The coffee the other night was fun, and it confirmed to Brad that Draker was a pitcher and not a catcher.
That was the thing – because of his money and his military record, everyone treated him like he was an alpha male. But all Brad had to do was hunch his shoulders forward a little bit, and Draker seemed to bask in the attention.
As if he’d been let up for air after a long time under the water, and he was breathing deeply, breathing in as much as he could at one time. Desperately inhaling life energy that had been missing for a while.
He was assumed to be the alpha dog. When all he wanted was to be taken care of, like some minority welfare queen looking for a sugar daddy.
Brad had the looks down. Now came the slightly tougher part.
Because he could slit Draker’s throat or shoot him, strangle him or run him over with a car, beat him to death with a baseball bat, hang him up, poison him. Push him down a flight of stairs or the steep sides of the town’s granite cliffs.
It would not matter, it wouldn’t avenge Alex, it wouldn’t feel satisfying – unless Draker felt the sting of betrayal. If Brad could not see the surprise on his face when he suddenly turned violent, unless his heart was broken too – killing him wouldn’t matter.
Death wasn’t enough for him. It had to hurt.
That might involve stringing him along. Not forever. Just long enough for him to trust, to open his heart right open. To give Brad the keys, so to speak.
And stringing him along might mean that Brad needed to know how to handle himself in a scenario involving the kind of stuff only real live faggots did. Not something Brad liked to do, wanted to do or would ever be able to be really into.
Still, he had to pass. He had to train himself up for it.
So that Draker would believe it.
Because whatever it was that got dudes into dudes, whatever little subtle nuances there were in experiences like that, Brad would have to fake that part very, very well.
So Brad drove his beater to Castleton and back to the corner where Cap Guy and his two thugs sold their drugs from.
He needed two doses. One for the training, and then a bigger dose. Something opioid, something that would knock a man out, something with enough firepower to neutralize Draker as a threat.
He bought an entire stash from Cap Man. He could use a little for the training, and keep an insanely large dose ready for when the time came to end Draker.
Then he went back to the motel and called Virgil.
When the dimwit arrived, he was only too happy to take quite a large hit of the powdered tablets, and he passed out right there on the carpet, in front of the motel bed.
The stuff seemed to be of good quality.
Virgil was staying under longer than Brad expected, and before he passed out completely it was clear he was pretty high.
That would be perfect. It would make him more pliant – but also ensure that he didn’t remember the incident too much. Who knew what he remembered in that stupid brain of his? Probably very little. With the opioids rushing through him, he was unlikely to remember anything at all.
Brad was actually getting annoyed that so much time was going by, without as much as a movement form the dullard.
Virgil was on the floor, lying uncomfortably with his mouth hanging open, revealing the damage that years of neglect, drug use and sugary soft drinks had done to his lower row of teeth.
A single strand of spittle dangled between his chin and his chest, and his hair was matted with sweat.
He smelled bad. Brad would have to put him through a shower first.
While some infomercial played on the TV, Brad removed the military photograph of Draker he printed out at the library. He also flicked between the images he took of Paul on his mobile phone the night he saw him around Loveday – and he had no idea he was being photographed.
Hard to tell from the photograph, he seemed so harmless on them, but this was the guy who killed Alex.
Mmm. Virgil moved his head a little. Soon he’d be awake, and for Brad to get the education he wanted, Virgil had better be awake.
Not sober, but conscious.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Brad put his hand on his crotch and rubbed softly and slowly across his stretched denim. The pressure felt good – familiar. The thought of Virgil’s smell though, was too much. Definitely a shower in his immediate future. But just before he gave the retard a wash, he took more time to study the photo of Draker, looking all dapper in his uniform.
What would it feel like to fuck him? Or to be fucked by him?
A hole was a hole. But it would be nowhere near enough to simply stick it in Draker.
“C’mon,” Brad said to Virgil, taking a good fistful of his hair and then squeezing his hand into as tight a fist as he could manage.
Virgil whined a little, but he didn’t resist at all. For someone as out of it as he was, he wasn’t as heavy as Brad would have expected. Dead weight was usually heavy weight, but he seemed to take the cue of where Brad’s fist would move his head, and the rest of his body followed without too much extra work.
Brad got Virgil to his feet, and he swayed on them like someone who was very drunk.
He slapped his face a few times, softly.
“Hey Virgil, open your eyes.”
Virgil had one of his stupid smiles span across his face, but he didn’t open his eyes. So Brad slapped him really hard.
Virgil’s head hit the carpet hard as he collapsed back on to the floor. He whined loudly, but did open his eyes. It was clear he was still high, because he couldn’t keep his eyes focused. The rolled around and back into his head, with no focus or control whatsoever.
Brad laughed.
“Get up, Virgil. You need a shower.”
Virgil whined unintelligibly.
Brad gripped a handful of his hair again, and this seemed to help him get to his feet.
“That’s it, you freak.”
For a moment, Virgil frowned and his smile narrowed.
He tried to say something but all that came out were sloppy moans.
Brad slowly led Virgil to the shower, walking backwards slowly so that all Virgil had to do was put one foot in front of the other, steady his stance, and then repeat the same process to take another step.
Once they were in the bathroom, he steadied Virgil against the wall and turned on the shower. Brad kept his hand under the shower until he felt the water become hot, then he helped Virgil take his clothes off.
It took a while, and the bathroom filled up with steam before he was even halfway.
But he shoved Virgil in the shower soon enough, Virgil protesting with loud moaning instead of screams.
Brad turned on the cold water so that Virgil wouldn’t burn. Not too much anyway.
He emptied two of the motel room’s shampoo on Virgil and washed him thoroughly, like a dog. Virgil was seated on the floor of the shower, seeming to enjoy the water now.
Brad also got some mouthwash and toothpaste and he washed inside Virgil’s mouth with his fingers.
“There you go, you fucking retard. That’s pretty nice isn’t it?”
Virgil smiled.
Then Brad turned off the water, and he started drying Virgil while he still sat there in the shower.
He grabbed his hair again and let him stand against the wall outside the shower so he could be dried properly.
Brad looked at Virgil’s body.
To be sure, it was different, very different, from Draker’s.
Draker had a lot more muscle. He was healthy and strong.
Virgil, on the other hand, was so skinny he looked sickly. His dick was tiny and barely protruded from a tick bush of pubic hair.
Draker was nowhere near as perfect as Brad, but some people would probably consider him to be handsome. But no one could poss
ibly look at the skinny retarded rat and consider him attractive.
It didn’t matter.
“C’mon, you fucking lowlife,” Brad said and he led Virgil back to the room.
He flung him on the bed and turned down the sound on the TV.
Virgil was still totally out of it.
He kept smiling. That stupid smile. Brad hated that fucking smile.
“Now just shut up, okay? Don’t make any noise.”
Virgil seemed to be confused by the instruction, more than anything else.
Brad leaned over and put his lips around Virgil’s pathetic little dick.
It was soft and cold. But the idea of a dick, once in his mouth, was okay.
Brad moved his jaw up and down, pursed his lips and relax them, felt the position of his own tongue in his mouth and in relation to the dick.
It was soft flesh. Not like a bicep, or a chest.
Brad slowly moved his mouth up and down. Virgil’s dick began to pulse and harden.
Right.
However, to go next level, all he had to do was add the use of his hands.
He blew Virgil for half a minute, whose drugged moans turned into cooing noises.
Brad stood back up, wiping his mouth.
“Thought I told you to be quiet.”
Virgil just smiled.
So that was what that was all about.
No big mystery.
The way to be good at it was to act like you loved doing it. Like everything else in life.
Virgil opened his eyes.
“Whuh…” he said, and his eyes rolled in their sockets.
Brad leaned back down. This was the part he was going to hate.
It was worse than sucking dick. Kissing a guy was, really disgusting.
Brad did it quickly.
He closed his eyes, but he could picture that bad lower row of teeth better than he wanted to, and he stopped. That was gross. Really, gross. Brad spat to the side.
Brad took out the photograph again, unzipping himself.
“So will you do the same for me, retard?”
He pulled Virgil’s mouth closer, then dropped the photo and called Draker’s number.
“Go.”
Virgil looked confused.
Brad slapped him hard a few times.
“I said suck.”
Virgil’s lips parted a little, and Brad shoved his throbbing penis deeply into Virgil’s mouth.
The retard chokes, and spit ran from his mouth as he went into a coughing fit.
“Suck…” he told Virgil, who did. He took his hand behind Virgil’s head so he could control the speed. With his left hand, he held the phone closely to his ear.
When someone picked up, he said: “Hi, it’s Brad.”
It took a while for Draker to answer. When he did, his voice beamed:
“Hey. Glad you called.”
They won’t hook up yet – not tonight. But it was interesting to hear his voice while your dick was getting sucked, even if a little sloppily by a mentally deficient redneck. So he wanted to make it clear that this wasn’t the booty call yet.
“It’s been a long, rough day for me.” Brad said. And then, to keep the engagement positive: “But I got a lot done.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Brad then spoke with some excitement.
It was different, controlling the emotions in your voice, when other stuff was going on to distract you. “Plus, I have some classes on. I just want to get the first ones out of the way. But in thinking we should hook up next Friday.”
That was the perfect delivery. He just did the whole thing – tell him not tonight, tell him when and have him be grateful for it.
And the faggot was, because he answered: “That would be great.”
Virgil seemed to have fallen asleep. Brad pulled up his trousers and went to the bathroom. He’d get back to Virgil. But he needed to concentrate on the conversation now.
It was time to get Draker a little closer, he could finish his other business later.
“How was your day?” He asked. His tone delivery was perfect. Eager to know. And just a hint of familiarity. Something that Paul would think: Oh, I could get used to Brad asking me that.
Absolutely perfect.
“Action-packed,” Draker said, but then added: “The usual.”
It was an attempt at humor.
Brad chuckled and shut the door, seating himself on the toilet.
“Uhuh.”
“What’s going on over there? I’m struggling to hear you.”
“Sorry, I just left the room. I’m with you now.”
He emphasized the you perfectly. He was so into Draker, he was so curious about his day, he so wanted to know. Draker would feel courted, like a corset wearing bitch from some period romance novel. He damn well should feel that way, anyone would when Brad turned on his charm. He was physically perfect, intellectually perfect, socially perfect. Of course, Draker would feel fucking flattered.
“Do your thing.” Draker said, showing how respectful he was of Brad’s time.
It was simple the interaction, but only because Brad was so smart.
Draker wasn’t a smooth talker. He answered and conversed awkwardly, like someone who was really more of an introvert.
“Next Friday,” Draker also said, sounding happy and officious at the same time. Confirming an appointment he looked forward to.
And then he said: “I now have your number too.”
He sounded proud of that.
Brad could read the fag like he was an open book.
“Don’t run,” he said. “I was just doing some cleaning. Tell me more about your action-packed day.”
“Lots of admin type stuff. And just leaving a friend’s.”
Draker’s response slipped into a kind of official mode. Cold, distant. Brad had to get him out of the business mindset quickly.
“I wanted to know, why is a guy like you still single?” Brad asked.
He could almost see Draker slow down his walk and smile as he thought of something to say. That little question caught him off guard. He was putty in Brad’s hands now.
“Not the biggest city, I guess.”
Just a little tone in there that said: there’s nothing wrong with me, don’t worry.
Brad laughed. And then he lowered his voice and spoke directly into the phone. He imagined his lips were wrapped around Draker’s cock. He spoke softly as he imagined the feel of Draker’s soft skin, just inches away from his snarling teeth.
“You know, the other night. I felt like giving you a hug.”
Draker took a while to respond. Like he was deciding how to deal with what sounded like an intimate confession.
“That’s sweet.”
His tone said he meant it, too.
“Yeah. But hugs are first base, right?”
Keep it light, keep it light, don’t be too serious too soon, too much.
Let them remember the joy and the energy when they speak to you. The soppy emo stuff will work on their own, at night, in their subconscious minds.
And of course it worked too, because Draker laughed.
Brad imagined his voice caressing Paul: “Nice laugh you have too.”
He let that hang there a bit. Not too long.
And then the move that always seals the deal.
Get out quick. Leave them wanting more. “So I’m going to hit the books and do my thing. But then it’s next week Friday.”
“Okay. We’ll touch base then.”
“Hopefully.”
Paul laughed again.
“There’s that laugh. Also, don’t plan anything. Let me handle this first one. The next time you can organize.”
Very nice way to get him, very slo
wly, used to the idea that Brad would be making decisions for them.
He had to chill around that concept.
So Brad would be sure to introduce it in increments, over time.
“Ok, cool. Do I need to prepare or anything? Parachute? Scuba gear?”
Brad laughed as if Draker was his equal.
“So yeah, I gotta go.”
“Okay, go.”
What a stupid sentimental little game. No you go, no you. It was easy to play, and bitches loved it. Treat Draker like a bitch and you’ll have him, hook line and sinker.
So Brad played the game and said: “Cool. I’m gonna go, then.”
“Right.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.” Draker said. Brad could hear the smile.
“Okay I’m going.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Perfect. Draker said goodbye last. He meant it more.
Brad sat back and smiled to himself.
Excellent.
So, excellent. He actually did feel excited to spend time with Draker. To get him to shed layers like an onion. To get him to relax and let his guard down and open up to him like a wet pussy. Or a gaping asshole waiting to be fucked.
Which reminded Brad.
“Hey, bitch! You’re going to do it properly this time. Come in here and finish me. You’re gonna drink my fucking come today. And when I’m ready for another round, I’ll fuck you like a whore.”
Brad stood up and raised his voice.
“Virgil! Do you hear me? Get the fuck in here.”
Chapter 15
“Warm And Fuzzy”
Tom Hamilton spoke in quick, clipped words: “They have requested more time, pending the outcome of a ‘formal internal inquiry’ into the matter. Truth is, I think they’re stalling.”
Paul breathed out deeply, his mind running at a million miles an hour. Hamilton was an attack dog: his natural instinct was to attack, to pounce, to go all out confrontational. That happened to be the very course of action that would rapidly increase his fees. It’s not that he was trying to increase his earnings – it was impossible for him not to be aggressive. It’s what he was.
But when things get to courtrooms, when actual litigation was involved, you end up feeling like you are living through a messy divorce. Reuben’s money attracted sharks – and Paul knew what it felt like to go through administrative warzones. Paul knew how to deal with it.
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