I found this crossover Pelecanos/Homicide

“Well, fuck you, too,” Kay Howard told her silent cellphone. Munch could be such an asshole sometimes. And then, he would do something that would make her absolutely livid pissed, like stand her up after she spent so much time looking forward to seeing him, and just keep fucking talking, blah, blah,blah, Apollo, Descartes, who gave a shit? You’d think he would learn from all those suspects. You’re already in trouble, shut the fuck up.
She hadn’t been this angry since she stopped working day-to-day with Meldrick and Detective Mikey(Which,lapsed Catholic as she was, and as upset about getting jerked off her turf in Homicide still occasionally caused a hymn of praise to pass her lips. As those preachers on TV say “Thank ya, Jesus.”) She’d learned this much from what happened with her and Ed. Don’t say the first thing that comes to mind. Danvers still looked scared sometimes when he saw her. So she’d intended on just a short drive, but she ended up in some watering hole in the District somewhere, just like powered by frustrated libido and rage. She looked great tonight, too. Green blouse(Carrie would be proud, her thinking of a shirt as a blouse...maybe she was a real girl after all) dressy black pants and short black boots.”He will be begging for this,”she mumbled, unaware she’d spoken aloud. Yeah, right, Munch begging. He probably went home with one of those arty, educated clicks with a real difficult job like having a man pour chocolate on her on stage. Munch thought that was art. Kay thought it was bullshit. But she was probably a twelve-year-old gymnast who didn’t have a chest all pasted together with Super Glue.
She caught one break. This was not a shitkicker bar. She was so done with the billy thing, just from work, that she hated to go in somewhere and hear some braindead brag about kicking Arab ass.There was just part of her that just ached to throw Toby Keith against the front of a patrol car because his attitude sucked and could stand a humble. “Not tonight though...I’d probably fuck him.” And because that thought was disgusting, she took a big swallow of beer. “Or shoot him.” she thought, and smiled.
She watched the door, habit dying hard. A man crossed over to the bar, about her age, give or take, blond, but with that skin that was like carrying the map of Ireland on your body. He was either on the Job or a wannabe...he had the walk, the eye. It had been years since he walked in somewhere and couldn’t find the fire exit. Kay didn’t have the strength for wannabes tonight, the kind that thought they were hot because they have scanners and bonecrunching handshakes. Of course he sat right next to her. Kay sighed.
“Don’t take this wrong,” he said, and when he looked over she was struck by how beautiful his green eyes were.” But you have great hair.”
“I’ll bet you’re an artist,” she said. “With original lines like that.” She made a point of looking at her mug, even though looking at him was hardly a hardship.”A poet, hmm?”
The man sighed. “Does bullshit count?”He reached for the peanuts. “I’m sorry...I’m an investigator and it’s been a rough day...the line to castrate me forms up the street.”
“Don’t eat those...” Kay advised. “My boyf...well, tonight he’s the man I want to kill says they’re nasty. People don’t wash their hands and stick their hands in anyway, if you believe the Munchkin.”
“Does this Munchkin ever tell you to do things?” Quinn said. “Thanks for the tip, but I’ll live dangerously.” And he cracked a peanut and stuck it in his mouth, which Kay found herself fascinated by.”We eunuchs often do.”
“He doesn’t tell me to do enough...why do you think I’m here?”
“To remind me that everything in life isn’t completely terrible, I think.”
“My God, and I was just such a bitch to you.” And that smile broke out across her face, rare and perfect. Damn, should have led off with that. The hair was quite a scene-stealer, but surely she knew that. “Some thin blue line I am.”
“I’ve not been a cop for years...how’d you know?”Terry asked.
“Keen detective instincts....nah somehow you just look like po-lice. A little better than most, huh? Kay Howard, Fugitive Squad, Baltimore PD.”
“Terry Quinn,” He waited for her to connect the dots...make him “that cop” but she didn’t. Crazily, he thought “Of course, you find people that are lost...no, hiding.” But he couldn’t say that...he just met her. He bought her more beer instead.
”Well, Terry,” She shook his hand, which thank god, he did like a normal person, not determined to prove that he had a twelve inch dick of steel, “Let’s start over.”
“You have great hair.”
“Well, I hear that a lot, but thank you. I could really use a compliment tonight.”
”I understand...with the bloodlust and everything.” Anything you want, if you smile like that. His hand still tingled from her touch, even though, unlike Sue, her hand was calloused and her nails ragged and unpolished. That was even sexier. In school, he’d had quite a thing for tomboys. It was a good thing she didn’t know about him. There must have been quite a shadow over his own face because she said “Hello? Earth to Quinn...you cheer up anymore, a funeral’s gonna break out, babe. No, not babe...hon. What? I start looking good to you, or something? Because I can’t...I have...”
“From the beginning. And I have, too”
“So, just friendly, huh?” Oh, Kay, she thought, lie to other people, not to you. Because in that instant, she knew she was going to fuck the brains out of Terry Quinn. Just to feel pretty again.
“OK...so, friendly gestures. And we shook already...hm. I, Terry Quinn, promise to be a complete gentleman. Pinkie swear.” And before Kay knew what she was doing, she’d linked her little finger with his. It... didn’t feel like she remembered it.
“Um, that wasn’t supposed to be hot, was it?”
“So glad you asked. If it always felt like that, I should have done more than play marbles with Billy Sullivan all those years ago.”
Kay cracked up. “What? I may have been a cop but I have cable. I know it’s okay to say stuff like that. Practically metrosexual. Metrosexuals are very in...says so in the City Paper.”
She enjoyed his casual humor. Munch was brilliant, but sometimes he could keep a conversation going for longer than Howard felt was healthy, and she probably knew more about Momo Giancana than his mama, besides. “Two questions...” she asked, trying to keep her composure. And nobody was as sure Munch was brilliant as Munch. This guy didn’t have that problem.
“Am I gonna need a lawyer for this?” he joked. She liked that he was a little bit wiseassed.
“Have you done anything that makes you think you need one?” She gave him a little cop attitude back.
“Not lately.”
Somebody put a song on the jukebox, one of Derek’s, he knew that, but his brain was a little scrambled. He couldn’t place it, but he was surprised when this gorgeous redhead, whose hair he was actively restraining himself from touching, heard a few notes and said “You Make Me Feel Brand-New”.
”Really? Because I was just going to say...”
“The song. The Stylistics. Although some people would argue it’s not their best work.”
“My partner would love you...he’s a real fiend for that stuff. It’s grown on me too, though.”
“OK,” she said, “Joke’s over...I know this one song because my sister tried to teach me to slow dance to it in middle school. I was hopeless...”
He wanted to ask why, tell her she looked like she moved just fine, but if he did, he might just want to have her on this counter.
“I kept trying to lead.’ She said, as if she could read his mind.” And the best work thing? You’re gonna laugh.”
“I like to laugh,” he said, looking serious like Timmy in spite of himself.
“Munch told me once if you’re in a social situation and feeling all awkward, you should find something to comment on and say that.”
”Why should you feel awkward? I’m a nice guy.” He gestured. “This is a nice place.”
“What do you think of the Kennedy assassination?”
“Why? It’s ancient history now. Can’t fix it anyway.”
“Perfect answer.” Kay stood up, relieved she didn’t stumble any.(Being off Homicide had affected her capacity.) “Because almost since we started talking, I’ve wanted to do this.” And she covered his lips and tongue with an epic kiss. Quinn, off balance, gasped out of pleasure and breathlessness. “Hey,” he gasped. “that wasn’t in the rules.”
“Got you on a technicality,” Howard said. “I can’t swear to be a gentleman.”
“No, no, you can’t. Or a lady either...you feminists.. wanting to make your own rules.”
“Damn straight. And I can tell how much it bothers you, too.”
“Is my body betraying me again?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Terry. It may be the beer, or my keen detective instincts, but I’d say “yes.”
“Remind me to feed it better next week.”
The moment lasted until the bartender, a friend of Strange’s none too pleased to only see the tempramental white boy in here on his lonesome, barked “Get a room, y’all.”. He was secretly relieved that he found the one kind of trouble guaranteed to keep even an investigator’s mind off racial politics for one night.
“Follow me home?” Quinn asked. “Although beautiful things happen when you lead. Damn. Your sister is an idiot.”
“You have no idea.”
When they walked off together, Terry noticed she was smaller than she looked, but he sensed it was a mistake to act protective.He did watch her as she paid, from the back. He was an investigator, paid to notice details and that detail was as fresh as a summer nectarine.”Hey, you didn’t have to buy my drink. I may be a rent-a-cop but I have real money, sweetheart.”
”Don’t want to owe you anything. And don’t call me sweetheart.”
Oh, Christ, Quinn thought, another one of those. But she’s gorgeous and she drinks beer like water, and her smile, not that he’d seen it for a while, was like a religious experience. He instantly regretted all those times he’d gotten on Derek’s back about being monogamous.Some women were just born temptations, that’s all there was to it.”If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right,”he thought, and then thought he spent way too much time with Strange.
“Ok, so now I owe you. Name your price.” He felt all giddy, he felt fifteen, even though Detective Howard couldn’t have been a further cry from his teenaged fantasy girls with their stillettos and giant tits. But she licked her lips, covered in the palest pink gloss, and he swore if she wanted to drag him around by his balls he would have to grit his teeth and let her do it. This was the kind of shit that got Sam Cooke killed, Strange would say, right after he got done laughing his ass off.
She considered longer than expected and there was a frown line between her eyebrows.”Okay,” she said, “what were you doing that there was a line of people after your basket tonight? Besides this?”
“Wow, you really lay it on the line, don’t you?”
“Yeah...it’s your lucky night, huh?” And he could swear she winked, but she wasn’t the type.
“My job sucks. Having to make up stories to get kids and grandmothers to talk to me...well you know....and this one girlfriend got mad.”
“Girlfriends are the worst. What can I do to take your mind off it?”
“Dance with me.”
“I expected an answer from somewhere lower.” Kay said, and she did sound surprised.
“I’m not just a stud horse, you know.”
“Modest too,” she replied.
”At my age, I have picked up a few skills,” Terry admitted, and shrugged.
Quinn’s place wasn’t far from the bar. It occurred to Kay to say he had a nice place here, but he hadn’t, especially. It was neat, but aside from this, bore the untended aspect of every single cop’s place, hers included, except when she gave into the occasional girly urge and bought candles. He did have a nice stereo, and more CD’s than anyone outside a music store or her brother Josh. He opted for the deja vu and the Stylistics filled the apartment.”May I have this dance?” he said, with an exaggerated bow.
She laughed. If he thought her smile was great...”You’re not serious?”
“The hell I’m not...the way I figure it your whole gender owes me a break today...woman chased me with a frying pan, okay? All right, so the bow was too much...run me in... fuck up my license...get me out of this gig.” Kay was made breathless by his fucking amazing smile which she had never seen. What the hell went wrong in this man’s life to make him like Tim Bayliss in a mortuary? But for tonight, the questions were somebody else’s problem.
“Let me get this straight,” she teased. “I’m paying for the sins of some yoette with a frying pan? That’s not right.”
“More right than you fucking me to get back at your Munchkin.”
She sighed. Well, if he was going to get all ethical about it. “OK.”
Quinn fiddled with the stereo and got “You Make Me Feel Brand New,” back on again.
“What’s with you and that song?”
“Don’t know. Maybe it’s our song.”
”We’re a one-night stand. We don’t get a song.”
“For tonight we do. A one-night song.”
“You know, Quinn, I’m supposed to be the chick.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” He held her close and sniffed her hair. It was making him feel like a fetishist how much he wanted to. “Yum, Christmas trees.”
Was she blushing? No way. “ My sister sends it to me. She says it’s balsam.”
“She may be an idiot, but she has terrific taste in shampoo. I know just the package I want to put under those Christmas trees.”
“What if I’ve been bad?"