[Ryan/Open] A Day At The Races.

[John Sterling]

Noise. Crowds. People. Mess. A typical day at the races, really.

Unfortunately John wasn’t there to enjoy the sights. Wherever there were large crowds of people there was bound to be trouble, so John and a few other members of the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department had been pulled out of their usual routes to make sure Race Day went smoothly. There hadn’t been much to note as of yet, mostly because if people were going to be doing something illegal they weren’t going to be doing it with someone in uniform around. Or, at least, not in front of their faces anyway.

The afternoon was wearing on and the sun was starting to get hot. John shifted uncomfortably on his horse to try and ease some of the growing stiffness in his back. They’d been waiting in the same assigned location for what felt like hours and there were only so many ways to sit on horseback. Nix had been behaving well so far, but John could tell the horse was staring to get stressed by the way he was continually shifting his feet and tossing his head. The crowd pressing in on all sides and the loud chatter didn’t help either.

Twenty minutes until he was off duty. Not that he had anywhere to go, John didn’t have much of a life outside work, but the freedom would be nice.

Something caught his eye. A group of people had assembled under a small shelter and by the looks of it things were getting heated. Voices were being raised and someone was waving around what looked suspiciously like a bookkeeping ledger. Illegal gambling. Naturally. It was Gods truth that sports were only fun if you stood to lose money on them. Someone must have lost a right bit of dough to start flustering around and giving everyone away so carelessly.

Wait a second. John had just spotted something, or rather someone, in the mess of people. Red hair, impossibly expensive pinstripe suit, and some blonde flapper with a plunging neckline latched onto the man’s arm. Of course. John made a noise that sounded like a stifled groan. Wasn’t there something said about redheads being bad luck? John wasn’t a superstitious man but Ryan McArthur was coming damn close to convincing him otherwise.

He glanced to the left where the nearest fellow officer was. The other man had caught sight of the group as well. There were no arrests that could be made because there was no definitive proof of what was going on, but it was their duty to check. The policeman had started making a move towards them but John held up a hand to stop him and signalled that he would take care of it. Ryan didn’t need to get into (any more) trouble.

As he squeezed Nix’s sides with his calves, the horse obediently began walking over. Sure enough, when the people saw him coming they quickly began to disperse themselves into the crowd, some looking worried, others sulky, and Ryan’s female companion vanished along with them.

“Hey, Ryan?” John called as he pulled the horse up nearby. Yep, definitely him. John was looking rather unimpressed. “Come ‘ere ya idjut, before somebody thinks yer up ter sump’n.”

[Ryan McArthur]

Noise. Crowds. Mess. It was Ryan’s kind of day at the races.

He had a girl on one side of him and money on the other. The thrum of the crowd and the thunder of the horses and their hooves as they galloped past furthered the man’s excitement. He felt like a child coming here for the first time, he’d always liked the races. Now he had it on good authority that he would be liking it even more after the next race. He’d already organised the race to be fixed, slipped a little sleeping agent into the favourite’s water to counteract whatever his trainers were giving him, naturally. The dose Ryan had slipped in would be enough to make the horse too sluggish to win but not so much that he couldn’t finish. He was a genius.

Ryan flirted some more with the blonde at his side, quite obviously eyeing her plunging neck line all the way down to where one side of the dress met the other. She would look much better without it later. Towing her along behind him he set about gathering people as discreetly as he could for a little bet. Quickly they flocked around him and all of them, thinking he was a bookie, put money on the favourite horse.

The race was run and the result was exactly what he had expected. “Bad luck fellas,” Ryan cooed, counting out how much money he’d collected. One man was less than happy about the amount he’d lost to the red-head in front of him. Wildly he began to shout and wave his ticket around. Was he trying to get them all busted? It didn’t take long before some bloody policeman on a horse dispersed Ryan’s little crowd including the girl. He glared up at the cop after quickly stuffing his winnings away but then smirked when he saw it was none other than John Sterling.

“Johhny you broke up my fun and scared off my dame,” he pouted, reaching up a hand to scratch Nix’s cheek. If he didn’t like the man up there on the horse he would have been more pissed than he was but he’d scraped together a fair amount of cash, the only real loss was the girl. “Why would anyone think a person as respectable as me were up to somethin’? I’m as innocent as the day I were born,” Ryan laughed at John. He reached into his pocket and began to re-count his takings. “Get off of that horse so we can talk face to face ya rube,” he jeered, “what have you been doin’ all day, arresting hoodlums like me’self?”

[John Sterling]

It was a testament to how long they’d known each other that Ryan could get away with using the word rube as a term of endearment. John shook his head as though disappointed, but he felt the corner of his mouth creep up all the same. After gripping the reins in one hand he slid quietly off the back of the horse and gave Nix a swift pat on the neck before making an attempt to at least look like he was serious as he addressed his friend.

“Yeah, innocent as a fox ‘n a henhouse, maybe,” John replied, trying not to laugh. If he showed he was actually pleased to see him, or worse, that he was amused by Ryan’s not-even-an-excuse it would sort of undermine the ‘I’m not very impressed with you’ authority figure angle he was trying to give off. He knew it was a lost cause anyway. Ryan had always been able to read him like an open book no matter how craftily he tried to hide what was he was thinking.

“I h’ain’t been doin’ nothin’ ‘cept ‘watchin ya almost get inter trouble again,” John argued, then nodded in the direction of the other officer who was still eyeing the spot distrustfully. “‘Sides, it ain’t me ya gotta worry about, it’s the rest o’ the bulls. Ya done had a close call this time, mick,” John added, dropping his own appropriate slur. He felt justified in possibly over-emphasising that he had actually done Ryan a favour instead of just chased off all his friends. Yeah, ‘friends’. John didn’t want to believe Ryan had been up to anything but the fact he was counting a suspicious amount of money right in front of his face really wasn’t helping. Looked like he was stuck covering up for the man... again.

“I’m fixin’ ta get me a drink or sump’n ta eat, ‘n seein’ as ya owe me yer freedom now n’all...” Subtle? No. Did it get the point across? Definitely. He got off in fifteen minutes anyway, who was going to notice? Nix could do with a drink (of water) as well; the poor horse had been doing nothing but standing around stiffly in the blazing sun all day. “Come on, we’ll go gitcha another girl.”

[Ryan McArthur]

Ryan chuckled some more at the man in front of him, the one he’d practically been brother with in his younger years. If it had been any other Southerner he was pretty sure he would have had his jaw broken for calling him a rube, wouldn’t have been the first time, nor would it have been the last. The red-head smirked at the thought then began to look around for any signs of the girl. He’d been so looking forward to getting her alone too. Again the man pouted at his friend.

“I gots the color hair to match a fox,” he chuckled again. He read that the other man was struggling not to smile which was a good sign. It meant Johnny was actually happy to see him and not here to arrest him, unless he’d suddenly gotten good at feigning emotion. No that wouldn’t be it; there was no one Ryan couldn’t read, at least that’s what the cocky bastard thought. Absently he ran his fingers through the paper in his hands, four hundred dollars he’d scraped together from one race, not bad at all.

“Me? In trouble? Never. There’s more trouble fer the boys in blue such as yerself to get in to than fer honest to God citizens like me’self,” Ryan chided cheerily, on the verge of good humoured sarcasm. He followed John’s gaze to another policeman watching the two of them from a distant. The red-head gave the serious looking man a broad smile. “Surly looking fella ain’t he?” he chuckled giving the older officer one last smile. He didn’t have to be worried about the other police, not when he had a man like John on his side, him and the Still Water Gang behind him helped.

At the thought of a drink Ryan perked up a little more, he could really use one and maybe there would be more girls where the drink came from. Looked like he was going to Doyle’s tonight. “Now now officer you must be well aware that alcohol is an illegal substance,” Ryan chastised with mock seriousness for a moment before a laugh once again brightened his features. He snorted as John told him he owed the man his freedom. “Fine, ya hayseed, I’m starving anyway and I got cash to burn,” he gave his friend a slap on the back while gesturing to the vast sum of money in his pocket.

“When are ya off and, depending on what kinda drink ya want, where do ya wanna go?” Ryan made no secret to John of the fact that he knew where to get alcohol, he still trusted the man even if he was a bull. He practically smiled from ear to ear when John told him they’d get another girl, the loss of the first one was all but forgotten now. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he said cheerily.