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Chasing a Butterfly	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2592 -:- 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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Friday October13^th 1989 (8.49 p.m.)
The sound of footsteps echoed in the disused warehouse and lifting his head, Tom smirked as he watched two men slowly approach him. But as they drew closer, the grin froze on his face when he realized it was Booker and Ioki heading towards him. His heart hammered in his chest and wiping a shaky hand over his mouth, he struggled to gain his composure as his fight or flight response kicked in. Memories of Doug’s shooting flooded into his mind and he began to panic. He was not in any fit mental state to meet the accusatory stare of the man whose injury was his fault, but more importantly, he could not face Booker. Dennis had been the only one to stand up for him, to offer him comfort when he needed it and to put his job on the line by lying in his report. He owed the dark haired officer so much and his repayment had been to disappear into the night without a trace. It had been the coward’s way out and he did regret it… but only up to a point. Self-preservation was a strong human emotion and he stood by his decision to flee rather than stay and face trial. But now, confronted with the same dilemma, the decision did not seem quite so easy… should he run and once again dodge arrest or should he stay and face Booker?
As the two men approached him, he made his determination and getting up off the crate he was sitting on, he gave his former friends a smug smile. “Geez, if I’d known you were coming I’d have baked a cake.”
Booker’s lips twitched at the corner but Ioki’s expression remained stony. “You’re under arrest Hanson,” he stated in a cold voice.
Tom’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “For what? Sitting on a crate in a disused warehouse?” he scoffed. “Run back to Jump Street fellas and go play dress up.”
Stepping forward, Ioki pulled out his badge. “Thanks to you, Jump Street’s gone,” he replied curtly. “We work in vice now.”
A loud laugh erupted from between Tom’s lips. “Ooo… scary,” he teased. “You finally made it to the big boys. I guess being shot has some perks.”
With a loud yell, Ioki rushed forward but Booker quickly intervened, putting himself between Tom and the furious officer. “Settle down Harry,” he instructed. “There’s been enough bloodshed.”
Ioki pointed an angry finger at Tom. “BECAUSE OF HIM!” he yelled. “HE’S RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING! WHY DO YOU KEEP PROTECTING HIM?”
“Yeah Booker, why do you keep protecting me?” Tom goaded, his eyes flashing teasingly. “Is it ‘cause you think I’m hot?”
Spinning around, Booker jabbed a finger into Tom’s chest. “You need to shut the fuck up,” he growled in a low voice. “This isn’t a joke, we’re here to arrest you.”
Tom let out a bored sigh. “And again I ask… for what?”
Booker’s dark eyes filled with sadness. “Yesterday you sold ten grand’s worth of heroin to two undercover cops. The deal was recorded, we have the evidence, I’m sorry Hanson but this time you’re screwed.”
“Really?” Tom shot back but his bravado was beginning to slip and he ran a nervous hand over his mouth. “So how come they didn’t arrest me?”
Pushing past Booker, Ioki gave Tom a victorious look. “Because I wanted to have the pleasure of snapping the cuffs on you,” he smirked. “So we set up another bogus buy, just so I could fulfill my fantasy.”
Realizing that he had been setup, Tom’s dark eyes flashed in fear. But as adrenalin began to pump through his body, a maniacal smile parted his lips. “May the best man win,” he murmured and without warning, he slammed his fist into Ioki’s face.
With a yell, Ioki withdrew his gun but Tom was too coked up to care about his safety and he charged forward and tackled the man who was threatening his freedom. The gun discharged, the bullet harmlessly hitting the wooden crate and Tom grabbed Harry’s wrist, twisting it until the Glock clattered to the cement floor. But Harry quickly gained the upper hand and lunging at Tom, he let out a guttural yell… and collapsed unconscious on top of him.
Shocked by the turn of events, Tom pushed Harry off him and panting heavily, his eyes focused on Booker. The young officer was standing silently above him, the muzzle of his gun held in his hand. Getting slowly to his feet, Tom gazed down at the bloody wound on the back of Harry’s head and he raked a shaky hand through his hair. “You hit him,” he stated in a soft voice. “Jesus Christ Booker, you hit him.”
Booker turned towards Tom, his beautiful dark eyes full of panic and confusion. “Run,” he whispered.
Tom hesitated for a moment before holding out his hand. “Come with me.”
Booker’s eyes darted from Tom to Ioki and back again. Those three little words had the capacity to change two lives forever; he could help Tom, bring him back from the dark side so he was once again the honest, loyal man he had been and he would get to have the man he loved in his life, if only as a friend. But it was a huge gamble, he could lose his job and his livelihood and there was no guarantee that Tom would accept his help. It was one of the most important decisions of his life and gazing back down at Ioki, his stomach knotted in panic. His partner was hurt but Tom was right there, asking him to go with him and he needed to make a decision, right there, right now and all he could do was pray to whichever God was listening that he made the right one.
Standing up, he moved towards the door. “Let’s go,” he instructed in a strained voice, “but we call an ambulance—”
“No need,” Tom grinned and grabbing Booker by the arm, he pulled him towards the exit. “He’s waking up.”
Booker turned his head and saw Ioki struggling to sit up and he faltered for a moment. But the sensation of cold steel pressing against the back of his neck had him quickening his pace. “Tommy,” he muttered as fear gripped his heart, “what are you doing?”
Tom grinned feverishly. “It’s just for show, you don’t want ol’ Harry thinking you left with me voluntarily do you?”
The ingenuity of the plan surprised Booker and he suddenly remembered what an exceptional police officer Tom had been. He had always had the ability to think on his feet and it was obviously a trait that even as a junkie, he had managed to retain.
Once outside, the two men sprinted towards Booker’s Cadillac and climbing inside, they slammed the doors closed just as Ioki staggered from the building. Tom pointed the gun at Booker and smirked. “Drive.”
Switching on the ignition, Booker slammed the car into gear and took off with tires squealing. He immediately headed for the heart of the city in the hope that they would soon be lost in the heavy L.A. traffic. Sweat trickled down his face and he gripped the steering wheel with such force, his knuckles turned white.
He was on the run.
Tom leaned back casually in his seat and let out a low laugh. “Man, I didn’t think you had it in you,” he chuckled. “I always figured you were full of hot hair, but you really are a rebel.”
“Shut up, I need to think,” Booker snapped angrily. His heart was racing and adrenalin coursed through his veins, leaving him feeling uptight and yet somewhat exhilarated. He had no idea what had possessed him to do what he had done, but there was no escaping the fact that he had done it… he had knocked out his partner and was now on the run with a wanted drug dealer. His life had become the script of a bad B grade movie; Tom was the good cop gone bad and he was the hero, hell bent on making everything right again. It would be far-fetched and laughable in the eyes of those watching except it was real, he was living it and he had no idea how he had let it get so fucked up. He still loved Tom, he was honest enough with himself to admit that but never in his life had he given his heart so completely to someone who did not and could not, love him back. Tom was straight and even if what Ioki said was true and he was turning tricks, it was not because he enjoyed gay sex. He was an addict and addicts would agree to almost anything to get a fix. That was the reality and like it or not, he had to accept it.
“We need to leave the city,” he finally declared in a flat voice.
Tom appeared unfazed by the statement. “Whatever, but I need to pick up a few things first.”
Booker turned his head and looked at Tom suspiciously. “What things?”
Shoving his gun in the waistband of his jeans, Tom shrugged. “You know… things. Clothes and stuff.”
Although Booker wanted nothing more than to get out of the city, he reluctantly agreed. “Okay, but make it quick.”
Tom gave directions to an apartment building in South Central L.A. Climbing up the worn steps, Booker wondered if Tom even noticed the rundown surroundings he lived in. It was a depressing testament of how much his life had changed and the upfront reality of it was extremely confronting; the once proud man was living in a hovel.
Stopping outside a paint-chipped door, Tom took out a key and turned it in the lock. He sauntered inside and noticing Booker’s sympathetic expression, he let out a laugh. “It’s the maid’s day off.”
Booker gave a weak smile but inside, his heart was breaking. Tom’s tiny home consisted of only two rooms, a living/kitchen/bedroom area and a bathroom. Looking around him, he noticed that the apartment was not very clean; dirty clothing littered the floor, the sink was stacked with dirty dishes and the only real luxury was a small television with a cracked screen. It was shocking to think that there were people in America who lived in such basic conditions and Booker suddenly appreciated how fortunate he was to have a job and an apartment that was bigger than a dog kennel. But then the realization slowly dawned on him, Tom had been just as lucky and yet he had thrown it all away in favor of a life of drugs and corruption. It was not circumstances that had him living the way he was; true poverty through unemployment, low wages or ill health was a social crime against humanity but Tom’s socioeconomic downfall was by choice and therefore, Booker felt little sympathy.
As Tom hastily threw several articles of clothing into a small bag, Booker wandered into the bathroom and immediately spied a baggie of white powder sitting next to the sink. A hot rage boiled inside his soul and ripping open the plastic, he sprinkled the heroin into the sink.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Tom yelled from the doorway, but he was too late and without hesitation, Booker turned on the faucet and washed the drugs down the drain.
Running forward, Tom shoved Booker violently in the chest. “YOU BASTARD!” he screamed. “HOW DARE YOU COME INTO MY HOME AND—”
“And what?” Booker shot back angrily. “Try and help you? I’m telling you now Hanson, if you want to use then the deal’s off and I swear to God I’ll arrest you now and to hell with the consequences.”
Tom’s anger turned into desperation and grabbing hold of Booker’s sleeve, his dark eyes implored with the young officer. “But, you don’t understand! I need it!”
To Booker, Tom sounded like a whiny child in a toy store and shaking his arm free, he gave him a cold look. “No you don’t,” he replied sternly. “From now on you’re going cold turkey.
Opening his mouth to protest, Tom quickly closed it again when he saw Booker’s warning look. He decided to play along, at least for a few hours and once they arrived at their destination, he would slip out when Booker was asleep and score himself a hit. Turning away, he picked up his bag. “C’mon, we need to find us a car.”
Booker’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean? We’ve got the Caddy.”
Tom’s eyes rolled in exasperation. “They’re gonna be looking for your ride, genius,” he scoffed. “We need to get new wheels.”
It was Booker’s turn to roll his eyes. “Jesus Christ, tone down the street talk, you sound like a fucking dick.”
An amused smile twitched at the corners of Tom’s lips. “Interesting choice of insult,” he smirked. “I guess I don’t have to ask what’s on your mind.
Hurt by the reference to his sexuality, Booker immediately bit back. “Yeah? Well from what I’ve heard, you’re not averse to a bit of gay loving.”
Tom’s eyes clouded over before his lips parted in a cocky smirk. “You make it sound so dirty,” he snorted. “It’s not that bad… actually, come to think of it, we now have something in common, ‘cause you know exactly what it feels like when a guy rams his c—”
“Don’t,” Booker growled through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare compare yourself to me. I’m not a whore, I would never let someone treat me like a piece of meat.”
“Yeah?” Tom replied brashly. “Well that’s where you and I are different. I don’t give a shit.”
Booker cast a slow eye up and down Tom’s body. “It shows,” he shot back rudely and turning away, he walked from the apartment.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Chasing a Butterfly