Chapter Text
The Hook Up
by xmarisolx
"We have a transfer guys," LaGuerta announced to the gathered officers. "Well not so much a transfer as an invitation from the DA to assist on a case that is officially"—air quotes—"being handled by our brothers in blue at the station on 62nd street."
Doakes rolled his eyes. Alliteration was not his thing. Neither was sharing.
"Last night we got a positive ID on this guy," (she posted a picture), "Gary Phillips: a six foot two white male, approximately 180 pounds, with hazel eyes, who may or may not have a family. He's our number one suspect on the murder of Jose Ramirez, the nephew of the superintendent of Miami-Dade County Public Schools, a detail that raises the profile of the case. The search for Phillips had the 62nd Street station crossing paths with various people and locations in our precinct, and—" she paused with a slight smugness lacing her words, "—our station has a reputation for closing cases."
One way or another, Dexter thought.
"That's why the DA decided to elicit our help. After leaving a near daily trail of his whereabouts, Phillips disappeared off the face of the earth about two weeks ago," LaGuerta continued. "His last known residence was the Sandy Beach Motel right on Miami Beach. Also, we have sightings of him enlisting the services of a lady of the night in the Cool Night Motel just four blocks away. Ángel?"
"Yep?"
"See if you can check the phone records for the room he was living in as well as for any payphones on the block."
"No problema."
"Masuka, Dexter…we're petitioning to examine the murder weapon currently housed at the other station. Be prepared…there will be blood. And finally, Officer Morgan—"
"That's me," Deb chirped.
"See if you and your undercover team can do some canvassing this evening to find out if any of the ladies working that area know anything?"
"And by canvassing, you mean turning tricks?" Deb asked.
"I hope you wouldn't actually turn any…" LaGuerta responded.
Cue Masuka. "But, um, while you're out there strutting in your PVCs," he said, "think of me."
Deb responded with her middle finger.
"That's enough guys," LaGuerta said. "Now let's get to work."
Dexter would normally be concerned that his foster sister was about to go undercover in the seedy haunts of a known murderer, except that he knew for a fact that Phillips was staying in a Motel 8 clear across town. No one had bothered to find the link between the Superintendent's nephew and the murderer, but when Dexter realized that they were both professional clowns, he'd had a hunch the nephew's murder was connected with a murder that his own station was already investigating: that of a magician that was stabbed to death a month ago. Using methods that probably violated a couple of Phillips civil rights (and the Miami-Dade PD computer user agreement), Dexter had gathered info on both cases and tracked Phillips to his new hotel room last night. A quick search of his room turned up little more than tacky clothes, a few joints and receipt for a tattoo. Dexter would be stopping by soon for a more formal visit.
Just as soon as he got his wheels back.
"I'm outta here," Deb announced as she headed to the door. Her work day wouldn't pick back up until later that night.
"Hold on Deb," Dexter said, running after her. "Can you give me a ride to pick up my car from the shop?"
"Sure," she said. "But I'm leaving now."
"I'm right behind you," he said jogging back to his office to get his things. He ran into Doakes on the way.
"And where do you think you're going?" he barked. "It's not five o'clock yet."
"I know, but I'm going to get my car from the shop. I'll be back within the hour," Dexter said. Doakes stared at him with a fixed scowl that had almost become a cliché between them. But since he didn't say anything else, Dexter gingerly walked passed him.
"I got my eye on you," Doakes called behind him. Dexter kept walking.
+
On the way over, Dexter realized he was hungry, and so he and Deb stopped at the El Rey de Las Fritas—a Cuban fast food shop that Dexter was nearly addicted to.
They walked up to the counter. "We're together," he told the clerk, motioning towards Deb.
"Thanks big brother," Deb said.
"My pleasure," he nodded. "I'll have a Cuban sandwich with a batida de mamey," he said eagerly. "Make that two Cubans. And some corn nuggets."
"Damn," Deb said. "Hungry much?"
"I told you haven't eaten since yesterday this time. I got busy last night."
"Doing what?" Deb said, incredulously.
Tracking down Gary Phillips, he thought.
"Fixing my plumbing. I got tired of waiting for maintenance, so I did it myself. Then I just got tired and went to bed."
"Whatever," Deb said. "I'll take a frita with fries and a coke."
"Coming up," the clerk said.
Minutes later, as they settled in the car with arms full of food, Deb had a realization. "I have to stop by a friend's house to pick up something before I take you to get your car. That OK?"
"Sure," Dexter shrugged. "Who is it?" he asked in between bites.
"Rita."
"Never heard you talk about her. Which station is she from?"
"Is who from?"
"Rita."
"She's not a cop."
Dexter looked surprised.
"Why do you think my friends always have to be cops?" Deb asked.
"Because they always are."
"What? You think I can't have a single friend that isn't in law enforcement?"
He gulped down a mouthful of pork. "Not really."
"Well you're wrong." She stole one of his corn nuggets.
"So then… how did you meet?"
Deb rolled her eyes. "Why does that matter?"
"It doesn't," Dexter answered nonchalantly.
Deb sighed. "Fine, at a domestic violence call. She was the victim."
Dexter snickered to himself.
"Bite me," Deb said.
"It is so nice for you to stop by," Rita said, while ushering them inside. "Such a pleasant surprise."
"Yeah," Deb said. "We were just in the neighborhood and I figured we'd stop by." Dexter slipped Deb a look of confusion. Deb clearly ignored him. "Anyway, where are my manners? This is my brother Dexter Morgan."
Dexter held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"No, the pleasure is all mine," Rita replied. "Please, have a seat."
"So," Deb said, after sitting. "How's the new job going?"
"Umm…good," Rita said unconvincingly. "I really thought this time around I would be able to find something that wasn't in the hotel industry, but I'm blessed to even have a job, and at least Astor and Cody have some security now. I really can't complain."
"Yeah," Deb said nodding. "How are they anyway?"
"Great! They went to the beach with a neighbor. The beaches are so packed during Spring Break."
"I know," Deb said.
"So I figured I'd stay behind and get some things done."
"I'm sorry," Dexter interrupted. "You have children?"
"I do," Rita said proudly. "My daughter Astor, who will be nine soon, and my son Cody, who is four."
There was a loud rumbling sound coming from the kitchen.
"I apologize; it's so embarrassing," she said. "The garbage disposal isn't working, and now I can't even use the sink in the kitchen at all. So frustrating."
"Dexter can help you," Deb offered. Dexter looked at her suspiciously.
"I can?"
Deb flashed him a disgusted look, before quickly rebounding. "Sure. You can. You were just telling me how you were fixing your own sink last night." She turned to Rita. "Dexter is great with a wrench."
Dexter and Rita looked at each other awkwardly.
"What she means to say is that I'm handsy, I mean, handy."
"What he means to say is—"
"I get it," Rita interjected. "He can fix things." She turned to Dexter. "I mean, if you wouldn't mind?"
"He wouldn't," Deb said excitedly. Rita looked at Deb then back to Dexter, uncertain of his reply.
"I wouldn't, actually. Mind. At all," Dexter choked out.
Relief spread across her face. "You wouldn't? Thank you so much. I've called maintenance until I was blue in the face and the problem just keeps getting worse. Let me know when you're available." She reached for a pen and paper in one of the kids' backpacks. "Here's my number."
Dex nodded, staring at it for a second. "Really, I can just come by Thursday. After work," he offered.
"Sounds good. Thank you," she repeated. "I really appreciate it."
"No problem," Dexter replied.
Deb just smiled from ear to ear.
+
Back at the car, Dexter was…confused.
"So what do you think of her?" Deb said anxiously.
"Rita?" he asked.
"Yes, Rita."
"I think she needs a professional plumber."
"You're being evasive," Deb shot back. "Why can't you just answer a direct question for once in your damn life?"
"Because you said you were going to pick up something, and the next thing I know I'm in the middle of one of your matchmaking jobs."
"If I left your romantic future to you, you would die old and alone."
Is that so bad?, Dexter thought.
A moment passed. "I really don't see anything happening."
"Why? Because you don't think she's pretty?" Deb asked. Dexter didn't answer; the truth was he was asexual and fought antisocial, psychopathic tendencies with only moderate success, generally making him an unsuitable boyfriend. Besides, his last relationship had ended in tears. A lot of tears. He shuddered at the memory. "Because she could be pretty you know."
"She already is pretty," Dexter said automatically.
"Yeah, but I know you're used to dating high-maintenance bombshells," she explained. Or girls that have the balls to ask me out, Dexter thought. "I think you need somebody simpler." Dexter turned to her and sighed. "Fine, Dex—she's let herself go a little, she carries some baggage, and she has kids. But Rita is also sweet and spunky and isn't clingy. Believe me, she's also got a lot of potential, she's just really had a rough go of things, you know? But if she were with the right…person I believe she could really blossom. You should give her a chance."
Dexter stared at her in disbelief. "Who the hell are you and what do you do with Deb?"
Deb rolled eyes, and started the ignition. "Suck my dick."
"There she is," Dex said.
end part 1