After an eyeful of Bud White getting busy with a satin-wrapped bombshell Exley looks like he's itching in his skin. Jack's indifference is a sign he's been in this town too long. He came to Los Angeles praying he'd see beautiful women take off their clothes.

What a sight to see, the pair of them straightening up and dusting themselves off from a spot of investigative window-peeping -- Lynn Bracken's neighbors must be extremely tolerant people. Hell, maybe it's been a bonding experience, maybe squinting at Bud White through the greenery has made them better and more cooperative partners.

"Must be nice, huh?" Jack brushes a green bladed leaf off his sleeve, hoping he hasn't ruined his loafers.

"Sure," Exley says, a little prickly. Jack lights a cigarette and Ed snags one out of the silver-gilt tray. It's funny, he's never really seen him smoke before.

The cherry glow illuminates his smartass face looking temporarily unsettled. He might even be sweating a little. Huh.

Golden-boy Exley gets all hot and bothered peeping in windows. Go figure. Everyone in town has a seedy side and when it's not cash it's sex.

"Some woman, huh?" Jack casts one look at the still lit-up window, where presumably the free show still continues for any enterprising voyeur who doesn't mind the possibility of getting the stuffing knocked out of him by Bud White.

"What? Oh--"

Exley clears his throat, and almost drops his cigarette.

Jack saunters back to the parked car -- they're parked on the shady side of an empty street, some of the nearby houses might well be vacant this time of night. They can probably get away with speaking freely without scandalizing any citizens. Exley trails after, and if he looks back once or twice at Lynn Bracken's window, Jack's not about to tell anyone.

So the golden boy does have the full range of baser desires. Maybe some extras, too.

He crosses over to the driver's side, but Exley follows him, loafers rustling in the new grass.

"So you're still hung up on Bud White, huh."

"I'm not hung up on anyone. If he's not capable of seeing reason that's not my fault."

He's between Exley and the driver's side door -- Exley must expect the keys, and plants a leaning arm next to his face against the metal. He's not much taller than Jack, but he sure can loom.

"So this is your chance to get back at him."

"This isn't about petty revenge. I just can't figure him and the girl, that's all. It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe she likes men with big muscles." Jack raises both eyebrows.

Maybe Exley does too -- or maybe that's wishful thinking, notwithstanding that Jack's no beefcake and he's never known Preston Exley's kid to have an interest in anyone, not even from interdepartmental gossip. Kid probably sleeps with his medals under his pillow. But he's hurting now, flustered speechless -- and when he does find words he sounds positively scandalized.

"I mean, be reasonable--"

"This is why you're not married, lieutenant. Somebody can be a lousy officer and a great fuck."

And vice versa, of course. Exley laughs, in that funny rueful way he has. But he's looking at him with consideration now. "Sure, that's it."

Jack's eyes drop to the front of Exley's slacks. Good taste, this boy has, in clothes if not in men. "Need a hand?"

The tips of Exley's ears are flushed red. He's a sweet kid, and the impulse to drag him through the dirt is still very much present, if not for the sense that somebody else has gotten there first.

"How about we find some place to talk about this that isn't a residential street?"

"Do we have that kind of time?"

Jack opens the door and the pair of them tumble inside, jostling and scrambling -- hauling back on the leather seat trying not to crack your head open or cause the kind of scuffle that makes even LA's most sinful locals pop their head out the front door to look.

Jack pulls Exley in after him, practically by the necktie. Exley's hands are in his lap already, threatening to ruin the inside of his crisp new suit.

"Is this really about the girl?" Jack's still lucid enough to be mouthy,

"I don't want to talk about Bud White."

Exley kisses him hard enough to chip teeth, jostling his head back against the upholstery,

"Take your glasses off, for fuck's sake," but he's already fumbling them off and into a pocket. There's not a lot of space on the backseat for two disorganized grown men, but the cramped quarters hopefully conceal what they're doing at least a little, Exley pressing his mouth against his throat, Jack groping his shirttails untucked and trying to fumble open his belt one-handed while agonizingly aware that some divorcee walking her dog or whole Girl Scout troop might be bouncing by their parked car any minute.

It's tough enough to unbutton another man's fly without Exley grinding against his palm -- Jack swears and Exley bumps his head against the roof, until Vincennes can guide him back to a more advantageous position.

Jack mouths against his neck as he fumbles free his erection -- Ed's practically gasping, his shirtfront rises and falls and Jack can feel the pulse hammering in his palm as he gives his cock a few exploratory strokes. It's hard to get a read on what a man likes or what he doesn't when there's barely enough room to maneuver without elbowing him in the teeth. Jack adjusts his grip.

"Like that," Exley says quietly, looking at him with darting eyes. Jack gets to work in long slow strokes of skin and tries not to crush those glasses.

Exley paws at him with no great excess of technique, but it's enough to get him going, and he can jerk him off while crushed up against his long long leg -- the friction's not so bad after all and his hands steady Jack's legs, keep him in a position where he can rut freely while still working at Ed's cock.

Exley bites his lip and his eyelashes start to flutter -- his hand leaves Jack's leg and digs into the upholstered seat, with a bruising grip that Jack is suddenly rather grateful to have been spared. There's a time and a place for advanced sexual maneuvers and for black-and-blue marks and it's not when you have places to be and people to see within the hour. He's navigating by feel here, as his erection gets slicker and the web of Jack's palm no longer catches so much against velvet skin. The pad of his thumb finds the slit at the head of Exley's cock, and teases, just to see him bite that lip again and shudder.

Jack finishes quick, though that's not to say neatly. It takes Exley a while longer, but he arches against Jack's shoulder when he finishes and his mouth leaves a small dark smudge on Jack's lapel. Lying there for a minute in a tangle, Vincennes counts the seconds and is grateful for every uninterrupted moment.

He's a hell of a police officer; Jack's seen what he can do to a suspect and it's positively scary. Knowing he's as human as anybody else on the force situates him in a better place by Vincennes' estimation. He's not a lifechangingly good lay, but if anyone has an opportunity to change that now, it's Vincennes.

The two of them tumble out onto the sidewalk afterward, trying to look discreet as they resume less incriminating positions in the vehicle and both tacitly agree to ignore that the leather interior now smells like sex. Exley looks faintly stunned.

"Did it help to get your rocks off, or should I drive you to a hotel?" Jack buckles his belt and tries not to think about his dry cleaning bill.

"I'm fine, thank you." Well, isn't that sweet, the department's golden boy is bashful. There's a scraped red line along the edge of his collar from Jack's mouth.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." There's a considering look in his eye again; he reaches over and straightens out Jack's tie with a tug.

They've got someplace to be -- a little heart to heart with Johnny Stompanato, a faceful of champagne cocktail for Ed. In the end Jack visits the girl and Exley visits the morgue -- they know him there, Shotgun Ed, if only by way of cleaning up his mess.