All The Tired Horses

Summary: The Jump Street team is on a mysterious case of exploiting a "director" of homemade snuff films in a high school setting… They hadn't thought it'd be so hard of a case, however, they hadn't expected to become the victims.

Chapter Fourteen: A Hard Day

The letter was roughly three months old. The pencil lead was smeared, the edges were slightly burnt and stained with a dark, brown substance. Judy's handwriting was sloppy, she must have written it rather quickly. The team, or what was left of it, stood around the piece of scrap paper, still not sure what to make of it.

Ioki read it once more,

"Dear Tom Hanson,

As of right now, I am perfectly fine. One of them asked me what I want, and I told him that my last request would be to tell you something some things. I'm not allowed to disclose any information about my location or my captures, but I will let you know this, they change every so often. The same people never work twice. They are paid and they are done. If you're reading this, I'm probably dead, and you've probably already busted the guy responsible, but there are many, many people here. Your goal should be to take out the head of this ring, not bust the little guys.

I hope that you are staying safe. I know how much you want to bust these guys, but take your time. I don't have any clues on the guy who's in charge, but I know for a fact, it's not the person you are thinking of.

I can't really write much more. But hey, I want to let you know that I love you, and I always have and always will. Please stay safe. Stay alive.

- Judy"

"We busted the wrong guys…" Booker said, faintly.

"We didn't bust the wrong guys, Booker." Fuller corrected, "We just didn't bust the guy in charge."

"So, it's not who we're thinking it was. David. He's not the one in charge of these guys…"

"No, he's probably just a faithful customer. Either a faithful customer who took part in getting what he wanted, or another 'little guy' who worked for someone bigger."

Ioki was completely silent and he read over the note time after time after time. Trying to find even a slight clue, something else that would give them another lead. Something about the letter did not seem right, something seemed… wrong about it. The way Judy wrote, the amount of information disclosed, even the way the paper was stained with dried blood. Did her kidnappers not read the letter before they allowed it to be sent? And how did this letter arrive seemingly after the arrest of David Peterson? Wasn't it sent after it was written?

So many questions ran around in Ioki's head and he was becoming frustrated because he could not solve them.

"Ioki!" Fuller yelled. Harry looked around, realizing that he must've spaced out from being so frustrated. "The letter." Ioki handed the letter over to Fuller and sat down in the chair near where he was standing. He began to zone out again the moment their captain began to talk.

. . .

"Fuck off, Harry. I'm not going to talk to that bastard…" Hanson moaned and turned his back towards his fellow officer.

"Hanson, I really think if you spoke to him he'd give you at least some information on who he's working for. Er, who he worked for."

"I already told you, I'm not going to talk to him. Not after all the shit that he's done to me." And to the people I loved. But his mouth knew better than to speak what his mind was saying. He was set in his ways, and determined that no matter what Harry said, he couldn't convince him to talk to David. Nope, not after all the shit they've been through. And Hanson could care less at this point, if it would help them to bust the main man.

Harry sighed and turned away to leave the apartment… But then, he paused and began to dig in his coat pocket. He fished around for a moment, then two before pulling out a thing envelope and tossing it onto the side table next to the couch that Hanson was sitting on.

"… She would have wanted you to bring them to justice."

And with that, Ioki opened the door and left.

When Hanson was certain that Ioki was gone, he turned around and looked at the envelope on the table, at first, not believing what he wished could be true. He stared at the envelope, too scared to see if his speculations were actually true. The handwriting almost gave it away entirely, but, still, he was hesitant. He couldn't tell if his broken heart was creating mirages or if his eyes really weren't deceiving him. He reached out and grabbed the letter, pulled it out of its rustic confines and began scanning it with his eyes.

Yes, this letter was certainly from Judy. His heart began to ache and he was starting to feel dizzy. It was so surreal, reading the letter and hearing her voice speaking to him as though she were still alive. The feeling tore through his conscious like a vicious cat, hungry and wild. He knew in his gut, that Ioki was right. It was selfish of him to sit around and use his break as a time to pity himself and mope about losing his lover and his best friend. He missed Doug, and he missed Judy, but he knew deep down, Doug wouldn't be sitting around eating potato chips and drinking beer, no, Doug would be hell bent on finding the source of the crime and stopping it. And Judy… oh, Judy… she wouldn't be giving up either. So why was he?

Hanson made up his mind. Harry was right.

He'd hate himself for what he was going to do, but regardless, it was the right thing.

. . .

Making is way to the prison was difficult, and he was very worried. He couldn't help but think that David didn't belong in prison, David would probably be better off in the loony bin. After all, your average juvie wasn't out there killing people for pleasure. This David fellow was truly off his rocker. Still, Hanson was let in and led through a long hall of jail cells. They brought up some horrible memories of his jail stay, but he felt reassured when he saw many new faces in the cells. These people wouldn't remember him, which was good.

The police officer in front of him stopped abruptly and spoke,

"Here he is." The older man said. "Please remember only fifteen minutes."

"Thank you." Hanson said. The older police officer turned on his heels and walked back through the hallway of jail cells. He peered into the darkness and in the corner of the cell, he could see a figure, sitting with long, greasy brown hair, his back facing Hanson.

"What do you want, Tommy-Baby?" The voice called from the corner.

"Look," Hanson began, "I don't want to be here anymore than you do. But I need your help."

"My help. Goddamn, you haven't learned anything, have you?" David chuckled. He turned around and Tom could see that his face was covered with bruises and cuts. Probably from getting into brawls with other prisoners. His heart sank and he began to feel pity towards David, despite all that he's done to hurt him. This man was honestly sick, he didn't belong in a jail cell, he belonged in a hospital.

Hanson couldn't think of anything witty or smart to say in response, he was at a loss for words and instead he just jumped straight to the point,

"I need to know who you were working for, Peterson."


"Who were you working for? Who did you buy all of those snuff films from?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, man."

It took all of Hanson's willpower to keep him from shooting his hand through the metal bars and grabbing Peterson to shake the information out of him. This was getting him nowhere.

"What do you want, man?" Hanson asked. He saw David's face shift a little and the man turned around to look at Hanson with a genuinely confused look,

"What?" He asked.

"What do you want… in exchange for information? Less jail time? More visits? What?" Hanson was exasperated. He was desperate now… A sudden feeling of heavy burden began to weigh him down and he felt as though it was his only purpose now to avenge his friends. To go out and find the person (or people) responsible for their deaths. He snaked his thin fingers around the metal bars that separated him and David and he felt himself starting to whine and tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he remembered how he first felt when he had heard of their deaths. David was silent as death and it made Hanson even more antsy.

"You know, Tommy Babe…" David spoke, ever so softly. "There once was a time when… the only thing I would have wanted was you."

The confession didn't catch the young officer by surprise, but still, Hanson was not flattered in the slightest, and for the first time in a while, he didn't even feel threatened by the confession.

"But now, all I want… is for you to get the hell out of my life." David paused. "And never come back."

"That can definitely be arranged." Just as Hanson finished speaking, another police officer, skinny and tall, came into the hallway of jail cells and he whispered into Hanson's ear that his fifteen minutes was up. Hanson responded:

"Who would I talk to about interviewing him?"

. . .

Back in his apartment, Hanson felt drained… It took all of his courage to be able to go back and face his attacker without fainting or getting too shaken up. He wasn't sure if he should feel ashamed or proud of himself. He knew that Judy would have been proud. He flopped down on his couch and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

After staring at the ceiling for quite some time, Hanson turned over to pick up the phone on the side table. He lifted the receiver o him mouth, but wasn't sure who's number he should dial. He began to dissociate after a while, his mind left his body and went to someplace else, leaving his fingers to go on autopilot. Right away, they dialed Doug's number. Before the ringing could begin, Hanson came back to reality and slammed the phone down. He was panting, sweating as though he'd been running a marathon.

He couldn't call anyone to tell them what happened. Not yet.

Author's Note:

Sorry this chapter sort of sucks compared to everything else I have written.

I'm planning to wrap this up probably in two or three more chapters and then complete it.