Why do they call him that? Part 1

Sergeant Bedford was a third generation officer of the New Orleans Police Department. Nineteen years on the job. Twelve of those in vice and homicide. He had been assigned the string of beatings in and around the French Quarter.

Up until recently there had been no trail to follow. Then a man got himself beaten inside a bar.

Now the trail led here.

The casino floor roared with light and sound. Slots screaming. People cheering like it meant something. All of it designed to keep a man from thinking too hard. Bedford moved through it and into the back where the halogen lights turned harsh and white and the noise dropped off like it had been cut with a knife.

A man waited for him there.

Nathan Campbell? You're a dealer here at Caesar's I take it.

Nate's fine.

Any other names I should be aware of?

My friends call me Nasty Nate. But I'm doing something here, so just Nate will do.

What do you mean?

I'm working my way up. Nasty Nate doesn't really look great on a badge. And neither do backroom interviews with detectives, so if you wouldn't mind…

Right, I'll get to the point. I'm not interested in wasting your time and I'm not here to investigate you. Honestly, I'm just piecing stuff together.

Don't y'all usually call for stuff like this? You had to pull me off the floor?

Cellphone reception is a little spotty in the casino. Plus I'm a sucker for craps. But you know, a little cooperation could go a long way in your career pursuit. We work closely with the gaming board here. This could be considered a favor. I'm just checking in to make sure things are all good, mostly.

Go on.

Have you heard of this string of attacks around Bourbon Street? The ones targeting gay men?

Oh yeah. I got friends everywhere. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you.

Bedford pondered on that with an inquisitive, furrowed brow.

Funny you should say that. We are confident that the attacks have ended.

Hmm. No shit?

Yeah… We got a guy we're almost certain was behind the whole ordeal. He happened to have been beaten senseless himself. Stabbed in the leg.

Nate chucked to himself. Bedford paused.

Yeah I found that kind of amusing myself. Buuuut you know, we don't condone street justice.

Is there any other kind?

I take it you're not a fan of police.

Nate lit a cigarette. I'm sure you're a good dude. We just learn to keep a healthy distance from the cops.

Who's we?

Look, I'm a dumb ass but I'm not dumb enough to answer questions that will incriminate me.

I said you're not being investigated. I mean that. You're not really even on our radar. There's actually no radar at all. I'm just trying to get the full picture.

Then what's this about?

A man was identified by an open bar tab. And we didn't have a whole lot in the way of a police record. A bunch of petty assault charges here and there, kind of all over the place. Nothing super solid. No contact information or current home address. But you popped up as a known associate.

Will Rotten Socks.

Pardon me?

You're looking for William Still. They had him in their POS. They gave you the name. And here you are looking for Will Rotten Socks. But I bet that's all you got. And that ain't much to go on. And it's probably self-defense anyway.

Look at you. Not much of a dumbass at all, huh? Anyway, if you can tell me where to find him…

Like you said, he doesn't have an address. He doesn't really stay in one place too long.

Anything you can give me will help. Like you said, it is being considered self-defense right now. We're pretty content with letting that go, but we still want to have a casual chat with him. Where he hangs out… where he's from… where he might be heading. How'd he get that nickname you keep calling him… why do they call him that?

Ah that punk scene had nicknames for everyone. Nasty Nate for me. Reid the dirty Deed. Jimmy Slugs. Pinball. All of them earned. We started calling him that back when we were like 18.