Guardian Angel

by Adam Carpenter

  Her intent couldn’t have been clearer if she had mounted him right there.

  “Please, Jimmy, send me the bill for your services tonight.”

  He wondered if Robbie would receive the same message in the morning.

  “I think we’re good,” Jimmy said. “Your retainer was as generous as your motives.”

  She appeared stung by his words, but right now he didn’t care.

  Jimmy didn’t like the way this night was ending, watching as Serena and Robbie Rich downed their glasses before thanking their hosts and making their way out. A peck on Jimmy’s cheek was all he got in return for his night’s services. As he stood alone in the center of the room, the rest of the partygoers returning to their own intrigues, Jimmy considered what had just gone down, and he wondered if he’d just been played. If Serena Carson was so quick to dismiss her fears in favor of a romp in the sack with some prep-school alum, he wondered why he’d been needed in the first place. Henderson Carlyle might be physically imposing to Serena, but he’d backed down from the fight the moment he was confronted. He was an asshole but was Jimmy the fool?

  “And I thought you were sexy before.”

  Jimmy turned to see Dr. Steven Wang beside him, an unmistakable expression of desire on his face. In his hand he held a drink, this one notably stronger than the champagne that had been flowing all night. Jimmy accepted the whiskey, took a sip and savored the burning sensation that slid down his throat. The effect countered the rawness he felt inside. Still, Jimmy didn’t say a word to Steven, unsure if he wanted this kind of attention.

  “So, are you some kind of a bodyguard?”

  “Private investigator,” Jimmy said.

  “A tough-guy PI in a tux at a high-brow charity event. You’re an enigma.”

  “I’m just a guy, no big deal.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Steven said, “And to think, I still don’t know your name.”

  Jimmy drank again, felt the booze float through his bloodstream, felt other emotions swirl there, too. He extended a hand. “Name’s Jimmy.”

  “Is that all, just one name?”

  “You need more?”

  “Not right now, no. So, Jimmy, looks like your date left you high and dry.”

  “It happens.”

  “Glad it did. Clearly your night with her was ending at the front door.”

  “I didn’t realize I was being obvious,” Jimmy said.

  “I have excellent gaydar.”

  Jimmy smiled. He liked the man’s confidence. “And your night, how is it ending?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to think of it ending, not when it’s just getting interesting. I know a place where the drinks don’t require writing a big check.”

  “Let me guess. Your place,” Jimmy said.

  “That a problem?”

  Jimmy downed the last of his whiskey, looked at the empty glass. Then he looked at Steven. His intent was clear. All Jimmy had to say was “Yes.” What he said instead, code for yes, was, “Looks like I could do with a refill.”

  Chapter Two

  All was quiet inside the brownstone. Jimmy lay awake, eyes wide, while the man beside him slept. Either from the bottle of wine they’d consumed or from the energetic sex they’d enjoyed, he wasn’t sure, nor did it matter, because the solitude gave Jimmy a chance to question why he’d accepted Steven’s impromptu invitation. Was it because Serena Carson was doing the same thing with her man-du-jour? Was it because he’d not been with anyone since Frank a couple months ago? Was it because sometimes it was just nice to feel a man’s arms around you, to feel a hungered kiss? Life was difficult enough, why deny yourself a release when opportunity presented itself?

  Steven Wang was a nice man, cute and unassuming, and obviously well off. He’d said he owned the brownstone on 74th Street between Central Park West and Columbus, a three-story structure which housed an expansive living room/dining room area on the main level, a full kitchen a flight below, along with a casual den and wine cellar. Upstairs was a giant bedroom, complete with a king-size bed surrounded by four decorative posts. Expensive artwork hung on all the walls, and modern furniture abounded, all dark maroons, grays and purples, sharp edges and glass-topped tables that shined. Jimmy had been impressed the moment they’d arrived via taxi, the two of them walking up the stone steps with clear intent. Steven’s kiss while on the final step had sealed the deal before the threshold claimed them.

  At the moment, a clock on the side table indicated the time at 3:44. Jimmy blinked, and it was suddenly 3:45. Time was moving, if slowly. He shifted in the big bed, the covers tangled in his legs, his head having sunk into the soft pillows. He stole a look at the sleeping form at his side. Steven had been a hungry lover, willing, his body tight and muscular, smooth as glass, with only a dusting of hair on his legs. Jimmy didn’t want to disturb him, but sleep evaded him just as much as the night’s actions tortured him. He thought again of Serena, wondered if she was the type to sleep off the effect of lovemaking or if she let the man sleep while she allowed regret to consume her.

  Not that Jimmy regretted what he’d done tonight. He was a grown-up, single. He could do what—or whom—he pleased, or so spoke those defensive motives that emerged only in the dark of night; sun-up would shed lights on all sorts of conflicted emotions, and he wasn’t ready to blink them away, not yet. The clock read 3:47. He’d have to make a decision: slip out under quiet cover of darkness and leave a note of thanks, perhaps with the promise of meeting again, or remain behind? Surely Steven was as kind during the day as he was at night. He just had that kind of open, honest face. Wouldn’t it be nice to sit down to share a homemade breakfast? Jimmy wondered if orange juice and omelets were too domesticated for him.

  He tossed back the blankets, his feet sinking into the plush carpet.

  Steven clearly had money, and he spared no expense in making his home comfortable.

  A place like this, Jimmy thought, was meant to be shared with someone.

  He thought of his own office, located above Paddy’s Pub, how on some nights the raucous noise from below kept him awake. It’s what made the place so dirt cheap. No regular tenant would put up with it. The price was right for Jimmy. His uncle owned the building, five floors, no more than fifteen residents. Nearly the same amount of square footage inside this brownstone, and this home was designed for one. Manhattan could be a cruel place. Winners won, and losers shared tight spaces with like. There was no door to open; the upstairs bedroom just opened up from the staircase. Jimmy recalled how a few hours ago the two of them had made their way up those stairs, kissing heavily while Steven busily unbuttoned Jimmy’s shirt, unzipping his pants. How he’d taken Jimmy’s hard cock inside his mouth while still on the top step. Clothes remained strewn about the bedroom, the two tuxedos suggesting flattened penguins.

  “Hey, you’re not leaving, are you?”

  Jimmy had his under shorts in his hand, was getting ready to put them on. He turned to see Steven, propped up on a pillow.

  “No, I just needed something to drink, some water…”

  “Don’t be long.”

  “Can I bring you back anything?” Jimmy asked.

  “Just you,” Steven replied.

  Effective words. Jimmy dropped the shorts, and he skipped the water too, climbing back into the bed. He slid in next to Steven and pressed his lips against his, taking the initiative that Steven had shown hours ago when the two of them sat on the sofa drinking wine. Steven made the first move then, and now Jimmy did. It did not go ignored, as Steven pulled Jimmy tighter against his naked body He felt the man’s nails scrape against his back, clutching at him. He’d done the same while Jimmy had been inside him the last time. At last, though, Jimmy pulled back, staring at Steven’s expectant face.

  “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I much prefer this, both of us awake.” Steven’s eyes traveled south. Jimmy was hard.

  The man then reached out, running his hand across Jimmy’
s strong chest. It was hairy, with a carpet of brown that spread from his neckline down to his waist, narrowing as it reached a nest of pubes. He kissed it, tugged at it. “My God, this is so damn sexy. When I unbuttoned your shirt and discovered all this beautiful fur, damn I thought I’d shoot my load right then.”

  “Actually, I think you did,” Jimmy said.

  Steven snuggled in tighter. “You know how hot you are, right, how much I wanted you when I first saw you tonight at the benefit?”

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He didn’t thrive on compliments.

  “And this,” Steven said, tracing a finger on the mottled skin on Jimmy’s right shoulder, “I bet there’s a story there.”

  “Nothing big. Just a scar.”

  “Gunshot wound?”

  “Would that make a difference,” Jimmy asked.

  “I think it would make you even sexier. I think I’d want you right now.”

  Thought became action as Jimmy wasted little time in mounting Steven, a muscled arm reaching for the nearby table. Remnants of past sex mixed with the promise of more. He slipped a new condom on, poised Steven for easy, expectant entry. The wanting look in the man’s eyes said everything. Only this moment mattered, what they felt, what fueled their desires, the outside world no concern, nor the fact that twelve hours ago they’d never even laid eyes on each other, much less met, touched, kissed, fucked. And now they were about to do all that again. Jimmy slid himself inside, a thrusting motion that had Steven crying out in the expansive room. Again, Jimmy felt nails dig into the muscles on his back, each of them moving in rhythm with his hips, which kept up a steady assault on Steven’s body. Sometimes late at night, when the shadows crept over silence, lovemaking could turn gentle, almost quiet. Not so right now. Hungry grunts fueled their energy, Jimmy continued to pound at Steven’s ass, and the man took each heave with a hearty eruption of pleasure. He pleaded for more like a beggar on a street corner.

  Jimmy lifted himself, his palms flat on the bed. His muscles strained from the pressure. His shoulder barked at him.

  But Steven loved the position, which allowed his hands to graze over Jimmy’s chest.

  “Yes, take me, take me…oh, Jimmy…you sexy, hairy man…more…more.”

  Steven was a talker, and the more Jimmy thrust at him the louder he got, the filthier he got. Jimmy broke a fast sweat, his brow gleaning, his chest matted with droplets that formed beneath the skin. Steven kissed his chest, took a nipple in his mouth and sucked, causing Jimmy to grunt loudly. Steven kept his attentions focused on Jimmy’s chest, brushing the hair, grabbing it, and his actions had Jimmy continuing to thrust at him. Harder and deeper he went, until he felt the pressure mount inside him. He rose up, took hold of Steven’s ankles, opening him wide. He thrust at him hungrily, once, twice, more and more, the heady feeling like nirvana. Suddenly a whoosh of desire erupted within him, and he unleashed. He pumped his hips, letting himself go, and go.

  Steven cried out too, and Jimmy stared down as the man stroked his cock to orgasm, his seed shooting onto his bare chest and belly, his lungs heaving in search of breath. Jimmy stared at the man, a satisfied smile drawn on his face, all while he pushed back sweaty locks from his forehead. He leaned in and kissed the spent man then pulled out and fell over onto his back. Steven slid in beside him with a happy smile, running a hand across Jimmy’s sweaty chest.

  “Had I known how this night would end, I might have given Help Is Here more money.”

  Jimmy didn’t take offense. He just laughed. “I’d be curious to know how much I’m worth.”

  “I’d have to sell this place and take out a loan.”

  Jimmy adjusted his position in bed so their bodies faced each other, their eyes too. “Don’t go selling the farm yet. You don’t know me, me or my demons. What we shared tonight, it was just one of those things. Let’s not think beyond this moment. That okay with you?”

  “No worries, I’m not choosing our wedding date yet,” he said, “But if you take me like that again, I just might want to shop for rings. How about instead, maybe just a date sometime?”

  “Maybe just a date,” Jimmy repeated, noncommittal, “Sometime.”

  Then he fell back against the welcoming softness of the pillow, allowing a heavy sigh filled with emotions to escape. This was the problem with staying overnight. The closer the morning sun loomed, the bigger the expectation grew of wanting something beyond what they had shared. The sun exposed everything, even the things you tried to hide.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Steven asked.

  “No, not at all. You’ve been sweet.”

  “You regret what we did…three times?”

  “None of them,” Jimmy said. “I don’t live with regrets. You live, you act, you accept.”

  Silence engulfed them, as though Jimmy was done talking and Steven was searching for a safe topic. Neither succeeded. “So, uh, no boyfriend?”

  Jimmy’s response was quick, automatic. “I don’t do well with relationships.”

  “Which means there’s somebody, but it’s complicated.”

  Jimmy almost laughed, glad for the darkness to cover the ironic smirk that found his face. That was always his line, “It’s complicated.” Still, it didn’t stop him from thinking about Captain Francis X. Frisano, the last man with whom he’d shared a bed, and their experiences had been as intense as they were forbidden, an out PI and a closeted police captain, neither ready to proclaim themselves a public couple. Life’s responsibilities, its obligations always got in the way. The past intruded. Steven Wang was a direct contrast, day to Frank Frisano’s night, soft and smooth to his burly hirsuteness, openly available against inner conflict. Jimmy realized he hadn’t responded, his thoughts busily consuming him. He finally gazed back at Steven. He knew he was being analyzed.

  “So this is just what you do, after? Play the brooding private eye?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You shouldn’t close yourself off. You have a lot to offer.”

  “People who don’t know the truth always have a sunnier perspective.”

  Steven shifted in the bed, sliding in closer. “Hell, I know how it goes, Jimmy, being alone, whether by choice or by circumstance. It’s just reality. Me, I work most of the time, sometimes spending days inside the hospital where industrial lighting is my sunshine. When I do finally get home, often I just crawl right into bed and fall dead asleep until my next shift, which is usually only a few hours away. What I don’t get to enjoy is this home I’ve spent so much time and money decorating. What I don’t get to enjoy is having someone to share it with it. It’s been over a year since I was with someone, someone I met at a medical conference in Las Vegas that led to a one-nighter, some guy from Texas I met in the casino bar. Being a doctor is an amazing commitment, with so many people’s lives depending on you. I don’t for a moment regret my life choice. Even tonight’s benefit was business…”

  “How so?”

  “I’m heavily involved in Help Is Here. My team and I have helped so many cancer patients through the charity.”

  Jimmy was impressed and said so. “You do good work.”

  “I took an oath, not just the Hippocratic one, one I made to myself.”

  “You’re a good man, Hai-Boi Wang.”

  “You remembered my real name.”

  “I do listen.”

  “You’re a good man, too, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy wondered how true that was. He spent his life dealing with those who not only broke the law but hid deep truths from themselves. Most times he was catching cheating husbands or even wives, a string of broken vows revealed through easy detection. Sometimes the situations escalated. Violence was involved, murder. Each case took its toll on him, stole a piece of his soul. Sometimes honor was a tough thing to live up to.

  “Not always,” he finally said.

  “You help people in trouble, people who don’t know where else to turn.”

  “You make it sound…less seedy. Too many times I see peop
le at their worst.”

  “And sometimes you get a glamorous night of it. Look at Serena Carson.”

  It was almost as if saying her name conjured her into their consciousness. Jimmy heard his phone ringing, the sound coming from somewhere in the midst of his clothes on the floor. His eyes shot to the clock, which indicated it was 4:37. Middle of the night calls were the worst, because it meant there was trouble looming. Jimmy’s first instinct was to think of his family, his mother, or perhaps his sister Meaghan, who might have gone into premature labor. His gut spoke of churning responsibility, and when he finally did crawl naked out of bed and find his persistent phone, it was Serena’s name on the caller ID. Fear washed over him, a chill consuming him after the heat of sex. The idea that he’d not performed his job to perfection hit him. He should have insisted more that he return her safely home. But he had to remain calm, because he was convinced she wouldn’t. He answered.

  “Serena, what’s going on?”

  “He’s dead…”

  Shit, shit, shit, Jimmy thought. “Who is?” He first imagined Robbie; perhaps she’d screwed him to death, but he knew otherwise, again his gut punching him with preternatural instinct.

  “Henderson Carlyle,” she said, a quiet echo in her voice. Shock taking over.

  “Tell me what happened. Did you kill him?”

  “Oh, Jimmy, it’s awful. There’s blood everywhere…”

  “Serena, listen to me. Where are you? Did he come after you…did you kill him?”

  “No, Jimmy…he’s at my home. I only just got here…Robbie dropped me off.”

  “Are you alone?”

  There was silence on the other end, and he wondered if she’d disconnected the call. Finally, she spoke. “I’m here, just me. Just me, and a bloody, eviscerated Henderson Carlyle.”

  § § § §

  Her choice of words to describe Henderson Carlyle was, for lack of a better phrase, dead-on. His chest had been sliced open, his intestines spilling out in a slimy, wormy display. He was splayed out on the stone staircase that led up her front entrance, encased between the two iron railings like a spacious coffin. Given the amount of blood seeping into the cement steps of the brownstone, not to mention splatters on the gilded railings it was obvious he’d been killed there, and boldly so. The time was 5:08 on Sunday morning, too early even for churchgoers. 64th Street between Fifth and Madison was quiet. A lone available cab passed by, another car, probably a livery cab coming to pick up someone for an early flight out of JFK. Otherwise, the world slept, even in a city long rumored not to, with poor Henderson Carlyle leading the cause, and doing a bang-up job of it.