by Jane Seville
D slid further and further down in the bed, pushing the covers back with him until they were both bare-ass exposed in the dim morning light. He settled between Jack’s legs and lifted them up by the knees, hooking them over his shoulders and wrapping his arms around Jack’s thighs, trapping Jack in place as he lowered his head and sucked him deep. Jack hissed, his hips wanting to thrust but unable to do so because D had him pinned. “Oh Jesus…,” he breathed, clutching the sides of his pillow, yanking up on it until it threatened to swallow his face.
“Careful there,” D said, lifting his head. “Don’t wanna suffocate yerself.”
Jack wrapped his arms around his pillow-encased head, growling in frustration. “Don’t stop,” he groaned.
D murmured something Jack didn’t quite hear and was back at it, with a vengeance. Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head and he wondered if he had any blood left in his skull. He came with a surprised grunt, spilling into D’s mouth, his torso rising off the bed with the force of it. D rose up over him, smirking and wiping his mouth. “Was that my wake-up call?” Jack said, weakly.
“Predictable joke, doc,” D said, starting to lower himself onto Jack.
“Nope,” Jack said, stopping him. “Your turn,” he said, motioning for D to keep crawling until he was kneeling over Jack’s face. He stroked him a few times, then reached around and gripped D’s ass, bringing him down to his mouth. He heard D groan above him, his hands braced on the wall, and relaxed as best he could as D began taking short strokes into his mouth. He knew it wouldn’t take long and it didn’t; D never had much staying power in the morning. Within a minute he was blasting his orgasm into Jack’s throat and sagging in a heap at his side.
“Christ,” he gasped, pulling Jack tight to his side. “You gotta be the king a fuckin’ blow jobs.” He paused. “Not that I got much basis for comparison.”
“So how do you know I don’t give sucky blow jobs?” Jack said. D made a face. “Uh, no pun intended.”
“Ain’t possible.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause if they get any better’n that, nobody’d live through ’em.”
Jack laughed. “And you say you’re no good at sweet talk.”
They just lay there for a few minutes, not speaking, lying in a tangled heap of naked limbs. D’s hand left slow strokes up and down Jack’s upper arm while Jack’s finger traced meaningless patterns on the taut skin of D’s flank.
I need to know what he did.
D stirred, stretching like a cat. “Well, c’mon, Jack. Wanna get on the road by eight we best get our asses in gear, huh?”
~~~~~
After showering and dressing, Jack and D headed down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Jack was quiet, working out in his mind how to reintroduce the subject. He couldn’t believe he’d let it go this long. To be fair to himself, the two months since D’s return had been something of a whirlwind, and D had been gone for part of it. He’d had to take two separate weeklong trips away from Portland to wrap up the loose threads of his old life, collect some things from storage, dispose of some stockpiles he’d left around the country, close up some financial accounts and undergo some debriefings with the Bureau. Jack had been studying a lot, reading the back issues of his medical journals that he’d let slide, and prevailing upon the surgeons at the local hospital to let him observe some surgeries. You didn’t just step right back into the delicate procedures that were his specialty after more than a year away without some preparation.
All this on top of the many logistical preparations to be made for the trip to Baltimore followed by the move to Columbus had taken up a lot of time, and suddenly two months had gone by and they were leaving, and not another peep had been uttered by either of them about what had happened during their long separation.
D was looking at him as they stepped off the elevator and handed their overnight bags to the porter. “What’s wrong?”
Jack shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Ya got that look.”
“What look?”
“Somethin’s on yer mind.”
“Nothing’s on my mind.”
D sighed. “Have it yer way.”
They walked silently to the restaurant, were seated and poured coffee, and sat there waiting to place their orders. “All right, there’s something on my mind,” Jack said.
“Told ya there was.”
“Yes, you were right. Bully for you.”
“What is it?”
Jack sighed, holding D’s gaze across the table. “You’re really never going to tell me? Not ever?”
D had to have been thinking on this subject too, or else he suspected what was troubling Jack, because he didn’t need to ask for clarification. “We been over this, Jack.”
“So we’ll go over it again.”
“I told you. I took care a things. You don’t gotta worry about it no more.”
“How? How did you take care of things?” Jack asked, leaning forward.
“I took care a things,” D repeated, his jaw starting to tighten.
“Do you not get that what I’m imagining is probably way worse than anything you did?”
“I told ya I didn’t kill anybody.”
“I believe you. But there’s plenty that could have happened without you killing anyone.”
D fixed him with a hard stare. “Don’tcha trust me, Jack?”
Jack sat back. “Oh, no. No, you don’t. You do not get to make this my fault that I just don’t trust you enough. I trust you. But I can’t go on not knowing, I need you to tell me how you did this.”
“It don’t concern you,” D snapped, and seemed to immediately realize his mistake. He shrank a bit in his chair and looked away, picking up his water glass.
Jack felt his whole face go stony. “It doesn’t concern me? No, wait… it doesn’t concern me?”
D said nothing, just stared down into his water glass. Jack nodded, his hands clenched together on the tabletop. “Okay, I got it. Loud and clear. Things that were done for my benefit don’t concern me. Things you did that you are clearly conflicted about don’t concern me. My own damn partner’s fucking close-mouthed Cosa Nostra routine doesn’t concern me.” He stood up. “I’m not hungry. I’ll be in the car when you’re ready to go.”
He stalked out of the dining room, forcing himself not to look back to see if D was following him. Halfway across the lobby his arm was seized.
“Jack, come on.”
“Come on, what?”
“It’s….” He glanced around, then leaned closer. “Please. It’s jus’ better if ya don’t know. Ya gotta trust me.”
Jack shook his head. “This isn’t about me trusting you, Anson. You’ve told me things about yourself that you said you’d never told anyone else. Why is this different? Now, when we ought to be sharing more, why can’t you share this? What is it you’re afraid of? Whatever it is you did to help me can’t possibly be worse than the things you’ve done that I’ve already forgiven you for. But this? Not telling me anything? This, I might have a hard time forgiving.” He shook off D’s arm and headed for the door. He could hear D coming along behind, but he didn’t speak again.
Their car was fetched for them. D loaded their bags into the trunk while Jack checked out, and within a few minutes they were on the road again.
Jack pulled into a gas station in Estes Park. Nobody said a word as he got out and started fueling up. D went into the food mart and came out with some bottled water and a bag of snacks for the road. He got back in the passenger’s side and waited.
Jack finished gassing up and got behind the wheel again. He just sat there, staring into space.
“I sent his men away,” D finally said.
Jack didn’t respond.
“I picked six. Some a the lieutenants. Important guys. Guys I knew might like ta get out a the business. I set ’em up with new identities for them and their families. Paid for ’em ta get outta the country and disappear.” He hesitated. “Before they went, the
y told me things. Where bodies were buried. Locations a secret stashes a drugs and shit. Signed affidavits and videotaped statements. Finally I went ta Dominguez and said look, I got a shitload a evidence against you in fourteen different safety deposit boxes all over the country, and unless you want all of it sent ta the FBI you leave Jack Francisco alone.”
It really was a beautiful day, Jack thought. Even sitting here at the gas pumps. The breeze off the mountains was cool and fresh. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath. “That’s it?”
D nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Jack nodded. “You could put him away for the rest of his life. You could dig up those bodies, let their families bury them. You could smash his whole operation. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re trading all that for my life.”
“I’d trade a lot more’n that fer your life, Jack.”
Jack turned and met D’s eyes. He’d die for me. He’s all but said it. But I don’t need that from him. I need him to live for me. “Any crime he does from now on will be on our heads.”
D shook his head. “Them crimes, they’re gonna happen no matter what. If it weren’t him, it’d be somebody else. Man like him, it’s like them lizards can grow back a leg. Cut him off, somebody come up in his place. I cain’t stop what he’s doin’, or undo what he’s done. But I can save you, Jack. If I done nothin’ else of any good in this world, I will a saved you, and that’s enough fer me.”
Jack felt tears rise to his eyes. He couldn’t look away from D’s face, laid bare before him. “Anson…,” he began.
D frowned and looked over his shoulder. Jack cocked his head, hearing sirens approaching, a lot of sirens, and approaching fast. They both turned in their seats and looked back out to the street in time to see a blue pickup truck barrel around a curve of the four-lane state highway and toward the intersection. It was going ninety miles an hour at least. The truck smashed into a minivan, spinning it around, and careened through the intersection, turning over and flipping three times. “Jesus Christ!” Jack cried. They both jumped from the car and ran toward the crashes, plural.
Jack headed for the t-boned minivan. People were running to the scene from all sides, and the police cars that had been chasing the truck roared into view, stopping short and laying rubber on the road. A woman inside the minivan was screaming, but she didn’t appear hurt. Her husband, who’d been driving, was in bad shape. Jack pushed his way to the car. The driver’s side was smashed; he couldn’t get in. He ran around to the other side and opened the passenger door.
“Hey! That guy’s getting away!” somebody said. Jack glanced over his shoulder and saw the driver of the pickup, miraculously unhurt, running from the scene. Jack and D exchanged a glance and a nod. D took off after the driver while Jack yanked the screaming woman from the car.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I gotta get in there.” He leaned over the driver, who was gasping and choking, bleeding heavily from a cut on his neck. It wasn’t arterial spray, but it was pretty bad. He slapped a hand over the wound, released the seat belt and dragged the man back out of the van and onto the pavement, swallowing hard when he saw a large gash in the man’s thigh, pumping blood steadily. Shit.
A cop ran up. “What the hell are you doing?” he said. “Don’t move him ’til the paramedics get here!”
Jack barely spared him a glance. “I’m a doctor, and this man is bleeding to death,” he snapped. “He’s got broken ribs and I think he’s punctured a lung.” The man’s wife was wailing, trying to get closer, held back by a matronly woman.
“But… couldn’t he have a spinal injury or something? You aren’t supposed to move him without a backboard!”
“His arms and legs are moving; he isn’t paralyzed. And it won’t matter much if he bleeds out, will it? Now shut the fuck up!” A woman was handing Jack cloth diapers from a bag. “Thanks,” he said, pressing the cloths to the wound. He beckoned to the cop. “You, hold these,” he barked. The cop knelt by the man’s head and held the cloths. “Hold them tight, now.” The cop nodded.
Jack moved down to the man’s thigh and tore his pants open. It was a deep gash, messy and bloody. He glanced around. Quite a crowd had gathered. “I need a bottle of water and pocketknife!” he said. A young man in biking clothes tossed him a bottle of water, and a sketchy-looking kid came forward and handed Jack a switchblade. The cop shot the kid a look, but the kid just shrugged.
Jack rinsed the wound and opened the switchblade. “What are you doing to him?” the man’s wife screamed. “Don’t cut him!”
Jack ignored her and dissected the wound just far down enough to see the gusher. He reached in, prompting more than a few groans from the crowd, found the severed blood vessel and clamped it tight with his fingers. He sat back on his knees and shut his eyes, visualizing the slippery tube between his fingertips, concentrating on keeping hold of it. It was like trying to keep a grip on an oil-soaked strand of pasta. Pasta that was pulsing in your hands.
“What are you dooooooing?” the wife kept yelling.
“I’m holding his femoral artery closed, lady,” Jack said. “And it’s really slippery so please shut up and let me concentrate!” He could hear the ambulance approaching. The paramedics would have clamps.
“He gonna live, doc?” Jack looked up, startled to hear anybody but D call him that, but it was the cop who’d spoken.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Jack said. “But he’s breathing and hopefully we’ve got this bleeding under control.”
The crowd parted to let the paramedics pull up and rush to the scene. “What’s going on?” one of them said, looking at Jack’s bloodstained clothing.
“He’s got a femoral bleeder; I’m holding it closed right now. You got a clamp?” The paramedic reached into his bag and handed him one. Jack took a deep breath, bent close and switched the clamp for his fingers. “Okay. That neck wound’s bad but it’s slowing. I think he’s got a collapsed lung.”
“Okay. We’ll take it from here, Doctor,” said the paramedic, correctly deducing Jack’s profession. Jack rose to his feet and backed away, allowing the paramedics to prep the man for transport to the nearest hospital. The cop who’d been keeping pressure on the man’s neck wound got up too, and came to shake Jack’s hand.
“Hey, that was… that was good work, there,” the cop said, gruffly. “Guy probably woulda died you hadn’t been here.”
Jack smiled weakly, feeling a little shaky. There was a smattering of applause from the crowd. Jack barely heard; he was looking around for D. He pushed through the onlookers and headed back toward the blue pickup truck.
Coming back down the road were two police officers, leading the cuffed driver between them. D was following along behind, touching a wound on his forehead. Jack trotted up to him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fucker got in one good lick with a piece a two-by-four.”
“You know this guy?” one of the officers said to Jack.
“Yeah, he’s my partner,” Jack said, not caring if anybody had a problem with that.
“Well, it isn’t every day a civilian dives right in and takes down a fleeing suspect. Tell him to stay out of official business. He could get hurt.”
Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of D being in danger from some punk in a pickup truck. “He isn’t exactly a civilian, officer.”
One of the cops put the driver in the backseat of a cruiser while the other one turned to face them. “You aren’t?” he said to D, who just looked chagrined.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open so the officer could see.
“FBI?” the cop said, arching an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Thought I was on vacation,” D grumbled. Jack put a hand to his mouth to conceal his amusement. That badge was exactly seven days old, and D wasn’t actually an agent—more like a consultant—but this officer didn’t need the details.
“So, why wer
e you chasing this guy?” Jack asked, putting on a suitably serious face.
The cop sighed. “Routine traffic stop. He took off.”
“Why?”
“Turns out there’s a bench warrant out on him.”
“For what?”
The cop gave them a blank look. “Unpaid parking tickets.”
D snorted, shaking his head. Jack stared. “This guy led you on a high-speed chase and nearly killed a man, not to mention himself, over unpaid parking tickets?”
The cop shrugged. “Helluva world, ain’t it?” He tipped his hat. “Thanks for your help.” He climbed into the cruiser and they were off. Local police were clogging the intersection now, more paramedics arriving to tend to less seriously injured drivers.
Jack and D just stood there for a moment, looking around at the carnage. “That guy gonna be okay?” D asked.
“I think so,” Jack said, watching as the man he’d helped was loaded into the back of an ambulance. The man’s wife got in with him, still crying, immediately seizing the man’s hand. She looked out the back of the bus and her eyes met Jack’s across the street. She smiled a little. Thank you, Jack saw the words on her lips. He nodded and lifted a hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let me wash out that cut.”
He led D to another ambulance nearby. The paramedics gave him some antiseptic and a bandage. He cleaned the small gash on D’s forehead, taking his time about it, letting his fingers linger on D’s skin.
It can all be over, just like that. You’re driving down the road and some asshole smashes your car, and you’re dead. Or someone you love is dead. It’s all a goddamn crapshoot. D was watching him, and Jack saw similar thoughts passing behind his eyes. “You have fun playing cops and robbers?” he asked, quietly.