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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
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Booker stood in front of Westview High’s unremarkable brown-brick building, a weird tingle of déjà vu raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He felt conspicuous and out of place, a pariah among the sea of youthful faces wandering the campus. On average, he was at least six years older than the pupils milling around him, and after spending several years working in a high-pressure profession, he began to wonder if he could successfully revert to a teenage mentality. But it was his job to fit in, to convince those he was investigating that he was just another bitter, angry, anti-establishment type with a chip on his shoulder, and all so he could infiltrate the group of drug dealers and make an arrest. It wouldn’t be easy, but he prided himself on his adaptability and with that in mind, he put on his best scowl and sauntered into the building in search of Tom.
Once inside, the first thing Booker noticed was the noise. Hundreds of voices echoed throughout the bustling hallways, the excited chatter, shouts, and raucous laughter bouncing off the walls, the cacophony of garbled sound jarring his nerves. But he managed to keep up his snarky expression as he pushed through the students crowding the corridor, eventually arriving at the administration office puffed, but otherwise unscathed.
Fully expecting to find Tom waiting for him at their agreed meeting place, he was surprised to find the waiting area occupied by a lone pupil. The teenager sat on the single bench outside the principal’s office, his body hunched sideways as he studiously carved something into the varnished wood with a pocket knife. Dressed in ripped jeans, brown hoodie, sleeveless denim jacket, and black boots, the student's mismatched ensemble was topped off with a white patterned bandanna wrapped firmly around his head. It was the look of a teen struggling to find his identity in a world of hard knocks, and Booker wondered if he were one of the drug dealers he would end up befriending.
Suddenly aware he was under scrutiny, the teen looked up, his sensual mouth unsmiling, his dark eyes cold with contempt. “Whatcha lookin’ at, asshole?”
Taken aback, Booker stared at Tom with wide, disbelieving eyes. The last person he expected to be looking at was his undercover partner, and he continued to gawk at his friend, his brain desperately trying to compute what it was he was seeing. The change was extraordinary, and it was then he realized what an outstanding cop Tom really was. It wasn’t just the rancor behind the comment that had thrown him, it was the unsettling shift in Tom’s demeanor that had knocked him for six. Gone was the nervous, twenty-three-year-old Hanson, a man so timid, he could barely look him in the eye, and in his place sat a surly, cocksure teenager whose unfamiliar sneer had him shifting uncomfortably. It was an Oscar winning performance, and one Booker hoped he could replicate because if he failed, he might just find himself out of a job.
Rattled by the unexpected confrontation, it took the dark-haired officer several moments to gain his composure, but once he did, he immediately fell into character and reciprocated with a barbed comment of his own. “What’s it to you, jerkoff?”
Tom’s lips curled into a taunting smile. “Wow. Another tough guy, wannabe biker. How original.”
Suppressing a grin, Booker gave Tom the once over, his expression mocking. “Nice bandanna. Did your momma buy it for you?”
A flicker of pain flashed in Tom’s eyes, and Booker mentally kicked himself for being so insensitive. But Tom was a professional, and without breaking character, he sneered at the undercover officer. “Your mother loves it when I wear it, especially when she’s on all fours and I’m fu—”
“Thomas McQuaid?”
“Yo!” Tom shouted, and jumping to his feet, he stood to attention, his mocking stance doing little to impress the school’s principal.
“That’s enough, Mister McQuaid,” Principal Johnson warned. “Get in my office, now.”
Pocketing the knife, Tom threw Booker a cheeky wink. “See ya round, dickwad.”
Booker grinned. "Not if I see you first, asswipe."
Impressed, Tom grinned back, and with a covert nod of his head, he followed Principal Johnson into his office.
**
When the lunch bell sounded, Booker made his way to the school’s parking lot. He’d arranged to meet Tom outside the school’s perimeter, far away from prying eyes and curious ears. The disused warehouse they’d chosen gave them the privacy they needed while leaving them enough time to get back to Westview before lessons recommenced. Not that they cared if they were on time, they were acting the role of disruptive hooligans who didn’t give a damn about society or its rules, and playing hooky was par for the course. But the more time they spent with their pseudo-peers, the better chance they had of gleaning vital information about which students were trafficking drugs. It was one of the catch-22 situations the Jump Street team often faced, and Booker was more than happy to take his cue from Tom. Although experienced in undercover ops through his work at I.A.D., Hanson’s knowledge in the schoolyard far exceeded his own. Therefore, he was quite content to allow his partner to take charge and call the shots, at least at the beginning.
The short drive to the warehouse helped clear Booker’s head, and by the time he arrived, the chaos of the past few hours was nothing more than a distant memory. Being in close contact with a gaggle of hormonal teenagers had been particularly wearing, and although he enjoyed mouthing off to the teachers, the constant inane chatter had grated heavily on his nerves. He longed for some adult conversation, but more than anything, he longed to spend some time with Tom. They’d only had one class together, but they’d played it cool, treating each other as strangers. It was crucial no one suspected they knew each other, and although particularly challenging for Booker, he had managed to ignore Tom for most of the lesson. But now they were free to talk, and he looked forward to hearing his partner’s thoughts on the case. So far, he hadn’t managed to obtain any information about suspected drug deals, but he was sure Tom was one step ahead of him. Penhall had been right, there was no doubt Hanson had the duality of human nature depicted in Robert Louis Stevenson's ‘Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’, and from what Booker had seen, it appeared Hyde was on top of his game.
After discreetly parking his Cadillac behind a large metal dumpster, Booker approached the warehouse from the side entrance. He pushed open the rusty metal door, the groaning creak signaling his arrival. The raspy cry sent a flock of roosting starlings into rapid flight, their warning cries shattering the stillness of the warm spring air. Once inside, it took a moment for his eyes to focus, but eventually, they adjusted to the gloom, and he was able to discern a still, dark shape standing silently next to a stack of wooden crates. For no reason, his stomach flipped, the somersault sending a thrill of excitement racing down his spine. Even Tom’s silhouette had an unsettling effect on him, and he could feel his body responding. His heart began to race, its steady beat falling out of rhythm with each dip of his stomach, and his hands trembled as his legs turned to jelly. The phenomenon was strangely disconcerting, and not one he had experienced before. It was then he wondered if what he was feeling was real love. Perhaps all his past relationships, including the man he’d thought of as his soul mate were nothing more than just infatuation. Or was it the other way around? He had no idea, but he knew he risked making a complete ass of himself if he didn’t take control of his emotions pronto.
Inhaling a deep breath, he quickly pulled himself together and swaggered over to his partner. “Hey, Hanson.”
Tom’s lips curled at the edges, the slow, enticing smile doing little to settle Booker’s lurching stomach. “Hey, yourself. But you should call me McQuaid, so you don’t slip up at school.”
Booker’s cheeks reddened. He couldn’t believe he’d made such a rookie mistake, and he cringed with embarrassment.
Not about to make a big deal out of an innocent slip of the tongue, Tom changed the subject. “How’s your first day back at school?”
Grateful for the turn of conversation, Booker smiled. “I don’t remember it being that noisy or that crowded,” he chuckled. “I hate to admit it, but it was kinda overwhelming.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Tom reassured. “Take your time, settle in, then we can start our investigation.”
“So, you don’t have any leads?”
Amused by his partner’s enthusiasm, Tom’s eyes sparkled. “Geez, Dennis, give me a break, I’ve only been there three hours. It takes at least a couple of days before the new guy gets accepted into a group. Just relax, and don’t force it or you’ll make them suspicious, and then we’ve got nothing.”
Feeling even more like a rookie, Booker struggled to maintain his confident persona, and he quickly lowered his gaze. It was apparent in the six years since he’d left, he had forgotten the subtle intricacies of high school life. If he wanted to fit in as a teenager, he needed to think like a teenager, and that meant digging up memories he’d buried a long time ago. High school had been a nightmare, a seven-hour a day, five days a week tortuous ordeal of verbal and physical assaults. The constant bullying had changed him, and he’d slowly transformed from a happy, outgoing boy, to a sullen combative teenager. Being openly bisexual hadn’t won him any friends among those desperate to fit in, and he knew what it was like to be on the outer. If the commissioner’s intel were correct, those dealing drugs at Westview were not the popular kids looking for a thrill, they were the disenfranchised, those from broken or abusive homes who were searching for a way to make their mark in the world. Having been one of those outcasts, it was an experience Booker could draw on, and he hoped by arresting the youths before they became adults, he could break the cycle and steer them toward a brighter future.
When a gentle hand rested on his arm, the dark-haired officer gave an involuntary jump. Lifting his head, his gaze met Tom’s dark, soulful eyes, and his stomach started another round of flip-flops worthy of an Olympic medal.
Worried he’d offended his new partner, Tom attempted to alleviate the strange tension he could sense building in the air. “Hey, I didn’t mean to sound like a know-it-all,” he apologized in a quiet voice. “It’s just...sometimes, these jobs take time. First, we need to integrate ourselves, which isn’t easy. Teenagers aren’t always welcoming, but I’ve found the casual approach usually works best. Make them want to include you in their group, not the other way around. Then, when they do accept you, don’t dig too hard the first couple of days. These kids have a knack for spotting a nark from twenty paces.”
If anyone else had told him how to do his job, Booker would have taken umbrage and made his thoughts known with a few choice words. But coming from Tom, it didn’t sound like a criticism. Hanson had a knack of translating the gentleness of his nature into his words, leaving the listener comforted rather than offended. Booker guessed it was part of what made him such an outstanding cop in the eyes of his peers. Despite the day-to-day grind of witnessing unlawful behavior perpetrated by minors, he hadn’t lost his empathy. Actuated almost exclusively by altruism, he was not only an exceptional police officer, but he was also an incredibly compassionate soul, and it was that characteristic that intrigued Booker the most. From what he had witnessed, Tom suffered bullying from both his peers and his brother. He was the target, the easy mark, and yet through it all, he maintained a sense of benevolence, and it was this trait that made him a unique human being. Life hadn’t knocked him down—at least not yet—and Booker hoped in time, the young officer would find his wings and soar to the dizzying heights of success because he was certain once that happened, there would be no stopping him.
Comforted by Tom’s lack of judgment, Booker’s face relaxed into a smile. “Another rookie mistake, huh? People always tell me I’m too impulsive. I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about these kids. But I’ve gotta say, you seem to have no trouble fitting in. What’s your secret?”
Tom gifted Booker with a rare grin. “It’s all about the clothes,” he replied with a chuckle. “But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna be just fine.”
The welcoming praise raised the color in Booker’s cheeks, and desperate to turn the conversation around before he made a complete fool of himself, he posed what he hoped was a reasonable question. “So, once school’s over, do we meet up to discuss the day or continue with our role as wayward teens?”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Tom headed toward the door. “Depends. If you’re accepted into a group, hang with them after school. If not, lay low, so they don’t see you doing anything that doesn’t fit with their teenage way of life. If you want, we can meet at the chapel later, say nine o’clock?”
As far as Booker was concerned, whether he wanted to wasn’t really a question open for debate. He was so infatuated by Tom, he’d cancel plans just so he could spend time with the young officer. But he needed to play it cool, and hiding his smile, he gave a nod of his head. “Nine o’clock it is,” he affirmed, and ignoring the flip of his stomach, he followed Tom out of the warehouse.
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Cries of a Shadow