Undercover
Blues
by luvhandlz
Rating: R
Pairing: Joe
Friday/Bill Gannon
Warnings
(highlight to view):
nothing to warn for
Truth was, Joe Friday hated Vice duty. He hated the clothes, the
makeup, the inevitable carpet burn on his chin. But he did his duty
like a good
cop.
On the other hand, Officer Bill loved it. “It’s right up my alley,” he
would quip.
They were assigned to a difficult case—a series of drive-by blowjobs.
The only clue was the peculiar shade of lipstick left on the victims’
members. Their investigations had led them to a popular night spot
called The Purple Python. Officer Bill had spent several hours picking
the right outfit for the occasion. He finally settled on a pair of
leather chaps which exposed his pert, if sallow, buttocks. It had a
matching vest with “Born To Cruise” picked out in rhinestones on the
back. Joe wore his regulation LAPD tearaway overalls and false
eyelashes from his Elliott Ness makeup kit.
They entered the bar and paused to reconnoiter the joint. Two Indians
and a motorcycle cop sat at the bar; a pair of construction workers did
a slow grind on the dance floor.
“You know, I never realized the Village People were gay,” said Bill
absently.
“What did you think they were doing at the YMCA, swimming?” Joe
pronounced nasally as he made his way to the bar. As they passed the
traffic cop, he gave Bill a smoldering look. Bill made a moue and
twitched his behind saucily in reply. Joe punched him on the arm and
said testily, “Pay attention and stop flirting.”
“Fer chrissake, Joe, I was just getting in character. Don’t be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. Remember our last Vice case?”
“Oh, you mean those cute bears I hung out with?” asked Bill innocently.
“Yeah, those guys,” Joe muttered between clenched teeth. “Coming home
at all hours—and I never did get the cream cheese out of the back of
the Plymouth.”
Seating themselves at the bar, Joe ordered drinks. “I’ll have a virgin
Shirley Temple, and for my partner—”
Bill cut in. “I’d like the Trouser Snake Float.”
When it arrived, Joe chuckled. “This drink adds new meaning to the word
‘cocktail.’” Bobbing on top were two pearl onions and a Vienna sausage.
“It reminds me of somebody,” Bill husked, sliding his hand up his
partner’s thigh. Despite himself, Joe became visibly aroused.
“Yup, the resemblance is startling,” said Bill.
Since things were slow in the bar, the officers decided to find a quiet
spot for a quick snog. They made their way to the washroom, which they
found to be abandoned. Friday started digging through his purse, a
Gucci knockoff.
“Where’s that damned lube?”
Suddenly the bathroom door burst open, striking Officer Bill, who had
assumed the position, on the top of his head.
“Ow! Hey!” exclaimed Bill.
Friday, having finally located the Astroglide, squeezed the tube
convulsively in surprise, squirting lube in all directions.
“It’s him!” Bill pointed frantically at the Indian standing in the
doorway. “Look at his war paint!” It was indeed the same shade of
passion purple
found at the crime scenes.
Joe fumbled out his badge. “Stop! Police!” The Indian bolted for the
nearest exit.
Bill, in hot pursuit, skidded on the lube and crashed into Joe; they
fell in a tangled heap.
“Ordinarily, I would enjoy this,” observed Bill.
By the time they regained their feet and followed, the suspect had made
it to the parking lot. He leapt into a car and sped off, leaving a
rooster tail of gravel.
To add insult to injury, their car had been boxed in by a sloppily
parked beige Ford.
“Who drives a chunk of shit like this?” Friday kicked a mismatched
fender angrily. “Looks like we’ve lost him, Bill.”
“He’ll be easy to trace, though, Joe,” Bill replied brightly. “There
can’t be many Torinos with that paint job.”
“Yeah, kinda looks like a big, striped tomato, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s finish our drinks and have an early night,” suggested Bill. And
arm in arm, they went back into the bar.
End
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