"I hear there's been a real boom in the market down there lately," Nathan pitched in cheerfully.
Harlan put his thumb on Shifty's nose and pushed lightly, enough to make the guy wince. "Maybe I'll save you the hassle of relocating."
"You wouldn't do that." Even as Shifty said the words, his gaze jumped to Nathan. "He wouldn't do that, right? You wouldn't let 'im."
"I'll get back to you on that." Nathan gave Shifty a hearty pat on the back and disappeared behind the bar to find the telephone. As far as their seedy little friend was concerned, Nathan and Harlan were as bad as the rest of them. It was a hell of a thing to be a part of an organization whose name was synonymous with corruption, but at times like these, Nathan knew exactly how to put that reputation to good use. All they had to do was let Shifty stew on the many ways he might be meeting his demise at their hands, and by the end of the week--if not sooner--Shifty Regal would be ready to squeal on his own mother. If that didn't work, Nathan was certain Harlan could come up with a few ways to persuade Shifty to converse. In the meantime, they had to get him somewhere to do all that stewing, and there was only one place he knew that was possible: the Sixth Precinct.
Their friend over on the detective squad would make certain Shifty lived to tell the tale. There were still some good eggs left in this town, even if it seemed like the numbers were dropping by the day. In his opinion, the city had been better off letting the flatfoots ignore Prohibition rather than getting them involved. Now there was double the trouble, and double the dirty cops.
Once Nathan had spoken to Detective John Flynn, it didn't take long before the man himself, accompanied by half a dozen of his own boys, showed up to take Shifty off their hands. Apparently Nathan and Harlan weren't the only ones who knew how important Shifty was.
Over the years, Christopher Masin was known for having bought and sold millions of dollars' worth of bootlegged liquor in New York City alone, not to mention the business he conducted with crime syndicates in Chicago, Philadelphia, and Jersey. It didn't end with liquor, though. The guy owned brothels, trafficked prostitutes, and word on the street was he was dealing in heroin.
Wherever Christopher Masin went, death followed, and it didn't matter who got caught up in the middle. Prostitutes, innocent bystanders, even kids. Nathan was determined to get the bastard, one way or another. He didn't care if Masin ended up behind bars or six feet under, as long as he was good and gone. Pushing his bleak thoughts aside, he thanked John and watched as they led Shifty away.
"Hungry?"
Nathan turned to Harlan and shrugged. "You know me. I can always eat. But not the automat. I'm in the mood for a nice steak." They stepped outside into the breezy early October night--Nathan's favorite time of year, when all that yellow, orange, and red set the city ablaze with color.
"Childs?"
"Yeah, why the hell not." It would set him back some, but he needed a little cheering up after dealing with a hood like Shifty, and nothing did that better than a belly full of good food. Harlan bumped into him a little as they walked, and Nathan held back a smile. Well, maybe there was something else, but that would have to wait.
They left the cleanup to the flatfoots and headed off toward Broadway. It was one of those nights where the moon was tucked away somewhere, and the soft glow of the lampposts was barely enough to keep the streets from sinking into complete darkness. From here, Nathan could just about make out the Knickerbocker Theater lights, which meant they would soon be mingling with the late weekend crowd on their way to any number of saloons, speakeasies, and nightclubs, where the booze would undoubtedly flow aplenty. Supply and demand they called it. Nathan called it something else.
"How do you think Julius knew?" Harlan asked thoughtfully.
"Knew what? That you wouldn't knock him into next Tuesday?" He knew exactly what Harlan meant, but where was the fun in that? It wasn't often his intimidating partner let his softer side show. Hell, Nathan was only one of a few who knew the guy had one.
"No. About, you know...." Harlan gazed everywhere but at Nathan.
"No, I don't know," Nathan insisted quite innocently.
With a discreet glance around to make sure no one was within earshot, Harlan leaned into Nathan and whispered hoarsely, "About us, you pill."
"Oh, that. Well, that's easy."
The most charming, panicked expression crossed Harlan's face, and Nathan couldn't help himself. He grabbed Harlan's arm and dragged him into a narrow, dark alley between two houses. Before his partner could get a word out, Nathan pushed him up against the wall and crushed their mouths together in a searing kiss. That was all it took for his lover to melt in his arms. Harlan's lips parted, and he gave himself over to Nathan like he always did. At least until Harlan's desire got the better of him and he took control. Not that Nathan minded.
Harlan pulled back, his hazel eyes looking puzzled and lost, just as they had the first time Nathan kissed him behind Unit 303's warehouse in Verneuil. Nathan had never expected to make it out of France, and at the time, he hadn't much cared if he did. Until he met Harlan Mackay--a twenty-three-year-old kid from Michigan, who barely said a word, but having eyes as expressive as that meant he didn't have to. When his nose wasn't stuck in some kind of vehicle's engine, it was in a book, which was what caught Nathan's attention in the first place. There was something about seeing a mug as hard-boiled as Harlan enthralled by the adventures of Sherlock Holmes that got Nathan all hot.
"That's how Julius knew," Nathan murmured, giving Harlan's jaw a nip.
"What?" Harlan asked breathlessly.
Nathan chuckled and nuzzled his face against Harlan's neck for the briefest moment, enough to breathe in a lungful of that intoxicating scent. He loved the way Harlan smelled, that mixture of soap and musk that was only his lover's. "The way you look at me sometimes a little bit longer than you should. Most folks wouldn't notice, and if they did, they'd take it for camaraderie. But fellas like Julius, they notice, and they know it for what it is."
Harlan's mouth twisted into a frown. "Swell."
"Don't worry, tough guy. The kid ain't gonna squeal. Not after what you did for him tonight. Besides, if some mug ever got wise, you think he's gonna have the hutzpah to come up to you and tell you he thinks you're queer?" That got him a deep rumble of a chuckle, the kind that went straight to Nathan's groin. His gaze went to Harlan's lips, and he licked his own. "Say, uh, how about we eat in tonight?"
"Yeah?" Harlan's brows shot up. It wasn't often Nathan passed up a good meal. "But I thought you wanted steak?"
"You know there's only one thing I love more than steak," Nathan said in a husky voice before taking Harlan's earlobe between his teeth.
"And what's that?" Harlan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You fucking me."
Harlan's eyes widened, and he promptly moved Nathan to one side. "I'll call us a taxi," he said and quickly made off for the street. Nathan followed with a smile he could barely contain. It did something to him to know that, after seven years, Harlan was still dizzy over him.
The taxi ride seemed to take far too long, and as soon as the car pulled up to the curb, Nathan shot out like it was on fire. He ran up the four concrete steps leading to the small porch, pulled out his keys, unlocked the door, and by the time he was inside, had his overcoat and hat on the coatrack. One hand pulled at his tie, while the other pulled off his shoes.
Harlan had barely shut the front door when Nathan pounced on him. Clothes were tugged, torn, and flung in all directions, ending up everywhere from the couch to the gramophone and all across the floor on the way to the bedroom. The back of Harlan's knees hit the edge of the mattress, and he fell back with barely a moment to catch his breath before Nathan was crawling over him and reclaiming his mouth.
Sometimes Nathan got all balled-up inside for no reason at all, and when that happened, nothing would feel right again until he had Harlan inside him. It was an unhealthy form of therapy, sure, but Harlan never complained, and somehow Nat
han suspected his lover understood.
Nathan kissed his way down Harlan's jaw, loving the feel of the prickly stubble that started to grow from midafternoon. Beneath him, Harlan groaned and arched his back, his breath quickening as Nathan's hands caressed, touched, and squeezed all that hard, perfectly defined muscle that Nathan couldn't get enough of. He loved not having to hold himself back with Harlan. Sometimes he could get a little rough, but that seemed to get Harlan even hotter.
Harlan's arm came up over his head, and Nathan took hold of his wrist, turning it so he could get a better look at his lover's forearm. He never tired of seeing the neatly scripted black letters tattooed onto Harlan's tanned skin from his elbow down to his wrist. It wasn't the only tattoo Harlan had, but it was by far the one that meant the most.
"I still can't believe you did it," Nathan said quietly, running his fingers lovingly over the words I am my beloved's.
"It's as true now as when I had it done, which considering how long ago it was, should've had you convinced by now." The amusement and affection in Harlan's voice was unmistakable. Nathan released Harlan's arm and kissed him again. Their need for each other was no less than it had been minutes ago, but it softened into something else. Each kiss was savored, each tender caress noted. Nathan rarely had the patience for taking things slow. He liked it fast and hard, but there were occasions when he gave in to his goofy side and let Harlan make it more intimate.
Harlan rolled them over, his heavy weight comforting and safe. He let Harlan kiss him, let him stroke him, let his fingers enter him and send the most delicious currents racing through his body. He shut his eyes as Harlan disappeared for the briefest time to get lubricant from the nightstand. It wasn't long until he had Harlan inside him and they started a steady rhythm.
Harlan thrust tenderly and carefully, his lips always on some part of Nathan. There was nothing in the air but the sounds of their breathing and the little noises only Harlan was capable of drawing out of him. Nathan's legs were around Harlan's waist, his fingers digging into his lover's back as everything else faded away, leaving nothing but the dizzying feel of skin against skin and the taste of Harlan on his tongue.
He took himself in hand, his pace quickening to match Harlan's thrusts. With a snap of Harlan's hips, Nathan surrendered to his release, and within seconds, Harlan followed, collapsing onto him. They held each other, the night air soon cooling their heated bodies. Nathan tapped Harlan on the shoulder not long after, the signal for his much heavier lover to roll off him.
He got up and went to the bathroom, then made quick work of cleaning himself up before turning on the gramophone and climbing into bed. Harlan was on his side, fighting to stay awake as he waited for Nathan, and as soon as Nathan was under the covers beside him, Harlan pulled him into his arms.
Hours went by while Nathan stared up at the ceiling, hearing the soft lyrics of William Frawley's ballad, "My Melancholy Baby" long after it finished playing; then Harlan gave a start beside him. It was rare for Harlan to have nightmares after they had sex. There was no doubt in Nathan's mind it was due to seeing that hood aiming to plug Nathan back at Shifty's saloon that Harlan was having a fit tonight.
Carefully he climbed out of bed and crossed his arms over his chest to fight off the chill in the night air. "Harley," Nathan whispered hoarsely. "Wake up. Come on, fella. Wake up for me." He continued to gently call out Harlan's name from the side of the bed, his heart breaking as it always did when he had to stand idly by, waiting for Harlan to wake himself. Physical contact was out of the question. Most of the time, Harlan woke up swinging, and it took him a few minutes to orient himself. After Nathan tried to wake him up once and Harlan ended up choking him to the point of near unconsciousness, they'd agreed it was best to do it this way.
A few excruciating minutes later, Harlan bolted upright with a gasp, his hands out in front of him in an attempt to keep whatever he'd been struggling with at bay. He blinked a few times, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his pulse slowly began to steady. His brow was beaded with sweat, and he shook his head a little before looking around the room. When his gaze landed on Nathan, he stared at him with uncertainty.
"Nate?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"Are you...?"
"I'm alive," Nathan replied softly, remembering how close he'd once been to not being so. He climbed back into bed and let Harlan pull him into his arms again, only this time Harlan squeezed Nathan tight to convince himself Nathan was in fact there.
"Thank God," Harlan breathed. He pulled back and kissed Nathan's lips, then his brow. Exhaustion quickly took over, and he laid his head on the pillow. "I'm sorry I woke you up again," he said quietly, his eyes drifting shut even as he spoke.
Nathan merely told him gently to go back to sleep, which he knew Harlan would do peacefully now. Harlan didn't need to know Nathan had been awake for hours, or that he would do his best to remain so for as long as his body would hold out, in an attempt to keep the nightmares at bay. Harlan didn't need to know Nathan's dreams were so terrifying his body seized up, leaving him unable to move or even make so much as a sound. How they were so bad, when he woke, he did so silently, merely opening his eyes. Then he would see Harlan breathing beside him, and feel relieved he was no longer in the hell he'd just experienced.
His nightmares were always followed by an overwhelming need to feel and touch the man who kept him whole, and he would carefully nudge himself as close to Harlan as he could. He would hold him and bury his face against Harlan's chest, fighting back his tears. Sometimes he would lose the battle, but regardless of how bad it was, he refused to wake Harlan up and add to his troubles, or guilt. They all carried enough of that as it was.
Nathan's exhaustion soon won out. He surrendered and held on to Harlan, telling himself whatever happened, when he woke, Harlan would be there, and all would be right with the world.
Chapter Three
"WHAT DO you mean 'it's taken care of'?"
Harlan cringed and took a sudden interest in the desk's blotter, feeling absolutely certain Nathan's voice could be heard on the other side of the building. It didn't help that the man on the receiving end of his partner's wrath was their supervisor. Not that such an exchange was uncommon between the two.
Supervisor Dench had made it clear on more than one occasion that his tolerance for Nathan's arrogance and complete disregard for rank was solely due to the state director and the speech the governor had given the previous year, where he'd declared them: "...a beacon of light in the fog of corruption, complacency, and cowardice. A shining example of what the Bureau of Prohibition could be if we had more men like Agent Nathan Reilly and Agent Harlan Mackay of the southern district. Those boys fought for our country, and now they fight for our city. God bless them."
To this day, Harlan didn't know what they'd done to receive such an honor, except maybe do their jobs. They'd been offered more bribes than he could remember, and each one had been met with not only a rejection, but an arrest. One saloon owner even offered them twenty-five thousand dollars once to keep their agents away. Harlan took the man's outstretched hand, smiled, and cuffed him. Some things were more important than money, and one such something was now turning red in the face and gripping their supervisor's desk so hard, Harlan wouldn't be surprised if a chunk snapped off.
"I meant exactly what I said," Dench replied calmly. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his growing gut. "I've already sent someone to interrogate Regal. He's there now."
"Who did you send?" Nathan demanded.
"New boy. Transferred from Chicago. Got one hell of a reputation. Personally, we could use some new talent around here."
"Regal is mine," Nathan all but spat out as he jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "I got the tip-off, I set up the raid, I brought him in, and I should be the one interrogating the bastard. It's bad enough you send some other mug without discussing it with me first, but some asshole from Chicago?"
Dench jumped out of his chair--which
only went to show how much of a lather he was in. The only time the guy made that kind of movement was when someone informed him they were down to the last donut. He slammed his beefy palm on the desk, his jowls turning a purplish red, and his eyes narrowed at Nathan. "Now you listen to me, you arrogant little shit. I don't give a damn if the governor thinks the sun rises and sets out of your ass, this is my unit, and I'll run it as I see fit." He turned to Harlan, who braced himself. "Get him the fuck out of my office before I suspend him! Again!"
With a small nod, Harlan took Nathan's arm, only to have his partner jerk away from him and storm out, expelling enough curses to make a sailor blush. In the interest of public safety, Harlan quickly followed. Quickly and quietly. He knew better than to say anything at this point. He rather liked having his head attached to his body.
"That no-good son of a bitch. He's on the take, I just know it," Nathan growled, heading straight for Harlan's Buick Master Six. Chasing Nathan and running around the passenger side, Harlan threw himself between his partner and the door as Nathan reached for the handle. "What the hell's the matter with you? Get out of the way."
Harlan shook his head. "Every time you're in a lather, you slam the door."
"So? It's a car, Harley. It ain't gonna fall apart because you get rough with it."
"Yeah, I know, but she's a new car, Nate. Please."
"Fine," Nathan snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for Harlan to move, which he did, though somewhat hesitantly.
Harlan got into the driver's side and watched Nathan from the corner of his eye. He held back a sigh as Nathan made a great big show of gently climbing in and closing the door. Then Nathan patted the dashboard and talked to it in soothing tones. "There now, is that all right? Yes? Good. Now maybe Daddy will stop being such a goddamn pansy and drive us to the Sixth."
"You know...," Harlan began, then decided it was best he shut his mouth. He started the car and headed for West Tenth Street. They were silent during the whole ride, and Harlan wondered what the hell he could be thinking, bringing Nathan to the station. If his partner ended up taking a poke at the new guy, Harlan was going to get an earful, because apparently he wasn't merely Nathan's partner but his nanny. Any trouble Nathan got himself into always left Harlan holding the bag.
Roses in the Devil's Garden Page 2