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veryrealimagination · 7 months

Text

“I only sink deeper the deeper I think."

Day No: 29

Prompt: Past Troubles Resurfacing

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Medium: fic

Trigger Warnings: no major ones

SFW

Murdoch was concerned by the lateness of the day and the absence of Detective Watts. The man, while not usually a regular detective, did not shirk his responsibilities. “George,” he called out, watching the constable walk by. The man stopped and turned to Murdoch.

“What’s the problem, sir?”

“Have you seen Detective Watts today?”

He thought about it for a minute. “No. Not a glance. Didn’t say anything about traveling at the moment,” he said, “Actually, he said that he would try to be here before the Inspector showed up. Something about being caught foisting his paperwork on Mitchell again and having to write his own reports.”

The older man definitely remembered that little order from Brackenreid. “George, with me,” he ordered, standing up and putting on his outer jacket. “I think it’d be best to find him and bring him to the Station House.”

They both looked over at the Inspector’s office, where the man was impatiently tapping on his own paperwork while staring out at the empty desk that was eventually forced on Watts when he kept using Murdoch’s. And George’s. And Higgins. And Jackson’s. Before his death. “Most definitely, sir.”

The first room that they remembered Watts living had a slightly irritated landlady inform them that his sorrow after Huey’s death had led to him being evicted for disturbing the others. The second one, that George remembered, also revealed that he had been evicted as well, for his late evenings and early mornings for the constabulary. Two more rooms that he was evicted out of, and Murdoch wondered how Watts managed to keep any sort of home in his life.

He thought about what he was not to know, and suggested it to Crabtree. “What about the neighbor of Miss Newsome?”

It took George a minute, but he shook his head. “Too many almost being caught. They only meet somewhere else now. And the man is quite tight lipped about himself and Watts.” One of the last avenues as to where the man lived. “He tends not to update his place of residence on the forms. Only when he is reminded by Inspector Brackenreid or Doctor Ogden.”

“If he’s not careful, the Inspector will be personally start making sure the paperwork his correct every week,” the man said.

“Where do you think we should check next?” George asked.

He thought about what he knew about the man. It was, unfortunately, little. “Let’s find a telephone and we can ask if anyone has ideas about where Watts is currently living.” They began the walk to a pole.

During their walk, there was the shouting of a man that normally Murdoch ignored. The second voice, a quieter, uncommonly fearful one, caught his attention quickly. It also caught George’s. “Sir,” he muttered.

“Carefully, George.” He took lead to where they heard the voices coming from. It was normally not wise to go down dingy and occupied alleyways, but it was necessary when they needed to see the situation.

They quickly found their missing detective, being held in place by two men that were obviously enforcement. His coat was dirty and ripped in three different places. A chunk of his face was purple, his leg was staggered, and it wasn’t entirely out of the question the men were keeping him upright. The man in front of Watts carried the air of a bookie coming to collect debt.

Murdoch had never known Watts to gamble.

“There ain’t no way you just happened to get a night of good wagers,” he accused. Not collecting debt, Watts had been winning, a little too much. “Inside knowledge, that’s the only way you managed to get four times what you put in.”

“I do not need to cheat,” he spat, getting a punch to the chest in retaliation. “I paid attention to your planted men’s bets and went against theirs.” His arm was twisted enough that Murdoch heard a pop of something dislocating. His yell was cut off by one of the thugs covering his mouth.

“I lost money last night with your wins,” he hissed, “A good amount. I don’t know where you put your ill gotten wagers, but I’ll be getting back that money off of you over the next week. And maybe a few weeks after that.”

George shot forward before Murdoch, which annoyed and surprised the man. His truncheon was out and slamming one of the enforcers over the head. It being the one gagging Watts, the hand came off to try and swipe back at the officer. George grabbed a hold of the arm and used it to crash the man into the wall.

The other man tried to get at him, but Murdoch landed a solid punch to the jaw. It had been a while that he had to hit anyone in the line of duty, but he didn’t experience as much pain as he expected when the man went down with a bloody nose. The one that George had against the wall almost twisted out of his grasp, but didn’t go after either of the men when he saw his partner was down.

The bookie was annoyed that a Constable and some suit that could hit interfered with his business. Whatever, he’ll just get one of his own police friends to stonewall him while he made his money back out of the cheater’s hide. “Excuse me,” he demanded, “This is a private matter between myself and this insolent boy that cheated me. Police need not be here.”

Murdoch pulled back his lapel to show the badge. “Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind coming down to Station House Four to explain it,” he said, subtly threatening him. The man was taken back. Not just a suit, but Detective William Murdoch. One of the straightest laced coppers in Toronto. “Considering what I just heard you implying, I should have you charged with attempted false imprisonment of a police officer.”

“A police officer?” He pointed at Watts, who had attempted to stand, and fell when his leg wouldn’t support him “Him?”

“Detective Watts is a valued member of Station House Four,” he stated.

The bookie paled as he realized what he had done. Not only was Detective William Murdoch standing in front of him, but the man was now under Brackenreid. Still pissed that he lost a good amount of money, he forced his men up before leaving the alleyway and not getting anything back.

Watts looked between his coworkers in dismay and embarrassment. He did not expect to be found, although it was good, considering what Moe was threatening him with. Now, he would have to explain himself to his superiors. George was helpful in getting him to his feet, even when his leg wasn’t going to support him again. Murdoch got in under his arm. They knew which one had been injured and made sure it wasn’t unduly moved. “Hospital first,” Murdoch said, “Then, we’ll call Brackenreid and have everything explained.”

The young man’s heart dropped, and he wondered how long it would take to lose everything again.

Brackenreid was waiting out in the bullpen when his detectives and the constable got through the door.

The phone call he received from the hospital wasn’t exactly enlightening. Murdoch reported that he found Watts being assaulted by a bookie that said he cheated him out of wagers the previous night. This was after multiple checks at four rooms that he was evicted from.

Now, they would get everything out of the man.

The sling for his arm and cane for his leg did a little bit to win him sympathy. Crabtree was sent on patrol. Murdoch went back to his office but gave the Inspector a stern, silent warning before seeing the blinds on the man’s office closed.

Watts was sat on the couch with a mug of water sitting on the table and the cane beside the arm. He was not going to look anywhere near the man’s face. And definitely not near his eyes. “I’m waiting, Watts,” he said, sitting in the desk chair instead of nearby.

He breathed, giving himself some steadying. “I did not cheat,” he insisted, “Moe Sebrie is a horrible bookie. He plants people among the gamblers to get people to load up on bad bets and takes their money.”

“If he’s a horrible bookie, why you going to him?” he demanded.

“Because I know his plays. I went to one of his competitors when, when I needed money for Miss Marks, and Danny and Huey. He ran that man out of the business. Possibly murdered, but he used an accident to cover it up.” His good hand fidgeted with the sling. The arm was in a low level of pain from the dislocation of the lower part. His leg had lessened, but he still wouldn’t be able to walk well for a few days. “When I figured out what he did, I managed to use that against him. Placed bets on plays opposite or a little off from what he did. Got a fair bit of money from it.”

Brackenreid nodded, “Then, you pissed him off by winning a little bit too much.”

Watts sighed, “I needed more money for a room.”

“You have a room.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t been able to keep a place for more than a month, month and a half.”

The man looked at him, incredulous. Most houses loved coppers. They had the money, and if they didn’t, you went and found their Inspectors for a good hard talk. “You wasting all your money on food or something?”

Another shake of the head. “I have been evicted from my last three rooms due to late evenings and early mornings. The room before that didn’t like that I was mourning my brother for so long. Said it upset the other residents.” Evicted?! Brackenreid had never heard such horseshit. Most places didn’t care if they were early or late, especially when they learned that it was a copper. “I was saving up enough money to possibly try at two different boardinghouses. Much more expensive up front, but more willing to work with Constabulary men. One was Jackson’s old place. The other is run by a woman named Mrs. Kitchen. She’s apparently had a detective before.”

If he hadn’t shut the blinds, he would have shared a look with Murdoch, who likely wasn’t working on paperwork but more watching for anger. Watts apparently didn't know who the detective was. “Right, where have you been staying now?”

That was the only time he looked at him. He knew the signs of fear in someone, and he wondered how much One fucked up those that didn’t play the game well enough. Murdoch had come from there as well, and he didn’t show his as much. “The spare cot in the storage room,” he admitted.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Bloody hell," he muttered, wondering what he needed to do now. "Right. First thing is to get you cleaned up."

"I do not-"

He cut him off with a wave of his hand. "One night with us. Although don't start discussing your bookie business with the Missus. She stopped gambling after I had her arrested." Watts stared at him in surprise over that admission. "Then, in the morning, you go over to that second option with Murdoch."

"Murdoch?"

"Maybe even with Doctor Ogden as well." That confused the man on the couch. "You really don't know the detective that Mrs. Kitchen housed was Murdoch?"

He was curious, and somewhat taken back. "It was Murdoch?" he asked.

There was a little regret over the idea he was spouting. "Blimey. Murdoch!" he shouted, opening his door, "Does Mrs. Kitchen have a room available?"

Watts picked up the water and drained it to calm himself down over the entire day. He has a small wish for alcohol and started eyeing the bourbon the Inspector kept. "Hands off, Watts."

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #paat troubles resurfacing #murdoch mysteries #fic #llewellyn watts #william murdoch #george crabtree #thomas brackenreid

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