Corruption (6 page)

Don’t get made.

A young woman on the front row offered a different answer. “Be the part.”

“Right you are, ma’am. Be the part.” The teacher gestured to Bo on the second row. “Care to elaborate, Mr.
Schollenberger.”

Bo sat up straighter, answering in textbook mode, “If you’re passing yourself off as a carpenter, you need callused hands, and
you’d better know something about woodworking. Don’t say you’re a chef if you can’t even boil water.”

“Very good. It’s not enough to have it up here,” the guy tapped a finger against his forehead, “but you have to
feel it in here.” He placed a hand over his heart. “Today we’ll be studying real life scenarios often encountered on the job,
which is why I asked you to dress casually. No bank tellers, just drug dealers and hookers, and together we’ll learn the art of the deal. Ms.
Vickery? Would you mind joining Phillip at the table?”

A fashionably dressed woman made her way to the table and stopped, glancing at the teacher for direction. With her idea of casualwear, Lucky would hate to
see her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. She’d stick out like a sore thumb at most of the drug buys Lucky’d been to. Her cashmere sweater
screamed, “Mug me!”

“Can anyone tell me what Ms. Vickery did wrong?” the teacher asked.

Getting out of bed this morning and coming here where she doesn’t belong?

Even from the back of the room, Lucky heard the disapproving snort. Ah, a lady used to getting her way, and who didn’t like being corrected.
Lucky cringed. She’d better not be one of the rookies who’d wind up under his care.

A stockily-built woman in the third row spoke up. “They’ll eat her alive if she’s waiting to be asked to sit down. You gotta
show some attitude, honey. Park your ass like you own the chair.”

A bit of lip-pursing betrayed the woman’s annoyance. She grabbed the vacant chair and nearly flung it down in her hurry to sit.

With a practiced hand, Phillip poured white powder onto the table, forming two even lines. The guy appeared too at ease divvying up the goods. The
rolled-up dollar clasped in his fingers might as well have been a cobra the way the woman stared without making a move. Ah, the ubiquitous dollar bill.
And that, boys and girls, is why ninety percent of US currency is laced with cocaine residue.

“He who hesitates is lost,” O’Donoghue retorted. “Next!”

Ms. I-Need-To-Update-My-Resume slunk away, replaced by a gung-ho officer candidate school dropout who also failed the savvy test, as did the next student,
and the one after that. Lucky’s vision began to blur, his eyelids becoming heavier, and he no longer muttered, “No, you
idiot…” for each attempt.

“Schollenberger!” O’Donoghue barked.

Given Bo’s years of military training, Lucky expected a sudden snap to attention. Bo didn’t. He took his time in standing, the
picture of nonchalance. What a saunter! The man needed to strut his stuff more often. Lucky’s cock took notice. If Bo swayed like that while
wearing chaps and nothing else…

In no apparent hurry, Bo moseyed to the table, grabbed the chair, flipped it around backwards, and sprawled, arms folded across the back. Yeah, he totally
fucking
owned
the chair.

Phillip held out the dollar. Bo barked a laugh. “I may lead the lemmings to the sea, but I don’t follow them in.” Possums
chewing briars didn’t grin so widely as Bo.

Was this Bo? Mr. Meek-and-Mild? Champion of treed kittens everywhere? Bo strolled back to his seat, having fucking owned Phillip as surely as
he’d owned the chair. Damn. Just damn.

Lucky squirmed in his seat, imagining Bo bringing that confidence to the bedroom, tying Lucky’s hands to the headboard and having his wicked way.
Oh hell.
Gotta stop thinking about sex with so many people around.

“Good, Mr. Schollenberger. You didn’t flinch, and you controlled the situation. The arrogance at the end, looking down on the shmucks
who buy this shit… brilliant. Next!”

The woman with attitude enough for half the room stood, and stood, and stood. Damn. She topped six feet, easy. Black Celtic designs added contrast to her
dark skin, and her nose ring glittered in the light. Wait until Keith got a face full of her. Lucky might even have to violate his policy of not going in
on one of the office’s betting pools. His money said she’d stomp Keith’s ass. She clomped up to the table, jerked the chair
out, snatched the dollar bill, and sucked up every bit of the white powder from one line. Head held back, eyes closed, she uttered,
“That’s the best you got? Man, you’re shitting me, right? This crap wouldn’t get a fly high.”

Phillip better have used a placebo.
Lucky watched the woman. If she went down, it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Ms. Johnson, while it might be necessary to partake in dire circumstances to avoid blowing your cover, attempt to talk your way out of the
situation first, if possible, okay?” The teacher rolled his eyes toward the heavens but didn’t attempt to hide the beginnings of a
smile.

Bo whipped his head around, wide eyes seeking out Lucky. The color drained from his face. Oh shit. If circumstances boiled down to either him using or
getting made, would his sensibilities allow him to hold a dollar bill to his nose and snort drugs off a tabletop? Lucky sealed his gaze to Bo’s,
wishing he had his partner’s ability to communicate with a glance and an expression. He willed the man to hear,
you’ll be fine. You’ll manage. You always do.

Johnson grinned and opened her fist, releasing a powdery stream. Damn. What a show. Without a doubt, she’d been around the block a few times. On
the other side of the room, someone muttered, “Showoff.”

The teacher’s eyes stopped rolling and fell on Lucky. “Mr. Harrison. As a seasoned veteran, would you mind sharing your technique for
handling this situation?”

Lucky glowered, emitting a growl when Walter gave him a nudge.

Oh, somebody’s gonna pay for this shit.
While Lucky specialized in pharmaceuticals, not street drugs, this didn’t even come close to being his first rodeo. He swaggered up to the table,
eyes riveted to Phillip’s, daring the man to look away. He sank into the chair. Phillip handed him the dollar. Lucky peeled back his top lip in
his best sneer. “Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to fall for amateur shit?” He leaned forward, pouring evil into his
leer. “After you,” he rumbled.

“Excellent!” O’Donoghue clapped his hands together. “Class, paranoia is expected on both sides, but however you
choose to react, never, ever let the suspect call the shots. You must maintain control at all times. Now tell me, Mr. Harrison, what would you do if he
accepted your challenge?”

“I’d laugh at him, call him a fucking idiot, and walk away.”

“Thus securing the upper hand. Outstanding. Next!”

A skinny guy with a short layer of copper-red hair took his place at the table. Word for word he mimicked Lucky’s bravado, but without enough
heat to lead credence to the claim.

“Close, but no cigar, Mr. Brunelli. It’s not enough to say the words, you have to feel them. There’s no pat answer for any
given scenario. What works for him,” the teacher nodded at Lucky, “may not work for everyone. When in doubt, claim a medical condition
or an upcoming drug test as part of your parole restrictions. But if you use your parole officer as an excuse, be prepared with a backstory of your arrests
and where you did time.”

One by one the students sat at the table and attempted to intimidate Phillip.

“That’s all the time we have for today, folks.” O’Donoghue actually said
folks.
Lucky wasn’t quite
sure what he was hearing. Since when was there an L in “fowks”? Oh, a Yankee. Right.

“Bright and early again tomorrow.”

Lucky glanced at this watch. They’d been play-acting for three hours. Didn’t seem nearly that long.

“You’re welcome to attend tomorrow’s class if you’d like,” Walter said. “You might learn
something or impart some wisdom to the youngsters.”

“Youngsters?” Thirty-six wasn’t old, damn it. Merely…seasoned.

***

“I lead the lemmings to the sea, I don’t follow them in.” Bo sniffed, mouth twisted in annoyance.

“Nah, not quite right. Like you did today in class.” Lucky sat at the kitchen table, two lines of stevia drawn out on the surface, and
a rolled up dollar bill clutched in his fingers.

“Lucky, do we have to do this? I mean, I’ve spent all day…”

“Humor me. When the chips are down, you gotta get this right.” Not that he hadn’t done one hell of a job, but practice made
perfect. Besides, Bo’s earlier confidence in class had turned Lucky on, no end. His cock swelled at the memory of Bo’s swagger. The
soundtrack in his brain offered up Bob Seger’s “Her Strut”.
Oh yeah, Bo’s strut.

Bo lowered his eyelids, emitted a snort, and when he opened his eyes again he became… someone else. No gentleness shone in his narrowed gaze,
and lines formed around his scowling mouth, erased a moment later when he laughed. “I only lead the lemmings to the sea, I don’t follow
them in.” His smoky gaze and come-hither smile froze Lucky on the spot.

Oh shit. There it was, the irresistible something that set Bo apart from any others in the classroom. A larger than life presence guaranteed to draw all
eyes in a room. Shivers raced up Lucky’s spine. Something lived inside of Bo, something brash, fearless, and utterly appealing. Something that
would never back down to Lucky in full asshole mode, or to a thug with a gun. Something that had made him a good Marine. Something…

“Bo?” Lucky managed to get out with a too-thick tongue.

“Yes, Lucky?” Bo tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, and based on the teasing upturn of lips, no doubt he knew full well the
effect of his actions.

“Meet me in the bedroom?”

“What’s wrong with here?”

Oh hell, yeah! Lucky grabbed Bo by both shoulders and yanked him out of the chair. He attacked in a frenzy of lips and tongues and grasping hands. The
kitchen clock ticked off the beat, mingling with the
thump
of shoes hitting the floor. He wrestled his partner to the linoleum. Somehow in the
melee, they both lost their shirts, and Lucky flipped Bo onto his back to mouth the man’s cock through a layer of denim. He tuned out the vague
stinging in his shoulder; he had too much else to take his mind off his pains.

Bo’s fingers scrabbled at his zipper, making short work of freeing his cock for more direct attention. Lucky attacked, opening wide and then
humming around Bo’s length. His brain fizzed out, primal instinct taking over. Throwing finesse out the window, he sucked Bo down, breathing in
Bo’s natural muskiness. He worked his own jeans open and thrust in a hand, stroking his flesh in time with his sucking.

“Oh God, yes,” Bo hissed, back bowing up off the floor. He curled his fingers through Lucky’s hair, urging the rhythm faster.

“Uhmmmph,” Lucky replied around his mouthful. Bo tensed further and Lucky plunged down, taking the man deep. He held his position as Bo
sent pulse after pulse down his throat.

The moment Bo pushed his head away, declaring, “Too much,” Lucky sank back onto his thighs, running his hand faster over his flesh. He
shot, a gob of pearly fluid landing on Bo’s stomach, to be joined by another and another. At last the trembling stopped and Lucky joined Bo on
the floor.

“Lucky?” Bo asked.

“Hmm?”

“Is this going to happen every time we study together?”

“God, I hope so.”

***

“Yes, Lucky. What can I do for you?” Walter glanced up from his computer screen.

“About the class thing?”

“Now, Lucky, I know you’re old school and rely on first-hand experience, but I truly believe we can learn from Jameson’s
methods. Don’t dismiss his techniques out of hand.”

“Umm…” There was no easy way to say this. Lucky braced for snickers. “Actually, I’ve been giving the
matter some thought.”

“And?”

“Anditmightbeworthfurtherstudy,” Lucky whooshed out. Especially if a few days spent in a classroom turned Bo from a mild-mannered
pharmacist into a force to be reckoned with.

“Oh?” Walter peered at Lucky over the tops of his glasses, the familiar gesture sending a silent message of victory. “Are you
telling me you’d like to attend a few more sessions?”

Lord, Lucky hated proving the man right. “Yeah, well, I mean, someone with practical experience needs to sit in and make sure this
O’Donoghue guy isn’t making shit up, right?”

Walter snorted, his disbelief written plainly in every fiber of his oversized body. “You’re selflessly volunteering?”

Lucky faked a grin. “You know I’m always willing to take one for the team, boss.” Walter didn’t have to snort.

“Actually, Lucky, I’ve already agreed to your participation.” He quietly regarded Lucky for a moment. “I also
boasted of your skills to Jameson. You wouldn’t want to make a liar of me, would you?”

Lucky swallowed all the ripe insults rushing his head, not wanting to give Walter the satisfaction of getting him riled. Instead he smiled and said,
“Thanks, boss.”

***

After a catered lunch, O’Donoghue sought Lucky out while the other students mingled, drank coffee, and munched cookies. “I know who you
are.”

Lucky forced “Simon Harrison, SNB agent” to the forefront of his mind. One quick wallet search would confirm the claim. Plus nine
months on a lease, the registration to his car… “Yeah, since you’ve been calling me by name, I assumed you knew
I’m Simon Harrison.” Lucky faked a yawn.
Simon Harrison. I’m Simon Harrison of the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau’s Department of Diversion Prevention and Control.
I’ve never even heard of Richmond Eugene Lucklighter.

“Sure you are.” In the crystal depths of the blue-eyed gaze locked with Lucky’s pulsed the soul of a predator.

Warning signals flared and seldom used calming techniques kicked into gear, spurred on by a man radiating danger. Lucky mentally catalogued five visual
cues: a bristly growth of five o’clock shadow on a deeply cleft chin, a dusting of white in a head full of straight, dishwater blond hair, a scar
that lifted O’Donoghue’s mouth on one side, a Saint Christopher medallion, and flecks of green in the man’s eyes.