Mountainway Chant

by M J Calabrese

  “Yeah, so cool, your old man won’t let us sleep together under his roof, so now we have to get our own place.” Rico complained.

  “What?” Adam frowned, confused.

  “Dad won’t let me and Rico live together at his place. I mean, I’m 21 now. I can make my own decisions about who I sleep with. So, we’re out apartment hunting.”

  Adam cocked his head to one side as he laughed. His left eyebrow raised. “Don’t take it personally. He wouldn’t let me bring women home, either. He complained he didn’t want to wake up at 2 o’clock in the morning hearing some woman shriek. “Oh, Adam, you stud!”

  Both men laughed and smiled, but Rico was silent. He seemed very interested in watching the two men.

  “Want to grab a bite to eat at Caliente? I’ll buy.” Adam offered, knowing that the eighty dollars in his wallet was almost all he had left. Tomorrow, he’d go begging to his sister, Michelle, but today he’d splurge and hope for the best.

  Rico grinned, “We never turn down free food.”

  Slapping Michael on the arm. Adam turned, leading the way as the two younger men followed.

  *****

  Detective Eagle Woodard watched the three men in the park. He stared at two in particular. Adam on the left and his younger mirror image on the right. Both possessing those distinctive Coulter family green eyes. He watched the way they both talked, gesturing wildly at times. Both of them cocking their heads the same way when they laughed…, that unique Coulter laugh. Woodard closed his eyes. The laugh was the same…, the same tone, same pitch, exactly the same.

  His jaw tightened as he remembered the picture he clutched in his hand. The words written on the back of it. Like father, like son. Who’s Michael’s Daddy? The date imprinted on the photo of a seventeen year old Adam Coulter having sex with Margarite, Michael’s mother, was taken 2 days after he had broken up with the girl. Two days after the last time he had sex with her.

  The note threatened to expose the truth to the world if he testified against Nelson Greybill, a wealthy builder in the city, in a witness tampering case. He was the same man who currently held the contract for the new casino where he was investigating a probable murder. So far Greybill’s lawyers had been able to get delay after delay, but their time was running out and Eagle’s testimony was imperative to the success of the prosecution’s case.

  Eagle knew that soon he’d have to decide what to do. Watching the two men interact, the realization began to dawn on the Detective that what the blackmailer said was true. It also told him that Adam Coulter was blind to the fact that Michael Woodard was indeed his son.

  Chapter Six

  It was early. There were only a few more days left in the month and yesterday’s drama had set him back with his packing. He was happy to see Michael, but the fact that the young man was gay came as a surprise. Adam shook his head. He admonished himself that he didn’t see it coming, but then again, he hadn’t been around much lately.

  Adam reached down for another white with a black stripe Banker’s box. He was in the midst of packing up files from the largest cabinet. He stopped, looking at the other file boxes neatly stacked against the wall. Each box marked only with a letter and a number, but Coulter remembered every one of his cases. The letters and numbers meant nothing to anyone but him.

  Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder, causing Adam to jump away as if his body had been hit with a jolt of electricity. He ended up landing against the boxes. His thin frame shaking uncontrollably. He’d gone from zero to a full blown panic attack in a matter of a second. Adam crouched there, gasping, unable to catch his breath. It took all his self-control to keep from moaning and cringing in fear. Hands raised to protect himself from his attacker, he looked up from his cowering position to stare wildly at Rick Kessler. It took him a few seconds to recognize the man and the full impact of the negative feelings he carried for this man rushed in.

  “You bastard! Don’t ever sneak up on me again. I can’t take it.”

  Kessler raised his hands in surrender. A manila envelope was clenched in his left fist. He reached out his right hand to help Adam up from the floor. Adam hesitated for a moment before taking the proffered hand as he tried to stand upright.

  “Sorry.” Kessler apologized. “I didn’t think. The PTSD’s pretty bad, huh?”

  Adam nodded, “I have a problem with being touched like that.” He grinned weakly. “Touch my back and I go completely Raging Bull on you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Must make having sex a bit tricky.”

  “I haven’t had sex in almost a year.”

  Kessler laughed, “Well, maybe that’s part of the problem. All that pent up sexual tension.” He moved closer, pressing his body against the still trembling man. His arm wrapped around Adam, drawing him close. He expected Adam to push him away, but he didn’t. Confused by the other man’s lack of resistance, Rick stood still, just holding Adam. “You alright?” He asked, now concerned.

  Adam dropped his forehead against Rick’s shoulder. He should’ve rejected this man’s comfort, but he couldn’t…, at least, not yet. His quiet whisper surprised Rick. “No…, no, I’m not alright. I haven’t been alright for so long it’s beginning to feel normal.” Adam leaned into Rick for support. The warmth of the other man’s body. The beating of his heart. All these things seemed to calm him and ease the overwhelming anxiety threatening to inundate him. He focused on these very human things to pull himself back from the brink. A few minutes passed in silence before Adam pulled away. Wiping his hands over his face, Adam took a deep breath then slowly let it out as his control reasserted itself.

  “What’s that?” Adam pointed to the unmarked envelope in Rick’s hand.

  “Oh!” He handed it to the doctor. “Thought you might want the forensics on that crime scene yesterday.”

  Adam took it and pulled out the paperwork. Spreading it out on his empty desk, he started to read.

  Rick looked around at all the boxes. “Early Spring cleaning?”

  Coulter didn’t bother to look up. “Since I don’t have a job and I’m down to my last few hundred dollars I can’t afford to keep this office.” He glanced up at the FBI agent, “I can just barely afford to rent a small storage space and a truck to move all this.” He waved his hand at the stacks. “I don’t have money for rent either, so I may be living in my car…, again. I thought things were supposed to get better when you got clean and sober, but….” He shook his head and went back to reading the report.

  Rick scanned the room with his eyes before sitting down on the corner of Adam’s desk. Walls peppered with nail holes were the only evidence of the photographs and artwork that once hung there. The heavy filing cabinets, probably now empty, stood along three walls. The window behind Adam had a view of the park. He imagined the forensics specialist used the tranquility of the place to center his thoughts on solving the cases he’d worked on with Woodard. Rick turned his attention to the man standing hunched over crime scene photos.

  He watched Adam study the report. He watched his facial expressions as he got to the more interesting details. He was so animated when he studied the autopsy report. A muttered word, a low whistle. This was a side of Adam Coulter that fascinated him. There was a beauty about this man that went beyond his good looks and he wanted to get to know this Adam. The arrogant, self-assured Adam Coulter had rubbed him the wrong way, but this slight, obviously vulnerable Adam tapped into his protective side. He wondered if there was a chance this Adam could consider him as more than a friend.

  Rick glanced away, suddenly realizing he was feeling something other than jealousy for this man. This feeling had been there before, but Eagle Woodard was added in the mix then and that was who he had focused his energies on. Seeing Adam like this, tired and insecure. A man who needed to be taken care of. He felt more than just sympathy for his current plight. Adam Coulter was no longer the cocky, wiseass, rich kid. He felt something else. Something akin to real affection for a man who was trying to pull himself up
from the depths of the nightmare he’d experienced to get back on his feet. Feeling his cock start to harden, Rick smiled, as he reluctantly admitted to himself that maybe…, just maybe, he felt more than a little desire for this man.

  He looked back at the other man. The long dark hair streaked with strands of gray, pulled back into a ponytail with recalcitrant strands still escaping from the hair clasp at this neck. He wanted to release that clasp and run his fingers through that hair. He wanted to grasp it in his hands as he watched Adam suck his cock. The doctor’s skin was darker now, tanned by the sun. The richer color brought out the contrast of his green eyes. The man stood there in a tee shirt, thin arms exposing scars and old track marks. Such a contrast to the buff man with a runner’s body he knew from the past.

  He’d read the report of Adam’s injuries. Of the genital mutilation he’d suffered at the hands of an insane woman. He’d seen the hate filled words burned into his flesh. His thinness brought out the sharpness of his cheekbones, but this only acted to enhance his natural beauty in Rick’s eyes. A beauty marred by the long, silver scar running the length of his left cheek. This Adam Coulter didn’t seem to care if Kessler saw his imperfections. This Adam had lost his vanity over the past sixteen months. He seemed to accept that all the changes were a sign that he was a survivor and yet…. The sound of Adam’s voice brought him back to reality.

  “Wow.” Adam continued. “The medical examiner actually did the original autopsy on one of the other bodies. That’s insane.”

  “You could stay with me.”

  Adam looked up, confused by the abrupt change of subject. “What?”

  “If you’re homeless, stay with me for a while.”

  Adam turned, leaning back against his desk, arms crossed protectively over his chest, head cocked. “And so, what will this cost me? What do you want in return, Rick? Sex before breakfast every day? A blowjob every night? What?”

  “Even though all those things sound great,” Rick drew in a deep breath, letting it out as he replied, “no. The couch is free. No strings attached…, unless you want to have sex or give me a blowjob, I’m open to that.” He shrugged. “I just need you to help me catch this killer.”

  Adam shook his head and laughed. “Pardon me if I don’t trust a goddamned thing you say. The last time I helped you a crazed killer relieved me of one of my testicles. You were the one who turned the ringer off on Eagle’s phone that day, Rick. Not Eagle. She had me for more than three hours before the cavalry arrived.” Adam smiled tightly. “That bitch did a lot of damage.”

  “How did you find out it was me? Did Borkowski rat me out? Is that what he told you?” Kessler stood as if ready to defend himself.

  Coulter laughed. “Borkowski didn’t say a word, Rick.” He leaned across his desk, staring into the other man’s eyes. “I wasn’t positive it was you until this moment. Thanks for confirming my suspicions.”

  They both stood there silent, then Kessler turned and started to walk away. The voice made him stop.

  “I’ll help you close this case quickly if you get me paid in two weeks instead of the normal four.”

  Kessler trapped his lower lip between his teeth. He knew he needed a win in the department’s eyes or he’d end up in this desert forever. “I’m listening.”

  “I need all the information you can get on the casino employees who had knowledge of the site, especially the top ranking people, the ones who had the most to lose investment-wise if the casino deal fell through.”

  “Okay.”

  “The report says the guy in the center, the one that’s the real victim, died of a massive coronary brought on by inhaling a significant quantity of cocaine. There were head and facial bruising perimortem. So, it’s safe to assume his head was forced down as he inhaled the powder.”

  Rick raised his head, chin pointing at the other man, head slightly cocked. His face taking on the same smug look Adam hated from their previous encounter. “That’s what we are assuming. He was either lured there or willingly met someone he knew at the place he was killed. We still haven’t been able to determine where that was, but we know it was not in the desert. That was a body dump site.”

  “Obviously, then, one of the people involved probably has a coke habit, probably someone lower down on the food chain. The killing was the act of a desperate man, but the disposal of the bodies was planned. The killer will be terrified that those above him will find out what he and the victim were doing.” Adam looked down, deep in thought. “On second thought, I don’t see the victim as completely innocent. I think he was just involved in some way. Maybe someone higher up ordered him killed.” He paused. Frowning, then Adam shook his head reconsidering his analysis. “No, the death was accidental, but the coverup was intentional. Do you know who he is yet?”

  “No, not yet. I’m going to see Eagle in a moment. He might have more information. Want to come with me?”

  He could see Adam considering it for a second, but just as quickly discarding the idea. “No, best if I don’t antagonize him anymore. Especially after yesterday.”

  “Agreed.”

  Returning to profiler mode, Adam added, “The killer and the helper have history with the victim as well as each other. Maybe they were friends in school…, college, maybe.”

  “So, it was premeditated?”

  “Doubt it. Maybe…, I’m not sure. The cover up would’ve needed some forethought so that rules out spur of the moment with the killing, doesn’t it? Getting the other corpses, the costumes, painting their faces. The guy who did the coverup is the one you need to focus on. He’s got an ego. He thinks he’s smart. You can use that to your advantage when you start interviewing suspects.”

  “Will do, Doc. I’ll keep you posted.” Kessler made it to the door before he turned back. “I’m sorry about what happened, Adam. I really am. If I could change the events of that day, I would,” he sighed, “but I can’t.” Rick looked over at Adam. “I’m serious, though. If you need a place to sleep. If you need help loading this stuff into a truck and into storage, just call. No strings attached. I treated you like shit in the past, but I want that to change. I know you don’t trust me. Hell, if I was in your shoes, I’d never trust me, but maybe…, maybe someday we can be friends.”

  Adam watched as the door to his office closed. Kessler was trying to make amends. He seemed truly sorry for what happened. Adam knew that he, himself, was ultimately responsible for what occurred that day. He realized that when he spoke of the planner having an ego that he was guilty of the same sin. His own ego was the reason for his pain. His own unyielding belief in how he could handle any criminal simply by talking with them had been his downfall. Mai Ling didn’t give him a chance to speak, but later he came to understand that she was so deeply embedded in her delusions that nothing he could’ve said or done would’ve made any difference in the outcome of what happened. The only thing he could have done to save himself was to not have opened the door.

  *****

  It took Kessler no more than ten minutes to cross the park to the offices of the Albuquerque Police Department. Flashing his ID to the desk sergeant on duty, he asked if Detective Eagle Woodard was in the building. There was a momentary pause as the older man checked his computer. He nodded, then he handed the FBI agent a clip-on visitor’s badge and told him to return it when he left the premises. Rick assured the man he knew the way to Woodard’s desk on the sixth floor. Weaving his way through the crowded corridors, he spotted Eagle concentrating on something he held in his hands. Rick smiled, he missed Eagle and would use any excuse to see him. He wasn’t sure what Eagle was concentrating on, but he knew he had the only copy of the autopsy report. With any luck, the Detective had the identity of the murder victim.

  An 8.5 x 11 inch, white envelope plopped center stage on Woodard’s desk. Eagle dropped his chin to his chest, fighting back the growl that rumbled up through his diaphragm. He was ready to kill. Just one more thing he needed to sort. One more irritation. Eagle tended to be neat, almos
t to the point of obsession. The military had taught him that, but the past few months had witnessed a rapid decline in this habit. He’d spent the past couple of hours working conscientiously to make a dent in the mess by sorting and organizing into piles the bits of paper strewn over his desk since coming back from the park yesterday. He’d worked diligently to try and take his mind off the new information he knew about Adam Coulter and his son.

  A furious phone call to Peru the night before confirmed the worst. Twenty-one years ago, Marguerite had confronted Richard Coulter and accused Adam of being the father of her child. Coulter, not wanting an illegitimate child tainting their family, in turn, bought her off. All expenses paid for college and law school. He had fulfilled his end of the bargain. Adam was never told about Michael, but she still needed someone to be responsible for her child. With Richard Coulter’s encouragement, she’d pointed the finger at shy, sweet, Eagle Woodard. The son of a newly elected congressman. Unexpectedly, Eagle stepped up to his responsibility of paying for child support, quashing his dreams for college and his own law degree.

  Marguerite admitted that when he entered the military and later special forces, she didn’t expect him to come home, but he had. He’d come back and taken more of an interest in Michael. The last time she saw her son, he was the spitting image of a young Adam Coulter. She’d anticipated this call from Eagle and was surprised he hadn’t caught on sooner. By the time he ended the call, he felt a fool. She was right. How could he not see the undeniable resemblance? He’d given up everything for a boy who was not his son.

  He stared at the formerly neat piles, now in shambles and he was doing his best not to beat the envelope-plopper to death.

  Slowly, he raised his head. Rick Kessler grinned and took the hard wooden chair beside the detective’s desk, making himself at home. He sat there toying with a wayward post-it note, oblivious of the danger he was in, then he got up and rotated the chair he’d confiscated 180 degrees before sitting down to straddle it. The look in the FBI agent’s eyes made Eagle rethink his plan.