by Eleanor Dax
Quiet reigned again. Casey's eyes were sandy with sleep, the lids drooping. He shivered again and fumbled with the blankets. Roy pulled them to his chin and Casey felt a palm over his hair, but briefly. It made him feel more torn up inside, raw. No one ever took care of him like this, not since he was a kid. And even then…
"Are you leaving?" he asked. Already drifting away. Roy's answer seemed to come after some indiscernible amount of time.
"If you want, but I don't like the idea of you here alone."
The thought that Darren might find him again bubbled up. Casey felt fear. "You could stay," he offered, as if the room were his to give. Roy's hand touched his hair again, his shoulder.
"Is that what you want?"
Casey said nothing. He peered at Roy from beneath heavy lids, the pillow and blankets so damn coaxing. Sleep, they seemed to say, hugging him all over. Was he really safe here? Roy's eyes were so damned earnest, his hand still warm over Casey's shoulder. Casey was just far enough gone that he was able to say, "Yes," and, "Please."
Roy touched his hair, fingers ruffling gently through the short, damp curls. There was something liquid in his dark eyes, something deep. Tender. He just wanted to help, he'd said, and here he was. Doing it. Casey found Roy's hand with his own and let his eyes fall finally shut. "Stay," he said.
Chapter seven
Casey woke to a full bladder and gray light pressing at the curtained window. The motel room was dim around him, all shadowed corners and dark lines. Not unfamiliar. Roy was gone.
With some effort, Casey pushed the blankets away and rolled from the bed, gooseflesh rising over his arms and thighs. The room was cool.
In the bathroom he relieved himself and stared dumbly into the mirror for several minutes. His cheek carried a deep crease from the pillow and his eyes were heavy with sleep. He pressed his palm to his forehead but couldn't be sure of the temp. He returned to bed.
Sometime later he woke again and it was fully dark out. Casey squinted out the window for a long, fuzzy minute and decided to take a quick shower to rouse himself. Stepping into the stall he shivered under the spray, adjusting it to a cool lukewarm. He wondered how long he'd slept, and tried to remember what had happened.
He'd been working, he knew that much, and knew he'd sold all the speed. Shit. He recalled the bag in the bedside drawer, but couldn't remember actually checking on it. Roy wouldn't make off with all the cash, would he? Casey wanted to think he was better than that.
Out of the shower, he scrubbed a fresh towel through his hair and wrapped it tight around his waist. He had some semi clean laundry and that would have to do. He dressed in the room, feeling a strange disconnect with everything. What time was it? What day was it?
Going through the motions, Casey checked the money and saw that all of it was there. A low rumble in his belly then turned his thoughts to other things.
The crackers Roy left him were still on the nightstand, as were the three bottles of water. Casey sat on the bed and cracked a bottle open, sipping experimentally. The water washed cool and flat over his tongue, slightly metallic but good enough. He opened the crackers and ate them slow, one at a time.
He wondered where Roy had gone, if he'd even stayed that night-whenever it had been.
Casey felt rested, and that itch in his throat was gone. He'd slept off the worst of his fever, that was clear, but how long had he been out? He couldn't remember much beyond sliding into bed and listening to what Roy had to say. Listening to his deep, rocky voice and wondering why he would offer those things, wondering just what he was supposed to do with it all. It didn't make a bit of sense, especially after being told to lie low and keep away from Darren. Just what was Roy getting out of all this?
The low ache returned, settling in just behind his eyes, and Casey squeezed the bridge of his nose, hoping to release some of that pressure. Everything was so damned confusing. He'd just crumpled the empty bag in his fist when a soft rap at the door startled him.
Panic burned but he squashed the feeling down. Creeping silently to the door, Casey prepared himself for Darren's ugly mug but found it was Roy instead. He felt a number of things all at once; relief, trepidation, a new, different fear. Meanwhile, through the peephole he could the cop frowning earnestly to one side, his profile sharp under stark lighting, the collar of his jacket hugging the strong column of his throat. Casey remembered it was cold out and slid the locks back.
He stood in the entrance and said, "Hi."
Roy looked embarrassed, his characteristic frown growing deeper. He held a thin grocery bag in one hand, and raised it in greeting. "Hi." He looked Casey quickly over. "You're dressed."
A short laugh from Casey surprised them both. Instantly flippant, he said, "Yeah, is that all right?"
Roy's face went red and he grumbled something like, "Course. Let me in."
Casey let him. The cop slipped right by and had a brief look around, finally setting the bag down on the small table. Casey just watched him with his eyebrows slightly raised.
"How are you feeling?" Finally, Roy looked at him.
"Better." Not one hundred percent, but a hell of lot better. There was that ache but at least Casey's thoughts were clear again. Which reminded him. "What day is it?"
"Thursday night. How long you been up?"
"Not long, maybe an hour. Thursday night," he mused. "Shit."
"Yeah." Roy dug through the bag. "Look, I didn't know how hungry you'd be. I picked up some of those ramen cups. How's that? I gotta ask you a few questions."
The crackers had settled his stomach but Casey couldn't remember the last time he'd really eaten something. "I'm starving, that's great." Questions, he thought. About what? Darren would be his first guess. Then he remembered the other things Roy had told him. That he didn't have to do this anymore, that Roy had that brother in Colma. The grill and the studio.
A job and a place, even if just for a little while, it would help. Casey had been stuck in that catch-22 of needing a place to get a job and a job to get a place for so long that even if all he got from the offer was just the job, or just the place, it'd help.
"Questions about what?"
Roy tore the packaging away to reveal twin Styrofoam cups. "What do you think? There's a microwave out with the vending machines. Be right back."
Casey let out a big sigh, and threw the blankets back over the bed. As he did so, the room's vague familiarity cleared and he realized he was at the same motel Roy had brought him to before. The one Darren had found him in. Had it been this room? Had he knelt just there…?
Quickly, Casey checked he had his things together, his sneakers in easy reach, and wondered suddenly about his car. Roy returned at that moment, juggling two steaming cups as he dealt with the door.
"Where's my car?" Casey demanded.
Roy stared at him in surprise. Catching the door with his foot, he pulled it back again. "Right there."
The grill of the Continental gleamed under the lights outside, where it was parked neatly before the room. Roy let the door swing shut.
Casey said quietly, "Oh," and accepted his noodles. Their fingers touched and Casey looked at him. Roy snatched his hand quickly away.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Have a seat." He meant the chair, but Casey went to the bed. Roy stared at him, hesitating, but also went. He took a seat at the very edge of the mattress, and they ate in quiet for a couple of minutes.
"You said Darren wanted to meet tomorrow."
The noodles were like wet cardboard, but Casey cleaned the cup. "That's right," he said, and checked his phone. No missed calls. "Ten o'clock. He said he'd be in touch to tell me where." Without really thinking about it, he glanced over his shoulder to check the door. Was this the same room? He couldn't be sure. And even so, did it matter? Darren had found him before, he'd do it again. The knowledge rested at the fore of his thoughts, and he knew he should tell Roy but it was too humiliating. Too fresh. Too much.
Oblivious, Roy nodded. He finished his noodles an
d studied the empty cup in his hands. Without looking up he said, "You give me the word when he does."
"What are you going to do?" The minute ticked by. "Roy?"
"Not sure." Was that worry in his voice? Roy scratched his chin, the whiskers still thick. He looked Casey suddenly in the eye. "But don't you worry about it."
Casey blinked at him. "What, you don't even have a backup plan?"
"I'm working on it." Roy was hedging. Casey couldn't believe it.
"You don't have a lot of time, you know."
Roy stared. He said, as if Casey were slow, "Yeah. I know that."
Casey decided to let that slide. He went on. "I'm just saying, he's going to expect something by this time tomorrow. If it's not me, you'd better have something going on."
"Jesus!" Roy rose quickly to his feet, throwing the cup and plastic spoon hard into the trash. He gave a bitter laugh. "You really are…" He trailed off and Casey didn't get to find out what he was. Roy turned a tight circle in the center of the room. Still thinking. Casey decided to cut in.
"I'm just saying," he said again, quietly. The cop was bugged out and Casey's hackles weren't even up. What was wrong with him? About a million things. He could deal with this just now. "Hey, did you really stay last night?"
Roy stared at him with an expression of deep incomprehension. Slowly, the look faded, leaving something slightly guarded. "Yeah," he said. "I had work this morning, but I didn't want to wake you."
Setting his cup aside on the nightstand, Casey asked, "Where'd you sleep?"
Roy's gaze slid to one side. "The bed." He looked at Casey as if daring him to say something, anything, about it. Still staring, he added, "Nothing happened," and Casey didn't know what to make of that. He hadn't thought of it for one and for two, well-he wasn't exactly some prude.
"Okay," he said, and the moment stretched. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, "Look, I guess I said some things…" He watched Roy jam his hands into his pockets and study the floor.
"You didn't say much."
There it was, the hook. And Casey was being let right off it. Still, he persisted. "Okay, but I said something-"
Roy spoke over him. "Look, it was nothing. You weren't thinking straight. You-you're probably confused. Hell, I'm confused. I'm confusing." In a roundabout way, Roy came back. He sat again on the bed, and stared down at the floor for a moment. Deep thoughts. He looked up, intent. "You really feeling better?"
"Yeah." Casey stared at him. There was that quiet again, like a big hole between them and Casey didn't know what was supposed to go inside. "Roy," he said, helpless.
Roy's gaze fell away. "Guess you haven't had much time to think about what I said if you just woke up." He fished around for his wallet and plucked a card from its depths. Handing it over, he explained, "That's my brother. He's expecting a call but don't wait too long. Think he's hoping to take someone on in the next couple of weeks."
Casey stared at the card. Yeah, he'd call-maybe-but later. Roy was staring at him now and Casey didn't know what to do, somehow a simple "Thank you" didn't feel right, but he cleared his throat and said it like a good boy.
The words embarrassed Roy. He gestured vaguely with one hand at the card. "Don't thank me, it's my brother and his wife who want to help. They'll be needing you anyway, so…"
The word trailed into silence. It should have been easy for Casey to play the game. That was what he did. Should have been easy to give the cop a big old smile and show him just how grateful he was, but, in truth, the thought of doing that with Roy made him feel ill all over again. And he didn't think Roy would like it, once he figured things out. Casey wanted Roy to like it. And that scared him.
The silence went on, and on, and Casey knew if it went a moment longer he'd do something he'd really regret.
"So," he said, groping for something safe. Something not quite about either of them, or the future. "So, Darren…"
"Right." Roy looked away.
"He'll have another batch for me Friday."
Roy gave a nod. "That's what I figured."
"I guess you could-I don't know-" Casey felt foolish for a moment, wondered if he was getting too Law & Order. "-set him up? Surround him? Something." He was heartened when Roy didn't laugh.
"I could." The words were measured. Doubtful.
"Why not?"
Roy threw him a brief glance. "Not working with a lot of manpower, here."
Casey hadn't considered that. Did Roy have authority over a certain number of other cops? Somehow Casey doubted the rank of detective worked much like playing manager at Walgreens. "How many people?"
"Well-" Roy straightened his back, bracing his hands over his knees. He looked embarrassed again, and Casey figured it out.
"You're alone?" He couldn't believe it. "Wait, is this legit? Or is this some kind of-I don't know-vigilante thing?" It would just figure. The very idea made him wince.
"No. I'm just…" Roy hesitated.
"Just?"
"Waiting for the right time."
Casey stared at him. There was always something. Sarcastic, he said, "Oh, okay," and thought, God fucking damn it.
With a heavy sigh, Roy stood. Not so agitated as before, but rubbing the back of his neck. He must have worked that day, he looked tired.
"I'm the new guy," he explained. "Darren's been there a couple of decades. Give or take. He's known the lieutenant all that time…"
"So? You've got me. I'm something, right?"
Roy studied him with a sidelong glance and Casey couldn't hold the gaze. "Yeah," Roy said at last, "You're something, all right. And there's the speed."
"Right, there you go." That quiet fell again, with Roy just standing, troubled. There was something Casey didn't know, and he couldn't think what it might possibly be.
"Parker." No. "Roy. What is it-?"
That frown returned, so sudden it was like a blast of cool air.
"Don't you worry about it," Roy told him. He sounded like a cop again, and that was something Casey knew what to do with, because, as usual, it pissed him off.
"How am I not supposed to worry? Who do you think Darren is going to gun for when I don't show and your nonexistent buddies down at the station blow you off? Jesus, Parker, I can't believe you didn't think of this."
"I did think of it," Roy snarled. "And I'm telling you not to worry. I know what I'm doing, here."
Inside of an instant, Casey was on his feet. "Oh, right, 'cause that's exactly what you didn't say two minutes ago! What is this, Opposite Day?"
Roy's dark eyes were narrow and he had that look. Casey could feel his own anger, sharp and present, welling in his throat. He needed to cool down. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he said, "Okay, fine, maybe you do have it all figured out. Maybe in some weird, I don't know, cop way, you know what you're doing." The doubt was plain in his voice, and Roy started toward him.
"Now you wait just a goddamn minute-"
Casey poked his finger in Roy's chest. It was rock hard and he just stopped for a second. The cop was built. Raising his gaze, he said, "No, you wait a minute. Roy, listen."
When he was sure Roy would do just that, he went on.
"You said a lot of crap to me last night," Casey began. "Or yesterday or whenever. You said a lot of crap like about your brother and his place-I mean, okay, fine, thanks, but what the fuck? You're just offering that because you, I don't know, feel bad? Guilty? Okay, yeah, you should feel guilty. But damn, Roy. I hate this guy. Darren. I fucking hate him. I think about killing him, I hate him so much. You have some kind of obligation-okay, I can respect that, but this guy fucked me over. He threw me in jail, he fucking-"
He almost said it, whatever it was. Not just the blowjob, and how fucking awful that had been, but everything that went before it, the months and months of harassment. He came close, but at the last minute held off. He couldn't say that shit to Roy, not now. Not ever.
"He fucked me over," he said. "It's personal, you know? And I want to fuck him over. And I w
ant him to know it's me fucking him. Do you get that? Does that make sense to you?"
Roy stared at him with surprise. His eyes were wide and he wore an expression Casey had never seen on him before. Finally Roy said, "Yeah, that makes sense."
"Good." Casey seethed for a minute, that ache in his head pounding dully away. Roy regarded him still, his dark gaze crawling over Casey's face. Casey shifted uncomfortably on his feet, aware of the growing silence. They had a problem with silences, it seemed. "So all right," he said, angry for some reason. "So good. Then let's talk. Really talk."
Chapter Eight
Something in Casey's voice made Roy's heart beat quick.
"Okay." He watched Casey take a slow look around the room, read something indefinable cross his features and thought to himself, there it was again. Casey taking control. Before he could do anything about it Casey's hard gaze found his own. He looked determined.
"Not here, though," he said.
"What's wrong with here?" They were out of the cold, hidden from prying eyes. Roy's instinct was to stay.
Casey grabbed his bags together and hopped around on one foot, then the other as he pulled on his kicks. "Look, I'm wearing my last of-" he hesitated, "-mostly clean underwear and this place gives me the creeps. There's a coin-op nearby."
"You're going to do your laundry? Now?"
"That's the idea, big guy."
Roy glanced at Casey's phone where it sat silent on the nightstand. Darren might decide to cut things close with Casey, just to keep him on his feet. "All right," he said. He decided against checking out of the room. Casey still wasn't looking so hot and Roy determined to get him, somehow, back to the motel.
Luckily, it turned out the Laundromat was the perfect place to talk. An old man snoozed in a chair, a woman in sweats and sandals flipped through a paperback book, and a pair of students ran highlighters through bulky textbooks. Spanish television and the constant bang and hum of machines provided a healthy white noise to drown their conversation. Roy took a seat at the far end of the long room, away from the others, and watched Casey load up a machine.