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Two Ships	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 873 -:- 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
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March 29th, 1997 (8.06 p.m.)
Night fell crisp and clear in Phoenix, Arizona, the light wind blowing through the SUV’s window cooling Booker’s face. His job as a high-end private investigator took him from state to state, and this particular day—which just so happened to be his birthday—was no different. Life, overall, was a far cry from his days working for the Teshima Corporation, and an even further cry from his days at Jump Street. His penchant for fine wine, vintage motorcycles, and beautiful women—not necessarily in that order—made an impression, and his reputation often preceded him. Independently wealthy, and well respected by his peers, from an outsider’s perspective, he lived the life of Riley, and he was the envy of many in his profession. He traveled the country he loved doing a job that satisfied his fast-thinking, inquisitive mind, and on paper, it was the perfect existence. But if one probed a little deeper, the fairytale started to unravel. For all the silver linings, there was a pesky and persistent dark cloud hovering over him. His life was perfect, except for one, small yet oh-so significant detail...he was still unlucky in love. At the age of thirty-two, he was a soon-to-be twice divorced bachelor, and if he were honest with himself, spending the night of his birthday alone was not how he had imagined his life when he was still a starry-eyed twenty-four-year-old working as an undercover cop. And so, in true Booker fashion, he threw himself into his work. Dwelling on the negatives in life just wasn’t his style, and ever the optimist, he hadn’t entirely given up hope for a happy ever after. Who knew, maybe his first two marriages were only supposed to prepare him for the main event. Maybe, the term third time lucky would apply, and he really would find true love the next time around, thereby breaking the curse and banishing the dark cloud from his life forever.
Signaling right, he turned his rented 1996 Chevrolet Tahoe into a deserted street and pulled into a curbside parking space. After winding up the window, he grabbed his suit jacket and climbed out. He’d heard good reports about the wine bar he planned to patronize, and he was looking forward to treating himself to a medium rare filet mignon, washed down with a seventy-dollar bottle of merlot. It was his birthday, after all, and if he had to spend it alone, he might as well do it in style.
Across the street, a lone figure appeared from a gated doorway. At first glance, Booker thought it was a hobo, and he instinctively checked he’d locked the Tahoe’s doors. A stolen rental meant a mountain of paperwork, and he had enough administrative work of his own to deal with since separating from his second wife, who also happened to be his secretary. It wasn’t one of his smartest decisions, but he had no regrets. Their marriage had been intensely passionate, at times volatile, but always bound by love. They’d parted on good terms, and had remained friends, but that goodwill hadn’t extended to their working relationship. And so, he had found himself alone, juggling stakeouts with paperwork, while never finding the time to interview a replacement. It made for hectic days and long, tedious nights, but he had never shied away from hard work. As far as he was concerned, the busier, the better because with his mind occupied, he didn’t have time to think about the lonely existence that was his life. That and the painful reality he wasn’t getting any younger and his wish for a family was fast becoming just that...an unattainable fantasy.
Turning his attention back to the hobo, Booker’s eyes widened slightly. Dressed in a paisley shirt, worn jeans, and scuffed sneakers, the man cut a lonely figure. But on closer inspection, it wasn’t the delicate artistry of his profile or the familiarity of his gait that caused the dark-haired investigator’s heart to dip. It was the worn bandanna keeping the man's long hair out of his eyes that had him doing a double take. The headwear evoked a flashback so powerful, he was transported back in time, and he was once again a gung-ho twenty-four-year-old undercover cop earning a living by impersonating a teenager. A tendril of déjà vu snaked down his spine, nudging his memory into full reality mode until he almost believed he was physically reliving the moment, not just remembering it. But as his eyes locked on the man’s face, there was no denying the truth. After an absence of almost eight years, Tom Hanson had crossed his path in the guise of a homeless man, and to his own surprise, a tingle of excitement raised the fine hairs on his arms. Maybe his birthday wouldn’t be a sad and lonely affair after all. Maybe catching up with an old acquaintance was just what he needed to chase the blues away.
A glimmer of light flashed in Booker’s eyes, the slow dawning of happiness animating his features, and raising his hand, he initiated first contact. “Hey, Tom!”
The hunched figure stopped, turned his head, and peered at Booker from across the street. “Can I help you?”
The guarded tone didn't put Booker off. When he heard the discernable voice from his past, his face broke into a broad grin, and throwing his jacket over his shoulder, he hurried across the road. “It’s me, Dennis Booker. Jesus Christ, man, the people you meet when you least expect it. How the hell are you?”
As recognition dawned, a slow, wistful smile touched the corners of Tom’s lips. “Dennis. Jeez, it’s been what? Eight or nine years?”
“Almost eight,” Booker laughed, extending his hand. “I wouldn’t have recognized you if it weren’t for that bandanna. I guess some things never change, huh?”
Tom stared at the proffered hand for a moment before self-consciously wiping his palm on the seat of his jeans and giving it a shake. “Oh, I dunno about that.”
The hint of sadness in Tom’s voice, followed by the flicker of torment in his brown eyes immediately had Booker wondering why a happy, fun-loving young man now appeared a shadow of his former self. But before he could dwell on the possibility it was Tom’s stint in prison that had altered his personality, thereby making it his fault, his former colleague’s face split into a familiar lopsided grin. “So, if I’m not mistaken, today’s your birthday. What are you doing in Phoenix? Do you live here?”
Surprise arched Booker’s eyebrows. “You remember my birth date? Hanson, I’m flattered.”
Tom’s head tilted seductively to the side. “There’s a lot of things I remember about you, Dennis.”
The cryptic remark sent an unexplained shiver crawling over Booker’s flesh, and feeling like an awkward schoolboy, he rubbed a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “Uh, really?”
With an evasive smile, Tom rephrased his question. “How long have you lived in Phoenix? “
The muscles in Booker’s face visibly relaxed. “I don't. I’m here on business. You?”
“Business, huh? Are you still with that Japanese insurance company?”
The effective way Tom dodged his question had Booker wondering if Tom were working undercover. The long hair and outdated attire fitted with his theory, and although his curiosity was piqued, he didn’t press the issue. “No. I only stayed there a year. I have my own P.I. company now.”
“And you’re doing very well for yourself by the looks of it,” Tom acknowledged with another smile, his eyes wandering over Booker’s expensive suit. “So, how ‘bout you invite me to dinner and we can catch up, you know, for old times’ sake. That’s if you don’t have plans, of course.”
Given the circumstances of their last parting, a flicker of surprise passed over Booker’s face. But he wasn’t about to let his neuroticism get in the way of an opportunity to spend some time with an old acquaintance. It sure as hell beat eating dinner alone, and if he were truthful with himself, he was more than a little curious about Hanson’s life post-Jump Street. Something told him there was a story there, and he was eager to dig a little deeper, if only to satisfy his own inquisitive nature. Suddenly, celebrating his birthday in a foreign city didn’t seem quite so pathetic. Things were definitely looking up, and if all went well, he might just get to right past wrongs.
“No, no plans,” he replied with a warm smile. “So, you’re welcome to join me. I was thinking of trying the Apothecary Wine Bar. Do you know it?”
With a shake of his head, Tom gave his answer. “No. Is it fancy? ‘Cause I’m not really dressed for it.”
Casting an eye over Tom’s strange ensemble, Booker made a decision. “Screw the wine bar, it’s probably pretentious as fuck anyway. Let’s find a regular bar and get a beer and a burger.”
Tom stared at Booker for several long uncomfortable moments before finally replying. “That sounds great,” he murmured, and with a glance over his shoulder, he followed Booker to his car.
To be continued…
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Two Ships