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Based in an old repurposed silk mill, Precinct 41 was understaffed and underpaid, overworked and overmatched when it came to the work that was Jamrock. Because of this, all of the officers, instead of working their hardest to protect the district, liked to waste time, chief amongst all officers being the duo of Mack “the Torso” Torson and Chester McLaine.
Despite being superior officers to the rest of the D-Wing, the duo were realistically unfit to lead, as they spent their time doing anything but their work. This was why Judit Minot wasn’t surprised to find out, during her second week in the precinct, that they had a betting pool going on.
In a supply closet within the silk mill, she found Chester and Mack laughing over a chalk-covered blackboard, on it written: Hetero-sexual life-partners. They explained the idea to her.
“You see, Judit,” Torson began, slinging an arm over her shoulder, “we don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Mullen and Vic are partners. Close partners.” Judit suppressed an eye roll at their condescension, stating the obvious, instead crossing her arms as Torson continued, “And we don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re always making lovesick doe eyes at each other.”
“I mean it’s just…sad,” McLaine snickered, wiping fake tears off his face, “they’re like star-crossed lovers.”
Torson patted Judit’s shoulder, in what she assumed was supposed to be reassurance, “It’s getting difficult to work with. So, to vent our frustrations about how obvious they’re being, we decided to make a bet - when will the precinct’s very own platonic partnership get their shit together and get together?”
Judit pulled away from Torson to squint at the blackboard, narrowing her eyes as she read names she recognised - Emile Mollins, Sundance Fischer, Michel Williams, “Lieutenant Berdyayeva bet 15 real that they’d get at Noël?”
“Absolutely!” McLaine cheered, landing an Ace’s High on Torson’s palm, “I still can’t believe we got her involved.”
She recognised her own partner’s name amongst the lot, “Even Mills is involved? How are you keeping this quiet around the lieutenants?” With so many people betting on two detectives, she would have thought they’d be found out already, and yet the lieutenant-yefreitor and his partner seemed none the wiser.
“They’re so gone for each other that they’re oblivious to the fact we can all see it. Wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Pryce knew, at this point.”
“How long have these bets been going on for?” She asked, noting that Guillaume Bevy’s name was present, despite the fact he had quit weeks ago.
“We noticed it back in ‘49,” McLaine nodded smugly, “But we only decided to see if we could make bank off it in September.”
“And everyone wanted in on it. Even Bevy, as much as he hates Mullen, decided to keep his bet on, just to make a point about how insufferable they both are. Said that with their work ethic, they’d solve the case of their love and The Unsolvable Case at the same time.”
Next to her, Torson shuffled aside some case files to find his lighter, holding a cigarette to its flame as he considered the board in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at her, grinning with crooked teeth, “You want in? It’s whoever gets closest to the date or time of their fabled confession.”
Judit sighed, running a hand through her hair. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that Chester and Mack had a point. Harry and Jean were a legendary duo when it came to the 41st, with over 50 major cases solved together contributing to Harry’s lieutenancy and later yefreitor titles. As partners in Jamrock specifically, it was impossible to not see things together that would scar them for life, but Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder aside, the two had something unshakable. They argued like a couple who had been married for decades, uncaring if everyone in Jamrock heard, but they also knew each other like no one else – Judit sometimes wondered if they had a shared telepathy, supra-natural abilities, as they had an understanding of each other’s actions on a level she had never seen. Compared to her own relationship with Mills or even her husband, they were on another level.
“Alright,” she said at last, tossing a note and some coins on the table, “10 reál, in exactly a year from now.”
The two officers cheered again, Torson slapping her back gleefully as McLaine scrawled her name on the blackboard in chalk. “Welcome to the 41st, Judit,” he said, as if this was somehow an initiation ritual that she had no idea about, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the rest of us.”
___
Two months later, Judit had to admit that the 41st wasn’t terrible. She kept her head down, did her work with no complaints, and after hours she would smoke and joke around with Chester and Mack - Berdyayeva’s work ethic was apparently similar, and if it made her a well-respected lieutenant, then surely the method would work for her too. Chester and Mack were interesting. They made rude jokes that made her cringe and spent more time sitting around smoking than solving cases, but they did try to welcome her to the team of the 41st, especially after the death of Joseph Mills and her partnership with him.
Lieutenant Harry du Bois continued to be drunk at work - not unusual, but according to Mack he was getting worse - but he left her alone and did his job, so she didn’t want to get involved. Jean was the most reasonable officer across the C and D wings of the 41st. He did his job, kept his partner under control for the most part, and didn’t seem to share the rest of the workforce’s lewd humour – he just always seemed very sad, like a dark cloud followed him everywhere, growing stormy when faced with du Bois.
It all seemed to come to a halt when the Major Crimes Unit - and Trant Heidelstam - went to Martinaise. After promptly telling them to ‘fuck off’ because they were ‘cramping his style,’ he went completely off the grid. Fed up, Jean went straight back to Jamrock. Judit thought it would be like any other case, until Harry radioed in from Martinaise.
He had amnesia. 44 years of his life gone. Along with his drinking problem. And he’d claimed a new partner from the GRIH - Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi from precinct 57.
The bet she had made months ago was the last thing on her mind until Harry’s first day at the precinct after Martinaise. He had been on leave for a week so he could - as Jean put it - get his shit together, and was eager upon his return. While walking to the breakroom to give Harry time to readjust - and stay out of his way - Chester pulled her aside, looking frazzled.
“Jude,” he almost-whispered, looking like he was attempting to be quiet but not succeeding, “What are we going to do about the bet?”
She frowned, not wanting to get involved when she was on-the-clock, “What about it?”
“Torso thinks we should cancel it but,” he shrugged sheepishly, “We don’t have the money to pay everyone back. They’re too busy gossiping about Captain Sober’s, well, sobriety, right now, but eventually his amnesia will lead to trouble for the rest of us, and people will remember about their money and want to call the bet off.”
As if on cue, Jean strode past, patrol coat slung over his arm and blazer fully buttoned, with Harry a few paces behind, occasionally pausing to inspect the walls before eagerly catching up to his partner, horrific snakeskin heels thudding irregularly on the tile floor.
“Look at them!” Judit suppressed a smirk, instead raising an eyebrow at Chester, hoping to diffuse the situation, “They’re still joined at the hip. It was worse in Martinaise.”
“It was worse?” He scratched his cheek, watching as the two walked into the breakroom, mirth in his eyes, “All is not over for the tragic love story of Dick Mullen I guess.”
Judit nodded, but truthfully she wasn’t sure.
But then, Kitsuragi found the betting board.
He was similar to herself and Jean in the way that he didn’t really integrate himself with the 41st’s members while working, preferring to keep his head down, and keep quiet. He spoke with Harry, as the man seemed to never leave his side, and was nice enough to Judit when they worked together, but it seemed most kept their distance.
Which made it surprising when he went into the breakroom during work, while the rest of them were discussing the bet.
It was a Friday, and Jean and Harry were working a case together - Pryce had decided to keep them paired together until Kitsuragi had gotten settled into the precinct, and after that the conversation of who will partner together would come - meaning they were out of the building. Chester and Mack took this as an opportunity to discuss the bet freely in the breakroom, which attracted the rest of the members of the C and D wing, who, because it was the end of the week, were tired of the doom and gloom that was Jamrock’s crime rate.
Sat at the round, coffee stained table in the breakroom, were officers Fischer, Williams, Mollins, Heidelstam (who was doing actual paperwork here, as he had no desk of his own) and McLaine. Junior Officer Tillbrooke was hunched over the counter, on coffee duty as the youngest and lowest-ranked member of the group, an uncertain look on his face as he looked over at the group, while Torson was sitting on the table, cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“--and he doesn’t even bat an eye!” Chester was guffawing, recounting a story to the rest of the table, “You’d think someone like Vic would feel more upset when you call him out as a homo.”
Judit sighed, watching as the teenage Tillbrooke scurried about placing coffee on the table. In a decade, he would end up exactly like them - tobacco stained teeth, decorated in bullet wounds and stinking of alcohol while betting on his colleagues’ futures - and the RCM would be none the better for it. Emile Mollins, his senior partner was none the wiser to it, ignoring his partner to get involved in the conversation, “I thought that my money would’ve gone to waste when Tequila lost it,” he laughed, letting Williams next to him light his cigarette, as his own arm was in a cast, “but Jean got him following him around like a damn dog!”
The sound of laughter and the tang of cigarettes filled the room, the former falling silent as the door swung open, and Lieutenant Kitsuragi walked in. From her position leaning back against the counter, Judit saw him pause and take in the room: officers sat around and smoking, high off their ass from speed or whatever else they could get their hands on, avoiding work and…well, Chester’s handwriting wasn’t particularly legible, but the title and numbers were obvious.
“What is this?” he asked, as all eyes in the room went to him.
As he was the superior officer in the room, twice decorated compared to Torson’s sergeant rank, no one dared to address him, adjusting their uniforms stiffly, except Torson, who crossed his arms defensively, “We’re on break. Just a bit of banter for the end of the week, right, Lieutenant?” His tone was casual, but his posture tense, emphasis on the wrong words - Kitsuragi was known for being a stickler for the rules, a by the book cop - he was expecting a scolding.
“And this…this banter involves betting?”
Someone cleared their throat, filling the awkward silence.
Chester looked at Torson and shrugged, “Surely you’ve seen those two right? Du Bois and Vic?” It was getting to the point where Judit wondered if Chester and Mack had rehearsed their whole ‘hetero-sexual life-partners’ spiel, “They were so close when they became partners that we began to suspect there was something more between them, you know? So we bet on if and when they get together.”
“Makes it easier to be around them!” Fischer jeered loudly.
Next to him, Trant winced, looking up from his paperwork, but saying cheerfully, “Considering the extent of Harry’s retrograde amnesia, it is amazing how attached he still is to his partner. In fact, I don’t think anything like this has been recorded, unless you count the Graadian theory paper written in—”
“See, Heidelstam gets it!” Fischer pointed at Heidelstam, as if to point out how obvious the fact was, thus saving his own hide, “The two are inseparable!”
“So whaddya say, Kim?” Torson taunted, patting the blackboard.
Kim was quiet for a moment, eyebrows knitted together, tapping his foot slowly. Then, pushing his glasses up his nose, he asked, “What if they’re already together? Or, what if they were together before Martinaise, and the Lietenant-yefreitor simply forgot?”
“Fuck.”
It seemed like no one had considered that, and Judit hadn’t either. From what little she knew of Jean, he did like to keep things professional, and knowing the RCM, he and Harry would have faced a lot of shit if it had gotten out that they actually had…something.
The room erupted into chaos, some of the officers slamming down money, rolling up their sleeves and making obscene gestures - Judit took it as a sign to leave. The bet was fun, sure, but all the ruckus over it was too dramatic for her, and she didn’t want to risk anything while half of them were intoxicated.
She never heard what happened after she left, so it was just her luck that she was in early on Monday.
Kitsuragi was sat at his desk when she arrived, Chester and Mack were actually working, for once, though Torson was massaging his temples and McLaine had bags under his eyes - hangover - and Heidelstam was in again, listening to sounds from a tape recorder clutched in his hand.
She had just sat down at her desk, relishing the calm and the quiet with a coffee in one hand and a case file in the other, when Harry and Jean came in, carrying boxes. They looked fatigued, but due to hard work, not substance abuse. Jean was, as usual, in full uniform, sans blazer, sleeves rolled up to reveal a watch and pockmarked skin, while Harry was a display of colour as usual, with a blue and orange blazer hanging off one shoulder and sunglasses askew atop his head.
Trant seemed excited, setting the tape recorder down gently before rushing over, picking up one of the boxes Harry was carrying, stumbling with effort and setting it down on the floor, “Taking these records into account, I assume your undercover mission was a success?”
“A mega success, Trant,” Harry exclaimed, setting the box on his desk, Jean following suit with a sigh, “They really thought we were business partners! The story of Raphael Costeau lives on - as a businessman.”
“In a business partnership,” Jean added, his words falling on deaf ears as the lieutenant sped over to the coffee maker, shooting finger-guns at Kitsuragi as he passed.
Kneeling on the floor, Trant nodded, but he seemed utterly distracted by the boxes as he rambled, pulling out folders and flipping through them with enthusiasm, “I didn’t think it would be that much of a problem, as high value as they are – everyone in the precinct is already betting on your relationship, so for you to go undercover as partners, business or not, didn’t seem too farfetched.”
All heads turned to the oblivious Trant. Jean’s hand paused in the air, caught in the motion of lighting his cigarette, his face a scowl, “What?”
“Damnit, Trant!”
Chester groaned into his hands and Torson’s head hit the wall, as Trant looked up, record in his hands, “I was under the impression that you both knew.”
“No,” Jean lit his cigarette, taking a drag and folding his arms, “we didn’t.”
“Betting? On me and Jean?” Du Bois, two mugs of coffee in hand, walked back over, being careful to walk around the records that Trant had left on the floor, “Is this about the ‘life-partners’ thing?” He passed a mug to Jean’s awaiting hand, though his eyes were on Heidelstam.
“Harry, you piece of shit,” Jean put his empty hand to his forehead, looking to the ceiling as if in prayer, “You’re telling me you knew about this shit and didn’t tell me?”
Sometimes, Judit wondered how they all became cops, considering how oblivious they were. Torsion and McLaine made their way over to Harry’s desk, leaning against it as they said, “Before you give us shit, let us say we only did this because you guys are constantly acting like you’re married and it was slowly killing us.”
“Oh, so it's our fault?” Jean muttered, scoffing.
“But, this means we can finally ask,” Chester slung an arm around his partner’s shoulders, leaning forward as if whispering, “Were you two ever…?”
Judit cringed as the question hung awkwardly, Jean’s scowl dark as all the attention in the room went to him. Kitsuragi cocked an eyebrow, looking up from his desk with scrutiny. Even Harry looked on curiously, eyes wide as thoughts obviously raced through his head - months since Martinaise, and apparently none of his memory had returned, not for lack of trying. The only person to know all about it was Jean, who looked as if he would prefer the ground to open up and drag him to hell than be there.
He sighed, but his silence seemed to tell Chester and Mack everything. Chester gasped, slapping Mack’s chest with a loud thump, “Oh my god, they did!”
“So, who gets the money?”
Seemingly satisfied, heads bowed close together, the two walked to the breakroom, no doubt to discuss the state of their bets. Trant seemed unphased, head buried in a record again, while Kitsuragi looked contemplative, blinking then looking away when they made eye contact.
For Judit, nothing had changed – of course. What her superiors did in their private life had nothing to do with her, just like hers had nothing to do with them, but…it did explain some things. Jean’s indecision about Harry in Martinaise, the amount of time they spent together, how they seemed to know everything about each other.
“Jean?”
At the lieutenant’s desk, Jean, arms crossed and staring at the falling ashes of his cigarette, looked like he had seen a ghost. Harry was clutching his chest as if his heart was going to give out, looking as pale as the ghost Jean had seen. They said something quietly to each other and walked away together.
Judit exhaled, sipping her cold coffee, tapping her foot under her desk as she turned back to her work - she had work to do.