Mann Hunt, page 15
Palvinder’s mother entered the office and handed Declan an envelope. She stared at him for a few moments. He smiled and said, “Thank you for the delicious chai and kaju katli.”
She looked at him, her lips pursed, and without comment left the room.
“You must forgive her. A mother’s love for her son is undying, and she was upset that I got hurt. Now, back to your accounting needs, have a look at the documents she gave you and, if you agree, sign them where indicated and courier them back to me.”
“Thank you, Palvinder. I feel like I’m in good hands.”
They shook hands and, as the accountant escorted him to the front of the office, a little girl came through the front door. She wore a backpack emblazoned with a ladybug. She smiled at Declan, who recognised her as the courier who had delivered Palvinder’s laptop earlier in the week.
Palvinder walked Declan out to his van, looked at it and said, “Well, it’s a bit better than the thing you rescued me in.”
“This one’s for surveillance. The car you gave me—that will have its own special uses.”
Palvinder nodded. “I hope you find the men behind Monarch, but be very careful. I sense what they did to me was mild compared to what they are truly capable of.”
Declan thanked Mr Attwal and got into his van. He wondered if indeed Monarch had killed Ian Mann and, if so, why?
Declan had decided that a quick change of clothes was in order before he paid Luke a visit. He called Charlie with the news about Monarch. The phone rang, then went to voicemail. He decided not to leave a message. He’d just tell him when he saw him later.
Declan parked in front of the office, and waved at Gwen as he walked by her shop. He only half-noticed that she was serving a customer. He mounted the stairs to the second floor. The sun shone through the windows, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow. He paused at Charlie’s desk. He’d been lucky to find Charlie. He had fit in instantly and picked things up quickly. It was hard to believe that he’d been with the firm for less than a week. And what a week it had been.
His stream of thoughts was broken by the chirp of an incoming text. He reached for his phone—but it wasn’t his. The sound came from Charlie’s phone, which lay on his desk.
“Charlie?” he called out.
He must have already headed out to check on the properties.
Declan went into the kitchenette and peeked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot behind the building. Odd, he thought. Francine’s still there…but the Challenger’s gone. He’d have to have a talk with Charlie about driving the car before he had the insurance paperwork.
The door alarm beeped, and he heard footsteps running up the stairs. The office door opened.
“I bet I know what you forgot,” Declan called out from the kitchenette as he walked into the office, but the person in front of him wasn’t Charlie.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” a man yelled.
Sam Hunt stood in front of Declan in full dress uniform, a block of a man who oozed authority, his eyes blazing. Declan had to fight hard not to raise his arms, fists clenched—not in a boxing pose, but one with arms and fists held close to his chest like a shield to protect him against his father’s rage.
Declan’s therapist had told him that beneath everyone there lurked a child-version of themselves waiting to come to the surface during times of stress. It could be set free by any number of triggers—a smell, a sound, a person. For Declan, it was the angry side of his father.
He did what the therapist had told him to do—think of things that brought him back into the present—into his adult self. The first image that came to mind was Charlie and his quirky, crooked smile. A deep breath and the thought of Charlie snapped him into the present. The whole process, from recognition of the problem to the implementation of the practiced coping mechanism, took no more than a few seconds.
“Hey, Dad. Let me guess—you’ve been talking to Gerry McKeckran.”
“Talking? That idiot came up to me at the Commissioner’s Lunch and started ranting about my son interfering with a police investigation. In front of everybody! My son wouldn’t be crazy enough to do something as butt-stupid as that, would he?”
“No, of course not. Unless it was my case to start with.”
“This is no joke. Police trumps civilian every time. Your PI licence isn’t going to protect you. Now, drop it and go back to peeping through windows or whatever the hell it is that you do!”
Sam turned and marched out, but not before he yelled, “I’m not going to be there to bail you out again.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlie made it to the factory block with only two embarrassing moments. The first was when he approached a red light and put one foot on the clutch and the other on the accelerator rather than the brake. The Red Beast drifted into the intersection, making enough noise to put a Saturn V moon rocket to shame. The second was when he had to abandon a parallel parking space as a group of teens looked on laughing.
Eventually, Charlie found a nice, unobstructed spot on a side street. He collected himself, reviewed his cover story then headed out on his first undercover mission.
The factory was easy to find. Its ground-floor windows and doors were boarded up, festooned with notices warning trespassers that they were not welcome, and that the building contained hazardous materials.
Why would anyone want this building?
Charlie popped into the nearest shop to the old factory. It was a vintage clothing store called Old Rags to Riches. A young dude, dressed in clothes made of macramé, sat at the cash desk. His eyes were closed as he dozed in the late-day sun. Charlie cleared his throat and the dude’s eyes rocketed open.
“Oh. Hi!” he mumbled. “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “I just came in.”
“Thank God. One day I actually slept through a robbery. They cleaned out the till and I didn’t even notice.”
“Business hasn’t been too brisk?”
“Business hasn’t been,” he answered.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“No sorrier than me. I opened the store here because I thought this location was up and coming.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, if it was, it came and went while I was asleep.” He laughed. “What can I help you with?”
Charlie could think of a number of things this attractive, albeit strangely dressed young man could help him with. He spotted the man’s name tag. “Well, Dylan, my name’s Scott Lazar, but my friends call me Scootch.” He extended his hand. Dylan just stared at him. “I’m looking at renting a space in the area for my business. I’m in computer games.”
“Well, you’ll have some competition. Sonic Masters across the street’s cornered the market in the area.”
“I’ll be opening a new development studio. I actually create the games.”
“Oh. That’s cool. Anything I’ve heard of?”
Charlie wasn’t prepared for this. “Yes…uh… Zombie Manifesto is one. Call of…V-valour is our best seller,” Charlie stuttered.
“I’ve played that one, dude. You invented it?”
“You bet. Every…dead zombie and troll. Now, about the properties around here. There seem to be a lot of empty buildings. Is there a reason for that? Something I should know about?”
“Nah,” Dylan said, shrugging. “The company that holds my lease is just looking at renovating some of the older stores. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“And who’s that?”
“Monar—I mean…I’m not supposed to say.”
“Why not?”
Dylan looked around, and in a hushed voice said, “Apparently there’s a bit of a real estate battle going on. The owner’s trying to calm things down to keep our rents low. There’s a rumour that if they get the big building, it will be developed into something that will bring us a lot of business.” Dylan lowered his voice further. “But they’re worried the competition is sending in spies to find out what we’re paying, so we’ve been warned not to say anything to people asking questions.”
Charlie nodded and whispered back, “I’m just interested in finding a space. If you can’t talk about it, maybe you could give me a name and a number I could call to make my own enquiries? Maybe you’d even get a referral fee.”
It was clear that Dylan was working out his options.
“Tell you what—if you leave me your number, I’ll make sure to pass it on. I could use one of those referral fees,” he said as he grabbed a pen and piece of paper, then stared at Charlie, waiting.
“Right. Perfect. My name’s Scott Lazar. That’s L—A—Z—A—R.”
“Like the light beam, right?”
Charlie wasn’t so sure that Dylan’s business was ever going to be a great success. “Yeah. Like the light beam.”
“Cool. And your number?”
“Here.” Charlie took the paper and wrote down a number, passing it to Dylan before realising the number he had made up had only nine digits instead of ten.
Dylan didn’t seem to notice. He looked at the paper and said, “Cool. I’ll let them know.”
Charlie wondered if Dylan’s napping was a sign of a more serious medical issue. “Great. Anyway, Dylan, I’ll let you get back to work. Have a great day!”
“Same to you.”
Charlie waved and left the store. He looked back through the window as he walked by, expecting he’d see Dylan asleep in his chair. Instead, he was chatting away on the phone, gesticulating wildly and looking at Charlie through the window.
Three shop doors down, Charlie entered All Things Go Round, a used record store.
A pretty blonde woman with cobalt blue lipstick and bright pink eyeshadow sat behind the counter. Music played loudly in the otherwise unoccupied store.
“Great song,” Charlie shouted.
“What?” the woman responded.
Pointing to the speaker, Charlie yelled louder, “Great song,” but by then she’d had time to twist the volume control down, so his voice rang out through the store, overwhelming Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water.
“They’re one of my favourite groups,” she said.
Charlie walked over to the counter and leaned on it. In his most seductive voice, he introduced himself. “My name’s Scott. Scott Lazar. Can I ask you a question?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Declan made his way to Luke’s apartment. He pondered the Monarch puzzle. If he’d only been able to get the name of the person in charge.
After being buzzed into the building, he took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. This place is posh. Declan knocked on the door, which opened, revealing Luke’s million-dollar smile. Declan’s heart skipped a beat.
“I’ll be back in just a sec. I’m on the phone in the other room. Make yourself at home.”
Declan walked in and sat on the couch. From the other room he could hear Luke’s muffled voice. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but the tone of the conversation sounded heated. Declan looked around. Luke was doing quite well for himself. Through the window of the corner unit, Declan could clearly make out the Calgary Tower, the Bow River and the midway rides on the Stampede grounds. Then his gaze was drawn to the coffee table, and a stack of mail. The top envelope was stamped ‘Final Notice’.
“I thought you’d never get here,” Luke said, coming back into the room. “Sorry about that. It was my dad.” He sat on the couch, grabbed Declan by the shoulders and pulled him in for a quick kiss.
Declan smiled. “Nice place. When I was a constable, I was lucky to afford a basement one-bedroom apartment. Looks like you’ve got, what, a two-bedroom, with a den and view of the mountains? Something you want to tell me?”
“My folks bought it for me, and the fancy couch we’re sitting on is courtesy of a long shot on a horse that paid off.”
“Do you always win?”
“Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose, but let’s not talk about that.” Luke kissed Declan’s neck. “So, anything new on the case?”
Declan pushed Luke away. “Not so fast, officer. I don’t give up information that easily. What’s in it for me?”
“You should know by now, I don’t make deals,” Luke said.
“Then you’re going to have to make me talk.”
“Well then, I’ll have to take you to the interrogation room.” Luke took Declan’s arm and dragged him down the hallway. As he pushed him onto the bed, Luke hauled off Declan’s T-shirt. He teased Declan’s nipples with his teeth before sliding down towards his stomach, taking his time exploring Declan’s navel with his tongue.
Luke said, “So, are you gonna talk?”
“You gotta do better than that.”
Luke yanked at the waistband of Declan’s 501s and the fly-buttons burst open.
“Mmm. Commando. That’ll save me time.”
Luke wrapped his lips around Declan’s hardening cock and started to suck. Declan felt Luke’s teeth gently sinking into his flesh.
“Easy there. I’ve only got one of those.”
Luke pulled back, making a popping sound as he released Declan’s shaft, then ran his tongue along its length towards his balls. He sucked on one, then the other before pushing Declan’s legs back. He paused and said, “By the time I finish this, you won’t remember your own name,” then he plunged his tongue into Declan’s ass.
Declan moaned. His eyes rolled back into his head as Luke penetrated him repeatedly with his tongue. He knew when this was finished that he’d tell Luke anything he wanted to know.
* * * *
Charlie exited the third shop on the strip with no new information. The clerk in the wine store had been downright rude even after he’d bought a nice bottle of merlot.
He turned left to try his luck at another store and walked right into a wall. It was less of a wall than a large slab of a man built like a brick wall. Charlie was so startled that he gasped and dropped his bottle, which smashed on the pavement.
“Mind telling me what you’re doin’ here?” Brick Wall asked, poking Charlie in the shoulder.
“I was just buying a bottle of…oh, I’m so, so, sorry. I got it all over your pants. It was an accident. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”
“Why are you bothering these fine, upstanding business owners with lots of questions?”
With every word, Brick Wall moved Charlie farther away from the store and closer to a parked van.
“I was just asking—I was just looking to rent a space. I make games,” he stuttered out. At this point, Charlie saw another guy who had been hidden from Charlie’s view by the bulk of the angry man.
The smaller of the two men said, “Wait a minute. I know dat guy. He works for that detective, Hunt.”
Charlie recognised the second man as the one who had come by the office to pick up Mr Attwal’s laptop and finger.
“Is that so?” said Brick Wall. “So, you’re snooping around for Hunt?”
“No, no. I make computer games—”
The next thing Charlie knew he was flying backwards and slamming into the side of the van.
“Don’t lie to me,” Brick Wall yelled, “or I’ll throw you over this fuckin’ van and into traffic!”
He reached for Charlie but had underestimated how far he’d thrown him, and just swatted air.
Charlie took advantage of the situation, rotating away and dodging around the front of the van. Brick Wall tried to follow, but was too large to fit between the two vehicles. Charlie continued his path onto the street then heard the screech of brakes and the squeal of rubber on pavement. He turned his head. The hood of a dark grey car was a foot away from his body.
He jumped as high as he could and made contact with the hood, then hit the roadway.
The last thing he remembered was a voice saying, “Charlie? Charlie, wake up. Wake up.”
* * * *
Declan lay on the bed with Luke’s head resting on his chest. Both men were spent. Declan said, “That was amazing. You’ve obviously had lots of practice.”
“Not as much as some,” Luke said, laughing as he poked Declan in the ribs. “I didn’t start ’til I was almost out of university.”
“Was that when you came out?” Declan asked.
“Oh, do we have to do this?” Luke replied, laughing as he struggled to get out of Declan’s leg hold. “All right. Coming out wasn’t as big a deal as I thought it was going to be, given that my family’s pretty right-wing. In high school I focused on grades and sports. I loved wrestling and basketball, and I was good at them.”
“Of course you were. Especially the wrestling, I bet.”
“Asshole.” Luke swatted Declan. “Anyway, there was nothing else to do. I grew up in a small town.
“I lived in residence at university where I was corrupted by the sins of alcohol and bar-hopping. By the end of first year I had fallen in love with a member of the intramural volleyball team, a physics major named Jamal. The thought of telling my parents that their son was gay scared the crap out of me. Jamal suggested that I should start by telling them I’d fallen in love with someone who was black, so that when I told them it was a guy, they’d be in such a state of shock, the gay part wouldn’t register.”
Declan released his leg hold on Luke. “So, how did it go?”
“When I finally got up the nerve to tell my parents, my mother just left the room and said to my father that it was obviously time.”
“Time for what?” Declan asked.
“Time for my dad to come out to me.”
“No fucking way!”
“Yup,” Luke responded. Luke sat up on the edge of the bed. “And Mom knew all along. They’d been best friends since elementary school, and they loved each other. He said if it wasn’t for her, her support, her brains and her good judgement, that he wouldn’t have accomplished a quarter of what he did.
“He claimed she always knew and, in spite of that, she still agreed to be his wife. He had a solid career, and my mom was happy to help him out as it gave her status. He was just lucky to marry his best friend. I’ll always remember what he said—’sex can be exciting and exhilarating, but it will never last. The key to a long relationship is friendship.’ And they did have some sex, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
She looked at him, her lips pursed, and without comment left the room.
“You must forgive her. A mother’s love for her son is undying, and she was upset that I got hurt. Now, back to your accounting needs, have a look at the documents she gave you and, if you agree, sign them where indicated and courier them back to me.”
“Thank you, Palvinder. I feel like I’m in good hands.”
They shook hands and, as the accountant escorted him to the front of the office, a little girl came through the front door. She wore a backpack emblazoned with a ladybug. She smiled at Declan, who recognised her as the courier who had delivered Palvinder’s laptop earlier in the week.
Palvinder walked Declan out to his van, looked at it and said, “Well, it’s a bit better than the thing you rescued me in.”
“This one’s for surveillance. The car you gave me—that will have its own special uses.”
Palvinder nodded. “I hope you find the men behind Monarch, but be very careful. I sense what they did to me was mild compared to what they are truly capable of.”
Declan thanked Mr Attwal and got into his van. He wondered if indeed Monarch had killed Ian Mann and, if so, why?
Declan had decided that a quick change of clothes was in order before he paid Luke a visit. He called Charlie with the news about Monarch. The phone rang, then went to voicemail. He decided not to leave a message. He’d just tell him when he saw him later.
Declan parked in front of the office, and waved at Gwen as he walked by her shop. He only half-noticed that she was serving a customer. He mounted the stairs to the second floor. The sun shone through the windows, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow. He paused at Charlie’s desk. He’d been lucky to find Charlie. He had fit in instantly and picked things up quickly. It was hard to believe that he’d been with the firm for less than a week. And what a week it had been.
His stream of thoughts was broken by the chirp of an incoming text. He reached for his phone—but it wasn’t his. The sound came from Charlie’s phone, which lay on his desk.
“Charlie?” he called out.
He must have already headed out to check on the properties.
Declan went into the kitchenette and peeked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot behind the building. Odd, he thought. Francine’s still there…but the Challenger’s gone. He’d have to have a talk with Charlie about driving the car before he had the insurance paperwork.
The door alarm beeped, and he heard footsteps running up the stairs. The office door opened.
“I bet I know what you forgot,” Declan called out from the kitchenette as he walked into the office, but the person in front of him wasn’t Charlie.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” a man yelled.
Sam Hunt stood in front of Declan in full dress uniform, a block of a man who oozed authority, his eyes blazing. Declan had to fight hard not to raise his arms, fists clenched—not in a boxing pose, but one with arms and fists held close to his chest like a shield to protect him against his father’s rage.
Declan’s therapist had told him that beneath everyone there lurked a child-version of themselves waiting to come to the surface during times of stress. It could be set free by any number of triggers—a smell, a sound, a person. For Declan, it was the angry side of his father.
He did what the therapist had told him to do—think of things that brought him back into the present—into his adult self. The first image that came to mind was Charlie and his quirky, crooked smile. A deep breath and the thought of Charlie snapped him into the present. The whole process, from recognition of the problem to the implementation of the practiced coping mechanism, took no more than a few seconds.
“Hey, Dad. Let me guess—you’ve been talking to Gerry McKeckran.”
“Talking? That idiot came up to me at the Commissioner’s Lunch and started ranting about my son interfering with a police investigation. In front of everybody! My son wouldn’t be crazy enough to do something as butt-stupid as that, would he?”
“No, of course not. Unless it was my case to start with.”
“This is no joke. Police trumps civilian every time. Your PI licence isn’t going to protect you. Now, drop it and go back to peeping through windows or whatever the hell it is that you do!”
Sam turned and marched out, but not before he yelled, “I’m not going to be there to bail you out again.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlie made it to the factory block with only two embarrassing moments. The first was when he approached a red light and put one foot on the clutch and the other on the accelerator rather than the brake. The Red Beast drifted into the intersection, making enough noise to put a Saturn V moon rocket to shame. The second was when he had to abandon a parallel parking space as a group of teens looked on laughing.
Eventually, Charlie found a nice, unobstructed spot on a side street. He collected himself, reviewed his cover story then headed out on his first undercover mission.
The factory was easy to find. Its ground-floor windows and doors were boarded up, festooned with notices warning trespassers that they were not welcome, and that the building contained hazardous materials.
Why would anyone want this building?
Charlie popped into the nearest shop to the old factory. It was a vintage clothing store called Old Rags to Riches. A young dude, dressed in clothes made of macramé, sat at the cash desk. His eyes were closed as he dozed in the late-day sun. Charlie cleared his throat and the dude’s eyes rocketed open.
“Oh. Hi!” he mumbled. “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “I just came in.”
“Thank God. One day I actually slept through a robbery. They cleaned out the till and I didn’t even notice.”
“Business hasn’t been too brisk?”
“Business hasn’t been,” he answered.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“No sorrier than me. I opened the store here because I thought this location was up and coming.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, if it was, it came and went while I was asleep.” He laughed. “What can I help you with?”
Charlie could think of a number of things this attractive, albeit strangely dressed young man could help him with. He spotted the man’s name tag. “Well, Dylan, my name’s Scott Lazar, but my friends call me Scootch.” He extended his hand. Dylan just stared at him. “I’m looking at renting a space in the area for my business. I’m in computer games.”
“Well, you’ll have some competition. Sonic Masters across the street’s cornered the market in the area.”
“I’ll be opening a new development studio. I actually create the games.”
“Oh. That’s cool. Anything I’ve heard of?”
Charlie wasn’t prepared for this. “Yes…uh… Zombie Manifesto is one. Call of…V-valour is our best seller,” Charlie stuttered.
“I’ve played that one, dude. You invented it?”
“You bet. Every…dead zombie and troll. Now, about the properties around here. There seem to be a lot of empty buildings. Is there a reason for that? Something I should know about?”
“Nah,” Dylan said, shrugging. “The company that holds my lease is just looking at renovating some of the older stores. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“And who’s that?”
“Monar—I mean…I’m not supposed to say.”
“Why not?”
Dylan looked around, and in a hushed voice said, “Apparently there’s a bit of a real estate battle going on. The owner’s trying to calm things down to keep our rents low. There’s a rumour that if they get the big building, it will be developed into something that will bring us a lot of business.” Dylan lowered his voice further. “But they’re worried the competition is sending in spies to find out what we’re paying, so we’ve been warned not to say anything to people asking questions.”
Charlie nodded and whispered back, “I’m just interested in finding a space. If you can’t talk about it, maybe you could give me a name and a number I could call to make my own enquiries? Maybe you’d even get a referral fee.”
It was clear that Dylan was working out his options.
“Tell you what—if you leave me your number, I’ll make sure to pass it on. I could use one of those referral fees,” he said as he grabbed a pen and piece of paper, then stared at Charlie, waiting.
“Right. Perfect. My name’s Scott Lazar. That’s L—A—Z—A—R.”
“Like the light beam, right?”
Charlie wasn’t so sure that Dylan’s business was ever going to be a great success. “Yeah. Like the light beam.”
“Cool. And your number?”
“Here.” Charlie took the paper and wrote down a number, passing it to Dylan before realising the number he had made up had only nine digits instead of ten.
Dylan didn’t seem to notice. He looked at the paper and said, “Cool. I’ll let them know.”
Charlie wondered if Dylan’s napping was a sign of a more serious medical issue. “Great. Anyway, Dylan, I’ll let you get back to work. Have a great day!”
“Same to you.”
Charlie waved and left the store. He looked back through the window as he walked by, expecting he’d see Dylan asleep in his chair. Instead, he was chatting away on the phone, gesticulating wildly and looking at Charlie through the window.
Three shop doors down, Charlie entered All Things Go Round, a used record store.
A pretty blonde woman with cobalt blue lipstick and bright pink eyeshadow sat behind the counter. Music played loudly in the otherwise unoccupied store.
“Great song,” Charlie shouted.
“What?” the woman responded.
Pointing to the speaker, Charlie yelled louder, “Great song,” but by then she’d had time to twist the volume control down, so his voice rang out through the store, overwhelming Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water.
“They’re one of my favourite groups,” she said.
Charlie walked over to the counter and leaned on it. In his most seductive voice, he introduced himself. “My name’s Scott. Scott Lazar. Can I ask you a question?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Declan made his way to Luke’s apartment. He pondered the Monarch puzzle. If he’d only been able to get the name of the person in charge.
After being buzzed into the building, he took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. This place is posh. Declan knocked on the door, which opened, revealing Luke’s million-dollar smile. Declan’s heart skipped a beat.
“I’ll be back in just a sec. I’m on the phone in the other room. Make yourself at home.”
Declan walked in and sat on the couch. From the other room he could hear Luke’s muffled voice. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but the tone of the conversation sounded heated. Declan looked around. Luke was doing quite well for himself. Through the window of the corner unit, Declan could clearly make out the Calgary Tower, the Bow River and the midway rides on the Stampede grounds. Then his gaze was drawn to the coffee table, and a stack of mail. The top envelope was stamped ‘Final Notice’.
“I thought you’d never get here,” Luke said, coming back into the room. “Sorry about that. It was my dad.” He sat on the couch, grabbed Declan by the shoulders and pulled him in for a quick kiss.
Declan smiled. “Nice place. When I was a constable, I was lucky to afford a basement one-bedroom apartment. Looks like you’ve got, what, a two-bedroom, with a den and view of the mountains? Something you want to tell me?”
“My folks bought it for me, and the fancy couch we’re sitting on is courtesy of a long shot on a horse that paid off.”
“Do you always win?”
“Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose, but let’s not talk about that.” Luke kissed Declan’s neck. “So, anything new on the case?”
Declan pushed Luke away. “Not so fast, officer. I don’t give up information that easily. What’s in it for me?”
“You should know by now, I don’t make deals,” Luke said.
“Then you’re going to have to make me talk.”
“Well then, I’ll have to take you to the interrogation room.” Luke took Declan’s arm and dragged him down the hallway. As he pushed him onto the bed, Luke hauled off Declan’s T-shirt. He teased Declan’s nipples with his teeth before sliding down towards his stomach, taking his time exploring Declan’s navel with his tongue.
Luke said, “So, are you gonna talk?”
“You gotta do better than that.”
Luke yanked at the waistband of Declan’s 501s and the fly-buttons burst open.
“Mmm. Commando. That’ll save me time.”
Luke wrapped his lips around Declan’s hardening cock and started to suck. Declan felt Luke’s teeth gently sinking into his flesh.
“Easy there. I’ve only got one of those.”
Luke pulled back, making a popping sound as he released Declan’s shaft, then ran his tongue along its length towards his balls. He sucked on one, then the other before pushing Declan’s legs back. He paused and said, “By the time I finish this, you won’t remember your own name,” then he plunged his tongue into Declan’s ass.
Declan moaned. His eyes rolled back into his head as Luke penetrated him repeatedly with his tongue. He knew when this was finished that he’d tell Luke anything he wanted to know.
* * * *
Charlie exited the third shop on the strip with no new information. The clerk in the wine store had been downright rude even after he’d bought a nice bottle of merlot.
He turned left to try his luck at another store and walked right into a wall. It was less of a wall than a large slab of a man built like a brick wall. Charlie was so startled that he gasped and dropped his bottle, which smashed on the pavement.
“Mind telling me what you’re doin’ here?” Brick Wall asked, poking Charlie in the shoulder.
“I was just buying a bottle of…oh, I’m so, so, sorry. I got it all over your pants. It was an accident. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”
“Why are you bothering these fine, upstanding business owners with lots of questions?”
With every word, Brick Wall moved Charlie farther away from the store and closer to a parked van.
“I was just asking—I was just looking to rent a space. I make games,” he stuttered out. At this point, Charlie saw another guy who had been hidden from Charlie’s view by the bulk of the angry man.
The smaller of the two men said, “Wait a minute. I know dat guy. He works for that detective, Hunt.”
Charlie recognised the second man as the one who had come by the office to pick up Mr Attwal’s laptop and finger.
“Is that so?” said Brick Wall. “So, you’re snooping around for Hunt?”
“No, no. I make computer games—”
The next thing Charlie knew he was flying backwards and slamming into the side of the van.
“Don’t lie to me,” Brick Wall yelled, “or I’ll throw you over this fuckin’ van and into traffic!”
He reached for Charlie but had underestimated how far he’d thrown him, and just swatted air.
Charlie took advantage of the situation, rotating away and dodging around the front of the van. Brick Wall tried to follow, but was too large to fit between the two vehicles. Charlie continued his path onto the street then heard the screech of brakes and the squeal of rubber on pavement. He turned his head. The hood of a dark grey car was a foot away from his body.
He jumped as high as he could and made contact with the hood, then hit the roadway.
The last thing he remembered was a voice saying, “Charlie? Charlie, wake up. Wake up.”
* * * *
Declan lay on the bed with Luke’s head resting on his chest. Both men were spent. Declan said, “That was amazing. You’ve obviously had lots of practice.”
“Not as much as some,” Luke said, laughing as he poked Declan in the ribs. “I didn’t start ’til I was almost out of university.”
“Was that when you came out?” Declan asked.
“Oh, do we have to do this?” Luke replied, laughing as he struggled to get out of Declan’s leg hold. “All right. Coming out wasn’t as big a deal as I thought it was going to be, given that my family’s pretty right-wing. In high school I focused on grades and sports. I loved wrestling and basketball, and I was good at them.”
“Of course you were. Especially the wrestling, I bet.”
“Asshole.” Luke swatted Declan. “Anyway, there was nothing else to do. I grew up in a small town.
“I lived in residence at university where I was corrupted by the sins of alcohol and bar-hopping. By the end of first year I had fallen in love with a member of the intramural volleyball team, a physics major named Jamal. The thought of telling my parents that their son was gay scared the crap out of me. Jamal suggested that I should start by telling them I’d fallen in love with someone who was black, so that when I told them it was a guy, they’d be in such a state of shock, the gay part wouldn’t register.”
Declan released his leg hold on Luke. “So, how did it go?”
“When I finally got up the nerve to tell my parents, my mother just left the room and said to my father that it was obviously time.”
“Time for what?” Declan asked.
“Time for my dad to come out to me.”
“No fucking way!”
“Yup,” Luke responded. Luke sat up on the edge of the bed. “And Mom knew all along. They’d been best friends since elementary school, and they loved each other. He said if it wasn’t for her, her support, her brains and her good judgement, that he wouldn’t have accomplished a quarter of what he did.
“He claimed she always knew and, in spite of that, she still agreed to be his wife. He had a solid career, and my mom was happy to help him out as it gave her status. He was just lucky to marry his best friend. I’ll always remember what he said—’sex can be exciting and exhilarating, but it will never last. The key to a long relationship is friendship.’ And they did have some sex, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
