literature

The Performer- II

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Chapter II


Jazz was seated in a standard gray room in front of the table with his hands still cuffed behind his back. He looked around the room. He spotted the security camera in the corner and smiled, clicking his denta flirtatiously. On the wall was a two-way mirror. He looked at it into his reflection and smiled, hoping Prowl was on the other side.

Prowl was there, but he did not smile back. He had no feelings for Jazz beyond lust. Next to him was the green and yellow Sheriff Surge, both of them looking at the dancer in the room. Surge crossed his arms and let out a cycle of air.

“You’re sure it’s him?”

“Want me to go in there and ask?”

“You’re a good officer, Prowl. You’ve never failed me before.”

“Then this is our mech.”

Surge rubbed his helm. “But an exotic dancer? Our suspect is a dancer?!”

“Evidently so.”

The sheriff sighed. “I’m going in there first. After what you told me about what happened at Blue Ring, you’re going to distract him from giving information.”

Prowl blushed but kept his expressionless appearance. Surge opened the door to the interrogation room and locked it shut behind him. Jazz looked at him and frowned, disappointed that it was not who he was expecting. Surge moved to the other end of the table and sat down, studying Jazz for a few seconds before speaking.

“What’s your name, son?”

“First off, I ain’t anybody’s ‘son’. Second, who’s asking?”

“My name is Sheriff Surge—”

“Heh. Try saying that five times fast.”

“—and that attitude’s not going to get you anywhere.”

Jazz leaned back comfortably. “I’m not scared off you, Sheriff. I didn’t do anything.”

“Last month a mech was killed, his name was Jumpspring. He was working undercover for the Department of Global Security.”

“My condolences.”

“Stop interrupting me.” He pulled forth a data pad. “I have here nine names and a un-sub of who might have killed him. The DGS wanted me to find out who the un-sub was and take him in for questioning. The un-sub was photographed with another suspect named Spitfire walking out of Blue Ring.” He moved his fingers across the data pad to pull up the photo file and slid it across the desk to Jazz. Jazz leaned forward for a better look and bit his lower lip. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a very good picture. Look at it; it makes me look fat.”

“Spitfire disappeared about two days ago, completely blown off the Grid.”

“So you think I know where he is?”

“Do you?”

“He said he was on the run, but that’s about it.”

Surge leaned back in his chair. “So you didn’t kill Jumpspring?”

“I’ve never killed a single mech in my life!”

“It was just a question, Jazz. What’s your relationship with Spitfire?”

“He’s a customer, okay? I get a variety of them. Artists, scientists, data clerks, medics, criminals, even cops.”

“Business then?”

“Purely business.”

“Did he say anything else to you?”

“Will it help me out of these cuffs?”

“It depends.”

“Then me giving information to you depends on your customer service around here, and frankly it sucks.”

Surge growled and stood up. “You’re gonna be here a while, son.” He walked by, grabbing his data pad off of the table. Jazz smirked.

Prowl looked at the sheriff and stiffened. He had seen Surge angry before and it was never pretty. Once he had thrown a mech across the room. It did not kill him, but he had to stay in the hospital for a few months.

“Sir?”

“You have my permission. Knock him around for me while I take a pill for this headache...” Surge handed him the data pad.

Prowl walked into the room. Jazz did not look at him, thinking it was another officer he could mess with. Once he saw the familiar black and white painting, his engine purred.

“You’re back, lover,” he said. “I thought you’d left me to that mean Mr. Surge.” He fidgeted in the chair. “You mind getting these cuffs off of me? They itch a little.”

“If I un-cuff you then you won’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Jazz smirked. “I’ll be good. Promise.”

“The answer’s still no.”

Jazz clicked his tongue as Prowl walked over to the other side of the table, reading the files of the data pad, pretending not to be interested in his suspect. He sat down and put the data pad on the table, staring at Jazz and studying him. Usually people were scared, whether they were innocent or guilty. Jazz sat here with a triumphant grin on his face. His breathing was cycled slow and evenly, not even forced. He was completely comfortable.

“Have you been here before?” Prowl asked him.

“I’ve been cuffed with just me and another in a room before. The lighting was better, though.” He smiled.

Prowl was amused but he would not show it. “How’d you get involved with Blue Ring?” Jazz’s smiled dropped, and he knew he was not going to get an answer. “People who work at clubs usually have failed their prior occupation. You’re a ground vehicle, so judging by your flexibility you’ve been trained to move in near impossible ways. Were you a spy before? Or maybe you were from the circus. I’ve only known spies and acrobatic carnies to be that flexible.” The corner of Jazz’s mouth curled into a snarl. Prowl lowered his voice. “Or maybe you’re an illegal spark.”

“Shut up.”

“You were born and raised to dance in front of people, weren’t you? They trained you to be a prostitute since you were a sparkling.”

“I said shut up!”

Prowl closed his mouth with a half-smile on his face. Jazz’s optics narrowed behind the visor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you mad. I’m just learning about you.”

“What the slag for? I didn’t do anything.”

“No, but I’d like to know my partners before I work with them.”

Jazz’s visor flicked and his snarl went away. “Wait, what?”

“Your customers talk to you. How else would you know what they do for a living? They’ll talk to you because they trust you, they’ll give their secrets to you and you can just sit there listening as they pour their lives out to you.” He grabbed the data pad and walked over next to him. “Look, we’ve got nine suspects. Nine names and faces. They won’t be found anywhere the police are going to be. They’ll be found at places like your home, at back alley clubs.”

“So you’re offering me a job?

“A side job. You’ll even get a temporary badge.”

“Does the sheriff know about this?”

“Of course he does.”

Behind the glass, Surge’s anger rose up. What was Prowl up to? Giving some hooker a badge? Next he might even give him a certified gun.

“There’s a catch though, huh?” Jazz groaned.

“There’s always a catch. At some point during this assignment you might be faced in a situation like this, but next time it won’t be the police holding you. You’ll have to figure your way out of this room and to the front of the building without anyone catching or noticing you.”

“Well, you said I had the skills of a spy.”

“Now live up to it. I’ll be waiting outside.”

“What if it takes me all night?”

“I’ll drink some mid-grade to wake myself up. Do we have a deal?”

Jazz sighed and looked away in thought. Here he was in cuffs, shackled to the chair, and the police officer he seduced was giving him a job as a spy.

“Do I get paid?”

“Once the mission’s done.”

He turned his head, slightly tilting it to examine Prowl. The officer stared back, trying to determine Jazz’s decision before he said it. It was hard to figure out behind the visor.

The white mech muttered in a whisper, so soft that Surge could barely hear him through the microphone. “How do you know I won’t turn on you?”

“Because, foolishly, and like every one of your customers, I trust you.”

Jazz smiled, showing off his denta. “You’ve got yourself a deal, officer.”

“Good.”

“One more thing, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t I get a good night kiss?”

Prowl did not blink. “If you’re caught then we’re going to charge you for resisting arrest. Good luck, Jazz.” He walked towards the door.

“Hey, wait! Aren’t you gonna let me out of these cuffs?!” The door slid shut and locked. He huffed. “Apparently not.”

Surge grabbed Prowl by the shoulders and pinned him against the wall, knocking out the air from him.

“What in the Pit do you think you’re doing?!” he shouted.

“I’m hiring Jazz to be an undercover cop.”

“Without my permission!”

“I’ll take full responsibility of him! He can help us, sir. We’ve got nine people under suspicion of a murder. Nine! I’m hiring him as my partner. He’s more qualified than any other officer in this building, and you know it. But I can’t do it alone.”

Surge’s yellow optics turned white in anger. Prowl held his breath, expecting to be thrown across the hall like the last mech who crossed him. But slowly the sheriff let go of him and backed away. He raised a finger at him.

“Once. Just this once, Prowl. I trust you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Surge looked through the two-way mirror. Jazz was sitting there, staring at the wall, slumped down in his seat. He was planning his escape, no less, or was just going to sit there until someone came and got him out.

“You’re really going to spend the night outside the building?” he asked incredulously.

“No. My shift’s over. I’ll tell Ricochet to keep an optic out while he’s sitting out there. I’m going home and recharging. Call me as soon as he finds his way out.”

Surge chuckled. “See you tomorrow, Prowl.”

“Sheriff.”
This is a mech/mech story so kindly shoo if you're a raging homophobe. Although there;s really nothing in this chapter, just some flirting. :heart:

JAZZ/PROWL FTW

Chapter I: [link]

Ever wish you could do multiple things all at once simultaneously? I do. I wish I could draw, type stories, read a book, and watch Doctor Who all at once without losing concentration on ANY of them! I know that if I tried my head would blow. I think I'll stick to stories for a bit. I haven't done those in a while. :I
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