Chapter Text
He was trying to quit, everyone at Jump Street knew that. Death by cigarette was not the way Dennis Booker wanted to go out—far from it. The choice hadn’t been easy. After all, a habit’s a habit, but so far, he’d been doing good.
Only, no one at the Zone knew this, and if they had, Booker wasn’t sure they’d even care. A juvenile detention center where cigarettes, drugs, and fists were the main forms of currency was a poor place to install a cop trying so desperately to quit.
But Booker had wanted to case. It was new, different, and more than anything, it was important. It meant the difference between life and death for the kids behind the walls; he was more than ready to do whatever it took to root out the addicts and unearth their suppliers.
Still… he would’ve felt a little better about it all if Captain Fuller had been the one to assign him and Ioki to this mission. The man probably didn’t even know what was going on with his own officers right now.
As Booker pushed his aching body off the floor, he found himself hoping for a brief moment that Fuller was having a good vacation.
I sure could use one right about now.
It was an important case. He and Ioki were the difference between life and death for so many of these incarcerated kids, and he was determined to finish strong.
Still… with each passing day, he found this resolve waning. All he could do was turn down another smoke and hope it didn’t crumble altogether.
Wiping a dirt-stained palm across his brow, he collapsed against the wall and studied his partner, dutifully scrubbing out the crude inside of the empty bowl.
“You know,” he began, voice as sullen as his face, “we didn’t come here to clean toilets.”
“Yeah,” Ioki replied with a huff, “well I didn’t come here alone. So, why don’t you get back to it, huh?”
“Aren’t you sick of them pushing us around?”
“We’re new blood. What’d you expect?
Booker shook his head and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Not this. And I’m tired of wearing this stupid thing on my head.” He tugged at the black bandana that hid most of his dark waves. “It’s filthy and itchy.”
“You’re not the only one, don’t forget.”
“Did I mention it’s sweaty, too?”
“I’d imagine.”
Trying hard not to roll his eyes, Booker knelt back down beside his partner. “Look, what if we give it to them? Show ‘em the Samurai Brothers aren’t the kind of guys you mess with?”
Ioki didn’t even grant him a sideways glance. “What if we finish this job so we can eat dinner? Besides,” he went on before Booker could open his mouth again, “we’re not here to start fights.”
“Yeah? We’re not here to be slaves either, and I for one am done with this bull.”
Finally, Ioki turned towards his friend, aching hands stilling for just a moment. “What would you have us do? Bust some heads?”
“If that’s what it takes, sure. All I know is we can’t keep this up. We’re not gonna get anywhere with these guys if we’re stuck at the bottom of the food chain.”
Ioki simply went back to cleaning the toilet.
“Come on! Do you really wanna stay here forever? We don’t get let out until this mission’s over and done with. That means finding whoever the heck is supplying these kids with drugs.”
Sighing, Ioki sat back on his heels, fixing Booker with a tired stare. “Okay, but can we think about all that tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” Booker said, picking up the mop he’d discarded earlier, “me too.”
They finished in weary silence, trudging out of the bathroom mere minutes before the dinner bell rang.
The cafeteria was in sight when they were met by the Hammer’s gang of goons. Booker groaned internally. Couldn’t they have waited until after dinner?
“And where do you two think you’re going?” One of them inquired, crossing two muscled arms across his chest.
“Uh, dinner?” Booker replied, moving to shove his way past the group. A rough hand put a quick stop to his advance.
“I don’t think so. The Hammer sent us to remind you about the bathrooms down the hall.”
“Yeah?” Booker felt Ioki’s defenses rise. “What about them?”
“They’re not done.” A wicked grin stretched the leader’s youthful face.
“Then I suggest you find someone to go clean ‘em because we’re about to eat.” Again, Booker tried in vain to push past them and into the cafeteria.
Again, he was stopped—rougher this time.
He glared at the gang. “Hey, do you have a problem? Because I’ll gladly call one of the guards and he’ll solve it for you real nice.”
“When the Hammer commands,” another boy said, “you obey.”
“Yeah?” Booker gave Ioki a sidelong glance. “Well, the Hammer didn’t tell us to clean the bathroom down the hall.”
“He’s telling you now.”
“Yeah? And how do I even know you’re telling the truth, huh?” Leaning close, Booker stared down the leader. “You let the Hammer know that if he wants me to do something, he’d better tell it to my face because the Samurai Brothers don’t deal with inbetweens like you.”
If anyone had asked Booker later, he would deny throwing the first punch—in fact, he would swear against it. But if one of the Jump Street gang got him alone with a cool glass of beer, then maybe—just maybe—they might hear a far different confession than the one he would write later in his report for Captain Fuller.
In any case, the fight had begun and Booker was determined not to hold back. Even Ioki didn’t appear to be pulling any punches.
He’s just as fed up as I am.
Pain erupted throughout his jaw as Booker threw himself against his attacker, knocking him to the ground for Ioki to pummel. They worked in this organized fashion until all the boys had been tackled to the floor in a crumpled mess.
Booker couldn’t resist symbolically dusting off his hands.
“Next time the Hammer wants something from the Samurai Brothers,” he began, stepping over the moaning heap alongside Ioki, “have him come talk to us about it personally.”
As they headed into the buzzing cafeteria, Ioki muttered under his breath, “Was that really necessary?”
A distant moan echoed behind them and Booker fixed his eyes on the room ahead. “Just keep walking, Harry. Just keep walking.”
The remainder of the day dragged by uneventfully and evening found the two undercover officers passed out in their room. It was more of a cell, honestly, that got locked up tight each night from the outside.
Soft snores drifted up to Booker from the bottom bunk, soothing his frazzled nerves. Ioki was still there, still real. And he wasn’t alone.
He couldn’t handle being alone, not on a case, not ever, really. For as long as he could remember, he’d had a girlfriend at his side to fill his lonely off-duty hours. Then came Jump Street, and with it several friends with whom he’d already spent many nights clubbing or bar hopping. Even just hanging out with Judy at the movie theater was ten times better than sitting alone in his apartment.
And here… here, it was so easy to feel alone.
Gosh, how do these kids survive in this place? He ran a shaky hand through his hair, which he’d freed from the bandana at the soonest possible second. No one cares about anyone here. Not even the guards.
Getting nervous on undercover cases was a thing of the past. He was a trained cop for crying out loud. But something about this place set him on edge. Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t get out at night when he wanted. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was incarcerated, trapped behind four walls that stretched higher than he could ever hope to climb.
Like nothing more than a common criminal. A juvenile delinquent.
Or maybe it was because they were getting nowhere with the case. No one had slipped; no one had given any hints as to who the supplier might be.
Only the Hammer knew, along with some of his gang.
It all made his head spin.
Made his fingers itch for a cigarette.
The worst of it was he could get one if he wanted to, and quite easily. The hard part came in holding back, showing self-control against temptation—temptation he was so tired of fighting.
Rolling onto his side, Booker squeezed his eyes shut, as if willing himself to fall asleep.
Nothing.
His mind was buzzing. That, and a fight was brewing down the hall. He’d learned quickly that one could hear almost everything that went on around the place without having to move from their bunk.
It was a blessing and a curse. Sometimes it provided useful survival information. Other times, like that night, the cruel noises only served to fray his nerves even faster.
You don’t have to stay here, he reminded himself. Just finish the job and you're gone.
Yeah? Booker glanced out the thin window, shivering slightly against the stale hot air. But what about them? So many of these kids won’t get that chance.
Not for a long time.
He shuddered, tucking the blanket under his chin.
Maybe not ever…
“The Hammer has another message for you.”
Booker bit back a groan.
“What did I tell you?” He questioned, trying to ignore the bruise that painted the tanned skin around the messenger’s eye. “If the Hammer wants somethin’ from us, he’s gotta come himself.”
After a glance at Ioki, Booker went back to his breakfast. It wasn’t much and just the sight of the sorry excuse for food was enough to turn his stomach.
A few seconds passed as the messenger weighed his options. It was clear to the young officers that he didn’t want to press his luck with the guys who’d taken out his entire gang last night.
But still, the message needed to be delivered.
The boy coughed. “The Hammer, he—”
“Are you still here?” Slamming a hand on the table, Booker jerked out of his seat. “Look, I already told you: if the Hammer wants us, you tell him—”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself.”
The glint of steel was dancing in the corner of his eye before he even shifted his stance to face the Hammer. The kid wasn’t much, certainly no real threat strength wise. If not for his signature weapon, Booker figured the Hammer wouldn't have nearly as much authority.
How he ever got the position is beyond me.
Straightening to his full height, Booker crossed his arms and closed the gap between him and his adversary. Mere inches was the only thing that separated them.
Behind him, Booker felt the steady presence of Ioki, who was ready to back him up if things got ugly.
The Hammer eyed him, fist tightening around the jagged weapon. “I saw what you did to my boys.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s about time you did some of your dirty work yourself.”
The teen’s neck muscles bulged and he cocked his head to the side. “I don’t appreciate nobodies like you two beating on my boys.”
“And I don’t appreciate being pushed around by someone too cowardly to show his face past noon.”
“You’d better watch yourself, bud. You forget who calls the shots around here.”
“At least I don’t hide behind a rusty old tool. Where’d you even get that hammer, daddy’s workshop?”
For a brief moment, Booker feared the Hammer might bash his skull in right then and there. Instead, he flashed a glare that spoke volumes.
“If we were out in the yard,” he said through clenched teeth, hammer bouncing against his thigh, “you’d be mouthing off through a busted lip and a fractured jaw.”
“Well then,” Booker replied with a smirk, “you remember that the next time you make it outside. I’ll meet you there with a sack full of rocks and a bent up piece of pipe.”
“And where the hell do you think you’re gonna get something like that?”
“You think you’re the only one with connections around here?”
It was a bluff of epic proportions, but as long as it worked, Booker wouldn’t need to worry about backing it up.
If it works…
Fortunately, the Hammer seemed to buy it, eyeing him again, then Ioki.
“You two really took out my entire gang on your own?”
Booker made a show of glancing back at Ioki before tightening his folded arms, effectively flashing his toned biceps. “What do you think?”
The Hammer considered this, flexing his arms. “I think I could use guys like you.”
“Yeah?” Ioki interjected, voice laced with sarcasm. “Then who’s going to clean your toilets?”
“Hey!” One of the Hammer’s cronies jerked forward, jabbing a finger in Booker’s direction. “What the Hammer wants, the Hammer takes.”
“Too bad we’re not for sale, pal,” Booker replied, flicking the accusing finger away.
“Look,” the Hammer began, his voice low, yet firm, “I’m not ordering you, all right? But who in their right mind would turn down a chance to get in good on the inside?”
“You’re forgetting one thing: we haven’t said no yet.” Booker gave a little shrug. “We haven’t said yes either. You want us to join your little gang? You need some extra muscle?” He slipped back onto the bench and began picking at his food. “Give us some time to think about it.”
In seconds, his tray was sent shooting across the table, a fist of white knuckles slamming down hard where his food once sat.
“I’ll give you five seconds to prove it,” the Hammer hissed.
Dozens of possible outcomes flashed through Booker’s mind, all of which ended with his jaw kissing the business end of a hammer. Control yourself. I mean it this time!
As his forehead collided roughly with the Hammer’s nose, Booker realized he’d never been good at listening to his inner voice, much less obeying it.
Once they had begun, there was no stopping the brawl until the guards decided to show up and forcibly pried them apart.
Slamming the Hammer’s bloodied face onto the table, Booker had a mere moment to check on Ioki—who seemed to be holding his own well enough—before someone hit him from behind. A punch to the side followed, then a kick to the shin. By now, he was throwing blind punches wherever he could, praying he didn’t accidentally hit Ioki in the process.
Just when he felt like he was regaining some of the ground he’d lost, Booker heard rather than felt the sharp crunch of the dreaded hammer as it smashed into his shoulder. A split second later, the pain erupted like a string of firecrackers on the Fourth of July.
When he tried to cry out, only a strangled gasp escaped.
That’s when the guards made their heroic appearance.
“Break it up!”
“Come on, guys, break it up!”
“You know you can’t behave like this here!”
Stars danced across Booker’s vision as rough hands pulled him out of the fray.
They were all dragged unceremoniously away to solitary confinement and the young cop tried to catch a breath. It was only when the slamming door plunged him into semi-darkness that he found the energy and time to breathe again. Ragged, slow breaths, but it was air in his lungs all the same.
Biting back a moan, Booker ran a trembling hand over his shoulder, feeling for blood—there had to have been blood.
But he felt nothing. His skin was uneven, sure, but dry.
Must’ve gotten the dull end , was his only coherent thought in that moment. The rest of his brain only buzzed agonized gibberish. Just the dull end. It was just the dull end…
The pain was hell, however, and he knew he’d have one heck of a bruise to deal with later. No more side sleeping for a while.
As he closed his eyes and leaned his aching head against the cell wall, one last thought invaded his subconscious: anything’s better than scrubbing bathrooms.