by J. P. Bowie
“Yes.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “And thanks for caring.”
“Always. Go tell your partner g’bye.”
Daryl. He hadn’t thought about that cheating jerk in a while, and Liz saying his name hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Too many memories of bitter words, of recriminations on both sides. Some resentment still clung at times, and there were moments when he imagined confronting the son-of-a-bitch and throwing a few choice words in his face. But what would be the point of that? All the things he should have said at the time would now just sound petty and, yes, mean-spirited. No matter how true, it would still come across like a jealous rant.
“You’re better than that,” he told himself as he pulled his BMW into the apartment building’s parking lot. Daryl, he’d heard through the grapevine, had married the guy he’d left Sam for and was now living in Seattle. So, in essence he was completely out of Sam’s life.
And a good thing too.
Once inside his spartan apartment, he flung off his clothes, heaping them onto a chair in the bedroom, and slipped on a clean pair of boxer shorts. A beer sounds good right now, but just the one. As he popped the can and took a long chug of the cold brew, he wondered what Justin was doing right then. Would it be awkward if he called just to say hi? He slumped down on his couch, picked up his cell and thumbed through until he found the selfie he’d taken of himself and Justin. What had he been thinking at that moment? This was so out of character for him, cozying up to a complete stranger, taking a picture of him and kissing him, for cripessake.
What the hell. The guy couldn’t think too badly of him. He called me after all. He hit Justin’s number then almost hung up when the ring tone started. Get a fucking grip.
“Hey, this is a surprise.” Justin sounded genuinely pleased.
“Uh, yeah. I was just thinking about you and wondering if I had apologized enough for my crass behavior, and for not remembering who you were.”
Justin’s throaty chuckle stirred something inside Sam and before he realized what he was doing he was stroking himself while listening to Justin telling him he was fine with the way they’d left things and hoping they could get together…real soon.
“Uh, yeah, soon as I know what they’ve got lined up for me at the precinct. Uh, how was your day?”
“Kind of shitty actually, so it’s good to hear your voice instead of the harsh tones of my boss complaining about stuff.”
“What do you do?”
“Design apparel for an independent fashion house.”
“Wow, that sounds interesting.”
Justin’s laughter was low and sexy and Sam’s cock, hardening in his hand, pulsed at the sound of it. “No, it doesn’t, not to a detective anyway. I’m sure yours is a lot more interesting. I saw that great picture of you on the TV, by the way…you being commended for busting up that child-trafficking ring. Good for you.”
“Yeah, it felt good. You have a nice voice, Justin.”
“So do you. Nice and deep and butch, and I love that twang I hear now and then. Where are you from?”
Sam chuckled. He was enjoying this. It had been a long time since he’d held a flirtatious phone call with a guy. “Uh, Texas originally.”
“I thought so. Big things come from Texas, I hear.” They laughed together then Justin said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again, Detective.” His sexy voice purred in Sam’s ear.
“Me, too, and it’s Sam.”
“Sam. I like it.”
“How do you like it?” Oh now, he was getting carried away, but his cock was so darned hard and soaking his boxers.
“Any way you want to give it to me, Sam, long as it comes with a lot of your sexy kisses.”
“Really?”
“Oh God, yeah. When I close my eyes and remember your arms around me, your lips so soft and warm on mine, your tongue doing amazing things, there’s nothing quite like it.”
“It was that good?” Did his voice sound as strained to Justin as it did to him?
“Better than good, Sam. The best.”
Oh, my God. His hand was working overtime and his cock had never been this hard…ever. And getting harder by the second just from listening to the sultry tones of a guy who, until this morning, he had no memory of ever meeting. Any more of this and he was going to come, crazy though it was.
“Uh, Justin, I have to co—I mean go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely. G’night…Sam.”
“G’night.” He pulled his cock free of his boxer shorts just in time. A stream of cum shot across his heaving chest and he groaned out loud, his body shuddering from its release. Shit. What the hell was that about? This never happened to him, not without some chemical stimulation, and even then it could be iffy. He’d given up jacking off as a lost cause a long time ago…and now?
All this from just the sound of the guy’s voice. If Justin came through with the chance of another meeting, holding and kissing him again was going to feel like Nirvana.
Chapter Three
“You look cheery this morning.”
Justin looked up when Maria’s secretary, Paula, entered his office. “Almost glad to be here.”
He smiled. “I decided there’s no point in hating every minute of my time at work. Besides, I might have a date tonight. First one in months.”
“Oh yes? Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Someone I met a couple of nights ago. He was in his cups, to put it mildly, but so darned hot I couldn’t tell him to get lost when he came on to me.”
Paula frowned. “You sure you want to go out with another drunk, Justin?”
Justin had shared with Paula his disastrous relationship with Brad, an alcoholic Justin had thought he could perhaps persuade to get counseling or join Alcoholics Anonymous. Brad hadn’t given sobriety much of a shot, falling off the wagon more times than Justin could count and, after a horrendous fight during which Brad had struck Justin hard across the face, Justin had decided enough was enough and had moved out. There hadn’t been anyone in his life since, and he hadn’t missed the irony of finding yet another drunk attractive. Although this time he was pretty sure Sam wasn’t a habitual drunkard.
“Don’t worry,” he told Paula. “We’ve talked since then, and sober he sounds even more terrific.”
“Hmm, okay. Oh, not to cast gloom on your day, but the boss lady wants to see you in her office at ten o’clock.”
“She gonna give me a raise?”
“Ha! Nope, that didn’t come up in the conversation. But you can always ask for one.”
Paula left and Justin opened his laptop to the latest designs he’d done for Esteban. They were some of his best work and Maria had been less than complimentary. He had a sneaking suspicion that she didn’t praise him because she didn’t want to increase his salary or let him think he was too good for Esteban Fashions. One thing he knew for certain was that if he decided to leave, she’d never give him a glowing reference.
He frowned. Okay, stop getting pissed off. There was a chance he’d have a date with a hunky detective this evening and he didn’t want to show up trailing the vestiges of a bad mood behind him. Sam had surprised him last night, and by using the flimsiest of excuses about not being sure if he’d apologized enough for not remembering meeting him or kissing him. His so-deep voice had sent goosebumps all over Justin’s skin and just listening to him had made him hard. He had an idea Sam had been hard, too. His voice had gotten a little strained toward the end of their conversation, as if he was trying to hold something back—like an orgasm maybe.
He chuckled. Well, Sam wouldn’t have been the only one. Justin had had to jerk off, too, after they’d done talking. Of course, he maybe had more to work with than Sam. He could remember every little detail about the hunky cop. Those brilliant blue eyes and that lush mouth and the cleft in his chin deep enough to stick the tip of his tongue into if he’d had the nerve.
Maybe he should’ve confessed up front that he was turned
on and engaged the hot detective in some mutual phone sex. How great would that have been!
* * * *
Sam moved over to Martin’s desk when Captain Hoskins announced he had a couple of new cases for them all to listen to. “I want y’all to know what’s going on. I’ll allocate duties after I’ve filled y’all in. Last night the 7-Eleven on Robson was held up. Three guys, or maybe two guys and a female—the clerk wasn’t sure—wearing masks and armed with shotguns killed the store manager and a female customer. They got away with the contents of the registers and the safe. They shot the place up real good—the clerk is lucky he’s alive. We have the surveillance tapes and from what I’ve seen, one of the perps could be a young woman…slighter build, not that it means anything really, just an impression.”
“Is it suspicious that the clerk was left unarmed?” Sam asked.
“He’s being questioned as we speak,” Hoskins said. “Jones and Harrison, I want you to take this one, okay?”
There was a chorus of mumbled ‘okays’.
“Okay, next. Walker and McCready, listen up. I want you guys on this one. A young man was found murdered in a deli’s delivery doorway off Santa Monica. The owner called it in. No ID on him, no money either, so the motive could’ve been robbery. Could be a hustler. There’s a park near where the body was found frequented by hustlers, male prostitutes and the like.
“Regardless of our personal feelings about cases like this, if there’s murder or kidnapping involved we have to put a stop to it. Detectives, I suggest you get over to that park at night, talk to these kids, get them to trust you enough to give you some leads. Come to my office after this briefing and I’ll give you more details.”
Sam heard a voice from somewhere in the back of the room say, “Should be a piece of cake for Walker. A fag’ll fit right in.”
Martin must have heard it too. He stiffened and turned to face the guys behind them. “Who said that?”
Sam tugged his sleeve. “Don’t go there, Martin. It’s just ignorance talking.”
“And cowardice too, seein’ as how no one’s admitting to it. I hear crap like that again and whoever will be talkin’ to my fist.”
“Detectives,” Hoskins barked. “My office, now.”
“You gonna let whoever it was get away with that?” Martin demanded once they were inside Hoskins’ office. “What happened to zero tolerance?”
“No, I’m not, but I’ll deal with it according to regulations,” Hoskins said. “You start a fist fight in the department and I’ll deal with you, too.”
“Calm down, Martin.” Sam grinned at him. “When we find out who it is, we’ll just take him out back and beat the shit outta him.”
Hoskins frowned. “Just as well I know you’re joking. Okay, here’s a shot of the kid, post-mortem.” He pushed a picture across his desk.
Sam gazed at the dead boy and his gut twisted. “He was strangled.”
Hoskins nodded. “Looks like it.”
“Kind of strange for a robbery, don’t you think?” Martin remarked. “Usually it’s pretty much bash and grab.”
Sam grunted agreement. “Or it was some john who didn’t wanna pay up. Started to rough the kid up and it got out of hand.”
“So that’s for you guys to find out,” Hoskins said. “This is gonna be mostly a night shift for you. I’ll pencil you in four to midnight for the next few days. Now go talk to the coroner.”
* * * *
Ron Barrett, the coroner on duty, was his usual cool and efficient self when he opened the storage drawer containing the dead hustler’s body. Sam knew Ron had seen countless bodies in the years he’d been a coroner—young, old, male, female—but it still irked him that the man could be so apparently unmoved by what he saw on a daily basis. Sam had been a cop for eight years, but he still couldn’t regard a dead body as just a piece of meat to be cut open to establish the cause of death. At least, in this instance, there would be no need to mutilate this body. The cause of death was immediately visible. The bruises around his neck gave witness to a brutal strangling.
“He put up a good fight,” Ron said indicating further bruising on the dead boy’s arms and chest. “From the state of his knuckles, I’d say he got some hard punches in before he succumbed. You’ll be looking for someone with prodigious strength. The larynx is completely crushed…”
“Any fragments under his nails?” Sam asked
Ron nodded. “Yeah. No skin but a bit of a mixture of fibers, like there had been more than one person involved.”
“Could be from one or more of his johns,” Martin said flatly.
“Were there traces of semen in his mouth?” Sam asked.
“No, but of course they might have been washed away if he had something to drink. There could be vestiges in his stomach if as you said he’d been with a couple of men, but no autopsy has been ordered so far.”
And it’s unlikely to be as the cause of death is so evident.
“This might be of interest.” Ron produced a small plastic bag. “I separated what we found under his fingernails. This thread is tougher than you’d find on a regular jacket or coat. I’m guessing a uniform of some kind.”
Sam and Martin exchanged glances. “Like a military uniform?”
“Yes, or just about anything made of a thicker material.”
Sam stared at the contusions on the boy’s face. No doubt that despite the marring bruises he had once been a good-looking kid. God, but sometimes I hate this job. “Wait.” He leaned in for a closer look. “He’s only wearing one earring.”
“Could be a fashion statement,” Martin suggested.
“But the other ear is also pierced.”
“Could have been pulled out in the struggle,” Ron said. He peered at the left ear. “Slight inflammation around the piercing. You’re right—he probably was wearing one in each ear.”
“Doesn’t really help much, unfortunately.”
“Poor kid.” Martin sighed. “What in hell did he do to get himself killed?”
Sam nudged Martin’s arm. “We need to get over to that park and see if any of those guys will talk to us.”
Sam realized that whatever he and Justin were planning, it wasn’t going to happen tonight, but he thought he should call him and let him know the reason. Justin sounded disappointed, and Sam knew he should not be happy about that.
“Oh, well, you did say you wouldn’t know your schedule until today,” he said, the tone in his voice a shade wistful. “We’ll take a raincheck, right?”
“Right. Martin and I are on a new case, so it could be a while.”
“Oh, wow.” Justin’s sigh made Sam feel bad.
Maybe if we finish early enough… “How’s your day been so far?” he asked.
“Awful. I had a bit of a run-in with the boss. She was rude. More than rude really, pretty crass. I told her to go fuck herself.”
Sam laughed. “You still have a job?”
“Just about, and only because she knows she can’t find anyone as good as me for the money she’s paying. Sorry, did that sound arrogant?”
“Not at all. A guy should know his worth. What was she rude about?”
“I’ll have to tell you another time.” Justin had lowered his voice. “I can hear her outside my office, and she doesn’t sound too happy. I better go.”
“Okay, bye.”
Sam ended the call feeling that somehow, he’d just become involved in a part of Justin’s life he knew as little of as he did of the man himself. He couldn’t help but think their first meeting—that is, one he would actually remember—would be at the very least memorable.
* * * *
Their first stop was the deli where the body had been found. The owner, Lennie Cohen, still seemed a little shaken up while they talked to him.
“I couldn’t believe it, the poor kid,” Cohen told them, his pale blue eyes watery. “What a way to start my morning. Bad enough I had deliveries to cope with and him lying there…it was…I don’t know how to say it. Wha
t will his poor mama do when you tell her?”
Sam had a feeling there would be no ‘poor mama’ to tell of her son’s death. Another lost boy, like so many on the streets of Los Angeles.
That night, they staked out the park behind Santa Monica Boulevard and the narrow streets that surrounded it. For a time, they watched the few young men cruising the area. One, a tall, slender blond kid, took a long look into their car, his expression showing interest as he gazed at Sam. Then, as if a sixth sense had kicked in, he stiffened, looked away and quickened his pace as he passed the car.
Martin chuckled. “Guess even your handsome mug can’t disguise the fact you’re a cop.”
“Very funny.” Sam sat back and grimaced. “It kinda tears me up to think what they go through just to stay alive.”
“They could get a job,” Martin said. “A real job. One that doesn’t put them at risk from predators or get them arrested.”
“It isn’t always that easy. I know.”
“But you didn’t turn to hustling.”
“No, but I have to admit I was tempted a couple of times. Nothing like an empty belly and a hard sidewalk to make you rethink a lot of things. If it hadn’t been for the few friends I had left, I might have ended up like that kid.”
His cell buzzed and he grunted as he stared at the screen. “Huh, coroner’s office. Detective Walker.”
“Oh hi, Detective. Dale Hawkins, assistant coroner. We have an ID on the murder victim you’re investigating. His name is Joey Carter, age eighteen, no known street address in L.A. Originally from Dayton, Ohio.”
“Any parents, siblings?”
“None on record, I’m afraid. The address in Dayton didn’t pan out. Looks like it’ll be a rough case for you.”
“Right. Okay, thanks for the info.” He ended the call and turned to face Martin. “Vic’s name is Joey Carter, eighteen years old, homeless by the sounds of it and no next of kin on record.”
Martin grimaced. “Shit, poor kid.”
“Well, now that we have a name, we can ask around and see if any of these guys knew him.”