Main Characters: Cody Rhodes, Randy Orton, Mike Mizanin, Chris Jericho, Hunter Hurst Helmsly
Other Characters: Justin Gabriel, John Cena, Evan Bourne, and all members of Nexxus
Pairing: Candy (Cody Rhodes/Randy Orton)
Summary: Stripper!Cody is a stripper! Cop!Randy is a cop investigating a strip club owner by the name of Mike Mizanin, who is a notorious drug dealer slash extortionist with known ties to the "mob". While on one of his surprise visits to a club called the T-strip, looking for Mizanin, Randy falls in lust love with a dashing, dark haired stripper he can't get enough of! Until, their relationship takes a dangerous turn when Randy suffers a betrayal that may cost him everything. Does Randy get his man and close the case? Or does he get lost in the bright flashy world of strip clubs, drugs, money and beautiful strippers named Cody?
Detective Randy Orton stuffed his cold hands into his black leather coats side pockets, shaking clean shaven his head in shame as he stared down at a body on the strip club's dance floor that he and his partner had been dispatched to investigate and wasn't surprised to see the victims throat had been cut from ear to ear. This was typically how he found Mizanin's victims.
The victim was a man this time- Caucasian but with evenly tanned skin. Young, probably in his early twenties and a student at the college. Or so he assumed by the once light gray now blood soaked university sweatshirt that covered the victims torso.
"Mr. Steven Kelner, age 21, lives off of Sunset Blvd and goes to LVU." His partner read aloud the victims college ID and confirmed his assumption. Hunter, his partner, as always looked frustrated but focused. And tonight his shoulder length blond hair was pulled into an unusual sloppy ponytail and tucked beneath a black leather jacket that was left unzipped down the front, hanging open freely and revealing his civilian clothing of a white undershirt and black slacks. Obviously he'd been pulled away from something important but he didn't complain about it, he never did.
And they weren't alone. The coroner and a crime scene photographer slash blood splatter analyst were there for the call too, both blond's as well and also kept their long hair pulled back, only theirs were much neater and they had the advantage of being in their uniforms.
Adam, the coroner was in a dark blue cover suit that covered him from neck to toe and the photographer, Jason, was wearing something similar only his was black and had CSU printed in white across the front and back.
They weren't brothers but, the three looked an awful lot alike except Hunter had about a hundred pounds of pure muscle on both of them. And they made a good team, like, one of the best Randy thought. But Hunter never really got along with them, fuck he was down right rude to Adam and Jason most of the time. In fact Randy had noticed his partner treated them like shit just about every chance he got. As for why he didn't exactly know but he suspected it was because, Adam and Jason, were lovers.
And Hunter hated fags.
It was just after sun down that they'd all received the call, another body found, another strip club they'd have to shut down for a night to gather evidence. Another night off ruined for Randy and now the unfortunate victim on the floor. Not that he'd been busy or had to leave something or someone important to answer the call. Poor guy, he'd been single for months and didn't have so much as a sliver of a social life outside of work. But, even if he did he still would have answered the call. Of course he would, this was his job and he loved it.
But hell he was fucking tired. Tired of the long hours, tired of seeing the same faces come through the precinct, the same fucking faces he'd locked up on a few months before! And he couldn't remember that last time he got to spend a whole day away from the precinct, the crimes scenes, the blood... The evil presence that plagued the city to the point of sin...
Sin city, they call it. And it sure as fuck was.
The newest murder victim was just one on a list of many he'd seen over the course of the month and he had a gut feeling that it was only going to get worse as the economy continued to struggle to recover. More and more people flocked to Vegas in hopes of capturing "the big win" that could solve all their money woes and set the scene for their fantasies and dreams of "happily ever after". Which, Randy would admit, was good for tourism and such, the business revenues were really up this year...
Only thing was, most people lost big or wound up dead when they borrowed from the wrong people and couldn't repay their debt. And that's where he and his colleagues came in. To pick up the pieces and...the bodies...
As usual police radios were buzzing and cackling in his ears from the uniformed officers who'd arrived on scene first, giving him a headache and irritating the fuck out of him. They were only still there waiting aside to give their reports over for questioning before they left and didn't have the common sense to turn their fucking radios down! He rolled his eyes. Idiots. They were inside an empty club-the sound fucking echoed like mad! Fucking idiots.
He gave them each a glare, "Turn that shit down." And they did. He didn't want to waste the time nagging on them but Mr. Kelner deserved his full undivided attention and the last thing he wanted after the long day he'd already had was a set of police radios buzzing in his fucking ears.
A sigh escaped him. That wasn't just it though. He really hated this part of the job and was putting it off for as long as he could. The part where he had to look at a body and try to figure out who, what, when...Some nights it kept him up, too sickened from what he'd seen to sleep. And other nights when it didn't the images of the victims often invaded his dreams and turned them into horribly vivid nightmares he couldn't find sleep again after. He'd tried everything to make them stop but nothing worked. Not even seeing a shrink as he'd done and still continued to do. When he had the time that was. Which was never.
He wanted to cringe as he took a step towards the victim. Already he knew the image of the unfortunate Mr. Kelner would be burned into his brain forever, just like all of the others victim's he'd seen and it took him a minute to work up the courage to add him to his nightmares. Sometimes, he just really didn't want to fucking do this.
With another sigh he drew a white latex glove from each pocket he'd shoved his cold hands into, his eyes scanning the victim again as he pulled them on and moved in to take a closer, joining his partner and the coroner beside the body just outside the puddle of blood that looked black against the even darker black tile dance floor. It was a gruesome sight that made his gut tighten uncomfortably with anxiety. He knew wouldn't it be the last, not with how hectic the city of Las Vegas was, the city of greed, the city of sin, the city that literally never fucking slept.
And working as a detective for the Las Vegas police department, was as everyone thought it was, fucking crazy. It was all drugs, prostitution, murder, crime rings and close knit "families" otherwise known as "the mob" who fought daily with the police to take control of the city. And Randy had seen it all in his short year there and although it was indeed a huge change from the small town he'd grown up in, that never slowed him down.
Randy loved the action, the excitement and the rush of adrenaline that came with taking down a perp too much to let something like moving out of his comfort zone of home stop him from trying to pursue his dreams. Being a cop was what he was born to do. It was in his blood and he was damn good at it. Despite the nightmares.
Eight years out of the academy Randy was well on his way to accomplishing his life long dream of following in his fathers foot steps and becoming a lead detective and then one day, captain. Although sadly his father had never made it that far because he'd been shot and killed before he could. An undercover drug operation gone wrong and Randy as well as his mother and two brothers had been left without his father and his best friend since he was sixteen.
It was a devastating loss, one that probably should have made him change his mind about becoming a cop. But it hadn't, it only fueled his desire more. His father had been his hero, his mentor, and the only person he'd ever felt safe to confide in. And there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't miss him. But, oddly enough and to the rest of his family's dismay it was on the day he'd learned that he'd died that Randy had made a vow to make sure his killer and all other monsters of the like would be brought to justice. And he'd made the vow to follow in his father's footsteps and make him proud. And he'd never looked back.
Now he was 26, only a year into his employment for the Las Vegas police department and working one of the biggest cases his new colleagues had tried over a year to close. But a little more of a back story would be that Randy had the advantage of coming from a small town in desperate need of officers where he was able to advance rather quickly to detective and after a few years transferred to Las Vegas the first chance he got.
He started out in narcotics, hated it, and later switched over to homicide where he could finally get his hands on the case everyone was talking about, the case that could sky rocket a persons career if they closed it. The Mizanin case, and he knew the file by heart; Mike Mizanin, age 32, a local drug dealer slash extortionist who owned several gay strip clubs along the strip and was believed to have ties to the "mob" or the "family" as they were called.
Mizanin, and his personal hit-man Chris Jericho, were suspected of either murdering or arranging the murder of over forty men and women. All of them executed when they refused to or couldn't pay their "protection" fees or debts. The police just couldn't prove it. With no witnesses ever willing to come forward and a serious lack of evidence they were constantly faced with Mazinan always wiggled his way out of trouble and with the most arrogant cocky smile that Randy has grown to hate, insisted that he was innocent.
And of course, something else they couldn't prove that infuriated Randy to no end was that Mizanin's strip clubs didn't have the best of reputations either. Not only were they where the police suspected Mizanin did his drug business but prostitution was said to go on behind closed doors as well. Rumor was that anyone with the right amount of cash could buy more than just a lap dance or a private show. They could buy the affections of a complete fucking stranger.
That alone made Randy sick. At first getting the case was about his career and the victory that closing it would bring, and the promotion he'd been after for months but had been denied due to his lack of field time. But now a determined Randy found that he didn't care about promotions or case closure rates, he just wanted to stop Mizanin, he wanted to bring Mizanin in because he was evil! He was a monster, or as Randy believed, he was honest to god the devil in disguise sent to destroy the city of Las Vegas.
Randy swore, not on his watch, not while he wore a badge and his two treasured high power browning's holstered on his chest. He'd bring Mizanin down, he vowed that too, even if it meant he'd find his own death in the process.
Mizanin wouldn't be a free man forever, he'd personally see to it. They would catch him eventually and when they did the day would be fucking glorious.
He always hoped that he got a few good hits in on him before he was hauled off to prison, or at least one good shot that Mizanin would feel for weeks. Randy had seen so many of his victims, fuck he was haunted by all of them! The bastard deserved to fucking die and then some for all the innocent people he and his hired goon Jericho had executed! Sick bastards! They had no heart! Not a one between the two of them!
He'd seen what they were capable of too many times. Fuck, they'd ruined him. Randy often worried he was starting to go mad as found that sometimes he could only hope he didn't kill that son of a bitch Jericho the first chance he got. He didn't want to bring him to go to prison. Oh no, that would be to good for that sick fuck. Randy straight up wanted to kill him. Chris Jericho was a full on 'talks to the voices in his head" psychopath who needed to be put down like that rabid dog that he was. Randy was more than willing to be the one do it.
Indeed Las Vegas was definitely going to open doors for career. But deep down, sometimes, he he also often worried that in the end, this crazy town just might prove be too much for him...
Just as it had for Steven Kelner, the victim that lay face up in the middle of the dance floor in a puddle of blood that spread out at least two feet away from the wide gash on his neck, surrounded by police tape, the coroner, the crime scene photographer and his partner who was looking over the body with wise eyes that were a result only from experience.
Hunter had been with the Las Vegas police department for ten years, starting out there and working his way up to lead detective in homicide where he'd stalled out trying to bring in Mizanin and was even more determined to bring the bastard down more than anyone. He had numerous stories of how many times he'd only been a hair away from arresting Mizanin only to have the slimy bastard slip out of his fingers at the last fucking second. It was personal for Hunter now, so personal that he worked on no other case but the Mizanin case and swore that he wouldn't until it was closed.
His determination was inspiring, or so Randy had thought at first. But now a days he was concerned that his partner was obsessed and perhaps let it get the best of him far more often than it should. Which of course Hunter denied and nearly decked him one morning when he'd brought it up. He hadn't made that mistake twice. If his partner wanted to spend every waking moment trying to solve this case then that was his choice. Randy on the other hand wanted a life outside of work, he wanted a family to come home to or at least a lover happy to see him! And he would never have any of those things if he didn't draw the line somewhere.
Unfortunately though, most of the time, he didn't really have the choice of when or where he drew the line. The job always made sure of it.
"Liver temperature is 93.6, I'd say he's only been dead for about two hours or three hours." Adam, the coroner told them, jotting down notes on a report stuck against a silver clipboard against his knee. He was kneeling beside the body with a police issue blue bag of equipment to assist in his work next to the victims feet and didn't look up not once as he spoke, "Obvious cause of death is exsanguination from a fatal cut to the carotid artery."
Randy nodded silently in acknowledgment, stepping around the puddle of blood around the victim before bending down to get a closer look at a gold watch he'd spotted on the mans wrist. It was obviously new, still shining, scratch-less, perhaps custom made and seemed entirely out of place. He crouched down further carefully, squinting as he studied the shiny gold band and thought curiously how could a college student afford something so expensive? Even if it was a gift who in their right mind gave their 21 year old son what looked to be a thirty thousand dollar or more watch?
Besides that which he would look into later, the killer leaving behind the expensive watch told him this wasn't just some freak robbery gone wrong in a strip club before the doors opened. It told him that this was an execution and in his gut he knew Mizanin had something to do with it. And it wasn't because they found the body in HIS strip club, it wasn't because he hated that man with every inch of his being. Although he did that just wasn't how he knew he had a part in this.
No for Randy it was a certain smell in the air. A recognizable stench of greed and evil that he knew could only come from one man, Michael Mizanin. Over time Randy had noticed that wherever Mizanin went, he left behind that putrid stench, something no one else had caught on to, and tonight like many others, he could smell his presence there. Mizanin had been there, and quite recently too, and he knew that for a fact.
"Jesus Reso you're fucking blinding me with that shit," Hunter suddenly snapped towards the crime scene unit's lead photographer Jason Reso with a huff and a grumpy scowl, "Give it a rest would you?"
"Sorry," Jason replied although he didn't sound it and he didn't stop taking pictures even for a second, making the camera's bright flash obnoxiously illuminate the body over and over, further irritating his partner and didn't seem at all bothered by Hunters abrasiveness like most others typically were, "The boss wants me to get pictures of the whole dance floor, you'll have to take that up with him."
"Just hurry up." Hunter grumbled and after a moment his scowl still remained but he appeared to let it go and turned his attention back to the victim, a small note pad open and cradled in the palm of his hand, "This was definitely an execution." He noted aloud as he jotted something down, "Probably Mizanin and his hired goon trying to prove a point."
Randy agreed with a nod as he gently lowered the victims hand back down to the ground, having picked it up to inspect the expensive watch a little closer in hopes of finding and inscription but hadn't ."It's Mizanin's hit-man's M-O alright, kid's got broken fingers," He gestured to the victims other hand that was literally a mess of broken bones and bloody human tissue. "Probably smashed by a hammer," He pointed to the wound across the victims neck, his gloved finger coming down and hovering just above it as he followed the gruesome gash from one ear to the other. He knew Jericho's work when he saw it, that sick fuck always crushed their fingers and cut his victims like this. "The bastard nearly sliced his ear off this time." He noted to his partner who knew Jericho just as well as he did. "He's getting sloppy."
Hunter lent down gave the gash a closer look himself before agreeing and adding another note to his note pad, "Hopefully that means we're getting closer to nailing him."
Randy nodded silently again as he stood up and carefully pulled the gloves from his hands. He really hoped so too.