The Hood of Justice (3 page)

Bruce looked at Casey. "Can you describe the scent?"

"No, not really. Smells worse than anything I'd ever be daring to put on myself, that's for sure. Suppose if I had to, I'd say it smelt like fly spray, but sweeter. If that helps."

Casey piped up, "It's an
Armani
fragrance, I'd bet."

"Whatever you say. I have no clue." The man was now near his serving bench. Other attendants were bringing out the food. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some poor folk to feed."

Bruce offered a slight bow. "You've been most helpful…mister…what was your name, I didn't catch it?"

"Alistair. Name's Alistair McMillan."

With that, Bruce led Casey out of the soup kitchen. One of the helpers went with them, but such a gesture wasn't to escort them out. The kitchen was open and the line of the underprivileged shuffled into the large room, single file and without words. Casey felt sorry for each and every one of them. Even more so for the many who would miss out. No wonder the sharks preyed on them. Ten bucks and a guaranteed hot meal was a life saver when someone had absolutely nothing except an empty stomach. Such an incentive would make anyone do almost anything.

When they left the kitchen, Bruce said, "What shop sells that sort of perfume, anyway?" They were heading back toward the car. No sooner had he finished his sentence, and before Casey could answer, he stopped. Casey caught his breath. When Bruce got like this, he knew to listen and listen good. He had also grabbed Casey by his shoulder to emphasise in no uncertain terms he wanted his full attention, too. Casey was all ears. "Do you get the feeling we're being watched right now?"

"No…I mean, I don't really know…why?"

In that second, Bruce bolted to a sprint, running toward an alleyway between the Salvation Army building and a rival thrift shop, screaming, "C'mon, Casey, move it. I think we've found the eyes which were scoping us out."

Casey didn't waste any time. He ran, too.

Everything happened so fast. Minutes became seconds. Casey ran and ran, his heartbeat loud in his ears, his breaths deep so he could keep his body from getting oxygen deprivation. The alleyway was long and dark, yet, with the aid of the moonlight, he noticed someone running up ahead. 

Bruce had almost caught him up. That's what Casey loved about Bruce. Besides the fact he was a great big hairy bear with a cock that could choke him to Nirvana--the locker room saw to it they knew what they all wore under their uniforms--he was as determined as a dog with a bone when it came to getting his crim. Bless his heart. 

The air no longer clung to the cold, perhaps because Casey ran so hard, exerted all of his stamina to get to the perp, he no longer noticed or no longer cared. Either way, he was pounding the ground, running as fast as he could to not only get to the man, but to aid Bruce as well. He dodged cans and rubbish, jumped over fallen debris which seemed to be strewn everywhere. He even had to hurdle over what he believed was a shopping trolley, but couldn't be sure. The thing was covered in so much filth and rubbish.

There was a scream.

Casey's heart skipped a beat and he cursed himself under his breath for being slow off the mark when his partner told him to run. Was Bruce okay? Did the perp have a weapon? Would he be able to get there in time?

All these questions wheeled around in Casey's mind as he ran on, faster and faster, sweat pouring out of every pore, his lungs bursting to try and get more and more air into his strained body. He ached. His vision tunnelled as his focus fell on one thing and one thing only, to get to the perp, no matter what.

Casey could see the man they pursued was cornered. The alleyway blocked by a burnt out car. Sure, he could have jumped to scramble over it, but if the man felt half as exhausted as Casey right now, then such a feat would have been a tall order. Casey was fit. The man wasn't. 

The perp had a knife.

Bruce kept his distance, but was threatening to un-holster his gun if the man didn't do as he demanded. He was being ignored. Casey had an idea. He shouted, in the most forceful voice he could manage considering he had just done a one-hundred yard dash, "Hey, you piece of shit, what the hell you playing at?" The words he spoke didn't hold any particular meaning or purpose other than to distract.

His plan worked.

In the split second between Casey finishing his words and the man diverting his gaze, Bruce was upon him, turning him around and cuffing him within a blink of an eye. His partner was sheer brilliance to watch. The knife fell harmlessly to the floor, kicked away.

When Casey got to Bruce, he said, "Thanks."

His partner's words were all he needed. He had done good. He had helped, even though he didn't arrive sooner. "Don't…mention…it."

"Let's haul this bag of crap back to the station. I've read him his rights. He knows he's been bad. Smells of sweet fly spray, too, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't think we can book him for smelling like a desperate and sad man who tries to pick up young boys outside school gates, now can we?"

Bruce snorted. "He pulled a weapon."

In that instant, while they were momentarily distracted by their banter, talk which had taken them a couple of years to perfect, the perp shot forward, breaking free from his partner's grip. Casey, without thought, without consideration for his own safety, lunged forward, too. In an instant later, and with a dull thud which rocked him to the core of his bones, he landed on top of the hand-cuffed perp.

"Too slow, my friend," Casey whispered, still trying to catch his breath. But something happened which Casey knew all too well, yet didn't welcome now. His foreskin tingled.

The perp sneered, his lips forming a cruel snarl. Sure, he wasn't an unattractive man, not by any stretch. Thing was, he wasn't all that handsome either. He reminded Casey of a weasel, in fact. All thin faced, beady eyed, and lanky. His hair was even a dull brown, like a weasel's would be, he imagined. Not that he'd ever seen a weasel in real life. Still, that was the impression.

The other concern, and one which Casey knew he would have to do something about, was the fact his groin was in direct contact with the perps. Lying there, face to face, lips and genitals lined up, seemed to send Casey's mind toward a different path to what he wanted right now. He got hard. Even when Casey tried to move to ease the pressure of the man against him, his hardening cock, complete with tingling foreskin, just got harder, the touch of the material of his pants making matters worse not better.

"You question him, Case. You seem to have the knack."

Casey craned his neck. Bruce was standing over them, smiling like a man victorious, hands planted firmly on hips. "You go call it in, I'll start with the questions."

"Uh no, I'm not leaving you with this one. He's a sly dog and I don't want him to slip away." Bruce's smile widened. He could imagine what his partner was thinking, seeing Casey on top of the perp, unable to move for fear of him getting up and running away, ruining Bruce's efforts.

"I can handle it, buddy. He's cuffed."

"Oh, I can see you're handling it. I just want to watch you question him. Love to know what you do to get so much information out of someone so quick."

Casey then had an idea. "Sure, you can watch. Just know, it may get a bit gay from here on in. You know how us fags all stick together."

The look on the perp's face, all wide eyed and awash with concern, when he finished his sentence reflected Bruce's next action and words perfectly. "Fine. I don't want no part of it, then. Do whatever you have to." Bruce turned and left, heading for the patrol car.

Casey diverted his attention to the man beneath him. "What's your name, mate?"

The man spat. His wad of saliva landing on Casey's cheek. "Fuck off, fuzz. I'm not telling you anything without a lawyer. I know my rights."

Casey, by instinct more than conscious thought, sent his hand down to the man's jeans zipper. "You have the right to remain silent," he began.

By now his hand was rummaging within the perps underwear, desperate to grab his cock so he could begin his interrogation. "What the fucking hell do you think you're doing, you dirty stinking copper? This is harassment…no, it's fucking sexual harassment." Again the man spat, this time accompanied by him thrashing his legs in an attempt to buck Casey off him.

Casey grabbed the man's cock in the nick of time. He was erect. Seemed he liked the idea of being touched there, after all. "Shhh, you'll like this, I promise."

Before the man could scream out, alert Bruce that things weren't going so well, Casey managed to pull out his own cock, too. Their genitals touched.

The man froze.

Underneath Casey, the perp was as stiff as a mannequin, his cock was ridged, too. Docking like this wasn't his idea of the best way to accomplish what he needed, but at the same time he couldn't let Bruce get suspicious. Sure, his foreskin tingled like mad, driving him crazy, but he also had to do his job. He had to dock. He had to get the truth out of this man.

Casey used his knees to get a bit of distance from the man, putting all of his weight on one hand while the other was at their cocks. He had to give himself enough space to dock comfortably, so they could join in the proper way. Within a heartbeat, and so as not to waste any more time, Casey rolled his foreskin over the man's bulging head. He was circumcised, that much he could tell. The skin of his head was a lot rougher than what he would have experienced from an intact man. Still, cut or not, the man was his. He could ask his questions now that his silky, sensual skin had covered the man's glans completely.

"Who's the big fish around here, mate?" Casey asked. "The one you report to?"

The man, the familiar stunned look upon him, eyes wide and glistening with both ecstasy and the effects of the magic Casey's foreskin possessed, spilled his guts. "His name is Randy Piper. I don't know where he lives, no one not in his inner circle does…but I know where to contact him. We meet at random times at the coffee house in Roxburgh Glen, on the main strip. It's called
Books and Beans
. He likes to read while sipping his brew."

 Casey massaged the connection his foreskin created, making sure he kept his skin in place. Pre cum oozed from them both, lubricating his actions, which would soak the man's body in more and more of his magic his foreskin released, letting every pore of his excited cock take whatever he gave. Soon the man's whole system would be inundated with Casey's influence, helped by the euphoric high all men got when sexually charged. God, he loved his job.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Drummond." The man shuddered.

Casey could feel his breath deepen, see his pupils dilate, even in the low light of pre-dawn. He was close to climax. Seemed he was enjoying being docked, being wanked with another bloke's foreskin. Casey couldn't blame him. Docking was more than intimate, it was like an epiphany and affected men on a deep level as only men could share the experience. He loved being gay.

Then it happened. The man came. Casey's foreskin was filled with his ejaculate until it ballooned. But he kept hold of his connection. There was another question he wanted to ask.  

Casey smiled. "What time were you going to meet with him next?"

"Two o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

Casey let himself go. He had what he wanted. He came, too. He felt sheer and absolute relief as he pumped more and more cum into his own foreskin. Skin which was stretched to the limit with both of their sex fluids. "Thanks." He got up off Drummond. "Now let me get that dick back into your pants, then I'll help you to your feet."

Confusion crossed Drummond's face. He was at the stage where his memory would soon be lost to him. Casey acted fast, making sure he secured the man's dick back into his pants and without catching him with his zipper. He sorted himself out, too, but not before he retracted his foreskin and let all the cum he had gained dribble onto the floor. He licked his fingers, stuffed his own cock back into his own pants and helped Drummond up as he said he would.

"Why am I hand cuffed?" Drummond asked, genuine bewilderment in his voice.

Casey turned just in time to see Bruce approach. "You sure do have a strange effect on blokes, Case. They always seemed confused to no end once you've questioned them."

"That's the power us gays have, buddy."

"Yeah, well power or no power, I'm not changing teams for no one."

Casey let out a chuckle, coming around so he could escort Drummond to the patrol car. He would have to be charged for pulling a weapon on a police officer, so their next stop was the station. "I know, but if you ever do change your mind, just know, I won't be able to take all of you into my mouth. You're too damn fucking big for me." Bruce fell silent for a moment. "What's up?" Had he stepped over the line? They always talked like that, especially after an arrest which they earned.

Bruce looked Casey in the eye. "I thought I saw you doing something…weird to the perp, that's all. I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm seeing things. Perhaps I'm getting too old for this shit. I don't know, but…I just don't know."

Casey realised his partner might have seen him docking with Drummond. He decided to ignore him and change the subject back to their usual banter. "Oh, phew, 'cause I thought you were going all sad on me because I made a crack about the size of your dick."

Bruce managed a smile. Then he laughed. "Damn right I'm too big. I'd choke you to death with what I've got, don't you worry about that, Case."

Casey sighed. "What a way to die."

Both men let out a good, well-earned laugh. A moment after that, they had Drummond in the car and were heading back to the station. Sure, there would be paperwork and shit to fill out, but the dawn brought with it the end of their shift. And not too soon, either.

Casey was beat.

Chapter Three

"Sir, Jason and Drummond have both been apprehended early this morning by the local constabulary."

Randy Piper scrunched his newspaper into a large, loose ball. The sound filled the smart, well-appointed office of his surrounds like a warning, a reflection of his souring mood at such terrible news. He threw the paper toward a waste basket. It missed, annoying him even more. "Where are they now?"