Fish on a Bicycle

by Amy Lane

  “Moved…,” Jackson said quietly, wondering. “Hey, is there any way to find out whether or not he’s prescribed any drugs in the last year?”

  Ellery grunted. “I’d thought of that. I need to call some people. Medical law is not my specialty. I’ll get back to you.”

  “I’ll let you know what we—” Ouch! Jackson looked over his shoulder at Lance and glared, and Lance grimaced in apology. “—find out.”

  “When you get home,” Ellery said, voice mild, “you are going to have to explain to me, very carefully, exactly what you did today.”

  “I found a victim. Chased a bad guy. Same ol’, same ol—” Sudden, sharp inhale. “But we’re running late. You may have to get Jade to take you home.” Jackson made a mental note to borrow a towel so he didn’t get blood on Ellery’s car.

  “I know what the same ol’ is, Jackson. Same ol’ is what happened last night. Let’s go for different, shall we?”

  “Hey, the body was still kicking this ti-ime!” Motherfucker, that hurt! “I was hoping to get to the clinic after lunch, when the doctors are mostly out, so we gotta motor. Later!”

  “Later.”

  Jackson hung up on the suspicious funk that was his boyfriend and let loose. “Son of a whore’s jizzy tits, Lance, what in the hell was that?”

  “That was pulling scar tissue over your exposed bone,” Lance snapped back. “Jesus fuck, Rivers—no wonder you hate hospitals!”

  Jackson took a few deep pulls of oxygen and tried to calm his temper. “Yeah. I’m starting to wonder if they’re giving me an extra spiffy drug cocktail,” he admitted. “Seriously, I’d rather just belt out a good scream and get it over with.” Inside he shuddered. Addiction was his greatest fear.

  “Well, suck it up for two more stitches and I’ll have this done,” Lance muttered. “Jesus, how you think you’re going to hide this from your boyfriend, I have no idea.”

  Jackson felt the needle go in this time, because the Novocain was wearing off, and he grunted. “Forgiveness, permission, I’m sure I’ll think of something. Do I have to keep it dry? Because I gotta tell you, I’m getting used to his pool.”

  “If I tell you yes, for at least twenty-four hours, will that matter to you?”

  Jackson grimaced. “Mmmaybe?”

  “Then don’t sweat it. Just don’t come crying to me when your stitches rip out because your skin gets soft.”

  “It’s a deal!” Jackson figured he could shower instead of swim that night—and deliberately didn’t think about needing help taking the bandage off or putting plastic over it.

  “God, you’re a shitty patient. I’m glad I’m not your doctor!” Lance finished up, the relief of pressure telling Jackson that he’d knotted the silk and snipped the thread. A few more passes with antiseptic and a bandage, and Jackson was good to go. But Lance wasn’t done with him yet.

  “So you’re not planning to take care of your wound, and you’re not going to tell your boyfriend—do I have that correct?”

  Jackson shrugged, then winced. “He’ll figure it out eventually, and I’m not going to rub dirt in it. Henry and I just have things to do.”

  “I get it,” Lance said, carefully packing up his supplies. Jackson imagined his little black bag was as neatly organized as the sock drawer of God. “I get the He-Man tough-guy thing, and I get the hating hospitals thing. But I need you to think of something before you walk out of here and go look for a way to get Henry out of the hot seat.”

  “Yeah, sure—oh! Do I need to pay you for suppl—”

  “No, but thank you for asking. I want you to think about Curtis, the guy who’d been blowing the super to give us a break on rent.”

  “I remember him.” Jackson frowned. “Is he here?”

  “He’s in the bedroom with the closed door, chewing an entire pack of gum. He was super embarrassed, by the way, but I think he’s texting the other guys to see who else got caught up in that scam. Anyway, you stood up for him.”

  Jackson wrinkled his nose. “Your super is—maybe was—an asshole,” he said bluntly. “Curtis was trying to give honest trade.”

  Lance nodded, not taking those amazing amber eyes from Jackson’s. “You treated him like a person. And he’s embarrassed because he got taken, but he’s not ashamed. And he’s not dead, like he might have been if you hadn’t warned him off—”

  Jackson’s eyes got big. “Wait, did he remember anything? Seriously, was he there when the guy went into the back room?”

  Lance’s eyes got big too. “Shit! Dammit. Here I am trying to give the grown-up speech—”

  “It was a real nice speech.” Jackson patted Lance’s arm. “You’re gonna be a great doc. But right now, can I talk to your roommate?”

  “Sure, but let me get you a shirt. We’ve got some shit in the community laundry pile nobody will miss.”

  Jackson grimaced. “That’s a good idea.” He looked at the T-shirt he’d put on that morning—one of his newer ones that said “My Favorite Color is No Pants” on it—and sighed. “Yeah. Thanks. Do you want this one to wash your car or something?”

  “Oh my God. We’re starving students, and even we throw bloodstained clothing away.”

  “Or not. Get me the shirt. I need to talk to Curtis.”

  Curtis, as it turned out, had heard a great deal.

  “Yeah, I’d just gotten down there when whoever it was came in to use the back room—not sure if you noticed, but there’s a little dust-cover curtain thingie that hides the space behind the counter.” He was sitting on a twin bed, chewing his gum, listening to music, and Jackson got a look inside the other bedroom.

  One of the beds was a queen-sized bed and the other a twin, but the covers on both mattresses were personal, and there were two dressers, one of them very clearly marked “Rick and Skylar” with masking tape, and the other “Curtis and Billy.” Jackson wondered if Billy slept with Curtis or if he got the air bed or the couch.

  “I did,” Jackson responded, tabling his curiosity. The curtain and supplies seemed to indicate that Cock Cheese Sternberg had been getting enough blowjobs to add a few office modifications for convenience. “Were you down there?”

  Curtis nodded. “There’s a little portable fan, some Kleenex, condoms, a bottle of water, lube, disinfectant wipes—all the amenities.”

  Jackson blinked suddenly dry eyes. “That’s… well….”

  “Prepared. Yeah.” Curtis tipped his head back and sighed. “I should have known. I just… we’re all saving money, and it seemed easier than all of us coughing up more cash.”

  Jackson resisted the temptation to ruffle his tightly cut hair. “Your heart was in the right place, kid. You’re a sex worker; it’s a skill. Just remember it’s not the only one you have.”

  Curtis shrugged and managed a small smile. “Thanks. So you want to know what they said?”

  “I’ll buy you lunch!”

  Curtis shook his head. “Naw, I’ve got a scene in four days. I’m all veggies for the next two days and then fasting.”

  Yikes! “Well, hit me up after your scene. I’ll spring for a buffet or something.”

  Curtis’s face lit up. “That there is a deal. So, I’d just gotten situated and was waiting for him to drop his drawers when Sternberg yanks the curtain shut and says, ‘Gordon! I thought we were all done with that shit!’”

  “Gordon?” Oh, hey—a clue. “And then?”

  “And Gordon says, ‘Dude, Candy’s losing his shit. Who made the other fuckin’ tape?’”

  So Gordon worked for Candy Cormier. Holy crap. This kid was a wealth of information. “What did Sternberg say?”

  “He said he did. He got a call before the cops even got there. Someone asked him to loop the night feed, right up until Henry found the body.”

  Jackson closed his eyes. “So Candy wanted Henry pinned for the body, but the first tape was just supposed to erase the actual dumping of it.”

  Curtis looked surprised. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

  “W
hat did this Gordon with the fucking Schrade blade say afterwards?”

  “He said he was going to go erase all the tapes so nobody could figure out which one was which. Sternberg said go ahead, but I don’t think he thought much of the guy’s competence.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the door clicked, not completely shut, but you know, enough, and Sternberg muttered, ‘Good luck, ya fuckin’ psycho,’ before unzipping like it was business as usual.”

  Jackson frowned. “Uh, how long before he came?”

  “Twelve interminable minutes,” Curtis said grimly. “And thirty-two seconds.”

  “So Sternberg was right—a guy who knew what he was doing would be a lot quicker.” Jackson grimaced. “I think. I’ve got a friend I can ask to make sure. So Gordon—our scumbag with meth mouth and twitchy eyes and the Schrade—had twelve minutes. And tomorrow, we should see what he did with them. Curtis, this is really important. Are you sure he didn’t know you were down there? Nobody saw you?”

  Curtis nodded. “Man, do you think I wanted anybody to know what I was doing? I mean, as a matter of professional pride, that asshole was a step down.” He gave his gum a particularly vicious gnash of his teeth and wrapped his arms around his knees as he sat on his bed. “And do I have to explain about the taste?”

  “No, no, I would rather you didn’t. Just, you know, be safe.”

  “Always,” Curtis said sourly.

  Jackson nodded, trusting him, and called out, “Look, Henry, Lance, come here.”

  They both showed up, and Jackson looked Curtis in the eyes. “Curtis was here all morning. He hasn’t left the apartment, do you understand?”

  “But don’t you need him to tell the cops what he heard?” Henry asked, scowling.

  “No. We know what he heard. We can tell the cops. He’s not a source. We don’t mention his name. We’ve already had somebody break into Reg and Bobby’s place. I don’t want you guys at risk.”

  Curtis nodded. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it. But, you know, if it’s a choice between me telling my story and Henry going to jail—”

  “It won’t be,” Jackson said grimly. “Not if I’m any good at my job at all. Thanks, Curtis. And don’t worry. I’m pretty sure Henry will keep you in the loop.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a grumpy bastard, but we’re used to him,” Curtis said, nodding earnestly.

  “I’m right here!”

  Curtis’s smile at Henry was all saccharine. “I know, sweetie. Go you!”

  Jackson smirked. “All right, then. I’m out. I’m going to shut this door here, and Lance, I don’t think the cops will stop by, but if they do, Henry’s out and Curtis—”

  “Has been here all day,” Lance repeated dutifully.

  “I knew you understood.” Jackson extended his hand, and Lance shook it, hard and with purpose. “And thanks for the stitch job. I appreciate it.”

  “Please keep it dry for at least a day. The bandage is waterproof, so a shower should be okay. Oh, and get someone to take the stitches out in a week.”

  Jackson nodded, thinking Jade might do it for him. Or AJ.

  Or Ellery. Because Ellery wasn’t stupid, and he might have forgiven Jackson by then.

  “Will do. Thanks again.”

  “And keep Henry safe.” Lance slid a sideways glance toward Henry, and Jackson watched everybody’s favorite military asshole turn a dull red. “He is a grumpy bastard, but Curtis was right. We do like him here.”

  “I’ll protect him like it’s my job,” Jackson said dryly. “Because it is.”

  Lance’s laugh was a soft surprise. “You take your job seriously. I just gave you the stitches that prove it. That’s good enough for me.”

  They left, waving goodbye to Kryzynski as he hovered over the crime scene. As they slid into the car, Henry asked, “Aren’t you going to tell him what Curtis told you?”

  “That depends,” Jackson said, backing Ellery’s baby out with the finesse of a neurosurgeon, “on whether he shares the forensics with us. If he plays nice with me, I’ll play nice with him.”

  “But… I mean, he’s the police!”

  “Yeah, he’s the policeman we told about a serial killer for months, and who didn’t believe us until I was half dead and the asshole had a knife to Ellery’s throat. I’m not giving him any dots to connect about Curtis. That kid doesn’t need the fucking harassment.”

  “Why would he be harassed?” Henry asked, completely puzzled, and Jackson blew out a breath, remembering that Ellery had been that naïve.

  “Because he’s really, really tanned. Did you not hear what I told you about my brother?”

  “But he wasn’t charged. He was let go, right?”

  “Sure, he was. After my house got shot up and Ellery risked his life to bring in the guy who did it. Let’s just say we won’t start nothing so there won’t be nothing and leave it at that.”

  Henry let out an irritated sigh. “Is there anybody you do trust, Rivers?”

  “Ellery,” Jackson replied promptly. “Jade, Kaden, and AJ. And a couple of people you don’t know. So yes. Yes, there are people I trust.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Hey, I don’t feel the trust rolling off you in waves. As far as I can tell, you’ve been like every other client who lies to us to make themselves feel better.”

  “There’s a reason for that!” Henry snapped.

  “Yeah, well, ditto.”

  Henry huffed out a breath. “I just don’t get how you can go through life without believing in anything. You don’t trust the cops. You don’t trust the military…. You’re working for a system you think is going to let you down!”

  “I’m working for a system that did let me down,” Jackson argued. “That’s why I’m working where I’m working. Systems let you down. People don’t always, so I keep my faith in a few of those. Why’s it so important to you?”

  “Because….” Henry sagged against his seat. “Because people already let me down. All I have left is the system. And it’s trying to put me in jail.”

  Augh! “Your brother sounds like a standup guy,” Jackson said reluctantly. “John and Galen don’t suck.” And then, delicately, because Henry might or might not have noticed that he and his roommate seemed to have been destined for each other since birth, Jackson added, “And, uh, there’s a guy actually named Galahad who looks like he’d throw himself in traffic for you.”

  “He’s a porn model,” Henry said, as though that somehow prevented a guy from falling in love.

  “If that’s how you’re going to be about it, you deserve to die sad and alone.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Jackson shook his head. “Nope. Not gonna talk to you anymore. You’re too stupid to live. Make sure Galen pays us when you forget to breathe, that’s all I ask.”

  They drove in silence for a while until they passed a little nest of fast food chains and Jackson turned into it, craving a soda in the worst way.

  “Want anything?” he asked, forgetting his earlier resolve.

  “I thought I was too stupid to live,” Henry said sullenly.

  “Yeah, but not feeding you before you choke on your own stupidity is inhumane.”

  “I could use a burger,” Henry muttered. “Here, let me—” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, and Jackson waved him off.

  “Ellery lets me pay for very little,” he said. “I can handle a sandwich.”

  “Why does he do that?” Henry asked, frowning. “Pay for everything?”

  Jackson shrugged. “He likes to… I dunno. Take care of me. Seems to think I don’t do a wonderful job on my own. He’s not half wrong.” He stopped at the intercom and ordered two sodas and a burger, but before he was done, Henry shouted for a second burger.

  “Hungry?” Jackson asked, pulling forward.

  “It’s for you. You forgot.”

  “I did not. I wasn’t hungry.”

  Henry grunted. “I can officially see Cramer’s point. Look, can we make a deal?”


  “I don’t see why.”

  “Because you’re dying to tell me why I’m a dumbass. I promise I’ll listen if you fucking eat.”

  Jackson let out a sigh and reminded himself that he’d managed to get himself doctored in an apartment bathroom, and that he was a big boy and could feed himself.

  “Sure. Fine. Would you like to know why you’re a dumbass?”

  “I’m on the edge of my seat.”

  “Because that porn model you just dismissed is a nice guy. He stitched me up, didn’t give me shit, and tried really hard to get me to take care of myself. He was obviously the den mother there before you got hired as the daddy—”

  “I think Bobby was the daddy first,” Henry said, not surprising Jackson much. “They still call him to fix the plumbing like I’ve never seen a goddamned sink before.”

  “Well, maybe you need to relax your plunger about other people’s plumbing,” Jackson said sourly, pulling up to the drive-thru. He rolled down his window, bracing himself for the furnace blast, and handed the clerk his card. The kid—a sweet-eyed boy with a long face and a complexion that reminded Jackson of his own acne years—gave him a tentative smile that Jackson returned full bore. The kid lit up like a Christmas tree, his voice getting extra animated as he handed Jackson his receipt, and Jackson told him yes, it was hot and to stay cool himself before he winked and pulled forward.

  “Do you think that kid knows he’s gay?” Henry asked, almost to himself.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Jackson said. “Some kids don’t know it until somebody special grabs their hand and says, ‘Hey, I want to kiss you above all others,’ and they go, ‘Wow, I want that too!’”

  “You know, for a guy who doesn’t trust anybody, you have an awfully rosy view of the world.”

  “I don’t trust authority,” Jackson corrected. “Why is it bad that Lancelot is a porn model?”

  “He’s sleeping with other people,” Henry explained, as though Jackson was stupid.

  “He’s performing a mechanical function with colleagues that leads to orgasm,” Jackson corrected. “He has no more attachment to the guys he has sex with at Johnnies than you do to your favorite dildo.”