The Witness Wore a Puppy Tail, Chapter 6 (Patreon)

Beware--I had a bit of a spurt, so this is the second chapter I've posted today.

They passed the comedy club where a staff member was putting up a banner for a new headline act. At night, this neighborhood generated a lot of police calls. Pubs and restaurants and hookah bars shared the street with a couple of churches, one of which focused on poverty outreach. Their soup kitchen attracted a large crowd to an area where a lot of tourists and locals liked to enjoy the night life. It was a dangerous combination of people.

To exacerbate the problem, the commercial district back up against tree-lined streets with row houses and tall townhomes. It created a warren of back allies, walkways, and service roads that crisscrossed the area. Patrol officers had lost more than one suspect, especially since several of the streets were one way. The idea of Robert down here questioning people about the assaults gave him hives. Robert might think his father was overprotective, but if Robert did shit this stupid on a regular basis, his father had every right to get stressed. 

Robert stopped in front of an old two-tone brick building. Robert stepped back and gestured toward the door. “Don’t let them scare you too much,” Robert said. “These guys look scarier than they are.”

Robert wasn’t kidding. This was a hard-core leather bar. The fire department had tried to shut them down after they’d found out the club was having fire flogging performances. Apparently the fire department frowned on swinging fire around an enclosed space. Who would have thunk? Ken pulled open the heavy door to the club.

Either the club was going for an industrial look or they didn’t want to waste money on decorations. Brick and cinderblock walls had holes where things had been bolted into the wall and then the bolds removed, and exposed pipes and ducts ran along the ceiling.

"Robbie," a tall, heavyset older man called. He had broad shoulders, but he also had long, red fingernails. "What are you doing back here in the middle of the day?"

A thin man in a Queen t-shirt appeared in the door to the back room, a towel in hand.

Even though Robert had agreed to let Ken take lead, he darted away from Robert’s side and into the nearly empty club. "Steve, this is Ken, the guy I told you about."

Steve looked at Ken with the same enthusiasm with which Ken considered spiders that had crawled up his drain and into his shower. "Really." His voice cold and flat.

"Ken Hoffman, this is Steve Sulley," Robert introduced them. 

"Nice to meet you." Ken held out his hand, and schooled his face into a friendly expression.

"Uh huh." Steve eyed Ken's hand until Ken lowered it. Okay, this was going well.

"I'm investigating the hate crimes we've had down here," Ken said.

Steve’s expression turned even colder. "There ain't no 'we' here, tough guy. We've had hate crimes down here forever, but you cops lot only get interested when it hits your papers. When you see your city in the national headlines, then all of a sudden you start caring." Steve crossed his arms and radiated hostility.

Ken used his most conciliatory tone. After all, he knew police officers did tend to empathize with people who they related to. That was human nature, but it meant that sometimes heterosexual officers did stupid shit like assume gays brought crime down on themselves by being gay. He got that. It was the same uphill battle victims sometimes fought when they tried to get officers to believe them about domestic assaults. No officer wanted to see himself in the shoes of a victim. "I understand why you feel—”

"If you tell me that you understand how I feel, I'm going to kick that cute ass of yours right out on the street," Steve interrupted. “I’m betting you did military time. You have that buff, macho vibe that I love to fuck out of a man, but I am the big dog here. I can and will take you out.”

"Dump the attitude, Steve," Robert cut in. "You’re not going to drive Ken away with erotic talk. You and I both hate some of the Midwest, puritanical prudishness that runs through the local cops, but these assholes are going to kill someone. I’d rather work with prudes than let someone die." Considering that Robert had said he wouldn’t break any confidences or do anything other than provide introductions at the places where he had gotten his information, he was being surprisingly helpful.

"Maybe you should stick with girls for a while. It’ll be safer for you if you’re so worry." Steve sneered at Robert.

Before Ken could tell Steve off, Robert jumped in. "That’s cheap shot, and you know it. I did something to try and protect this community. I had Rosie’s back. You could be helping take these assholes off the street."

"Don’t start. I’ve been standing up for this community since before you were born. So let me tell you something. You can trust the cops all you want, but in the end, they’re always out for their own. They’ll take your information and then they’ll use building codes or fire codes or the fucking Patriot Act to shut you down. Don’t come crying to me when your cop friend turns on you.  Cops.” He sneered at Ken this time, which bothered Ken less than when he had turned that disgust toward Robert. “They come down here with the questions and the attitudes and expect us all to kiss their asses and thank them for finally putting a foot inside one of our bars."

"Yeah. I know," Robert's voice dropped into a soft lull. "I know this sucks, but we can only fix on thing at a time. Hoffman's an asshole, and he probably hasn't ever been down here before, but he didn't look at me like I was a piece of shit for working Mr. Espinoza. True, he won't let it drop, and if I hear one more dog joke from him, he's going to wake up one morning and find 'schmuck' tattooed on his forehead, but he took me seriously."

That was a bit of revisionist history and a case of character assassination, but Ken understood how Robert was using that distrust of cops to his advantage. The man had a good grasp of psychology. Ken did his part by glaring at Robert for a second before turning his attention back to Steve. "I want to catch these guys. I don't know if the local officers are doing their jobs because this isn't my beat, but as long as I'm down here, I will treat everyone fairly, and I will give you my best effort."

The fury drained from Steve, making him look as old and worn as cracked shoe leather. He glanced over to the other man, and then something shifted. "I don't want to get in the middle. Fuck. I can’t afford to get in the middle, not when I could end up doing more damage to men who trust me to keep their secrets. Not when some of these guys don’t want to come forward.” Ken got it. The police could only offer so much protection, and victims had to live in the neighborhoods with the very people who attacked them. In the end, a restraining order was just a piece of paper, and right now, with no names, Ken couldn't even offer that.

“I’ll do my best to keep everyone safe. But these guys you’re talking about—how would they feel if someone died? How will they feel because you and I both know that’s what these assholes are leading up to. They hate this community. Every attack has been more and more vicious. They’re choosing victims who are larger and larger because they want that one who will fight back and give them that excuse to tip over into murder.” Ken wasn’t as sure about that bit of profiling, but it made sense to him. The group had never targeted anyone who wasn’t coming up on six foot tall. That meant they bypassed a lot of more convenient victims to get the ones they wanted.

Ken narrowed his eyes.  

“Yeah, and when trouble comes knocking, what will the police do?” Steve was still angry, but Ken was starting to wonder if he had misjudged where that anger came from.

“Do the cops refuse to come or do they just take their time?” Ken asked. “I can give you my personal number, and if I’m here before the local patrol officers, it’s going to cause them a lot of trouble if I’m arresting people on scene because they didn’t show up fast enough to respond to a disturbance. Detectives making street arrests… better yet, detectives filing for overtime because they had to make an arrest in the absence of a patrol officer, that is going to get the attention of the higher ups.”

Steve looked him up and down. “Sweetie, you do that, and they’re going to assume you’re here for the shows.”

Ken wondered what it would feel like if the officers did assume that. The days of cops openly harassing gay officers had passed, but there was still a subtle sort of push-back. How would Ken feel if someone left political flyers for anti-gay candidates on his desk? The worst part was that being out as a gay man would be just as dishonest as being out as a heterosexual man. It would be a different lie, but not any more or less dishonest than his current one.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what they think as long as they keep any homophobic comments away from me.” As Ken said the words, he realized he believed them. “I will do whatever I can to keep you safe and to protect any witness who comes forward. You were the one attacked, aren’t you?” Ken asked.

Steve whipped his head around and glared at Robert, who held his hands out defensively. “I didn’t tell him.”

“It was a guess,” Ken said. “I originally thought Robert was bringing me here because you knew the victims. But you fit what they look for in a victim. The suspects attack physically imposing victims, and several of them have been in drag.”

“And you just suckered me into admitting it, huh?” Steve turned and headed for the bar. The guy in the Queen shirt pulled a glass out and poured a soda and put it on the bar as Steve claimed a stool. “I’ll bask in you calling me physically imposing later. Because they jumped me so long ago, I thought the dickheads had moved on. Actually, I thought they were just after my purse. But when I started hearing about these attacks—” Steve drank his soda and stared at the back bar.

“You okay?” The skinny guy asked.

“Fuck no. Haven’t been since 1977.” Steve turned. “I don’t want to get dragged in front of cameras and trotted out for some jury while a defense attorney turns my life upside down.”

"I can't promise you anything," Ken said slowly. "We may need you to testify, but since they attacked you so long ago, you wouldn't make the best witness for the more serious assaults. I'm going to recommend to my captain that we take your statement, have you work with an artist to come up with some composite drawings, attempt to identify the three suspects, and then put them under surveillance. That way, hopefully, we can catch them in the act."

Steve pursed his lips.

"Please, man. I don't want that to happen to anyone else," Robert pleaded softly.

"And you say he's straight up?" Steve asked.

Robert looked over at Ken before nodding. "Yeah, he's an asshole, but he's an honest one, and he's a good man," Robert promised. Ken didn't think he'd ever gotten a better reference.

"Sounds like just your type," Steve laughed.

"No way, man. I've had enough cops see me in the tail already, thank you very much." Robert laughed, and after a second, Steve joined him.

“Sounds kinky. I’m sorry I don’t have pictures of that. One cute little subbie boy surrounded by big, buff cops. Sounds like a great opening scene for a porn.”

"Will you come down and make a formal statement?" Ken asked, ignoring the rest.

"If Robert's there, yeah," Steve agreed.

Ken cringed. Jenkins had ordered Ken to follow Robert, not offer to let him sit in on witness statements. It would destroy the DA’s ability to use Steve on the witness stand because he’d had a chance to corroborate with other witnesses in the case. Robert’s testimony was already screwed because of his work investigating the case on his own, but Captain Jenkins couldn’t blame Ken for that. This time, Ken’s fingerprints would be all over the mess.

"No problem. I'll be with you every step of the way," Robert promised, neatly taking the decision out of Ken's hands. He also made the offer so quickly that Ken had to wonder if Robert didn’t know exactly what he was doing. Steve didn’t’ want to testify, and Ken did know how to think his way around a problem.

Steve nodded, clearly unhappy about the whole situation. "I gotta change; I'll be right back." The man in the Queen shirt frowned at Robert for a second before he followed Steve, leaving Ken and Robert alone in the overlit bar. Hopefully the staff would be coming in to open the bar because Steve wouldn’t be.

Ken waited until they were alone before he turned on Robert. "No problem?" he demanded as he crossed his arms.

"I was trying to get him to agree. It was your plan, I was just backing your play." Millan’s eyes wide with innocence, and Ken glared down at him. Watching Robert lie without an ounce of shame was endlessly annoying.

"In case you’ve forgotten, my captain told me to follow you, not to include you in the investigation."

“Luckily, I don’t care about your captain.”

Ken moved to right in front of Robert and leaned close. He didn’t want to advertise their conflict to anyone in back who might be listening. “Well, I do. I would like to have a job next week, and you’re putting my career and this investigation at risk. If you are in that interview room, the DA can’t use Steve’s testimony, and you know it.”

“Fuck yes,” Robert agreed. “But if Steve has to get on the stand, a defense lawyer will destroy him. He has a past.”

“Most of us do,” Ken pointed out. He certainly did, although the Army had giving him a medal for his. He certainly didn’t want anyone else knowing about it. He understood that most people had secrets they guarded just as jealously. People didn’t joke about true friends being willing to wipe the hard drive after someone died because everyone was so open about their lives. Maybe Robert was the odd man out willing to shake his tail in public, but the rest of the world preferred privacy.

"I got you this interview in the first place, so I’m just being a good citizen here."

"You're being a pain in the ass."

"I am that too," Robert agreed, "but this time I’m helping. Tell your captain that, and tell him that I’m tired of his detective’s caveman routine." Robert looked down at his arm.

Ken blushed when he realized he had grabbed Robert’s arm. He didn’t remember moving, but he let go as fast as humanly possible. Guilt snuck in, but Ken focused on his remaining anger. "You were just supposed to provide the introduction."

"And I did. Would you rather he not give you any statement? I can tell him that you’re uncomfortable with the kinky little bisexual boy hanging out in the room during the interview. Do you want to guess how he might react to that?"

Ken took a half step back. "No," he admitted. Steve struck him as the sort of person who went momma bear when he spotted a threat, and he had no doubt that Robert could cast him as the villain of any story he told. "I want to catch these guys, and so do you. But you have to trust that I know how to make that happen better than you do. You're a witness, not a detective. Don’t get in the middle between me and this case again."

Robert’s smile was dangerously cold.  He was definitely his father’s son. “I only take orders in the bedroom, and then only if the price is right. So unless you’re going to pay me and take me to your house for a good spanking and some rope bondage, don’t push your luck, Detective.”

The tightening Ken felt in his groin caught him off guard. His imagination transposed Robert’s big, amber eyes and his wide mouth onto the last kinky porno he’d watched, and the image was entirely too tempting.

"If I put anything on you, it's going to be a gag," Ken threatened.

"For the right price, you're welcome to gag me," Robert agreed amiably, his anger evaporating like fog when the sun came up. "There's something really liberating in not having to come up with the right answers because your mouth is stuffed full of someone's gag.”

"What have I done to deserve this?" Ken asked the universe at large as he turned back toward the door.  “I’ll wait by the car.”

"Buddy karma is a bitch, isn't she?" Robert called out.

"Yeah, she is," Ken breathed softly to himself when he reached the street. After years of living with walls around him, barriers made of secrets and privacy and silence, Ken found himself under siege by the most open man he’d ever met. Apparently, his dick had decided to defect to Robert’s side. Karma was a huge, hairy, roller-derbying, WWF champion of a bitch.

Chapter 7: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-7-17795246 

Chapter 8: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-8-17856154 

Chapter 9: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-9-17964838 

Chapter 10: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-10-18290483 

Chapter 11: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-11-18463879 

Chapter 12: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-12-18561312 

Chapter 13: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-13-18583563 

Chapter 14: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-14-18835280 

Chapter 15: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-15-19009742 

Chapter 16: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-16-19049610 

Chapter 17: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-17-19064720 

Chapter 18: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-18-19083274 

Chapter 19: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-19-19142224 

Chapter 20: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-20-19153311 

Chapter 21, 22, 23: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-21-21192263 

Chapter 24: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-24-21260957