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
- 7
- 8
- 9
By the time Tom arrived at Westview High, his bad mood had mellowed to mild annoyance. The last thing he wanted was to argue with his new friend, but he still had his pride, and he had felt it was necessary to make his point. While he readily admitted to himself that shame had caused him to overreact, he didn’t regret his outburst. Even though he understood Booker’s concern, the dark-haired officer had overstepped the boundaries of their friendship by talking to their captain behind his back. Although it wasn’t the first time it had happened, and in all likelihood, it wouldn’t be the last, the betrayal still hurt, especially when the traitor was someone he cautiously considered a friend. But he was big enough and desperate enough to let the matter drop. Not just because he wanted Booker as a friend, but because he wanted to forget all about the previous night’s assault. The shame was almost too much to bear, and the sooner he buried it in the locked vault in his mind, the sooner he would heal.
Climbing onto the hood of his Mustang, he sat cross-legged and waited for his friend’s Cadillac to pull into the parking lot. Having coordinated their arrival times, he had to wait several minutes, but eventually, he spied the now-familiar vehicle and jumping down, he approached, his demeanor cool, calm, and collected. “Hey, Brady!”
Once out of his vehicle, Booker immediately slipped into character. “What do you want, McQuaid?” he asked, slamming the Caddy’s door closed with a bang.
A sly grin curled one corner of Tom’s mouth. “Wanna make some coin?”
The urban vernacular sounded strange coming from a man as educated as Tom, and once again, Booker found himself suitably impressed. Hanson’s portrayal of a young, streetwise smartass would fool anyone, including a seasoned professional, and the dark-haired officer knew he needed to step it up a notch or risk being the one to give the game away.
Making sure to time his reply so it was within earshot of a group of passing seniors, Booker raised a nonchalant eyebrow. “Let’s say I do. Whaddya have in mind?”
Tom’s face broke into a mischievous grin. “I’ll explain on the way to class.”
The two officers fell into step, their shoulders almost touching, their conversation uttered in low, conspiratorial whispers. Several students watched on, their expressions wary. Brady and McQuaid had only been at Westview High one day, but they already had a reputation for being insolent, disruptive tough guys, and it was no surprise they had sought each other out. But for those who were constantly victimized by Tyrell Carson’s resident gang of thugs, it was another reason to watch their backs and another reason why high school, definitely wasn’t the best years of their lives.
**
Steve Corbin stood in front of his locker, innocently minding his own business when a hand grabbed him from behind and slammed him against the metal door. “Hey, Stevo. Did your momma give you lunch money today?”
Twisting his head to the left, the terrified student stared up at Booker, his frightened blue eyes magnified through the lenses of his thick black-framed glasses. “Y-Yes.”
A cruel smile twisted Booker’s lips and spinning Steve around, he clapped a hand on the student's bony shoulder and squeezed, the force of his grip bringing tears to the teenager’s eyes. “Great! So, how ‘bout showing some pep squad spirit and donating it to a worthy cause.”
“Cause? W-What cause?”
Booker’s grin widened. “The Brady-McQuaid lunch fund. You see, we’ve got nothin’ to eat, and you don’t want to see us hungry, Stevo, because...well, then we get kinda antisocial, if you know what I mean.”
Flustered, Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in rhythm to his rapidly nodding head. “S-Sure, Brady. Y-You can have wh-whatever you want. The m-money’s in my p-pocket.”
To Booker's right, Tom shuffled uncomfortably, his unease followed by a faint flicker in his eyes, the meaning of which the dark-haired officer couldn't quite discern. Was it pain? Regret? Understanding? Was there an unspoken connection between Tom and poor defenseless Steve because they had suffered the same fate at the hands of bullies? It suddenly dawned on Booker that Tom had suggested he be the one to rough up their intended prey, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Hanson might be an outstanding officer, but even he had his limitations, and bullying, even though it was fake, obviously made him uncomfortable.
Of course, poor Steve didn't know it was all a ruse, the panic in his eyes was genuine, the tremble in his voice projecting real fear, and guilt pricked at Booker’s conscience. Steve Corbin was half his size, a gentle, sweet-natured student who studied hard and kept to himself. He was an easy mark for bullies, and the dark-haired officer suddenly wished he hadn’t picked someone so defenseless, so pathetic. But it was too late to walk away, the game was in play, and he needed to finish what he’d started or risk failing in his duty.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached into Steve’s pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. After shoving them into his own pocket, he slapped a hand against the terrified senior’s cheek. “Thanks for your contribution, Stevo. You’ve shown real school spirit.”
“Let’s go,” Tom muttered, the burden of remorse weighing heavily on his chest. Even though he’d come up with the plan, it didn’t sit comfortably with his principles, and he hoped they wouldn’t have to intimidate too many students before Tyrell approached them with an offer.
Satisfied with his performance, Booker gave Steve a cheeky wink, and with a nod at Tom, the two officers sauntered toward their classroom.
From his vantage point across the hall, Tyrell Carson watched on with interest. Brady and McQuaid were making a name for themselves for all the wrong reasons, and they were just the type of misfits he could use to his advantage. Fear was a great motivator, and if he recruited the two students to bully people into buying drugs, he would double his takings in no time, making his father very happy. Henry Carson was a two-bit dealer, an addict with a gambling problem. But his boss was one of the most prolific traffickers on the east side of L.A., earning him the moniker Mister Big. His enterprise was a multimillion-dollar affair, and while the high school trade was purely a nickel and dime operation, it did help expand his empire. He valued his teenage pushers as much as he did the senior members of his cartel, for they were his future, and without them, there were no new buyers, leaving him without a thriving business.
Tyrell nudged his friend. “Did you see that?”
Seth Madison was not the brightest of students, but he was loyal to a fault. He had no idea why two guys bullying a nerd was important, but by the excited gleam in Tyrell’s eye, he knew he was about to find out. “Yeah. What was that all about?”
“That,” Tyrell replied with a smile. “Is the answer to all our problems.”
**
Back at the warehouse later that afternoon, Booker pulled out the bundle of notes he’d stolen from Steve and held them out to Tom. “What are we going to do with this?”
As he stared at the money, the muscles in Tom’s jaw flexed. “Leave it with Fuller,” he instructed while making no effort to take the ill-gotten gains from his friend. “We’ll give it back to Steve when the case is over.”
With a shrug, Booker pocketed the notes. Tom’s reluctance to touch the tainted money sent a clear message about his thoughts on bullying, and as his curiosity gained momentum, he decided to try and find out more. But little did he know it would be him sharing his feelings, not Tom.
Sitting down on a crate, he rubbed his hands on the legs of his jeans. “Poor Steve, I feel bad. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”
“And yet you did it so well.”
The softly spoken statement knocked the breath out of Booker as effectively as a punch to the gut. His skin bristled, and standing up, he confronted Tom face-to-face, his tone furious. “Yeah? Is that what you think? Well, maybe that’s ‘cause I’ve had plenty of practice being on the receiving end, you asshole. Do you think this was easy for me? One of us had to do it, and I didn’t hear you volunteering.”
Uncertainty flashed in Tom’s eyes. “You were bullied? When?”
“What difference does it make?” Booker snapped, and picking up his backpack, he headed toward the door. The whole Steve incident had left him feeling dirty, and he couldn’t wait to get home so he could take a long hot shower.
“Dennis, wait.”
Booker stopped midstep, but he didn’t turn around. The force of his inner rage worked its way down his arms, where it culminated in his hands, balling them into tight fists. The day’s events had brought back bitter memories, and he was in no mood to talk about his own experience with bullies. He was mentally drained, but most of all, he was fed up with Tom’s changing personality. One minute the young cop was confident to the point of being cocky, the next, he was a shrinking violet, backing away from any type of confrontation. It was exhausting keeping up with him, and through sheer willpower alone, he had refrained from telling his new friend to take his judgmental opinion and shove it where the sun don’t shine. But to do so would only cause more problems, so instead, he gritted his teeth and gave a one-word reply. “What?”
The dark-haired officer’s rancorous tone had Tom rethinking the logic in pursuing the matter further. But despite his misgivings, he felt he owed his partner an apology, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest you were a bully. It’s just...you’re always so in control, it never occurred to me you might have been through something like this too.”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, thick with animosity and regret until finally, Booker turned around and addressed his friend. “You’re not the only one who’s had it tough,” he muttered. “Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own world, you’d understand what I was talking about.”
Tom lifted his head, a kaleidoscope of confusion channeling out through his dark eyes. “What do you mean? I’m not wrapped up in my own world. I care about people, it’s just I don’t always—”
“Jesus Christ, Hanson, pull your head out of your ass for once in your life!” Booker exclaimed, frustration raising his voice to a yell. “You know nothing about human interaction, so don’t you dare tell me you care about other people’s feelings. You hide behind your shy smile, never willingly making contact except when you’re on the job. Who the fuck behaves that way except some kind of crazy person? What the fuck is wrong with you? Tell me, Tom! What...the fuck...is wrong...with YOU?”
Tom sucked in a sharp breath, the barbed edge of Booker’s words ripping through him, the cruelty of the unprovoked onslaught causing a physical ache in his heart. His brow furrowed, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. But even though a thousand thoughts whirled through his mind, words failed him. He stood, arms by his sides, shoulders stooped, his head bowed low in disgrace, unable or unwilling to explain his actions. Another weighty silence sucked the air from the vast warehouse, the only sound, the rasp of heavy breathing. With his flaws laid bare, the cold hand of betrayal chilled the young officer’s bones, sending a shiver down his spine. In contrast, the fiery flames of embarrassment heated his flesh, the lump forming in his throat suffocating him to the point of panic. As the walls closed in on him, his vision blurred, and without uttering a word, he ran from the warehouse.
When the sound of tires spinning on gravel reached Booker’s ears, the officer exhaled a weighty sigh. He’d let his temper get the better of him, and in doing so, he’d once again hurt his new friend.
Deciding he needed a beer more than a shower, he turned to leave, and it was then he noticed Tom’s discarded backpack. For a fraction of a moment, he considered chasing down his partner, but he quickly concluded it was a bad idea. If previous experience had taught him anything, it was when Tom felt the need to bail, it was best to leave him alone.
With another heavy sigh, Booker picked up Tom’s backpack, and throwing it over his shoulder, he headed toward his car.
**
Later that night
The annoying laugh-track of ‘Who’s the Boss?’ blared from the small television, but Will Hanson showed little interest in the sitcom’s latest episode. His focus remained fixed on his brother, and he wondered what had happened to make him so depressed. Curled up on the couch with his hands tucked under his cheek, Tom stared despondently at the screen, his expression miserable. Although rarely chatty, the intensity of his wretched countenance was unusual, and his moody temperament didn’t sit well with Will. Something was up, and he had no doubt Booker was involved, which meant Tom was developing some sort of connection with the dark-haired officer. The idea it could be something completely innocent never entered Will’s mind. Where Tom was concerned, his suspicions continually percolated inside his mind, brewing to the point of full-blown paranoia. Something was going on between the two officers, and he wouldn’t rest until he had some answers.
“I’m going to bed,” Tom muttered, and rising from the couch, he disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.
Will Hanson's eyes remained fixed on the empty couch, his fingers gripping the arms of the easy chair. He was going to have to keep a closer eye on his brother or risk losing the only family he had.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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