A Fine Bromance

by Roland Graeme

  Their uncle Aleksander had become their guardian after their father’s death, and he still acted as a combination of surrogate parent, mentor and best friend. At first, Aleksander, a confirmed bachelor, had lived in the house with them. However, when Krzysztof turned twenty-one, Aleksander had announced his intention to move out, into an apartment of his own.

  “You’re the man of the house now,” he told Krzysztof. “You’ve had to be both a father and a brother to Tomasz and you’ve done a great job of it. I’m proud of you—proud of both of you boys. But it’s time for me to butt out and start letting you run your own lives. Don’t worry. I’ll still be around, whenever you need me.”

  Aleksander was as good as his word. He made a point of coming to the house to visit at least once a week.

  Growing up in an all-male household had given Krzysztof and Tomasz a certain toughness and discipline. They liked order, and they were comfortable with a set routine. The interior of the house betrayed the fact that it lacked a woman’s touch. It was no designer showcase, but they kept it tidy. The two brothers had learned how to handle most maintenance and repair jobs themselves.

  In the working class, predominately-Catholic neighborhood in which they lived, the Juroszek brothers were minor celebrities. Unlike some of the young men in the area, they had jobs, stayed out of trouble with the law and attended mass regularly. When a mother disapproved of her daughter’s boyfriend, she would lament. Why can’t you date somebody respectable, like those nice Juroszek boys?

  The brothers were Polish-American. They’d gone through a phase during their adolescence in which they’d decided that their given names, so redolent of the old country, were embarrassing and they’d insisted on being addressed as Chris and Tom, respectively. Uncle Aleksander chose to ride out this phase, stubbornly refusing to play along. “If the names your parents gave you aren’t good enough for you,” he said at one point, “I might be able to come up with a few suggestions. How about Romulus and Remus, or Castor and Pollux?” Aleksander was a well-educated man, interested in history, classical literature and mythology. Later, when a certain level of maturity began to kick in, the boys rediscovered their pride in their ethnic heritage and reverted to their baptismal names.

  After his tryst with Billy, Tomasz hurried home. He entered the house by its front door. There was an entranceway with an archway opening onto the living room. A staircase led to the second floor. Tomasz glanced into the living room, but it was unoccupied. He passed the staircase, went down a long hallway and pushed open the door leading to the kitchen.

  “Hey, Krzysztof,” he called out. “I’m home…and I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”

  He stopped and fell silent, when he entered the kitchen. Krzysztof was there, all right, seated at the kitchen table, but he wasn’t alone. Seated opposite him was a big, burly man whose dark blue uniform, complete with a badge pinned to the chest of his shirt, announced that he was a cop.

  Each man had a mug half-filled with coffee in front of him. Tomasz could also see that Krzysztof had a couple of pots going on top of the stove and his nose told him that whatever was simmering in them smelled good. Tomasz barely took note of these peripheral details. The policeman monopolized his attention. For one thing, his uniform trousers and shirt fit him snugly enough to reveal the fact that he had an enviably fit, muscular physique. He no doubt spent a lot of his off-duty time pumping some serious iron in a gym. For another, he was handsome, with a clear olive-toned complexion, glossy black curly hair and warm brown eyes. Tomasz guessed at once that he was Italian-American or Greek-American, or possibly Hispanic.

  He glanced admiringly at the man’s massive chest. Talk about the pecs of death. Pinned onto the front of the bulging shirt, opposite the badge, was a long rectangular nametag, spelling out Montegrappa. That settled the ethnic origin question to Tomasz’s satisfaction.

  “Sorry,” Tomasz mumbled. “I didn’t know you had company, Krzysztof. Ah—is anything wrong?”

  “No.” The police officer spoke, easily and in a friendly tone of voice. “This is a social call, not an official visit.”

  Krzysztof made the introductions. “Tomasz, this is Leonardo Montegrappa. Nardo, this is my kid brother, Tomasz.”

  Tomasz shook the big, strong hand the cop offered him. “It’s nice to meet you, Officer Montegrappa.”

  “Oh, please don’t be so formal. Call me by my first name. Although no one calls me Leonardo except my grandmother, and I never liked the name Leo. Call me Nardo. Everybody does. I almost feel as though you and I already know each other, Tomasz. Krzysztof’s told me so much about you.”

  “Yeah? Has he? That’s interesting. He hasn’t told me anything about you.”

  “Oh, come on, Tomasz. I’m sure I’ve mentioned Nardo to you,” Krzysztof protested.

  “No, you haven’t. I’d have remembered the name.”

  “Well, Krzysztof and I haven’t known each other for all that long,” Nardo said, in a casual, dismissive tone of voice. He consulted the wristwatch strapped around his thick left wrist. “Damn, I’ve lost track of the time. I’d better get going.”

  “Are you sure you can’t stay for dinner, Nardo?” Krzysztof asked.

  “I’m tempted, since you claim you’re such a good cook, but I’ve really got to head home. Thanks for the coffee. And I’m glad I finally had the chance to meet you, Tomasz.”

  “Likewise,” the younger Juroszek brother replied.

  The other two men rose. Nardo retrieved his policeman’s cap, which was lying on the kitchen countertop.

  “I’ll see you to the door,” Krzysztof said. “Hey, Tomasz—maybe you can start setting the table? And keep an eye on those pots. Don’t let anything boil over.”

  “Sure.”

  Tomasz and Nardo exchanged further goodbyes and Krzysztof escorted the cop to the front of the house. When a couple of minutes passed and Krzysztof didn’t return, Tomasz’s curiosity was aroused. He cracked open the kitchen door and listened, quite shamelessly. He couldn’t see the two men, but he could hear them. They were in the entranceway, at the front door, conversing in low voices. Tomasz couldn’t catch the words. Finally, Krzysztof showed Nardo out and he headed back toward the kitchen. Tomasz carefully closed the door and made a show of being busy with plates and silverware.

  “So how was school today?” Krzysztof asked, referring to the community college courses Tomasz was taking, in addition to his daytime job.

  “Fine.”

  “And the library? Did you get a lot of studying done, or did you just hang out there and try to pick up chicks?”

  “Of course I studied,” Tomasz lied, doing his best to sound indignant.

  “Good for you. With any luck, you’re going to turn out to be smart like uncle Aleksander, not dumb like me.”

  “You aren’t dumb, Krzysztof.”

  “I’m no freaking intellectual.” Krzysztof inspected and stirred the pots. “This’ll be ready in a minute.”

  Tomasz waited, hoping his brother might volunteer some information about his visitor. When Krzysztof didn’t, Tomasz took the initiative. “So…what was that dude doing here, really?”

  “Who, Nardo? What we were doing was having some coffee and talking. What did you think we were doing?”

  “Since when do you hang out around cops?”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, how’d you happen to meet him?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. In a bar one night. He wasn’t on duty then, of course. We started talking and we hit it off, so we started hanging out together. Going out for coffee, working out together down at the gym—that sort of shit.”

  “Funny, I don’t recall you ever mentioning him before—this cop coffee and gym buddy of yours.”

  “It slipped my mind. What’s with all the questions, all of a sudden? Jesus! If I wanted to be interrogated, I could get Nardo to do it. He’s the professional, after all, the one who does it for a living.”

  “
It just seems strange to me that you would want to have a cop as a friend. Is he going to, like, make it a habit to come over here?”

  “So what if he does? I let you invite your friends over here, don’t I? I don’t understand this prejudice you seem to have. There’s nothing wrong with being a cop. It’s a tough job and somebody’s got to do it.” Krzysztof gave his brother a searching look. “Is there some reason why you’re so nervous about the idea of being around a police officer? Have you got something to hide? Something you don’t want me to know about?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I wonder. You’ve got an awfully guilty look on your face.”

  “You’re imagining things, Krzysztof.” Tomasz fervently hoped that was all there was to it.

  “I’d better be. Remember—if I ever catch you doing drugs or stealing or getting some girl knocked up or doing any of the other stuff some of these dumbass punks in this neighborhood get up to—it won’t be the police you’ll have to worry about. Because it’ll be me who will be the one who will personally beat the shit out of you and make your life a living hell. Is that clear?”

  “You know me better than that, Krzysztof.”

  “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I said, is that clear, young man?”

  “Yeah,” Tomasz mumbled. “I mean—yes, sir, it’s clear.”

  “All right. Let’s drop it. Dinner should be just about ready.” Krzysztof hesitated, then he went up to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked Tomasz in the eyes. “You know the only reason I’m so tough on you, sometimes, is because I feel responsible for you.”

  “I know, Krzysztof. I understand.” Tomasz felt the need to try to lighten the mood with a joke. “But you aren’t tough on me sometimes, Krzysztof. You’re tough on me all the time.”

  Krzysztof, to Tomasz’s relief, laughed and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Well, that’s my job. It comes with the territory. I do love you, baby bro. You know that.”

  “Sure, Krzysztof. I love you, too.”

  “Not in a queer way, though. Nothing like that.”

  “Of course not.”

  “In a man to man way. A guy way.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s not like that buddy of yours, what’s his name? The longhaired one who’s kind of fem? Oh yeah, the one called Billy. The one who’s got a crush on you.”

  Tomasz could feel his face start to blush, hotly. “Billy is not fem, and he does not have a crush on me!”

  “No? You could’ve fooled me. I could’ve sworn the two of you almost had a little bromance going on between you.”

  “Damn it, Krzysztof—”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get all hot under the collar and punch me out. I’m only teasing you. Come on. Let’s eat.”

  Chapter Three

  Forensic Evidence

  Until recently, Tomasz had never given much thought to his brother’s love life. In his innocence, he’d assumed that Krzysztof really didn’t have one. Sporadically, Krzysztof had dated girls, but none of these relationships seemed to mean much to him, nor did they ever last long. In this neighborhood, the residents considered the elder Juroszek brother to be a highly eligible bachelor. More than one mother was disappointed when her daughter failed to win his heart.

  Aleksander had raised his nephews to be gentlemen. A man’s sex life is his own business, he had told them, on more than one occasion. A man doesn’t brag about his conquests. And a real man doesn’t have to. In this, as in so many other things, Aleksander set a good example. He was reputed to be a bit of a ladies’ man, but he conducted his affairs with the utmost discretion, and no woman’s reputation was ever compromised as a result of her connection to him.

  Now that Tomasz was no longer quite so innocent, himself, he had begun to speculate about what other men might be up to, without their family members or friends necessarily suspecting a thing. Tomasz was getting laid on a regular basis, mostly with guys his own age, but occasionally with older men—older, to Tomasz’s way of thinking, meaning anyone who was approaching thirty. Tomasz was beginning to doubt that a guy as attractive as Krzysztof could be celibate. It just didn’t make sense.

  Suddenly he pulled up short. Fuck! Could Krzysztof be—gay? Like me? They say it could be genetic. Maybe it’s the sort of thing that can run in a family, skip a generation or two, then come out when you least expect it. Yeah…come out, that’s the right word for it.

  Damn! My big brother can’t possibly be queer. He’s too damn masculine. He’s too fucking butch!

  On the other hand…gay men do come in all sizes and shapes. Some of those big, muscle-bound bruisers you see in porno videos, fucking, sucking and rimming—even fisting each other, pissing on each other, all of that kinky shit—there’s nothing effeminate about them. They’re all man. But they really seem to get off on having sex with other men.

  And hey, look at me. I may not be all that macho, but I’m no twink. I don’t look or act gay—do I? Hell, no! Nobody can tell just by looking at me or being around me that I like to suck cock and fuck guys up the ass. If I can hide it, anybody can hide it.

  Yeah, anybody…come to think of it, any guy could be gay. Even a dude like that big stud cop buddy of Krzysztof’s, Officer Leonardo Montegrappa!

  Tomasz experienced another flash of insight.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” In order to atone for his blasphemous outburst, he quickly, instinctively crossed himself.

  However, his imagination had now gone into overdrive.

  Even that huge fucker, Nardo or whatever the hell his nickname is—yeah, Nardo—even he could be gay. I can’t believe it! That hot dago cop could be Krzysztof’s boyfriend. Why not? I’d sure as hell go to bed with him, if I knew for sure he was gay and I had the chance!

  I wonder what he looks like naked. All those muscles—he must have a really hard body. A guy could probably get bruised just from banging against him during sex.

  I’d be willing to take the risk. Damn! Big, muscular stud cop grabbing hold of me—making me suck his dick—fucking me up the ass. Maybe he’d even handcuff first, before he starts working me over with his “nightstick,” the one between his legs.

  I’m letting myself get all hot and bothered just thinking about it. I’d better cool it.

  One pervert in the family is bad enough. Imagine if there really were two—if Krzysztof were as much of a sex fiend as I am.

  But it can’t be true. Krzysztof can’t be fucking around with that cop—kissing him, the two of them taking turns sucking each other’s dicks, fucking each other up the ass! It can’t be true. It just can’t!

  From that moment on, Tomasz began to play amateur detective. He spied on his brother, without experiencing the slightest pang of shame.

  It wasn’t difficult, as things turned out. Perhaps having allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security, Krzysztof wasn’t all that careful about covering his traces. One Saturday afternoon, he announced his intention to run some errands, then go to work out at his gym.

  “Are you going to work out with your buddy, Nardo?” Tomasz asked.

  Krzysztof hesitated for a split-second before responding. “As a matter of fact, yes. Why do you want to know?”

  “Oh, no reason. I like Nardo—that’s all.”

  “Do you?”

  “Sure. What’s not to like?”

  “Nothing. He’s a great guy. I wish you two could have a chance to get to know each other better. Hey, I’ve got an idea. When we’re done at the gym, maybe I’ll invite Nardo to come home with me, for dinner. Would that be all right with you?”

  “Of course it would be. I’m not going to have to get dressed up, though, am I?”

  “For a guy like Nardo? On a weekend? Hardly,” Krzysztof assured him. “We’ll keep it casual. Strictly come as you are, for potluck.”

  “Okay.”

  Krzysztof left and Tomasz had the house all to himself. He went directly to Krzysztof’s bedroo
m, which was located on the second floor, down a hallway from his own room. Tomasz entered his brother’s tidy sleeping quarters and immediately began to look around, on the alert for any incriminating evidence of gay crimes and misdemeanors.

  Exhibit A was a framed poster on the wall opposite the bed. It was a blown-up color photo of a professional soccer player. Okay, Krzysztof was crazy about soccer, an enthusiasm that Tomasz didn’t share to the same extent. Tomasz could take the sport or leave it. It was plausible that Krzysztof should choose the poster as a room decoration, but there must be hundreds of photos of this player in circulation. It now seemed a bit strange to Tomasz that Krzysztof should have selected this particular one. It showed the athlete, who was a tawny-skinned Brazilian dude with black hair and a lean, ripped physique, posing sweaty and shirtless.

  Tomasz studied the image. He had to admit that the soccer player was good-looking. He was looking at the camera with a sort of provocative, smoldering expression on his face. No doubt about it, the guy was hot, no doubt about it—the photo could be described as kind of homoerotic.

  I’m imagining things, Tomasz told himself. He continued his investigation.

  Exhibit B was a book of matches, lying on the nightstand beside Krzysztof’s digital alarm clock. Krzysztof didn’t smoke, so what did he need matches for? The brothers did keep a couple of boxes of old-fashioned wooden matches downstairs in a kitchen drawer, to light candles in case of a power outage. Idly, Tomasz picked up the matchbook.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, under his breath. He recognized the name of the bar printed on the cover. It was located downtown and it was a gay bar. Hell, Tomasz had gone there to drink and cruise on several occasions himself, feeling very daring each time. Now he realized how lucky he’d been not to have run into his brother on one of those outings.

  His sense of guilt at his own clandestine activities didn’t stop him from probing into his brother’s private life. He continued his search.