in fighting off the man’s powerful hands. “Just stop!"
The man reached into Hanson’s jacket pocket and pulled out his badge. “So Officer Hanson,” he smirked. “You thought you could trick me into believing you were a teenage boy? How’s that working out for you?”
Tom knew he had to think quickly or risk becoming the man’s next victim. “They know… where I… am,” he gasped, the pain in his head making it difficult to concentrate. “They’ll… be here… any… second.”
Pulling off Tom’s boots, the man laughed. “Somehow Officer Hanson, I doubt that,” he replied as he removed Tom’s socks. “If they were following us, they would be here by now.” Sitting down on the bed, the man reached out and unbuttoned Tom’s jeans before slowly pulling down the zipper.
Hanson strained against his bindings, his eyes wide with fear. “NO!" he screamed, tears streaming down his panicked face and mixing with the blood that stained his pale skin. “OH GOD PLEASE STOP!"
Standing up, the man pulled Tom’s denims from his kicking legs. “Stop moving,” he growled and picking up the baton, he waved it menacingly at Hanson’s face. “If you don’t stop moving I’ll bash your skull in.”
Tom immediately stopped kicking and he screwed his eyes shut as the man fondled his cock through his boxers. “P-Please s-s-stop,” he sobbed. “P-P-Please! Oh God! Th-this c-can’t be h-happening!”
“Oh it’s happening Officer Hanson,” the man laughed. Slipping his fingers into the waistband of Tom’s boxers, he slowly pulled them down and once free, he threw them to the floor. “I like what I see,” he continued softly as he trailed the truncheon lightly over Hanson’s genitals. “And I’m going to have some fun.”
“HELP ME! OH GOD HELP…” Tom yelled but his words turned into a scream as the butt of the stick slammed into his stomach. Snot bubbled from his nose and he drew his legs up in pain as hot tears poured down his face.
Sighing in annoyance, the man pulled out a handkerchief and roughly wiped at Tom’s face. As Hanson lay groaning, the man stood up and began to undress. Once naked, he reached down and pulled out a tube of lubrication. Opening the cap, he squeezed out a dollop and rubbed it over his burgeoning erection. Climbing onto the bed, he forced Tom’s legs apart and positioned himself between them. When Hanson again began to fight, the man forcibly pushed the end of the truncheon up under his chin. “If you know what’s good for you cop, you’ll lie there and take it,” he snarled.
As the man’s cock pushed inside him, Tom started to scream.
**
Sitting in the passenger seat of a patrol car, Booker’s eyes frantically searched the city streets for any sign of the black BMW. It had been nearly an hour since Hanson had left with the man and Dennis was fraught with worry. He listened to the scanner, desperate for any word on Tom but the news remained the same; all patrols on the lookout but so far no sightings.
As the rain finally eased, the young officer behind the wheel switched off the wipers. The lights of the city formed dancing rainbows of color across the windscreen as Dennis stared silently out of the glass, his eyes absorbing the details of every car that they passed. When they turned down a narrow laneway, he leaned forward in his seat before slamming his hand down on the dashboard. “STOP!” he yelled and before they had braked to a standstill, he leaped from the car.
Running up to the black BMW, he placed his hands on either side of his eyes and peered into the window. The tinting prevented him from seeing anything but he was certain the car was empty. Spinning around, he took in his surroundings. Directly opposite the parked car was a building with a partially open metal door. Drawing his gun, he called out to the other officer. “Radio for backup. I’m going in.”
Pushing open the door with his foot, Dennis carefully surveyed the darkened interior before entering, his gun raised in readiness. A narrow staircase led off from the right and he slowly ascended, stopping to pause each time a step creaked. When he reached the top, he saw that there were several rooms leading off from the hallway. All the doors were open except one and he cautiously made his way towards the closed door. Standing outside, he pressed his ear against the wooden paneling but he could not hear anything. A cold fear gripped at his heart and reaching out, he slowly opened the door.
Booker’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Tom sitting against the back wall with his arms resting on his bent up knees and his hands pressed against his mouth. There were still faint traces of blood on his pale skin but it looked as though he had attempted to wash it off. However, what wrenched at Booker’s heart was Tom’s expression. Hanson’s eyes stared blankly in front of him and as Dennis watched in horror, a single tear trickled down his face.
Quickly glancing around him, Booker entered the room and immediately went towards the open alcove. After checking that it was empty, he rushed over to Tom and knelt down beside him. Placing a gentle hand on Hanson’s shoulder, he struggled to keep his voice from shaking. “Jesus Christ Tommy, are you okay?”
Tom immediately shrank from the contact. “Don’t touch me!” he yelped, his eyes staring wildly at Booker.
Standing up, Dennis took a step backwards. “What the hell happened?” he asked quietly, frightened by Tom’s reaction.
Scrambling unsteadily to his feet, Hanson leaned against the wall. “I let him get away,” he muttered in a barely audible voice. “He hit me over the head and took my gun.”
However, Booker was barely listening to Tom’s explanation. His eyes were fixed on Hanson’s clothing and he noticed that his jeans were unbuttoned and hanging low on his waist. As he was about to question his colleague further, Fuller and Penhall burst into the room with several uniformed officers. Dennis immediately stood back and watched silently as Penhall put a comforting arm around Tom’s shoulders and embraced him tightly. He noticed that Hanson flinched slightly but he did not pull away from the contact. Whilst Fuller began bombarding Tom with questions, Booker walked to the door.
Turning back, he once again glanced at Tom’s disheveled clothing before leaving the room.
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Ask Me No Questions and I'll Tell You No Lies