by P. A. Brown
“Barry Lakowski. What’s this about, anyway?”
“Can you recall when this man”—David tapped the police sketch—“was in here?
Any regular customers interact with him? You see him leave with anyone? Nothing too difficult there, right?”
“Like I said, he’s not a regular. He might have come in a while ago.” He glared at Martinez. “If he left with someone, that’s what they come here for.”
“Did he ever appear to be helping anyone? Maybe somebody got sick all of a sudden?”
“Sick?”
“Sick, falling down drunk, that kind of thing.”
“I cut people off all the time they have too much. Take their keys if I have to.”
“But what if someone offered to take the guy home? Anyone going to object to that?”
Behind him, Martinez approach the nearest table along the wall. He dropped something among the litter of beer bottles and shooters and leaned in close.
“What’s he doing?” Barry asked in alarm.
“Showing some people pictures.” David tried not to show his dismay once he realized whose picture Martinez was flashing around. “See if anyone can ID them.”
Martinez left the table and approached the bar again. He laid the six images of Chris and the others out and invited the bartender to study them.
“Ever see any of these guys in here before?”
Martinez didn’t object when a couple of leather-clad men crowded close to the bar to peer at the pictures. David could smell their aftershave and sweat.
Barry looked confused. David tapped the sketch. “I need you to try to remember when you last saw him.”
“What this guy do, anyway? Kill someone?” Barry laughed.
Neither David or Martinez joined him.
“Christ,” Barry said.
David tried not to watch Martinez in his determination to prove Chris guilty. “Give him to me, Barry. When was he here?”
Sliding his leather cap off his head, revealing a recently shaved scalp, Barry stared at the sketch, then to David’s dismay he glanced back at the image of Chris that lay on top of the six-pack of pictures.
“I know the face.” He cocked his head. “But not recently. I’d have to say it’s been at least a couple of months.”
Martinez pulled out his notebook. “Really?” he murmured. “Two and a half months ago...That was Jeff Charette.”
“Who?” David reluctantly dug out the two pictures of the leather-clad Charette and dropped them on top of the sketch.
Barry paled.
“What are you doing with those?”
“You know him?” Martinez leaned over the bar. “He come in here?”
“Regularly.” Barry frowned. “At least he used to. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“How long’s a while?”
“A month, maybe six weeks.”
“Mid-June? July?”
“Could have been.” Barry’s gaze fell back on the police artist’s sketch. He frowned.
“Anything unusual happen the last night you saw Jeff?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
Barry tugged at his bottom earring. Then his face grew pinched. “Jeff must have been putting the screwdrivers away too fast. Usually he’s not a heavy drinker, but he got totally wasted that night. I was gonna take his keys, but this guy he was drinking with said he’d take him home.”
Bingo.
“And you knew this guy hadn’t been drinking so you were happy to see Jeff taken care of.”
“Didn’t see any harm in it? Why? What are you telling me?”
“Know where we can get in touch with this guy?” David tapped the sketch. He kept his voice casual. “Got a name on him? Anything?”
Barry shook his head violently. “He never gave me a name. Who is this guy? What the hell is this about?”
“How often was he here?”
“Once, twice maybe.” Barry was starting to look worried. “Does this have something to do with the fact that Jeff’s never come back? What happened?”
“Jeff Charette is dead. His body was found July third, but was only identified recently.”
Barry grew even paler. His gaze fell on the sketch, then skated over to the picture of Chris. He frowned. “And you think one of these guys had something to do with it?”
“We don’t know that, sir. We need to talk to them is all.”
At the other end of the bar someone rapped the counter. “Hey, Barry, you stopped working for the night? We’re dry down here.”
Barry jumped, but then he seemed to welcome the interruption. David waved him off.
“Go on, if we have any other questions, we’ll find you.”
A grateful Barry moved off down the bar.
Martinez scooped up the sketch. “I’m going to call down a couple of D’s, get them canvassing the area for any other wits.” Martinez slapped the pictures. “Told you we’d get him, partner.” Then he seemed to catch something on David’s face. He narrowed his dark eyes. “Something wrong?”
David glanced at his watch, knowing he had to escape from Martinez. It was nearly five. “I have some personal business to take care of. Catch up with you later?”
“Sure. Personal, heh? Got a hot date?”
David thought of Chris. He shook his head. “No, it’s not like that.” Even as the traitorous thought came: I wish it were.
“Sure.” Martinez grinned. “I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.”
“Glad to have a partner who trusts me.”
“Hey, I trust you.” Martinez clapped David on the back. “Do me a favor, amigo. At least try to get lucky, okay?”
Martinez gathered everything up and shoved it back into his briefcase.
“Come on,” he said. “Call the station and get those D’s assigned. Then you go take care of your personal business. If I don’t see you till tomorrow morning, I’ll understand, really.”
David followed him out the door, trying to ignore his crude laughter. Wishing he hadn’t said anything.
Already looking forward to seeing Chris again.
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CHAPTER 19
Wednesday, 1:45 pm, Police Impound Lot,
East Commercial Street, East Los Angeles
UNDER THE WATCHFUL glare of two uniformed cops, Chris was shown to his impounded SUV. He popped the door and instantly backed off as a wave of chemical fumes enveloped him. The younger of the two cops smirked.
“They use heated superglue to lift prints.” The cop was still grinning at his discomfort.
“Superglue?” Chris sniffed again. He recognized the smell now. “Great, so I get stoned on the drive home.”
“I suggest you keep your windows down until you hit the freeway, sir.” The sneer was obvious now. The cop was baiting him. “Don’t stop to pick up anybody.”
Meaning what? Jesus, were they telling him they were going to follow him?
Chris suppressed the temptation to flip them the bird as he wheeled out of the lot. The drive home seemed interminable as he struggled to breathe shallowly to avoid the heavy fumes.
At home he showered and shaved, then took his time selecting his outfit. As he stood in front of his overstuffed closet, frowning over what he should wear, he wondered why he was going to such lengths for this guy. There was nothing special about David. Chris wasn’t a cop groupie, attracted to the uniform and the gun, like some guys he knew.
Not that Chris wanted a relationship with anyone. He was happy playing the field.
Safe, anonymous sex. No strings. That suited him just fine.
Sure it did.
He finally settled on a tight-fitting pair of black denim Diesels and a body-molding Izod shirt in soft yellow that he knew set off his skin tone. He moussed his hair and spiked it with stiff fingers, which emphasized his blond streaks, full mouth, and high cheekbones.
He looked good. Would David think so?
He was halfway out of the b
edroom when the phone rang. He scooped it up. Silence greeted his hello. The caller ID window said only unknown number, unknown name.
A soft knock broke through his preoccupation.
David.
He took the stairs two at a time and flung the front door open just as David got ready to knock again.
He looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. His dark, curly hair was still damp. He had changed, too, out of his usual suit and tie to a pair of simple navy linen pants and a crisp pale-blue shirt. No tie. The shirt was open at the throat and the tight curls of his chest hair peeked through.
Chris wanted to lean over and bury his face in it.
David took in Chris’s lean form and his eyes darkened. He licked his lips and looked away when he realized Chris was watching.
“Ready?” he asked.
In the driveway David’s Chevy coupe ticked and pinged as it cooled.
“See you got your truck back,” David said as they slid into the bench seat of the coupe.
“Oh yeah,” Chris muttered. “Superglue and all.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He’d left the windows of the SUV down an inch on either side, figuring eventually the chemical reek would fade. “You like curry?”
“Thai or Indian?”
Chris grinned. “I think you can do both at this place. It’s pretty eclectic.”
Hermosa Beach was south of Marina del Rey. A tiny beach community sandwiched between Manhattan Beach and Redondo, it was less well known than its kitschy cousin Venice or more upscale Santa Monica.
The restaurant was run by an Indian couple, but the chef was Thai. Chris ordered a bottle of Australian Chardonnay and they munched on crisp fried pappadums as they studied the handwritten menu board. The restaurant filled up rapidly and over the soft flow of piped-in flute music the noise level rose and the delicious smells of cumin, garlic, and curries scented the evening air.
David ordered lamb curry. Chris chose Kerala chicken.
Talk was light, never moving beyond the weather, the promise of another nasty fire season, and the last car show they had both been to. Only when their meal arrived and they fell to eating in earnest did Chris venture a question.
“You find anything?”
“About Des’s friend?”
David shook his head.
“I did run some checks on local emergency rooms.”
Chris played with the base of his wine glass. Finally he raised his head and met David’s gaze. “What about the other places...”
“Morgues? No John Does that come close to matching Kyle.”
“Good. That’s good, right?” Chris sipped his wine. He suddenly didn’t want to talk about Kyle. Changing the subject, he said, “You find out anymore about Bobby?”
David fished a piece of lamb out of his rice and dipped it in yogurt. “We talked to his sister.”
Chris avoided David’s gaze. “She able to tell you anything?”
“His parents live in Topeka, Kansas. They’re on their way in to claim the body.”
Chris sipped his wine.
“You’re not involved in this anymore, Chris, so stay away from it.”
“Your partner ready to do the same?”
Chris knew he’d hit a sore spot when David winced. “We found a better lead today.
He’ll come around.”
“You got a suspect?”
David scowled. “I can’t say. You can answer one question for me,” he said.
“Sure. What?”
“What were those glasses doing in the back of your SUV? They weren’t yours. So whose are they?”
“Glasses?” Suddenly Chris burst out laughing. “Those things? They were a Halloween gag. I wore them to look like a geek. Why? Who did you think they belonged to?”
“Jason Blake.”
“Jay?” Chris felt the blood draining from his face. “Is that why you suspected me?”
“If figured into the evidence. Forget it.”
Chris managed to scoop the bill when it came and ignored David’s frown when he fished out his American Express card and handed it over to the obsequious waiter.
Once they were back outside Chris turned away from where David’s car was parked.
If this had been West Hollywood, or even Silver Lake, he might have grabbed David’s hand, but he settled for walking close by his side. They drew near a pink and mauve building with signs and crowds lined up outside. Half the crowd carried massive hand-dipped ice cream cones. The signs said it all: “We make the best ice cream in the World!”
“Hey, you want to spend money on me, buy dessert. Something with pralines and fudge and lots of caramel.”
David got in line and twenty minutes later returned carrying two cones. He handed one to Chris, who swirled his tongue agilely around the dripping mound of ice cream.
David had already started on his chocolate cone.
Chris eyed his choice. “At least it’s not vanilla.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Let’s walk down by the beach.”
The sun was just slipping behind a haze of offshore pollution and the masts of a dozen sailboats heading back to the marina. They stayed back on the boardwalk, away from the sand until Chris finished his cone. He reached down and slipped off his Dockers and socks. He rolled his jeans up a couple of inches.
“Come on, let’s go down to the water.”
David hesitated only a minute, then followed suit. Shoes and socks in hand they stepped onto the cooling sand and within minutes were at the water’s edge.
A gentle surf hissed and rolled over the golden sand, darkened at the surf line. Water splattered Chris’s legs, sand flecked his ankles and encased his toes.
“Now you can’t get back in my car,” David said.
“Oh yeah?” Chris leaned down and threw a handful of water at David, who laughed and jumped back. A spray of sand coated his hairy legs. “Now we’re even.”
David stamped his feet, but it only scattered more sand around his ankles. Finally he shook his curly head and shoved Chris toward the open ocean.
“Go soak your head.”
“Only if you come in with me.”
David looked regretful. He turned away from the ocean. “Not tonight. I have to get back to work.”
Chris had been expecting that. He sighed but followed David back up the beach.
“What about this weekend? You can’t work all the time.”
“Depends on this case. It’s not my weekend on call, but we’re working some hot leads. This is no time to take it easy.”
“Man, you gotta rest.”
David rubbed his face with his free hand and didn’t speak.
They walked along the boardwalk awhile, finally sitting down on a vacant bench to pull socks and shoes back on. Chris wiggled his toes to clear most of the sand off. He could still feel the grit even after his feet were encased in leather again.
Streetlights came on as they headed back to David’s car. The crowds thinned, but Chris still walked close, his hip brushing David’s occasionally.
Back in the car, David cut over to Aviation Boulevard and headed north, eventually joining the stream of taillights on the Santa Monica Freeway. Once they settled into traffic, Chris slipped his seat belt off and scooted over on the bench seat, settling his head on David’s shoulder, his left hand on the other man’s knee.
“I forgot how much fun these kind of seats are. Wonder why they stopped making them.”
“Put your seat belt back on.”
“I’d rather hold on to you.”
“Chris—”
Chris compromised and used the middle set. His hand went back to David’s knee.
“Better?”
David didn’t answer. The tension in his big body was palpable.
Chris wasn’t going to let him go back into his shell so easily. “You have fun tonight?”
No answer.
“David?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“I had fun. But I’m not going to make a habit of this. I like you, Chris, but this can’t go anywhere—”
“We can see how it’s going to play out. Give us that much at least.”
They cut through Century City, then David turned onto Sunset. Forty minutes later they were on Silver Lake Boulevard. Ten minutes after that he pulled into Chris’s driveway. The engine died with a choking grunt.
“Thanks for dinner—”
David’s lips were open when Chris pressed his mouth down on them. He groaned when David’s tongue joined and tangled with his. Instantly his hand was between David’s legs, stroking his growing hardness.
He broke free long enough to ask, “Come in for coffee.”
“I can’t.” David’s breath was warm and still tasted of ice cream with just a hint of curry.
“Just for a little bit.” Without giving him any chance to object, Chris had David’s fly open and slid his fingers inside, wrapping them around David's cock. He lowered his head and teased David's foreskin back, exposing the glistening head to his eager gaze.
Then he was tasting him and David didn’t taste at all like ice cream.
The steering wheel bumped his head more than once but Chris didn’t care. David moaned Chris’s name and held his head with hands that shook. His hips rocked up, thrusting his pulsing cock down Chris’s throat. Chris could feel his orgasm mounting.
David tried to pull him off, but Chris only sucked harder, until David was moaning and he cried out as he poured hot cum down Chris’s throat. David sagged back against the vinyl seat, breathing hard, fingers still threaded through Chris’s short hair. The pulse in his throat beat even faster.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” David said through ragged breaths.
“I want to do a lot more than that. Come in with me. I’ll make coffee.” He lowered his voice to a purr. “I want you to fuck me.”
“I can’t.”
“Oh God, David. Don’t brush me off.”
“I’m not. I won’t.”
“Let me call you then. This weekend. Tell me when.”
At first he thought David wasn’t going to say anything, then he twined shaky fingers through Chris’s.