Street Notes

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A lonely cop and a troubled street performer find intimacy.
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On my patrols I had seen him playing his guitar around downtown; in the plazas and parks with his case open for tips. Though tonight was the first time I saw him when I was off duty. I sat at the bar, sipping my hard cider and listening to him play. The bar often had undiscovered musicians perform on the weekends and I enjoyed the fact that this was the first time I could listen to a full song. His voice was soothing, and lulled his listeners into a relaxed state. He sang about lost innocents and as he filled the bar with his soft vocals and calming notes, his lyrics seemed sincere.

"Pretty good, right?" Joe the bartender leaned across the bar, wiping down the counter with his bar rag.

"Yeah. I think he's probably the best one I've heard in here so far," I took another sip from my amber bottle.

"I'm actually thinking of having him here regularly. I've gotten more positive feedback on this kid, than all my other performers combined."

"Won't that upset the other musicians? They usually are here on rotation, right?"

"Yeah, but none of them are half as good. Plus, the kid is good looking. If the patrons don't love listening, they love looking," Joe admitted.

"I see," I said with a smile, remembering how much of a business man Joe was. Though, I also agreed with his assumption that the singer was in fact cute. He didn't seem much older than twenty, though he had to be at least twenty-one for Joe to let him perform in the bar. His skin was a sun burnt tan, making his light grey eyes more startling. His brown hair was combed back under a grey beanie, giving him a true laid back musician look. From his tattered t-shirt and over shirt to his hole-filled blue jeans, he just screamed empty wallet. Over all, the kid looked like a helpless puppy and it pulled at my heart strings. But that could just be the cop in me.

"Not to mention, he could probably really use the money," Joe added. He, too, noticed the singer's rough appearance.

"Yeah, the kid does look like he could use a fresh set of clothes," I held my bottle up to my lip. Joe smiled.

"Kid? You're still a year or so shy of thirty. Not much older," Joe began to arrange bottles behind the bar.

"For one, I showed you my ID for alcohol. Not so you could remind me how old I am. And two, there's a big difference from your early twenties to your late twenties. At that age, you still think the world is yours to conquer," I shook my head in dismay, and took another swig of my drink.

"And at this age?" Joe asked.

"At this age..." I held up my bottle like I was looking for the answer in the brown glass. "At this age, you realize the world has a lot more bad than good to go around."

"Talk about depressing," Joe grabbed some bottles and they clanked against each other.

"Just saying how it is." The music then stopped.

"Hey guys, I'm just taking a short break. So don't go away," the musician sat down his guitar and grabbed the tips from his case.

"Hey, Justice," Joe greeted the kid as he came to sit at the bar.

"Hi, Joe. Could I get a Pepsi?" he took the stool one seat down from me.

"Sure," Joe began to fill a glass off the tap. "By the way, Justice, this is my friend Westley Harnath."

"Nice to meet you," Justice held out his hand and I shook it.

"Like wise." I returned to my drink.

"I think I've seen you around," Justice commented.

"You're often on my patrol route." The young man gave a thoughtful look.

"Westley, here, is a cop," Joe said while placing the Pepsi in front of the singer.

"Oh," Justice gave a look that I couldn't quite place. Maybe it was unease or surprise, perhaps both.

"And a damn good one," Joe added. I shot him a look, and gave an uncomfortable cough.

"So, Justice. Are you a local?" I tried to change the subject.

"Uh, no. I moved here a few months back," the singer eyed his soda.

"Where from?" I asked.

"I've lived lots of places, never for very long. Anyways, I think I better get back," he took a quick drink from his glass and returned to the stage.

"That wasn't much of an answer," I said, taking a drink.

"You scared the kid off," Joe took the Pepsi glass away.

"He's hiding something," I finished off my hard cider.

"Probably, but don't go running off my best performer."

"Fine. Fine," I tossed a few bucks on the bar and headed towards the exit. As I passed by the stage, I leaned in to drop a twenty in the case. I glanced up at the kid, and he smiled down at me as he continued to sing about a home long behind him. A knot formed in my stomach, but that could have been the alcohol.

"Hey again," I greeted the musician. He sat cross legged on the sidewalk, his case open for tips. It had been at least a week since I had seen him perform in the bar.

"Hi. On patrol?" Justice smiled up at me. His guitar sat in his lap, and his fingers were in a resting position.

"Yeah, but I was thinking of taking a lunch soon." I glanced at his guitar case, which was practically empty except for a few small bills. "Would you, umm, like to join me?" The kid looked up at me with an uncomfortable look.

"I- I'm not sure..."

"Is it the uniform?" I joked, pulling on my shirt collar.

"No, no, no. Just-"

"Then come on, there's a sandwich shop at the end of the block." I started toward the restaurant, and Justice quickly put away his guitar and followed me with his case in tow.

On reaching the sandwich shop, we got in line with ten or so people in front of us.

"I appreciate this Officer Harnath, but-"

"Call me Westley."

"Westley, but I don't exactly have money on me for lunch," he held his guitar case tightly in his hands.

"I'll cover it, no worries," the lined moved forward.

"I can't let you do that."

"Hey, it's lunch between friends. Not a big deal," I shrugged my shoulders.

"Friends?" he looked up at me skeptically.

"Yeah. And friends buy each other lunch."

"Uh, okay. Yeah. Friends," the kid smiled. "But I promise to pay you back."

"Fine, then. Let's order," we stepped forward in line.

After getting our sandwiches, we went outside to sit on a bench. Justice laid his guitar case on the ground next to us and placed one leg over it, protectively.

"Sure keep that thing close on hand," I gestured towards the case.

"Oh, Matilda. Yeah, she's the only constant in my life," the white wrapping paper crinkled as he took a large bite from his sandwich.

"Matilda?" I asked, taking a bite from my own sandwich.

"Yeah," he spoke through a mouth full of bread.

"Why Matilda?" I turned towards him, and leaned my elbow on the back of the bench.

"It's a personal thing," he looked down, hiding his eyes from me.

"Sorry for butting in. I think it's the cop in me," I looked away and he turned towards me.

"I can understand that. I mean it's your job."

"It is. But Joe says I scare people off with my constant questioning and paranoia."

"But isn't that how you solve cases? And people's problems?" he took another mouth stuffing bite. I turned to look at the kid, and for a second he appeared completely innocent. The opposite of what his appearance and behavior would suggest.

"Very true," I smiled. Justice gave a confident nod, since his mouth was still full. "I hate to say it, but I have to get back to it."

"Really?" Justice watched me get up from the bench, mustard around his mouth. His sandwich was long gone now, and the wrapper was balled up on the bench.

"Yeah. And I don't like to waste, so do you want what's left of my sandwich?" I held out my half eaten lunch.

"Sure!" he quickly took it from me. Don't ask me why, but I instinctively leaned forward and wiped the mustard off his lips with my thumb. For a couple seconds I was within a few inches of his face. I could feel his breath.

"Thank you for joining me for lunch," I quickly stepped back and started down the sidewalk. "Hey," I called back to him, and he looked up at me with a blank expression. "Make sure you throw away your trash!" He gave me a grin and nodded.

It was the end of the week, and several days since my lunch with Justice. I sat down at Joe's bar, and waited for my usual apple beer.

"Here you go," Joe sat down my bottle.

"Hey. I see he's here again. Did you decided to actually make him permanent?" I nodded towards Justice playing on the small stage.

"Yeah, though my other musicians aren't too happy."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, they're all just as desperate for that dollar but not nearly as talented," Joe started drying glasses.

"I agree," I turned to watch the young man play. Another soft ballad about pain. This was becoming a regular theme with him.

"I heard you had lunch with him the other day," Joe spoke nonchalantly.

"Yeah, what of it?" I didn't take my eyes off the musician. I watched his mouth move as he sang softly into the microphone.

"Are you sweet on him?" Joe asked. I glanced at him, and he raised an eyebrow at me.

"I took him to lunch is all," I retorted.

"Because if you are, you know that I've never had a problem with your lifestyle."

"I know Joe."

"So, are you?" he asked. I didn't respond; I simply gave him an annoyed look and took a drink of my hard cider. "Fine, be that way," Joe pretended to be insulted.

A few hours went by, and I was still at the bar listening to Justice singing. I had nowhere to be in the morning, and Justice's performance was the highlight to my week.

"Last call everyone!" Joe called out.

"Too bad, I was getting comfortable," I joked.

"That's what I was worried about," Joe took away my empty bottle. I had only two, but all the same, I was glad that I walked to the bar.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming and listening tonight. Have a safe trip home," Justice said into the mic before getting off his stool and packing up his guitar.

"He always say that?" I asked.

"Every night," Joe smiled. Justice approached the bar.

"Hey Joe. Westley," he smiled at me, and I felt something in my stomach roll over.

"Hey Justice," I greeted.

"Here's your pay, bud," Joe handed over an envelope.

"Thanks. Well, I guess I'm out. Have a good night guys," Justice headed for the door.

"Wish I could pay him more," Joe added after the musician had gone outside.

"How much is he making playing for you?"

"Seventy-five bucks a night," Joe couldn't hide the guilt in his voice.

"That is not enough to live off of. Where the hell is he staying?"

"I have no idea, and I tried to ask but he wouldn't say." I let out a groan. "Oh come on, Harnath. What am I supposed to do? Interrogate the kid till he tells me his life story?"

"No, no. Just..."

"What?" Joe asked gruffly.

"Nothing. Have a good night, Joe." I laid a twenty on the bar and made my exit. Once outside, I felt the cold chill and I pulled up my coat collar. I started down the block when I heard noise from the alley.

"Punk ass bitch!" I heard a female voice. On reaching the entrance, I saw three people with someone pinned against the wall. A fist flew through the air and landed against their victim's face.

"Hey!" I shouted. Suddenly a face looked out at me with light grey eyes. At that horrified glance, I fell into a dead run towards them. They let go and he slumped down against the wall. I chased the group to the end of the alley and then they scattered out of view. I returned to Justice, a small pile on the ground. "Look at me," I said, turning his face towards me. He looked up at me, his eyes filled to the brim with tears. "I know you're not okay, so I won't ask. But can you walk?" He nodded. "Kay, come on then." I helped him up and place his arm over my shoulder, and wrapped my arm around his waist.

"Matilda. Don't forget Matilda," he said drowsily. I looked around and saw his guitar case was open and his guitar had been smashed. Probably by someone's boot. I bent slightly and closed the case, grasping the handle in my free hand.

"I got her," I assured, moving us forward in the direction of my apartment.

We took the elevator up and I had to balance Justice and Matilda in one arm, and open the apartment with the other. My studio apartment was too small for both a couch and bed. I sat Justice on the end of my bed, and put Matilda in the closet. I didn't want him finding his guitar all broken like that. I quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom and returned to Justice. I sat the kit on the floor and knelt in front of him.

"This will sting," I dampened a cotton ball with peroxide. I touched a cut above his eye and he winced but held his position.

"Thank you," he looked down at me.

"It's nothing," I pulled out a bandage and began to place it over his cut.

"I'm not talking about the first aid," he frowned.

"I know," was all I said as I began to clean his fat lip.

"They were some of Joe's old performers. They weren't happy about me taking their spots."

"Probably jealous of your talent, as well," I added.

"I highly doubt that," he looked down embarrassed. I grabbed his chin and made him look up at me.

"You are an exceptional musician. And don't you doubt that," I locked eyes with him, and I could literally feel the tension. Joe was right, I was sweet on him. But not because he was good looking, though that helped; he intrigued me. He was a mystery; he obviously had a rough life that he refused to speak about, but he was kind and polite to everyone just the same. Aware that we had been staring back at each other for several moments, I broke away and cleared my throat. "I'll go throw these away," I picked up the dirty cotton balls and empty bandage wrappers. Making my way into the kitchen, which was nothing more than a short row of counters along the far wall, I threw the trash in the garbage next to the fridge. "Are you hungry, or anything?"

"I'm a bit thirsty," Justice answered shyly. Afraid to inconvenience me, I assumed.

"I have beer-"

"I don't drink," he quickly responded, cutting me off mid-sentence. I could see by his body shift, he regretted the way he reacted.

"That's alright. How does water sound?" I asked, pulling a glass from the cupboard.

"Sounds good, thank you," Justice watched me from his seat on the bed, his grey eyes still vigilant though one was slowly beginning to swell from the beating. I joined him on the bed, handing him the glass. He looked up at me as he took a drink from his glass. I watched as the water lapped at his pale lips and as he pulled the glass away from his mouth, all I wanted to do was touch them with my own.

"I'm going to go get you some aspirin," I quickly ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I stared at myself in the mirror, asking myself to cool my shit. A pair of blue eyes stared back at me, filled with the loneliness I had come use to seeing every morning. The problem with being a cop is that you find the worst in people. You don't even mean to, but somehow it happens. And that caused me to become unenchanted with love. I had my chances, and plenty of them. I was good looking, with my short blonde hair which I combed slightly to the side like I was still in the academy. My face was thin and smooth, all tied together with high cheek bones and a firm jaw. I was lean but muscular, all thanks to the training I did twice a week at the department gym. Based on my looks I got plenty of offers, but that's not what I wanted. I wasn't the type to sleep around, and my police brain made relationships difficult. Guys don't find it sexy when you give them tickets for expired plates or kill their party mood when you won't smoke weed with them. Twenty-eight years old, and undeniably single. But no matter how lonely I was, Justice needed my help. Pursuing him now would be wrong. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the aspirin from the cabinet and returned to the living room. "Here you go," I spoke, handing him the bottle.

"Thank you," he gave me one of his glorious smiles, though this one drooped in one corner due to his fat lip. It made him even more attractive in a way. Shutting down the sexual part of my mind was going to be harder than I thought, especially if he kept smiling at me.

"No problem," I said, though I could hear myself internally screaming that there was a big fucking problem. Everything about him made me either want to kiss him seductively or hold him protectively. Either way, I'd probably scare the guy. He took two pills and washed them down with his water.

"I should get going. Thank you for taking care of me," he stood up and I watched his legs shake a bit.

"Where do you think you're going?" I placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit back down. He looked up at me with startled grey eyes. Quickly I explained, "You are in no condition to be going anywhere. Tomorrow, I'll take you home. Tonight, you sleep here."

"There's only one bed," he pointed out. We could share it, I said to myself but thought better not. I opened the closet and pulled a sleeping bag from the top shelf.

"I'll take the floor," I placed the sleeping bag at the foot of the bed.

"You don't hav-" he started.

"Here," I pulled a t-shirt and pair of sweats from the dresser and tossed them to him. "They say NYPD, but that's all I got. Sorry," I pulled out a second set of pants for myself. I got too warm easily, and didn't wear shirts to bed.

"No, no, it's fine," he stared down at the shirt with a small smile on his face. Again, I felt something inside me stir.

"Good," I pulled my shirt over my head and I glanced over as Justice did the same. His chest was smooth sept for a small trail of hair from his navel that disappeared below his pant line. I noticed a scar that started on the left side of his chest and went over his shoulder. Before I could see anymore, he slid the NYPD top over his head. I turned away as we both took off our bottoms. Probably best if I didn't see any more of him. It was a struggle to keep my hands to myself just looking at his face. When I turned around, he was standing next to the bed in his new PJs. If he didn't seem fragile before, he did now. His shoulders didn't quite fill the shirt sleeves and his chest didn't push against the fabric like mine did. My legs were obviously longer than his, so the sweats gathered at his ankles. He had taken off his beanie, revealing shagging brown hair that reached a little passed his ears. He was cute... "Night then," I quickly crawled into the sleeping bag.

"Night, Westley," Justice spoke, and I didn't have to look to know he was smiling. Damn... this was going to be hard.

My body automatically woke up at six every morning, no matter what time I had gone to sleep. I felt the aches in my back and ribs as I crawled out of my sleeping bag. As I got to my feet, I looked over at Justice still asleep in my bed. His hair stuck up every which way, and I couldn't help but watch him breath softly. I almost regretted promising him I'd take him home today, but he'd be back to playing his guitar on street corners and in the bar. That's when I remembered the smashed instrument in my closest. Quietly I got dressed and grabbed the guitar case, before heading down stairs. I pulled up Google on my phone and made my way several blocks down and a few blocks over. A large painted sign appeared above a brick building; Kevin's Guitars. As I stepped inside, the door chime went off.

"What can I do for you?" a thin, older man stepped out from the back. Grey hair reached his shoulders and a gold earring hung from one ear.

"I need a guitar repaired," I placed the case on his counter and opened the lid. The neck was broken and few of the strings were snapped. It had looked much worse to me last night, but that was also in the dark.

"Well I could easily fix the neck, but this guitar is pretty rough. Aged. Are you sure wouldn't rather just buy a new one?" he asked.

"No. This guitar means a lot to him," I just didn't know why, yet...

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