Chapter Text
Nyctophilia . noun . An attraction to darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness.
~~
Shane stepped into a shrouded in mist alleyway. It had been raining all morning, leaving the town foggy and dark. A few hazy figures were leaning against the walls, watching him as he walked down. One of them caught a glimpse of Shane’s face, pushed himself off the wall, and scampered away. Shane grinned.
At the end of the alleyway sat a small bar. No normal person would go here. It always looked closed, the blinds pulled and sign off. But that wasn’t the case. No, in fact, it almost always had someone in there. Sitting on the broken stools and drinking the cheap whiskey. All the people in the bar could be arrested right now, after all - drinking and selling any type of alcohol was strictly forbidden. But Shane only ever came here for information. People here knew things, things that Shane would pay for. And he wouldn’t get the information he needed if he busted the bar every time he came in. As he expected, inside there were some men hiding their faces and a women pouring drinks at the bar. When he walked in she nodded and pulled down a new glass.
Sitting in the corner was one of the rickest tables in the joint. Sitting at said table was another man, his hat pulled low and his coat pulled around him. Shane sat down opposite him. A glass of water was put down in front of him and he nodded to the lady. The man looked up, frowning at Shane. “What?” He asked, his voice muffled and deep, his fingers tapping on the table.
“I heard that you know The Golden Killer.”
“So what?”
“I’m looking for him.”
The man laughed, a gruff thing filled with years of smoke collecting in his lungs. “Of course you are.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No one knows where he is. He finds you.”
“Well, there’s a first for everything. Right?”
With a shake of his head, the man drank the rest of his whiskey. “If you want to find him, you have to let him find you.”
“And how do I do that?”
“No idea,” the man shrugged as he stood. “Good luck though.”
Shane lent back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table. With a sigh, he took a sip of the water. As much as he would be drinking right now, he had to go back to the station and turning up with whiskey on your breath wasn’t a good idea. But he wished he could drink. He had been chasing ‘The Golden Killer’ for three months and was nowhere closer to him then when he had started. Which was annoying for many reasons, the most notable being that he was losing his respect. He was once the most feared and loved detective in LA and now he was nothing more than a rookie who couldn’t catch one man.
But The Golden Killer wasn’t just any old criminal. No. He was smart. Smarter than anyone Shane had seen in all his years on the force. Shane was starting to get a little desperate if he was being completely honest, hence sitting in a seedy bar and talking to someone who had ten arrest warrants to his name. He was willing to do anything to get the bastard in handcuffs and in the slammer. Anything.
With his own sigh, Shane stood, flicked some coins down onto the bar and walked out. He had gotten nowhere - again. In the alleyway a cat ran past his feet, hissing at him on its way. A baby in one of the shoebox apartments above him started crying. A man was slumped against the wall on one side, clearly drunk and moaning like the devil. Another man walked into the alley as Shane walked out, his hands stuffed into his coat and his head bowed down.
The station was only a few blocks away, a few minutes at most, but Shane still took his time to get there. TJ, his CO, could be a right prick some days. He really didn’t want to deal with that. As he turned onto another street a woman came up to him, hands out to beg. Shane reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins before she could even speak he handed them to here. A sob of thanks and a string of ‘God bless you’ followed. Shane had to hold in a scoff at the latter.
“There you are!” TJ said when Shane walked into the precinct. A cigar was hanging out of his mouth and a stack of files sat under his arm. “I have another body for you.”
And Shane was having such a good day.
~~
Ryan watched his feet as he walked down the crowded street. A man in a dark coat pushed against his shoulder as he walked past, calling out to watch it as he walked away but Ryan didn’t react. He could hardly do anything at that moment. His hands were blood soaked in his pockets, he wasn’t dumb enough to pull them out.
He was walking home from his latest crime scene. The ass had it coming for a long time in Ryan’s eyes. Contrary to popular belief Ryan was some crazy loon who needed a straight jacket and a lobotomy. No, he only killed when the situation called for it. Which, to be fair, was more often than not. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the man lying outside his apartment wouldn’t be bothering dames anymore.
Turning down the alley towards one of his favourite spots in the city Ryan nearly ran into a tall man walking out. He ignored him and kept on walking. This bar was one of the only placed Ryan didn’t feel the need to look over his shoulder constantly. Which was weird in its own right, seeing as everything about the place was just as illegal as Ryan was. Inside was just as dark as the street outside, but a hell of a lot warmer. Rita, the barmaid, poured a drink as soon as Ryan walked in.
He slumped down at the bar, a drink and a pile of napkins being pushed in front of him. He smiled as much as he could up at Rita before starting to wipe at his hands. Rita leaned against the counter in front of him. “Someone was in here looking for you.”
“Oh?”
“A cop.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t be bringing them over here, ‘kay?”
Shaking his head, Ryan took a sip. “I’ll try not to. Did you recognise him?”
“It was the regular one. Comes in once a month, doesn’t arrest anyone or care that we’re here. He just wants information.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Tall man, lanky as all hell. Kinda cute if I’m being honest.”
Ryan shook his head again, this time in a tired fondness. Rita wriggled her eyes before disappearing to kick someone out. Ryan took another sip. He was exhausted and it was only 11 am. His plan for the rest of the time was finishing his drink and head home to sleep. But, as always, his plan was interrupted.
The man that sat next to Ryan slid a business card across the bar. “The detective who’s after you is the best in the game.”
“Is that so?”
“Never not caught someone he was after.”
“There’s a first time for everything, right?”
A brisk laugh left the man, followed by him shaking his head. “You’re good Bergara, but I don’t think you’re this good.”
“We’ll see,” Ryan shrugged. The man stood up and walked out of the bar, mock saluting Rita as he left. A crisp white card was sitting beside Ryan’s drink. Shane Madej, Detective at the LA police forc e. An address stared up at him. It looked like Ryan had a letter to write and a detective to tease.
Leaving a note on the bar Ryan walked out, back into the alleyway. He stepped over a puddle of something (probably blood) and into the street. The rain had picked back up, water poured down the road, a few kids splashed in puddles as mothers yelled at them to get inside. Ryan smiled at them as he walked past. His house wasn’t very far away, but even in the short distance, he got soaked. His coat was clinging to his body, his shoes were filled with water and his hat had gathered water along the brim.
His apartment wasn’t anything to get excited over. It was just a standard place, a small one-room thing with a bathroom. Really it was all he needed, but he was thankful for it. Most people would kill for something like this right now. Buzzfeed, the newspaper he wrote for, paid better than most places thanks to the depression. So yeah, he was happy about it. He hung his hat up, peeled his coat off and hung it over the back of his chair. The column that he wrote on a Monday and Thursday was due in the morning. Which was great, seeing as he just created his latest column.
When his editor, Devon, had asked him to write updates on ‘The Golden Killer’ two and half months ago he had been ecstatic. All he had to do was figure out how much the police knew at that time and then bam, he could write what he had done. It was easy and a great way to stay in contact with the police station. After turning on the stove and starting some soup he started working.
He was able to finish that quickly, it is not hard to write about something you did. And once he was done he pulled another pad of paper out and started his letter.
Dear Shane .