Bait & Hook

by Eleanor Dax

  Casey stared into the mirror, avoiding his eyes and staring at some middle point on the wall. The anger burned bright in him, confusion stoking the fire. He breathed harsh through his nose and listened to his heartbeat pounding, just trying to calm himself and find some rhythm, something solid he could hold on to but it was useless, and a quiet, ragged sound tore out of him. He held his breath then and stuck his head under the water until his lungs burned. Casey killed the tap and bent over the counter and breathed some more.

  A series of quick knocks sounded briefly from the door. "Hey, hello in there!"

  Cautious, Casey wiped another towel over his face to dry it and squeezed his fingers against his eyes. He slid the bolt back and opened up.

  A tall guy with a bald, shining head glowered at him, hands twitching at his sides. He gave Casey a once over and his nerves seemed to calm. "The restroom is customers only," he said in an icy tone.

  Casey realized he couldn't deal with something like this now, some mid-level manager looking for something to piss on. "Yeah," he said. "Right." He turned to collect his things but the guy grabbed his arm.

  "What the hell are you doing in here, anyway?"

  Casey yanked away, suddenly hot inside. "Don't fucking touch me," he warned. People outside were looking in now, curious. Customers and workers. He slung his bag over a shoulder.

  The guy sneered. "Well, you can just find another bathroom to shoot up in, buddy. I'll have none of that here." He hiked his pants up by the belt and suddenly he was like Darren. He filled the doorway and Casey felt even hotter and so desperate inside. He bolted, knocking the guy back and leaving an indignant hey and shocked noises from the crowd in his wake.

  Outside again, he just ran. Didn't care who saw, didn't care about anything except just getting the fuck away. After a while he slowed down, breathing harsh through his nose and feeling a pang in his side. He walked the rest of the way to his car, empty inside. Not bad, just empty.

  It took him a couple tries to get the key in the lock but he did it, and soon he sat on the cool bench seat. Avoiding his reflection in the rearview mirror, Casey cranked the engine and pulled out onto the street. He drove around and found an area of town he knew well, where he used to trick. He stowed his car in its old place and got a room by the hour. The guy behind the counter moved his gaze over the swelling and redness that made Casey's face and said nothing. The cash warmed him only slightly, and in minutes Casey climbed the three flights of narrow stair to his floor.

  The room was grimy, but its door had a lock. A single, dirty window faced the street and sounds of the city bounced off the high building outside, trapped. Sirens wailed shockingly loud, grating, but Casey forced himself not to hear it. Throwing his things onto the bed, he went to see about the bathroom.

  There was a shower stall with the door missing and no towels, but Casey tore out of his clothes and stepped in anyway. He had his own soap and scrubbed himself down, scrubbed the blood away, the memories of McDouche and before that Darren touching him. He sneered quietly at nothing, silent, and just concentrated on not slipping, on the sting of his wounds and the cough of hot water soaking his hair. He thought, this is my life, and it seemed surreal to him.

  He hated people touching him, he decided. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him and not meant anything by it, that seemed like an impossible thing, and it made him angry just thinking about it. He was angry all the time these days, and couldn't remember how he'd first gotten that way.

  What was wrong with him? Leaving Mule Creek he'd made a promise to himself that things were better, he was better. What could be worse than the stink and monotony of a county jail? Plenty of things, but he knew that now.

  Casey turned the tap and the coughing spray stopped. He dried himself with a shirt, dressed, and sat on the edge of the bed, thinking finally of Roy. He found himself thinking paranoid things, of Roy getting what he wanted and not needing him anymore. Of Roy quietly convincing him to go to Colma, not too far but maybe far enough.

  It was so easy to think that. Too easy. Pushing a hand through his damp hair, Casey went to the window. Cars and pedestrians passed below. Just up the road was the bar he'd first met Roy in. Had he been right, then, about the cop? Was he really like all the others? Like Darren? Casey couldn't bring himself to say yes. He found his phone, and dialed.

  The tone buzzed softly in his ear again and again. Casey terminated the call when voicemail picked up and tried once more. He found one of the cards Roy had given him and tried his desk. Nothing.

  Casey chewed at his lip and came to a decision. He gathered his things and left the motel. He drove back to the Mission but ditched the Continental several blocks away from the men's bar. He tried Roy again but there was still no answer.

  Walking briskly, the bar soon came into view. The door was open, that divider still there to prevent any outsiders from seeing inside, and the bouncer who had given him such a hard time was gone. A place like that never left its door unattended if there was help for it.

  Holing up on a stoop two blocks away, Casey called the department number on Roy's card. It took ages but he finally convinced the front desk to get hold of Belia Gomez for him. When she came on the line, she sounded surprised and slightly suspicious to hear from him.

  "Mr. Brown, hello."

  "Have you seen Roy since this morning?"

  "Roy? Sure, he was here earlier."

  Urgency spiked in his chest. "But he's gone now?"

  "Looks like. What's the problem?"

  Casey laid the situation out for her, backtracking and interrupting himself and knowing how it must sound, but she listened. Finally, Casey wrapped things up with the honest to god truth, "I don't know what to do."

  "Where are you right now?"

  He told her.

  She said, "Wait for me. I'm on my way."

  Casey didn't like waiting but he gave it his best shot. He hadn't seen Darren when he left, but it could be the cop was holing up. He was spooked, Casey could see that now. Why else would Darren give him all that cash and tell him to leave town?

  And he knew about Roy. He knew a lot about Roy. What really bugged Casey, though, was if any of it was actually true. Roy had yet to let him down and Casey found he couldn't forget it.

  So wrapped up in his thoughts, Casey jumped when someone appeared from behind, skipping down the steps. He cringed against the cement but the guy paid him no mind, just struck off at an easy jog up the street, white buds snug in his ears.

  A light colored sedan appeared and Casey found himself tracking it without even thinking to do so. It parked across the street and he just knew. It was just the kind of boring, low-end model that cops liked. He didn't get up.

  Gomez came over and a skinny guy in a suit followed. When Casey saw him, he stood.

  "Who the hell is that?" He didn't like the idea of any more people getting involved. Any more cops.

  Gomez didn't even give her associate a glance. "Bingley." She studied Casey's face.

  Obliging, Bingley held his shield out for Casey to inspect. "You're awfully colorful," he said, with a brief gesture to his own face. He had sharp, pointed features, a long and narrow nose, and light hair over a pale face. He smiled.

  "Who did that?" Gomez gave a nod.

  Casey just rubbed his jaw where it was still sore and muttered, "Darren." He dropped his hand. "But Roy could be in there. I mean-I think he is."

  "You think?" Bingley scrutinized him.

  "It's not out of the question," Gomez murmured, but Casey spoke over her.

  "He knows Roy has been looking into him," he said loudly. "I had Roy's card and when he pulled it, he freaked." Casey had said all this to Gomez over the phone, but Bingley still stared, skeptical. The look in his eye made Casey angry. Of all things, his look. "He told me, okay? I'll go in there myself if you don't believe me, but he said he'd be here. So either he's lying or he stopped for the longest fucking lunch ever. So you can just-just-"

  "Mr. Brow
n." Gomez cut over him, a hand up for silence and her eyes hard. Bingley stared at him still, not the skeptic look, but one of surprise.

  Casey deflated. "It's Casey," he said.

  "Fine. Casey. It's good you called. Do you mind sitting here while we check things out, please?"

  "No."

  "Thank you. Would you like me to call someone to see to your injuries?"

  Again, Casey rubbed his jaw. "No," he said, coming slowly down. "No, I'm okay."

  "All right, then. We won't be long."

  "All right." He watched them go, waiting for Bingley to turn around with a look that said he thought Casey was nuts, but he didn't. There was still no one at the door and they went right in. Casey sat, feeling useless and guilty for not going in himself. Which was stupid. He was no match for Darren, that was clear enough. There was something about the man that made him freeze up, inside and out. He couldn't think, he couldn't move. It seemed crazy to think he'd ever get one over on the cop. He'd been stupid before, to think that. Even with Roy's help, there was something about Darren that meant, somehow, he got to survive, no matter the loss. Somehow, he got by.

  A sudden gust of wind cut down the street, and Casey was blocked from the worst of it by the stoop's siding. Casey pulled the collar of his jacket up and hunkered down. The usual noises of the city continued all around. It was getting dark. A siren struck up in the distance somewhere, blending with that strange, lively wall of sound.

  It didn't make sense that Roy would go to all that trouble and drop him. What had he gotten out of it? Nothing, as far as Casey could tell. They'd fooled around-okay. But they hadn't even done much, just sat together watching some old movie and then kissing on the couch, just holding on and touching in warm, easy ways, good ways, and there it was, the one time Casey could think of in recent memory when touch had been a good thing. Roy's whiskers burning his thigh, his mouth hot, lips coaxing, his hands just holding. A quick movement at the bar caught Casey's eye.

  It was Bingley, running straight for him. His long legs ate up the pavement and by the time Casey shot to his feet he was right there.

  "Don't move," he said, and the authority in his voice left no room for questions. "Hold out your hands."

  Casey did so, staring stupidly and wondering if he were headed for lockup. And wouldn't that just figure? Bingley looked over his knuckles, turned his hands, and let go.

  "I'd like you to sit in the car for a bit," he said, and a blue-and-white pulled up behind him.

  Casey said, "Oh, shit, c'mon-"

  "I'm not going to put you in cuffs. There's no plan to take you in. But it's going to get a little crazy here and I'd like for you to sit in the car."

  They stared at each other for one long, uneasy minute until, finally, Bingley seemed to deflate and the sirens got louder. They were closer, Casey realized, and his face fell.

  In a softer tone, Bingley said, "Gomez said it's all right. Just chill out for a bit in the car?"

  Casey's throat was dry. He swallowed a couple times and said, "Jesus, is he dead?" He meant to say it like it didn't really matter but his voice came out all hoarse and fucked up. He stared at Bingley, unable to feel embarrassed and feeling like the worst coward because if the answer was yes he'd just sat out here while it happened, he'd sat here this whole time.

  "No, god no. Mr. Brown-Casey-please, just sit in the car."

  Casey did. He couldn't believe himself, but he did it all the same. Within ten minutes there must have been about twenty cop cars parked or cruising down the street and the bar was taped off. Casey felt numb and desperate inside, staring hard at the bar's entrance and sitting up every time someone stepped out. He finally got out of the vehicle, unable to just sit there, and leaned his arms over the open door. No one paid him much mind except for a couple of guys in uniforms swaggering by with spare, ugly looks. They didn't matter, though, and he ignored them.

  At last a stretcher came out and Casey said something quiet to himself that he didn't quite hear. Roy's name, maybe. Maybe something else. Leaving the car, leaving its door standing open, he joined the stretcher halfway to the ambulance and got just close enough that he could see Roy's eyes were open. He tried to get closer and was all but shoved away. Gomez found him and said, "He's all right, they're just taking him in for a check up."

  "A checkup?" Casey didn't usually get carried to his checkups.

  "He'll be all right. Meantime, I need to talk to you. Come on. Come on, I said."

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Roy's police escort arrived to pick him up from the hospital, the hour was late. On the way home he debated calling his brother to tell him what happened, but couldn't see the point. It was the same old tale. Roy had come to the city not three months ago and already his fresh start was looking sour. He had no one to blame but himself.

  It made him cringe inside to think of all the things he'd said to Casey, all the promises and assurances, and to now actually see their results. It was the worst kind of fuck up because it was the one he kept making, and now Casey was hurt because of it.

  His stomach felt like a dried leather strip in his belly and he wanted to touch the stitches in his cheek but resisted all the same. His escort dropped him at his building door but Roy kept walking.

  He could go to Colma, Tim and Deb never turned him away, or he could go to Fourth Street and look for Casey. Gomez said he'd been roughed up, and Roy had glimpsed it earlier before getting stuffed into the bus. He was probably sitting in a cell by now, and if by whatever miracle he was not Roy was willing to bet Casey would spend the night laying low. He walked aimlessly, chewing on that thought, worrying it like he would a sore tooth.

  Turning the corner back to his building, he slowed. A very familiar and very large black car was parked at the curb. The dome light was on and there was Casey was messing around in the backseat with his ass sticking out. Roy came to a stop beside the car.

  "Lose something?" he asked.

  Casey went suddenly still as Roy spoke, then backed quickly out of vehicle. He was startled and covering for it with a pissed off expression.

  "What the hell, man?"

  Roy held up his hands. "Sorry."

  They stared warily at each other for a moment and in the streetlight Roy finally got a good look at the bruises on Casey's face.

  Before he could mention them Casey said, "Jesus. Your face."

  "Uh, yeah." Roy aborted a move to touch the stitches in his cheek and rubbed his jaw instead. "So… how are you? I mean, are you-" Roy waved vaguely at his face. "-okay?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Look, can we talk?"

  Roy tilted his head in the direction of his building and said, "Let's go upstairs."

  Casey grabbed his pack out of the car and shut the door. They walked up with a couple feet of space between them and before long Roy was leading Casey into his kitchen to fetch a bag of peas from the freezer.

  "Here. So, he did that?"

  Casey pressed the bag to his cheek and didn't bother to reply.

  "I'm sorry, Casey."

  "Don't be, okay? It's not your fault."

  "I tried to be there. I got there as soon as I could."

  With a grimace Casey peeled the bag from his face. "It's okay. Just forget it. Why'd you go off like that alone? Your friend said you're in a ton of trouble."

  "Friend?"

  Casey rolled his eyes. "Your partner. Whoever. The lady." The peas crunched against his cheek and Casey added quietly, "Gomez. She said she told you not to go alone."

  "She wanted to wait."

  Casey blinked at him. "Yeah, to get help."

  "And look at how long it took her."

  "Anything could have happened, Roy, you were lucky. Gomez says the only reason you didn't end up getting killed was 'cause you're a cop and Darren thought ahead.."

  It stung, but Casey was right, and Roy said nothing because there was nothing for him to say. The next few minutes passed in silence.

  Casey said, "I met your brother to
day."

  Dimly, Roy recalled their earlier conversation. "Right, Tim."

  Casey stared at him. "Yeah. You know, your brother? Unless that was a lie or something."

  "Huh?"

  Casey's gaze fell away. He picked at his thumbnail and leaned against the opposite counter. "He acted like you didn't say much about me."

  Roy squinted one eye at him. "He needs a cook, not someone's life story.

  Casey gave an impatient smile. "Okay, fair enough. Except he does know I went to county. Except he doesn't know why. Forget it, none of that matters." He looked up. "Did you move here because of him?"

  "No. Well, no, not exactly."

  "You have family up north?"

  "Not really. No."

  Casey stared at him. "You know everything about me. You probably know my shoe size and my favorite fucking color but every time I try to get something more than the time of day out of you, you stonewall. Fuck you, Roy, I don't need this." Casey threw the peas down but didn't move otherwise. He looked about as tired as Roy felt and torn in six different directions. Roy stepped toward him, and Casey didn't look up but stuck a hand square in the middle of his chest to keep him from getting closer.

  "Casey," Roy said.

  "What?" Casey looked up with his flat, nervous smile and they just stared at each other. Then Roy put his hand over the one on his chest and gave it a squeeze and put his hands on Casey's shoulders and squeezed them, too.

  "What do you want?"

  Casey gave a mirthless smile with a laugh to match, and pulled away. Roy followed him into the front room.

  "I want to know what the fuck started all this. I want to know what kind of trouble you were in up north. I want to know why you left there."

  Roy watched him pace around. "Darren probably told you some things-"

  "Fuck Darren! Seriously, fuck him, okay? I'm sick of him. He's fucking swine. Roy." Casey stopped moving around so much and just looked at him square. "Look, what the fuck started all this? You have some dark past he knows about so you go after him? What the hell?"