Jason
They are dead, Peter and Wayne, dead, all because of that bitch, Lisa. My wife.
For the first time in my life I have something to thank the police for, because they took me to the station for questioning, while I was supposed to be in that car. I would have been dead by now. But Jason Locke is still alive and one of these days I will find Lisa and she’ll be sorry.
When I heard the news, I went to Wayne’s house, because I couldn’t believe it. It was true all right, even though his wife, that skinny bitch didn’t seem very upset. I asked her about the money, and she tried to lie, but when I whacked her around a bit she stopped arguing and opened the safe so I could take what I wanted. She probably hoped I would shag her, but I was too in too much of a hurry.
It wasn’t what you’d call real money, just enough to bring me to Liverpool and rent a miserable bedsit. I need more money, much more if I want to start anew.
Look at me, I feel like a sucker, drinking a pint at this lousy pub. I was used to clubs with nice young girls, drinking champagne all night, but this will have to do for now.
I chose this pub because it looked like the place where a man might find opportunities. I am smart enough; I have plans, but I’ll need a partner to make them work. So I drink my pint and look around me in this goddamned ugly place, where the whores look even older than the battered wallpaper and hope for something good to happen.
Frankie
From the outside the place sure looks rough and when I push open the smeared glass door and step inside, the smoke hangs in the air like fog over the river back home.
Home! I don’t have a home any longer. I never fitted in there anyway and even if I could go back, which I can’t, I couldn’t bear the burden of other people’s disappointment - first Mom and Dad, then Joe and Maria and finally Dottie, who I left without even seeing our baby.
I shoulder my way through the crowd of losers hugging the bar and order a beer. The surly bartender slams down a dirty glass, slopping the warm, cloudy, dark brown liquid over my fingers and onto the counter.
He doesn’t know that Caesar, the last bartender, who pissed me off, had his head beaten in with a barstool, but I let it go, just make sure I drop the coins into the pool of beer as I snatch up the glass and return his snarl with one of my own.
Shit, Caesar’s place was a classy joint compared with this dump! After I ran from home and from what I’d done, I made it to Canada and then over here by freighter to Liverpool, England, with stolen money and forged papers, but it cost me and now we’ve docked, I need dough and a place to stay.
One of the crew told me about this place; said it was somewhere to get offers of work, if you weren’t choosy about legality and such.
Looking around I notice a guy in a leather jacket leaning on the bar and smirking at me. What the fuck does the asshole think he’s looking at?
Jason
I’ve just ordered another pint when this geezer steps in. *That’s more like it*
I can’t exactly tell why, but he looks out of place. His jacket is unbuttoned, the half open shirt underneath showing some interesting tattoos, and when he turns to give his order to the barman I can see the big tat on his neck.
There’s something about him. He seems to ooze anger and almost every woman in the pub looks at him. I smile when I see the redhead, who approached me when I stepped in, looking into a handbag mirror, wetting her lips and than heading towards him like a cat on the prowl. She doesn’t look bad from afar, but close up she’s an ugly fucking witch with too much make up smeared over bad skin.
Obviously I’ve attracted Mr. Ink’s attention, as he throws a challenging look at me. I raise my pint in a salute to him, interested in what the fuck he’ll do. He slowly comes my way, shoving the redhead out of the way when she tries to stop him.
I stay exactly where I am, ready to buy him a beer or to thump him, whatever he likes.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he drawls in a heavy American accent.
“I was looking at that god-awful sketch board you call your skin, mate,” I say, preparing myself for his attack. Instead he laughs maniacally and after a few seconds I join in, and clap his back.
“Buy you a beer mate? I am Jason.”
Frankie
The guy raises his glass to me in a mocking salute and I feel the old, familiar anger rise. I don’t really want to draw too much attention to myself in here, but something about the guy taunts me and I can’t just let it go.
I start over to him, mad that my way is blocked by some female, who I hardly look at, just nudge aside. I step into his personal space and challenge him.
He doesn’t back down, in fact now I am close up, I can see that he is more than capable of taking care of himself and I just know that he will fight dirty. His cocky reply and the insult stun me at first, but then I start to laugh. Hell, this guy can’t be intimidated and reminds me of me. He laughs and claps me on the back, offering to buy me a beer. He tells me his name, so I tell him mine.
“Another pint of bitter, mate and put it in a clean glass this time. And…?” he looks at me questioningly.
“Do you have a bottle of something light and cold?”
“…a bottle of lager! So, Frankie, you’re not a bitter man? I didn’t think you were enjoying that.”
“Wasn’t bitter till I tried drinking that crap, man!”
He looks at me shrewdly, “Oh I doubt that. You look like a man with a past. I recognize prison tattoos, when I see ‘em.”
*I bet you do*
“So what were you in for and how long did you serve?”, I ask him.
“You want to come over in the corner and talk?”
Jason
He follows me to the far corner of the bar, where we have more privacy,
“So what were you in for, Jason?” he asks again when we sit down.
I shrug, “Assault, drug dealing, some other stuff. How about you?” I offer him a fag and watch him inhale deeply.
I’ve been in and out ever since I was young. I have a fucking bad temper.”
I can believe that, and even while he smiles I can see the steel in his eyes. He seems a mean bastard and I don’t trust him for a fucking second, but I like him already.
“Look, I am short on dough and have a few ideas to do something about that. Maybe you’re interested in working together?”
The cigarette never leaves his mouth and his eyes are squeezed into slits, “Working together on what?”
“I’ve rented a bedsit, and it has a view of this jeweller’s store on the other side of the street. Nothing too fancy mind, but customers go in and out all day, so I think this guy does well for himself. I never see any security and he leaves for home every night carrying a briefcase. Before he closes he takes the stuff from the window, so there must be a safe in there.”
“You want to break in there? There’ll be cameras and the police will be there in a sec. Then a safe is usually made of solid steel, how were you planning to open it?”
“We go in before he closes up. He’s only got this girl shop assistant and I just know it will be easy, like robbing a baby. I am sure between the two of us we can persuade him to open that safe.”
He grins, “I am fucking sure we can.”
Frankie
We head for a dark corner of the pub. We are shielded from the crush of people by the battered old piano, covered in rings left by glasses for the past hundred years or so. The old guy hammering away at the yellowed keys looks like he’s also been here that long, but the cigarette he has attached to his bottom lip makes me crave tobacco that isn’t second hand.
Jason sits down and offers me a smoke, while telling me a little about the time he’s done. I don’t reckon he’s telling all of it, but then, I’m not telling him all either, but I do warn him that I have a bad temper. No harm in letting him think he can put anything over on me, hard man though he thinks he is. Looking at him, I would have guessed maybe armed robbery was his bag.
As I gratefully draw on the cigarette, feeling a little dizzy, as it’s been a while, Jason tells me he has a proposition. He plans to raid a jeweller’s shop across from his… ‘bedsit’, he calls it. I guess that’s his apartment.
He wants me to help him and I figure, why not? Seems easy enough to get the stuff, but I have a question,
“So if we get jewellery, not cash, do you have a contact to fence it? From the way you talk and the way these guys talk, I guess you’re not from around here.”
“No problem, mate! I have contacts in The Smoke, who’ll know somebody here. I just need to make a couple of calls once we’ve pulled the job.”
I nod. It’s not like I have any pressing engagements, so why not hitch my horse to his wagon for a while?
Jason
My new mate seems interested enough, so now I can finally make definitive plans. I think we will make a good team and a fucking scary one too and that’s good; we will need that.
“So where is it, your...bedsit?” he asks casually.
“Why do you want to know?” Call me a fucking suspicious bastard, but for a moment I think he maybe wants to double cross me and try and rob that jeweller on his own, but he just laughs, “I wanna send you a Christmas card, okay?” *crazy bastard*
Well, I will have to show him sooner or later anyway, so I down my pint in one go and rise from my chair,
“I need to take a leak. Why don’t you finish your beer in the meantime? We can have another one somewhere more private and make some plans.”
“Good idea,” he says, “Can’t wait to get away from that piano, it’s giving me a fucking headache.”
When I come out of the gents he’s gone and I step outside. He’s waiting right next to the door, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.
“So where do you want to go,” I ask and his eyes fly open, "your place?"
He grins and pulls himself off the wall, “Can I have another cigarette?” so I hand him my pack. “I don’t have a place. I’ll sleep in a park or something until I am better off.”
I watch him closely, still not sure what to make of him, but I like the fact that he’s even worse off than me.
“Okay, you can crash at my place for tonight, but keep your fucking hands off my stuff, understand?”
He nods, and I light up a fag myself, “You sleep on the couch.”
Frankie
This Jason is playing his cards close to his chest. He doesn’t trust me, when I try and find out where this bedsit - and consequently the jeweller’s shop – is. He narrows his eyes and asks me why I want to know.
I make a joke and he laughs, finishes his beer and goes into the rest room, saying we should leave. I finish mine too and head outside to wait for him, shouldering the kit bag that contains my few possessions. That jangling piano is beginning to get on my fucking nerves and I can feel the faint throbbing of a threatening headache. It’s not good, because I can lose it pretty quick when I feel like this.
When he asks if I want to go to my place and I tell him I don’t have one, he looks at me hard, trying to read me. Finally, he seems to have decided I am on the level and he tells me I can crash at his place on his couch. He throws in a warning not to touch his stuff. *From one thief to another*.
We walk down the street together and as we approach a brightly lit shop on the corner, the smell of food cooking hits me like a punch to the belly and reminds me how long it is since I have eaten. I slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans and feel the few coins I have left, wondering if I can afford to buy something.
Jason glances at me, “You hungry, mate? Come on into the chippie and I’ll treat you to pie and chips with mushy peas.”
Jason
I can hear his stomach growl as the smell coming from the chippie on the corner reaches us. He looks very much like a kid in a candy store, when he fishes into his pocket for money I almost laugh, but instead I offer to buy him a meal.
No good having a partner who’s starved is it? It would only make him get greedy and lose his head. It will also cement my leadership and that might be best, because he could fucking show a bit more respect.
Inside I order and pay, then we sit down at a plastic table. He looks really pale now and I am glad when the food is finally ready. He wolfs it down almost without swallowing and I shove over half of mine to his side of the table, as I already ate earlier. He doesn’t protest but deals with my leftovers just as quickly.
He shoves away the empty cartons when he’s done, leans back and belches, “Thanks,” he says, and this time the bastard really seems to mean it.
“Let’s go,” I say and he follows me outside.
I don’t switch on the big lights when we come in, just the small lamps on the wall, because this room fucking depresses me.
“Can I have that beer now?” Frankie asks, taking off his jacket.
“No mate, you’ve eaten too much and too fast. I don’t want you to puke on my couch or something and get me in trouble with the landlord. There’s a kettle in the corner over there, go make yourself a cup of tea if you want a drink, no more beer for you tonight.”
*About time to let him know who’s in charge here.*
Frankie
I wolf down my food, not really tasting it and when Jason pushes half of his meal over, smirking at me, I eat that too. Couldn’t say what kind of pie it is, but it fills a gaping hole and I belch and thank him, gratefully.
We go back on the street and he leads me to a dingy front door with a flight of steep steps right behind it. My feet kind of stick to the carpet and we step onto a landing covered in shabby linoleum. He unlocks a door and we are in his apartment.
He switches on wall-lamps which don’t throw out much light, but I can still see that it’s not much of a place. There’s a bed, a battered couch, a rickety table and a couple of odd chairs some shelves and a dresser. There’s a chipped sink in one corner and in the other, a small table with a kettle and a double electric plate.
I need a beer, but the asshole tells me no, I might puke on his stinkin’ couch and piss off the landlord, but I can make tea! Tea!
“Who the fuck do you think you are? I snarl at him,” My father? Let me tell you that Daddy could never make me mind and nor will you.”
“You cheeky, ungrateful little fucker! After I just fed you and brought you up here! I can knock you on your arse too and don’t think I won’t! Then you can go sleep in the park, for all I care.”
I clench my fists, but then I think how cold it is out and how he did buy me a meal,
“Okay, I’m sorry. You just reminded me of Daddy is all. He put a shotgun in his mouth and blew his brains out last fall.”
“Do I look like a fucking social worker?”
Jason
You would think this tosser would be fucking grateful for not having to sleep outside and with an empty stomach, but instead he snarls at me, and when I put him in his place starts telling me about his Daddy blowing his brains out.
Fuck, I had one, and you won’t hear me telling no tales about him. Let me just say there wasn’t a happier family than the Lockes when he finally died of the syphilis one of his whores gave him.
“Do I look like a fucking social worker?” I say and he backs off.
“You have a bathroom?" he asks, “I need to piss.”
“What’s wrong with the sink? There’s a bathroom down the landing, but that’s for showering and shit.”
He shrugs but walks over to the sink. I open the window and take one of the cans of beer I keep on the sill outside. He turns around, his hand still on his fly and looks at the beer.
“You want one?” I ask, “Say please.”
“Fuck you,” he snaps, throwing me a nasty glare and in a second he’s at the door, “I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
I wait until the door is almost closed behind his arse and then I call him back,
“Hey, I am just fucking kidding, come back and take a beer.”
He still glares at me, but he does come back and gets himself a beer.
“I am knackered,” I say swallowing down my beer, then go up to the sink myself. “Let’s sleep and we’ll talk in the morning. I haven’t got any spare blankets, so you will just have to use the rug or the tablecloth, but I bet you’ve done worse.”
Frankie
*Fucking jerk!* I know his game. He wants to be top dog, but I am nobody’s bitch and I hurt the guys who tried it on in prison. I’ll sleep in the park sooner than crawl to him, but his mood changes again and he calls me back as soon as the door has shut behind me. Says he’s kidding and at any rate I get the beer, so I let it pass.
I prod the couch, which is bumpy and stained, but he’s right, I have slept in worse places and prison cots are not exactly luxurious. I take off my boots and keep the rest of my clothes on, including my jacket.
Looking up, I see that he’s stripped down to his boxers and he has a strong physique. He has a tattoo, but in this light I can’t see what it is. He throws me the tablecloth, which is an old-fashioned, plush thing and gets into bed,
“You’d better not snore and get the lights before you turn in.”
I turn off the lights and wrap the tablecloth around me, then put the small rug over my legs and will myself to go to sleep.
It’s still dark, when I wake up, my feet like blocks of ice. I need to pee again, so I roll off the couch, trying to iron out the kinks as I stand up and go over to the sink. Now the heating has gone off and the radiators are cold, the whole room is like an ice-box.
I sit back on the couch and am trying to massage some circulation back into my feet, when there’s a grunt from the bed,
“You’re disturbing me. If you’re cold, get over here, so we can both get some sleep.”
Jason
I don’t think Frankie will have a good sleep on that couch, but it will beat sleeping outside, because it’s freezing. I toss him the table cloth and crawl into bed myself.
I wake up because I hear him moving and then using the sink. Normally I would fall asleep again easily, but I now regret stripping off all my clothes as even my nuts feel like they’re frozen. I can hear Frankie rubbing himself and I realize he must be fucking chilled to the bones.
I tell him to get into the bed if he’s cold, so we can both get some sleep. He’s there before I’ve even finished speaking, and tries to climb in.
“Get that jacket off,” I grumble, “there’s not enough room for the three of us.”
He slips out of his jacket and then slips in under the blankets. I curse when his be-socked, but ice cold feet touch my bare legs. The bed is only small and certainly not fit for two full grown men, but at last it’s getting warmer now.
It’s been a while since I had sex, first there was all the fuss with getting away and then I had to settle into this new town. I just didn’t think about it. Now, with his body pressing into mine I feel my cock come to life, and I am certain I won’t have any sleep at all unless I do something about it.
I think about it for a few minutes, think how Frankie has been in prison too and surely will know the deal, so I just lightly run my fingers over his arm.
“How about helping each other warm up?” I ask, and he says nothing, but I feel his fingers sliding into my groin, slipping under the waistband of my boxers and then gripping my cock in reply.
Frankie
I am so cold that I don’t need a second invite, but he grouches at me to take off my jacket first. Thank God it’s warm in his bed, although cramped.
My nostrils flare as they pick up his scent. I smell stale sweat and tobacco, but there’s something else as well. I have spent enough time locked up with guys to know it when I smell arousal – the guy is horny.
Knowing that makes my own cock sit up and take interest. I hold my breath wondering what he’ll do next and I grin in the dark, when he runs his fingers over my arm and his husky voice suggests we warm each other up.
I slide my hand into his groin and squeeze the impressive package I find there. His breathing quickens, as I move my hand under his waistband and take a hold of his dick. He’s uncut and I slide the skin up over the head and back, rubbing my thumb over the sensitive end.
He gasps a little and I grip tighter, moving my hand up and down with a flick of my wrist, just how I like it. It’s something I’ve always found guys are better at than chicks, knowing how it feels to be on the other end. Their hands are too small and they are either prissy and scared to put on pressure, or go to the other extreme and nearly rip your dick clean off.
I bring up my other hand and massage his balls, but when I feel them tighten, I pause. This isn’t one way traffic. He curses in the dark and then gets the message. His hands unbutton my jeans - I haven’t bothered with underwear – and I pop out, ready for action, into his fist.
Jason
He certainly knows what he’s doing, his hand supplying exactly the right amount of pressure. When you’re doing time you learn to appreciate men, for their big hands, their power and not trying to marry you or something. I like the selfishness in men; they want something from you, favours or money and are willing to pay for it.
His hand closes over my balls and I am about to shoot my load when the fucking cunt suddenly stops. I curse, but I know what he wants me to do. It’s not like he doesn’t owe me more than one hand job and I would like to kick him out on the kerb, but my cock doesn’t agree.
I fumble with his fly and close my hand around his big dick. No underwear and that will make things easier as I might want to bend him over the sink sooner or later to repay his debts to me.
I start pumping his dick, bringing up my knee to rub against his balls. Immediately he moves his hand again and I buck up into his fist. Ragged breaths fill the room and only seconds later I shoot over his hand, barely managing to keep stroking him until I feel him spraying mine.
When I can breathe normally again I realize I am finally warm, and I don’t feel like getting out of bed, so I just wipe my hand on his shirt and turn my back to him. I am asleep in seconds.
It is light when I wake up, my nose almost flattened against the wall because of Frankie taking up a lot of space. He’s snoring like a fucking bear and he smells like one too.
“Hey,” I say, thumping his arm, “get up and go take a shower! You fucking stink mate. “
Frankie
After we jerk each other off, he wipes his hand on my shirt, turns his back on me and goes to sleep. I shrug and wipe my own hand on my shirt. That was pretty good and I am warm now, so I can sleep. Just before I drop off, I find myself thinking about Dottie and the baby. Not my problem any more and I am sure my saintly brother Joe will be seeing them right, but hell, sometimes I miss her. She’s better off without me, though, and the baby will be too, I tell myself. *Fuck, I don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl.*
I wake with a start as the bastard punches my arm and tells me to get a shower. He’s right, though. I do stink.
Rolling out of bed, I crave a cigarette, but the pack we had last night is empty and I’ll be fucked if I ask him if he has any stashed away. I pull a towel out of my kit bag and a clean but crumpled shirt. There are a couple pairs of boxers in there and I decide to go with underwear today.
I go across the landing to the bathroom and slide the bolt, take a shit and then step into the bathtub and pull the tattered plastic curtain over. Opening the faucet, I wait in hope of enough water to actually get wet. The flow isn’t much and I could pee quicker, but at least it gets hot and I lather up my hair and body and rinse off.
When I am done, I dry myself and dress in the underpants and jeans. I stroll back to his room with my shirt open and my hair still wet. He’s standing by the kettle, naked and I am instantly hard.
Jason
When I get up I notice my boxers are sticky and I pull them off, dropping them into the big plastic bag I use as a hamper. Waiting for my turn to shower, I put on the kettle to get my morning tea. Being American Frankie will probably prefer coffee, but I don’t have any, so he can have tea or nowt.
The water is close to boiling when Frankie steps in, hair wet and shirt open so I can have a better look at the tats on his chest. There’s a spider’s web around one nipple and some kind of bird – probably the American eagle – seems about to land on the other.
I recognize the look he gives me for what it is and I grin, reaching in the cupboard above my head for new pack of fags. I light one and slowly blow out the smoke, watching him while he moves closer.
“Want a fag?” I ask and he nods, his eyes on my body, “Come and get it then,” and I lower the hand holding the pack of cigarettes until it’s at cock level.
“Fuck you,” he says and stops in his tracks. “Suit yourself mate,” I grin and pour hot water in a mug, dipping in the tea bag. “Tea? That comes free,” and I hand him the mug, then fill another one for myself and sip from it slowly.
“We’ll have to go out for breakfast, tea is all there is. Shower first though,” and I drape a towel around my waist and head for the bathroom, taking the cigs with me.
Frankie
He stands there, cocky and beautiful and smirks at me again, like he can read my mind, then he turns and reaches up to get a fresh pack of cigarettes and right now, I don’t know which I want more. He lights one and taunts me, stretching his neck and blowing the smoke out slowly. He taunts me some more, holding the pack above his cock and making it clear what he wants in return.
“Fuck you!” *I am nobody’s bitch*. He sneers and offers me tea, before draping a towel around his waist and heading out the door.
I let him go, but I am burning with anger, frustration and the craving for nicotine. I look in the closet, but there are no more cigarettes and I grab his discarded pants and look for his wallet, but it’s not there. The bastard must have hidden it and I don’t have time to turn the place over before he gets back.
I grab his key chain, though and put on my boots and jacket, running out of the apartment and down the street. A couple of blocks away, I see a newsagents shop on the corner with an alleyway running down the side. I am not waiting long before a guy comes out with a pack of cigarettes, head bent as he peels off the cellophane wrapper. In a moment, I have him round the throat and drag him into the alley. A short sharp chop behind the ear drops him.
In seconds I am away with the cigarettes and his wallet. I take out the money and throw it away.
Back at Jason’s, I let myself in and go into his apartment, where he is standing with the towel around him looking pissed off.
I dangle the key chain in front of him,
“You said something about going out to breakfast. I’ll buy.”
Summary: Jason Locke and Frank Roberts on a roll...
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Crossovers Pairing: Jason Locke/Frank Roberts
Warnings: ViolenceChallenges:
Series: Bad BloodChapters: 3 Completed: Yes
Word count: 15374 Read: 3440
Published: 04 Aug 2009 Updated: 04 Aug 2009