[Bob the hobo] A Celestial Wars Spin-Off Part 1256

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTY-SIX

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Wednesday

The second Dobson left, Hayden was up and poking around the room. Specifically, the door opposite the main one was the most interesting draw. Going through it took him to a smaller room with the weirdest contrast Hayden had ever seen: shelves of pastel, glittered clothes and plastic ponies right alongside punching bags and hand wraps.

He wandered further in, curiosity getting the better of him, and didn’t hear Dobson return until the man cleared his throat behind him.

He whirled around to find Dobson’s arms were folded across his barrel chest. Honestly, it would have been intimidating as hell—if Lurch outside hadn’t been built like an armoured truck on legs.

Hayden hadn’t quite been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but he’d certainly pushed the envelope. “I was curious about what type of fighting you did in here,” he fumbled, hoping the fellow detective might understand his nosiness.

“Mostly MMA. I’ve done a lot of local competitions and participated at state level when they were held here.”

“How did you do against the state?”

“I kicked ass and took names,” Dobson said with a shrug of indifference that utterly bewildered Hayden. Especially when he added, “They wanted me to go to other competitions to get a formal ranking, but other things kept me here.”

There was a hint of regret in his tone, implying he hadn’t been happy with those things. “Real life and all that,” Hayden said, watching Dobson carefully.

“Something like that, yeah. I blew out my right knee playing high school football, and I used MMA fighting and parkour to get my fitness back.” His right shoulder hitched once more. “Over time, I got pretty good at it.”

“I don’t see someone like you jumping over a million things in under half a second.”

“Books and covers, Wallace. I recently scaled a two-story building without a ladder to head off a victim who was in the middle of a complete meltdown and talking about suicide.”

Okay, that’s impressive. “Did you save them?”

Dobson’s smile turned slightly wistful. “Mostly. He’s alive and willing to turn state’s evidence, but now that the Feds have taken over that case, it’s out of my hands.” Something else, something more thoughtful, then crossed his face as he added, “His future is now up to him.”

“Which case was that?” He didn’t expect to recognise it, but if he could get an understanding of the style of case involved, he could build a sense of camaraderie between them.

Dobson blinked and shook his head. “Sorry. We all got slammed with NDAs before the Feds left the building. They sweetened my deal by making me a detective, so there’s that, I suppose.” For the first time since Hayden met Dobson, the younger man’s shoulders slumped in guilt.

It seriously pissed him off. “Fuck that noise,” he snapped, bristling at the disparagement. When Dobson reared in shock, he stepped forward, drilling a finger into the younger man’s chest. “You’ve got more brains than most of the fuckheads I’ve had to work with over the years combined. And even if they did sweeten the deal with the promotion, it’s yours, and your intellect says you earned it. They might’ve given you the badge, but they didn’t hand you the task force. For Chrissake, you put a chunk of my case together based on what you overheard in a single interview.” He held up one finger to emphasise the number. “One. So enough of that self-doubt crap — it’s a million miles beneath you. Man, I oughta kick your ass for even going there.”

“You could try.”

“You’re right,” Hayden said, thumbing over his shoulder to the door. “I’ll go and get that fifty-foot Colossus out there to do it for me.”

Dobson’s eyes flicked to the door, and then he snickered. “Please don’t. He really would kick my ass.”

“Good.” Hayden killed himself not to think of them in romantic terms, because so long as he didn’t, he could treat Dobson as an equal and not something to be disgusted by. He gestured instead at the room behind him. “None of that stuff’s out here, so this kid only visits?”

Dobson’s dry smirk as he turned and headed back for the sofas told Hayden the subject was not open for discussion. However, as he followed the younger detective and retook his seat, Dobson said, “It’s for my niece. Her father is a firefighter and sometimes gets called out on the job with no warning. He’s a single dad, and we’re the closest to his station, so we help where we can.”

“Your family’s got a hero complex, huh?”

For some reason, Dobson scoffed. “You’re not the first to say that today, but I still don’t see it. My eldest brother is a politician, so that’s gotta be at least fifty negative points against the score right there.”

Hayden chuckled at the derogatory sneer. “Still trying to save the world, or at least his little corner of it.”

“He likes to think so.” Dobson huffed out a breath, tapped a few buttons on his phone, and set it on the floor between them, screen-up — making their conversation officially on the record.

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted again.

“Okay, my name is Detective Lucas Dobson with the MCS. The murder investigation with a victim who is unknown to me has been brought to my attention, as the suspect in this decades-old murder is the mother of my roommate’s new girlfriend. I’ve offered my full assistance, including being a fresh set of eyes to the case and Detective…”

“Hayden Wallace,” Hayden supplied.

“…has accepted my contribution.” Both detectives nodded at each other, as that got the formalities out of the way. “Okay, hit me with what you’ve got.”

Without going into the murder itself, Hayden spelled out where he and Carson were coming from in terms of connecting Tucker Portsmith to the knowledge of the earlier murder, and the two got to work.

* * *

“Dude, it’s fine,” Sam said with a grin, as Boyd glared holes at Lucas’ old bedroom door. “You saw him come out before, and he gave you the thumbs-up. They’re in there talking shop.”

Boyd scowled over his shoulder at the twit who was way too happy now that his significant other was back in his arms. Goddamn hypocrite. “Lucas was dog-tired when he got home over an hour ago,” he argued. “I don’t want that guy cornering him while he’s half-asleep.”

“I can go back in there if you want,” Quent said with a casual shrug. “I’m not doing anything else at the moment.”

“That’s because you’re supposed to be at the clinic until midnight,” Rubin countered.

Quent made a lacklustre noise of indifference while keeping his attention on Boyd. “Up to you, big guy,” he said, picking up the nickname the others used. It was wholly laughable, given that the true gryps could become any mythical creature in an instant if they wanted to, including ones bigger than the sun. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what they’re talking about, but I can look out for Lucas for you for a bit.”

“No,” Robbie cut in, before Boyd could answer, pointing across the table with his dessert spoon as if it were a weapon. “You shouldn’t have gone in there in the first place.” He then leaned to his right and smacked Sam in the bicep with the back of the spoon before pointing it at him. “And you shouldn’t have told him to.”

Sam’s yelp of surprise was amusing. “So, hang on. You tell him off for going in there, and I’m the one who gets hit for telling him to? How’s that fair?”

“Because the person at the top takes the hit for everyone under them.”

“Not in my experience,” Boyd muttered under his breath. Too many times, he’d heard stories and witnessed Marines being slammed for following orders while their commanding officers, who issued those orders, skated free.

Only Rubin, seated closest, gave any sign he’d heard, and that was to nod ever so slightly in agreement.

“So, if I tell him to go in there and eat that guy, and he does, that makes it more my fault than his, too?” Sam was laughing now, instinctively rolling his shoulder to protect Geraldine from the next attack, knowing it would be harder … not that she was in any danger.

The metal spoon hit with a slap loud enough to make most people curse and bruise. On Sam, it raised a red welt that disappeared seconds later, like it had never been there. Sam merely rolled his head and leaned into Robbie’s space, batting his eyelashes like the bruise-inducing wallop had been a love tap.

It was a ridiculous scene, with Geraldine perched on Sam’s lap and holding on while those two horsed around, but it broke the tension.

Robbie laughed and pushed Sam back out of his space. “Get off me, pick-head.”

“Next week can’t come soon enough, huh?” Brock asked, and Charlie snorted.

“Robbie says the first thing he’s going to do is go out into the middle of the desert somewhere and swear for an hour straight,” she said, and Robbie leaned to his left to kiss her cheek.

Boyd didn’t want the true gryps to come unstuck with Robbie, but likewise, he didn’t like the idea of any of them going to jail for something they might say by accident. “Would you mind going, Quent?” he asked anyway.

“Boyd!” Robbie shouted, as the named true gryps snapped out a casual two-fingered, brow salute and vanished for the second time in five minutes.

“What? Lucas is tired, and he knows stuff he can’t share with the other detective. He might not think to invoke the veil when he should, and later down the line, that could get him into trouble with his boss and the rest of your family. Having Quent in there to invoke it for him before any of that happens is the smart play here.”

“You won’t get any argument from me,” Sam agreed, snuggling his girlfriend.

“Shocker,” Robbie griped, rolling his eyes in Sam’s direction.

It was still weird as hell to call those two cousins after years of simply being roommates, though now that he knew, Boyd was certain he could see more similarities between them than just the telltale obsidian eyes that ran throughout the family.

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!