by Andrew Grey
“I don’t think I can explain it better than I already have. You just need to trust us, I guess.” Salvatore finished eating and took care of the dishes. “You need to tell Bull everything you know. We can’t prepare for everything, but the more we know, the better the plans to build our defenses will be.”
“Or the more you know, the bigger danger you’re going to put yourself in,” Elliott retorted.
“Maybe.” Salvatore leaned over the table. “You have a choice, and no one else can make it for you. Me, Bull, and the other guys at the club are willing to stand behind you. We’ve only known you a few days, but we have your back, because that’s what family does. I don’t know about the people you come from, and based on what you’ve told me, it’s pretty fucked up.”
“To say the least.” Elliott wished he could argue about that.
“You can run if you want. None of us will stop you. After all, you’re an adult, and trying to keep you here would make us no better than your stepfather.” Salvatore’s understanding gaze told him that he was better than that. “I learned in the Navy that there are times when we all have to decide who we are.”
“When was yours?” Elliott asked. Salvatore fascinated him. Here was a guy willing to put himself on the line for a near stranger. That made him curious about the kind of man he was. Not that Elliott was buying the whole “we don’t want anything from you” thing just yet. But he was becoming more willing to see what Salvatore and the guys at the club were about.
“The first time my ship was under attack. I realized I could shit my pants and run for as much cover as I could get, or do my job and shoot the bastard planes out of the sky. I sat still and shot down two of the motherfuckers. Running has its place, but if I had run at that time, under fire, I would never have earned the respect of the men around me and I’d have eventually washed out of the Navy. It’s that simple. A coward dies a million deaths—a hero just one. Because each time you run and don’t stand up for yourself, a little piece of who you are dies.”
Elliott glanced up at the ceiling. He wasn’t so sure that was true. “Or a hero dies young and stupid.”
Salvatore glared at him. “You can run if you want, but you’ll be running forever. Your stepfather will find you, again and again. Either that, or you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, wondering if he’s right behind you. Is that the kind of life you want?”
“No, of course not. But I don’t see how you, Bull, and Spook, as well as the rest of you, are going to put a stop to him. My stepfather can be ruthless as shit.”
“Maybe. But you told me you had to get out. That you couldn’t stay at home after your mother didn’t believe you. It took guts and strength to leave.” Salvatore drew even closer. “Find that same strength to fight for what you have.” He straightened up and pushed the chair back without another word, left the table, and strode down the hall.
Elliott watched him go, unable to ignore the determination in his steps… or the way his muscles rolled and flexed under his jeans with each stride. There was power there, and Elliott wished he had some of that strength to draw on. Instead, he felt empty and tired, like he was all used up and should just say to hell with it.
“Fighting for what you want and to have your own life is worth whatever you have to do,” Salvatore said, stopping and turning back to him.
“That’s easy for you to say. You look like that and can beat the shit out of just about anyone. What in the hell do I have to fight with?” Elliott asked, and Salvatore came back to where Elliott was and cupped Elliott’s cheeks in his hands.
“You have this—your brain. That’s the most important fighting weapon. Punching and hitting is one thing, but being smart—knowing your opponent, finding out where he’s weakest and then hitting him there—takes brains and thinking, not fists, and I think you have plenty of that.”
The heat from his hands warmed Elliott’s skin, and he closed his eyes. Part of him just wanted to concentrate on that strong yet gentle touch, to soak in that heat and the intimacy, even if it was an illusion of something more. His head kept warring with his body. Elliott knew that what Salvatore said was right and that he should stay and fight, but his body was ready to jump up and run.
“I can feel the battle inside you,” Salvatore said softly. “I know what you’re feeling because I’ve been there.”
“Yeah, but you’re a hero,” Elliott countered.
“Everyone is a hero. It isn’t just guys like me. We all have the power inside us to be a hero or to run. We get a choice. That doesn’t mean that everything always turns out. I lost friends in combat, and I did everything I should have done. Once I carried one of them over my shoulder so I could get him to the medic, but he didn’t make it. I wasn’t fast enough. At least that’s what I thought at the time. But I couldn’t have done more, and he still died.” Salvatore’s eyes grew dark and filled with pain.
“Was he more than a friend?” Elliott asked, getting a clear picture in his mind of the hurt in Salvatore’s eyes.
Salvatore nodded. “He could have been my world, but he and I never got enough time to find out. And then he was gone. I know now that I did all I could, and if I had it to do over, I’d probably do the same thing again and all I could do is hope for a different result.”
“Okay,” Elliott said softly. “I’ll stay. I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt on my account.”
Salvatore smiled, and Elliott thought he might lean closer. He didn’t dare move and began to close his eyes, thinking that maybe Salvatore was going to kiss him. Instead, the warm hands slipped away. “Oh,” Salvatore breathed. “I see what you were expecting.”
Elliott blinked. “I wasn’t expecting anything.” He cleared his throat and tried to think of something to cover his thoughts. “When did you say this person was going to bring my things?” He went into the extremely dated living room and peered out the window, Salvatore following him. “I guess it would be nice to have some clean clothes.” He took a deep breath and willed his pulse to slow a little. He’d been so stupid to think that Salvatore might be interested in him that way. “I have to work tonight, and I don’t want to have to go in wearing the same clothes I did last night.”
“He’ll be here soon enough,” Salvatore said. “I usually try to do my shopping and things for the week in one trip, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out and about.”
“As long as Roderick is locked up, I should be fine.”
“Where does your stepfather live?” Salvatore asked.
“Right now, Pittsburgh. He and my mother live in one of those mansions in the hills. They have a private path up to their place from the street below. In the movies, gangsters and criminals usually keep a low profile. Not my stepfather. He has a huge social calendar and knows everyone who’s anyone. If something happens that he doesn’t like, my stepfather can press his influence to bring it all to an end. It’s what he’s really good at.”
“I see.”
Elliott let the curtain fall back into place. “No, you don’t. A few years ago, a new district attorney was elected, and he was going to clean up the city and get rid of the kind of people who skirted the law. When he went after my stepfather, suddenly that district attorney came under fire for some alleged activity. I have little doubt that it was cooked up and then spread by my stepfather’s people. In the end, he got drummed out of office and a replacement was appointed. The entire affair died after that, and my stepfather went on as though nothing had happened. He has police and other useful people within his social circle.”
“I see. So it isn’t going to take him all that long to find someone else to come and take Roderick’s place?”
Elliott shrugged. “I don’t know. Roderick is his right-hand man. If there’s dirty shit, Roderick knows where the bodies are buried. If I could, I’d tell the police to lean on him hard, do whatever they can to get him to talk, because he knows a hell of a lot.” He grew quiet. Maybe it was a good idea that he
was going to meet with Bull and the guys. If they knew what to do, then maybe he wouldn’t have to be the one to face all this alone.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I think so. If nothing more, then I can tell someone else what I saw and heard, and maybe they’ll believe me.” It had hurt like a knife that his mother had dismissed what he’d tried to tell her out of hand. “At least I’ll talk about what I know.”
“That’s the spirit.”
When the bell rang, Salvatore answered the door, and Spook stepped inside with a suitcase. It was one from Elliott’s set of luggage, something his mom had bought for him when he’d taken a school trip with the French Club the summer before senior year. Elliott had to admit that his stepfather’s ill-gotten gains had gone a long way toward making his life easier and better. There were vacations, and he’d had the chance to do things that most kids didn’t. And he’d taken advantage of all of it until he’d found out exactly how his stepfather got his money. Suddenly all that travel and the gifts from his stepfather and mother were tainted. Even the suitcase seemed like it belonged to someone else.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It didn’t seem like anyone had been there. But I set it up so we’ll know if someone tries to get in. I just packed a few things for you. If you need something else, let me know, and I can get it for you.”
Elliott wasn’t so sure how he felt about doing that, but Spook at least seemed to be discreet and didn’t talk about anything he might have seen while in the apartment. Not that Elliott had kinky stuff or anything, but his home, even as small as it was, held his personal things. “I appreciate it.”
“Are you hungry?” Salvatore asked Spook. “Or do you need something to drink?”
“No. I have to get home. I promised that I’d take Jeremy out to the go-kart track. He loves it, and we always have so much fun. I’ll see you at work later,” he said, then left.
Elliott took the suitcase down to the room he was using. Spook had brought his shaving kit, as well as an assortment of clothes and things. Elliott stripped off the clothes he’d been wearing and pulled on fresh. His skin instantly felt better, and he sighed, folding the dirty clothes and setting them aside.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do for the next few hours until he was supposed to go in and talk with Bull at the club. The television flipped on in the living room, and the roar of a crowd entered the bedroom through the closed door. Salvatore was watching sports of some kind. Not that Elliott was interested, particularly, but he went and sat with him.
“Come on, that was a strike. Are you blind?” Salvatore yelled at the television, leaning forward in his chair.
Elliott had watched baseball sometimes. His stepfather had taken him to Pittsburgh Pirates games on occasion. Mostly when he was having some sort of shindig at a game, and then they ended up in one of the enclosed, air-conditioned boxes. Everyone drank, talked, and halfheartedly watched the game between bites of caviar on toast. He knew now it was his stepfather’s way of networking and getting various people in public life indebted to him so that later he could ask favors they didn’t dare refuse.
“Do you always yell at the television?” Elliott teased. “Are you one of those people who thinks he knows better than everyone else what calls the umpire should make?”
“I don’t think it—I know, and that ump is as blind as a bat. Even I could see from here that was a… oh-ho….” He jumped to his feet as the bat cracked and the ball sailed high. “Home run!” Salvatore grinned as he sat down, rubbing his hand. “That’s going to be hard to come back from.”
Elliott sat watching the rest of the game, which seemed anticlimactic. The fight appeared to have left the other team, and the game came to an easy close. He wondered what Salvatore would watch next, but he flipped the channel to another game and settled in to watch.
“I take it you like baseball,” Elliott said.
“I love football, but the season hasn’t started yet, so I watch baseball.” To Elliott’s surprise, Salvatore handed over the remote. “If there’s something else you’d rather watch, go ahead.”
“You sure?” Elliott asked, then clicked through the stations once Salvatore nodded. There wasn’t much interesting until he found the Errol Flynn Adventures of Robin Hood. It was old and had grown campy with age, but Elliott glanced at Salvatore, who didn’t seem to mind, so he kept it on. “I love Olivia de Havilland. I think she was just gorgeous, and this is before she did Gone with the Wind.” He settled back.
“It’s fun.”
Elliott turned so he could see Salvatore. “Are you sure it’s okay? I could go in the other room and find something to read so you can watch baseball.”
“No. This is a fun movie, I haven’t seen it in a long time, and we should watch something we both like.” Salvatore got up, and Elliott heard the jingle of bottles in the refrigerator. “Do you want a soda or something? I have beer too, but it’s a little early considering we only had breakfast not too long ago.”
“A Coke is great. Thank you,” Elliott said, and Salvatore handed him one when he came back in, the two of them settling in to watch the old movie. “I wanted to be Robin Hood when I was a kid. To be able to swing through the trees and shoot arrows at the bad guys.”
“I wanted to be a cop. When I joined the service, I thought about trying to be an MP, but they had so many other things that interested me by then, I went in a different way. I found out I could think quickly on my feet, was strong, and had incredible endurance. So I went with my strengths.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” Elliott quipped, and Salvatore grinned and flexed his arm. “Now you’re just showing off.” He chuckled as Salvatore struck a pose. “Or was that what you were doing last night?” He was afraid he might have gone too far by bringing up the towel incident, but Salvatore joined his laughter.
“That was purely accidental.”
“Okay. Well, it was quite a view before going to bed, I can tell you that.” Elliott wanted to slap his hand over his mouth. Sometimes he needed to remember that it wasn’t necessary to say the first thing that came into his head. “Sorry.”
Salvatore got to his feet. “I’m not embarrassed. I worked really hard to build my body. In the service, I needed the strength and raw power. When I did black ops, I needed it to be able to extract people from difficult situations. And it might seem weird, but we also get strong so that if we get injured, we can hopefully come back faster.”
“But you’re more than just muscle.” Elliott wished he hadn’t said something so ridiculously stereotypical.
“I’d like to think so. I like working out. It gives me a way to work off my excess aggression, and when things get stressful, I hit the gym and pound as much iron as I can.” Salvatore struck a pose that had his muscles bulging, and Elliot wondered if his shirt was going to rip at the sleeves. After a few seconds, Salvatore relaxed and grinned. “Sorry.”
Elliott swallowed hard. “Don’t be, not on my account.” That had been one hell of a view. “Just don’t do the dancing pecs thing.”
“Oh God, no. That’s just kind of tacky.”
Salvatore sat back down, and they continued watching the movie. Elliott couldn’t help wondering if Salvatore had been playing with him or if he was actually flirting. Of course, he wasn’t going to be able to ask because he didn’t want to feel like a fool.
“Have you ever worked out?”
Elliott looked down at himself and laughed nervously. “No. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who is going to feel at home in a place like that.”
“We could go if you want. I have a membership, and I can bring a guest.” Salvatore leaned forward. “I know you feel like things are a little out of control sometimes. You don’t need to get bulky or anything if you don’t want to, but working out gets you in tune with your body and muscles. You might like it.” He sat back again, and Elliott found himself agreeing before he could really think too much about it. “Awesome.” Salvatore jumped t
o his feet.
“Did you mean right now?” Elliott hadn’t considered the idea that he meant immediately.
“Why not? The movie will still be here when we want to watch it. I usually go to the gym in the afternoon. It’s quiet about this time since most people go in the morning or after work. Do you have clothes and things you can wear?”
Elliott doubted it. “I have some T-shirts and stuff. There might be a pair of shorts in my apartment, but I doubt there’s anything in what Spook brought.”
“No problem.” Salvatore left the room, and Elliott wondered what he had gotten himself into. He had no clue about gyms and weights, and the place was going to be filled with guys who could snap him in half. Salvatore returned just as Elliott’s imagination went into total overdrive. He handed Elliott a small red duffel. “I found some shorts that are too small for me, so they should work. I also put a towel in there for you.”
Jesus, if he went to the gym, he was going to have to change and shower there. Now that was scary. He hadn’t done that since high school, and it had given him the heebie-jeebies then.
“Go get a T-shirt and some fresh underwear, and we’ll go.” Salvatore seemed so damned excited that Elliott did as he asked and met him by the garage door, where Salvatore was hanging up the phone. “Roderick’s attorney is apparently causing trouble, but he isn’t going anywhere according to Bull.” He opened the door and stepped into the garage, took Elliott’s bag, and put it in the saddlebag of a huge motorcycle.
“You want to take that?” Elliott asked.
“We can take the car, but it’s a great day. I have another helmet, and frankly, it’s maneuverable and fast as all hell.”
Elliott smiled. He had always wanted to ride a motorcycle, but his mother would have nothing of it and forbade him to ever get on one. “Let’s go.”
“Cool.” Salvatore handed him the helmet, and Elliott put it on while Salvatore wheeled the bike out of the garage and closed the door. Salvatore got on, and Elliott straddled the bike behind him, the seat surprisingly comfortable. “Hold on to me,” he instructed, starting the engine.