Chapter Text
Saying that Marcus had high expectations for the Homicide Department at the LAPD would be wrong. He, in fact, had no expectations.
Their numbers in the last year were only that good because they’d hired the Devil as a consultant, they’d swept the theft of a gun from evidence by a detective under the rug, and their last Lieutenant had barely interfered in any cases at all.
So no, he hadn’t really been expecting anything.
The gathering that greeted him at the bottom of the stairs both impressed him and didn’t; apparently, his reputation had preceded him.
He had a sneaking suspicion that they hadn’t expected him to be wearing jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. Or to have less than two sentences to say to them.
A very short woman (Latina, late twenties/early thirties, informal clothes – Ella Lopez, forensic scientist) started clapping. Ass-kisser.
He was relieved, honestly, to see the small group of detectives (four of them, three men and a woman, one dressed casually, the rest not) and Lucifer Morningstar (roughly the same height as Marcus, wearing a suit that could easily have been taken off an Armani mannequin five seconds ago) giving him looks of varying levels of suspicion. Maybe they weren’t completely hopeless.
To his surprise, Daniel Espinoza (Junior Detective, formerly Senior; the one detective that hadn’t dressed up for Marcus’ arrival; mid-thirties) was the first to approach him.
“Detective Daniel Espinoza,” he said, holding his hand out to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Lieutenant, and I’m excited to work with you.”
There was something about him. Marcus couldn’t name it – something that hinted at power. Marcus had spent a very, very long time on this Earth, and he’d never seen anything like it before.
“I wish I could say the same. Aren’t you that corrupt cop that got off easy?”
Espinoza’s eyes flashed with something between respect and offense and what Marcus would swear was orange fire. Had Lucifer brought a demon with him? “Excuse me?”
“No, excuse me.” Marcus had long since learned the value of a tactical retreat. “You must be Lucifer.”
The man in question turned from where he’d been harassing (not sexually, Marcus was pretty sure. God, that’d be a nightmare of a lawsuit) his partner, and held out a hand to shake. “Morningstar, pleasure.”
“There was an investigation last year . . . we interviewed, what was it, 92 of your sexual partners? I’ll refrain from physical contact, if you don’t mind.” Not like Marcus could get STDs, but, you know. Being bitchy was one of the last rays of happiness in his life.
Lucifer laughed awkwardly, looking a bit put out.
Marcus tilted his head at him. “You don’t look reckless. Narcissistic, hedonistic, that I see.”
“Well, thank you very much,” he preened.
“That wasn’t a compliment. Your file is as long as my Johnson.” Oh, Marcus loves meeting new people.
“Short read then?” Lucifer shot back. This was going to be fun, wasn’t it?
“Hardly.”
“Well I, for one, don’t need a file to ascertain that you haven’t even had a snog in ages, have you?” Lucifer asked. He had no way of knowing how right he actually was. How long has it been? It was what, 19 . . . 73? Ish?
“Accurate.”
“Okay!” Cut in Chloe Decker, Senior Detective, mid-thirties. Espinoza’s ex-wife. “Hi. I’m Detective Decker.”
“Lucifer’s partner, I know.”
Oh, that made her mad. She hid it fairly well, but Marcus had a lot of experience reading people. “Actually, he’s mine. Uh, consultant, to be exact.”
“That’s what I said.” He looked between them a few times, then moved on. “You’re Lucas Sanchez, yes?”
The man – late fifties, starched suit and tie, seemingly permanent expression of irritation on his face – turned toward him. “Yes, I am.”
“You’ve worked in law enforcement a long time, yes? Had a lot of changes in superior officers?” Marcus asked. He’d had enough fun, now it was time to get to work.
“Yes. Been a policeman since 1993, been with the LAPD since 1996, Detective since 1999. We’ve had about eleven Lieutenant changes since then.” Sanchez said with a sharp nod. Hmm. Ex-military?
“Have any of them ever done reviews when they started? Like, had each of the detectives come in and talk about their cases, coworkers, unis, experience, qualifications, stuff like that?” Marcus had found that getting people’s opinions on their work and the work of others was a great way to figure out how the precinct worked. And how he wanted it to work.
“No.” He seemed a bit surprised, and more than a bit impressed. “It seems like a good idea, though, if you want my opinion.”
“Good.” As he walked away, he could hear the detectives, plus Lucifer and Lopez, converge on each other. Gossip, a wonderful way to get a read on first impressions.
He left the office door open. Nothing like a bit of eavesdropping to start a day.
“Isn’t he amazing?” Lopez gushed.
The office was rather bare bones at the moment – desk, uncomfortable chairs, filing cabinets. No decoration. Marcus had worked in much worse places, but even he wasn’t depressed enough to deal with this for long.
“Oh, yeah. Just great,” Decker replied, just this side of not sarcastic enough to count as insubordination. Lopez didn’t seem to notice.
He should get some paintings in here. Nothing to fancy, just some abstract stuff. Something colorful, brighten the place up a bit.
“He’s either going to be the most infuriating man ever, or I’m going to love him.” Lucifer mused.
Personal experience told him to get a couch; a lot less questions than if he tried sleeping in the break room when he worked late. He had enough money and common sense to buy a good one.
“Going to seduce him, Lucifer?” asked Jonathan Fisher (early thirties, Junior Detective, very uncomfortable in a suit and tie).
Definitely a better chair for his side of the desk. The ones on the visitor side could stay – they didn’t look too bad, even if they felt like it.
Marcus couldn’t see the answering grin, but he was sure it was there. “He is rather attractive, isn’t he?”
Pull the blinds up, get some sun in.
“He asked me about one-on-one meetings,” Sanchez cut in. “With us, to talk about cases, each other, unis, and our own qualifications and experience.”
“What? Why?” Decker asked.
“It’s a good idea,” Espinoza said thoughtfully. Then, coming back to himself to answer Decker’s question, “To get a read on us, how we work on cases, and how we work with each other.”
“Can I talk to you, Dan? In private?” Sanchez asked. Hmm. Interesting. They walked out of Marcus’ hearing range, to a less-travelled room if they were smart, which they both seemed to be.
There was a pile of personnel files on his desk, one for each detective, plus Lucifer. Jesus, his file was huge. Sanchez’s was about the same size, but he’d had a good twenty years to gain it. But Marcus wasn’t going to doubt the idiocy of a man that walked around calling himself Morningstar Morningstar.
Marcus looked up. Lucifer and Fisher had wandered off – Fisher to do work, Lucifer to do the opposite, he assumed. Decker seemed to be reluctantly tolerating whatever Lopez was going on about.
Decker and Lucifer definitely didn’t like him. Lopez seemed to be practically in love with him. Sanchez, and, surprisingly, Espinoza, both seemed reluctantly impressed. He had no idea about Fisher.
Better than he expected.
- - -
“You know, it seems a bit early for assassination attempts,” he told his supposedly empty kitchen. “But if you are here to kill me, you’re going to be severely disappointed.”
“I’m not here to kill you,” said the woman that materialized from the shadows. “That’d be horrible manners, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh? How so?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the as-of-yet unpacked boxes on his new kitchen counter.
“Well, family and all that. Not like that gives you too many hangups, but it’s the spirit of the thing, y’know,” she replied, taking the glass he handed her.
He froze. She knew about Abel.
A smile grew over his face. So early, and she’d already overplayed her hand. “Mazikeen of the Lilim. Very nice to meet you. Though calling us family is debatable.”
“We’re both of Eden, aren’t we, Cain?” Her smile had teeth. “Isn’t that good enough?”
“I’m a bit surprised that you want to push this so much, considering how much family you have and the track record I have with the little I do.” He drowned his glass.
“Yeah, well,” she made a dismissive gesture with her hand, “it would be nice to have a family member that doesn’t want to murder me. And, you know, is here, on this plane of existence.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough.”
She grinned at him. It reminded him of the Cheshire Cat, from Alice in Wonderland. “So, cousin. Why are you here.”
“Well, the weather is so nice,” he quipped.
She raised her eyebrows.
“That,” he said, pointing his glass at her, “is for me to know, and you to guess.”
“Cryptic.”
“Well, I’ve had so much practice,” he replied.
