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It was a miserable night, cold and drizzling, but Jim was out in it anyway. He didn’t have a choice. Rent was due in three days and he didn’t have it. His apartment was the size of a closet and the whole building was on the verge of being condemned, but it was all he could afford. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he got evicted.
So he was out on the corner, wearing a t-shirt that was two sizes too small and jeans that were more holes than denim. He was sheltering under an awning, but it wasn’t much help. He ran a hand through his damp hair and grimaced. No one would pick him up looking like a drowned rat.
Not like that was an issue tonight. The few cars that drove by never even slowed down. A few men had walked by and looked him over, but they were just window shopping. They might gather the courage to come back later, but that didn’t help him now.
A slowing car got his attention. He looked up, but the smile died on his lips and he turned and started walking down the street. A car that nondescript could only belong to the police department. He kept his stride purposeful like he had somewhere to go, but not too fast. Running would attract unwanted attention.
It didn’t help. He heard someone call, “Hey.”
He ignored it. He was half a block away from a side street. If he could make it and turn the corner, he had a chance to disappear. No such luck, though.
“Jim!”
He sighed. He recognized the voice. He stopped walking and turned, affecting a look of surprise as he walked to the car. “Detective Poldark. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Uh huh. What are you doing out here, Jim?” Poldark asked like he already knew the answer.
“Just out for my evening constitutional,” Jim said, doing his best to look innocent.
“Right. In this weather.”
“Exercise is important.”
Poldark sighed loud enough that Jim heard him before he said, “Get in the car.”
Jim frowned at that. “Am I under arrest?”
“Do I need to arrest you? Just get in the damned car.” Poldark faced forward again and waited.
Jim opened the front door, but hesitated. Ross Poldark had always been decent to him, for a cop. He never demanded freebies, and was never too rough or handsy with people when he arrested them. And he treated everyone like a person, too, like he saw them for who they were instead of just another potential criminal. He’d never demanded that Jim get in his car like this, though. He had the ability to make Jim’s life a living hell, so Jim didn’t have much of a choice. He slid into the seat and shut the door.
Poldark put the car into gear and started driving. “Where do you live?”
Right, like Jim was going to let a cop know where he lived. He smiled and said, “Saint Croix. You should visit sometime. The beaches are beautiful.”
“Fine. Are you hungry?”
Jim was starving. All he had eaten today was a spoonful of peanut butter because he was out of bread. He didn’t want to admit it, so he shrugged. His traitorous stomach growled at the thought of food, and he felt his face heat up.
Poldark rolled his eyes and pushed his hair out of his eyes. The humidity had it going everywhere and as soon as he removed his hand it sprang back. He didn’t say anything else, just drove to a burger place and went through the drive thru. He ordered food for both of them, paid for it, and stuck the bags in the backseat. He drove to the end of the parking lot, close to the dumpster where it was darkest. He turned off the car and sat there before turning to look at Jim.
“I want a favor,” Poldark said, running his hands through his curls again.
Jim’s heart sank. For a second, he thought the detective was being nice, but no. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he had to blow a cop in exchange for not being hassled. If he got a meal out of it too, he’d be ahead of the game. Poldark was easy on the eyes, so it wasn't like it would be a hardship. He smiled and said, “Sure thing.”
“I want you to talk to people for me.”
Jim’s brow wrinkled in confusion. That wasn’t what he’d expected at all. “What?”
Poldark reached into the back and grabbed the bag of food. He handed a burger and container of fries to Jim and said, “Eat before it gets cold. I want you to talk to people on the street for me.”
Jim’s mouth was full of burger, but he mumbled, “About?”
Poldark handed him a soda before taking a sip of his own. “Heroin.”
Jim swallowed his half-chewed bite and coughed before he said, “I don’t mess around with that stuff.” Which was not a lie. He was not going to volunteer information about the weed and variety of pills he had in an old Altoids tin back at his place, but he didn’t touch heroin.
Poldark gave him a knowing look, but didn’t press the issue. “There’s a new type of heroin going around, and people are dying.”
“I don’t know anything about it. Even if I did, I’d be the one dying if someone thought I was going to narc them out to the cops,” Jim protested.
Shaking his head, Poldark explained, “I don’t want you trying to find out where it’s coming from. I want you to warn people about it. Spread the word not to use it. The mortality rate is over 80% so the odds are that whoever uses it is going to die.”
After eating a couple of fries, Jim said, “How would someone know? Cause I hate to break it to you, but I doubt heroin addicts are going to suddenly quit just on my say so.”
“It’s brown and sold in baggies with a stamp that looks like a blood drop and spatter. Just tell people it’s poisoned.” Ross ate another fry and passed his burger to Jim.
Jim took it but before he took a bite he asked, “Why do you care if a bunch of smack addicts die?”
Poldark looked at him like he was crazy. “I’m an officer of the law. My job is to protect and serve, and that means everyone.”
Jim didn’t know what to say to that. They finished their meal in silence. Poldark gathered all the trash and threw it in the dumpster before making another trip through the drive thru. He ordered a coffee and handed it to Jim before taking him back to where he picked him up. Jim held it close, relishing the warmth and having a full stomach.
Before opening the door, Jim said, “I don’t know if it will do any good, but I’ll try to spread the word.”
“That’s all I ask.”
He got out and leaned back down to add, “Thanks for dinner, Detective.”
“You’re welcome. And call me Ross.”