Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  “Mmmmmm…,” growled Brandt. “That was un-fucking-believable.”

  Donnelly snuggled down into him, kissing along his neck and smiling brilliantly. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I never even knew what love was until you,” Brandt answered.

  They drifted off, puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.

  THE FIRST two times the alarm went off, Brandt resolutely ignored it. The third time, the beeping was accompanied by a gentle nudging, and he rolled sleepily over to see what the commotion was. Standing by the bed was Donnelly, looking chipper, holding a mug of steaming liquid that Brandt desperately needed to be coffee.

  “Mmmmmmmorning,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes.

  “Morning, big guy. Time to get moving. Chief wants us there in twenty.”

  “Why so early?”

  “Well, one, it’s not early. It’s ten after eight. Two, we need to meet with Ops to get you wired for your lunch date. Three, there’s a whole team that’s going along—I’ll be in the truck with the tech guys and Maloney.”

  Brandt sat up at this and took the mug from Donnelly. He took a long drag on the hot, strong liquid and then squinted at his partner.

  “Maloney’s going? Why are we getting lawyered up?”

  “They want to move fast. If you get the goods, he’s going to file the warrant electronically, and once the judge signs off, we’ll move in.”

  Brandt considered this information. “Okay, so, one, that’s fast-tracking like I’ve only ever seen on organized crime ops, which is crazy. Two, I came up with a plan that will get us everything we need today, so we’ll have this one filed by the end of the day. Three, I totally fucking love you, man.”

  Donnelly, sideswiped by the third item, giggled and grinned goofily. Brandt laid his hand on Donnelly’s cheek and kissed him—a nibbling, insistent kiss that promised much more to come once this case was indeed filed.

  “Now,” Brandt said, all business again once he had retrieved his tongue from the mouth of his partner, “I gotta shower. Be ready in five.”

  He leapt from the bed and dashed from the room, a blur of muscle and dangly bits that made Donnelly’s heart pound. He chuckled softly and walked back to the kitchen to bundle up breakfast for the ride.

  They arrived at 8:29 a.m., having slammed down breakfast in the car—Donnelly’s inspiration had been to tuck the eggs and bacon he made into tortillas they could take along—and they charged into the Ops lab with seconds to spare. The team there fitted Brandt with his wire, a simple process made unexpectedly challenging by the snug fit of his Grindstone-issue work ensemble. They switched to one of the slim battery packs used for prostitution stings (after what he had been through, wearing a hooker wire didn’t faze him a bit) and had him outfitted just in time for the deployment meeting upstairs in the Chief’s conference room.

  There, Brandt outlined the situation, as well as his idea for soliciting the information Maloney would need for the warrant. They all agreed that it was a solid plan, and soon Brandt was on his way to the parking lot—he would take Donnelly’s car, while Donnelly rode in the tech truck (a simulated carpet-cleaning van) with the others.

  “Well, good luck,” Donnelly said as Brandt opened the driver’s door.

  “Thanks, man. I think we’ve got this one nailed down.”

  “Another criminal enterprise brought to its knees by Officer Ethan Brandt. Damn, why do the baddies even try anymore, with you on the job?”

  Brandt grinned. “Flattery like that, sir, will get you everywhere,” he murmured.

  Donnelly chuckled. “Everywhere on you is exactly where I want to be,” he growled in return.

  “Will you just kiss him goodbye and get in the damn truck?” yelled Maloney, who was clearly eager to get going. Donnelly suddenly hated the former trooper, whose midlife law degree had changed his career prospects but not his rough demeanor.

  Donnelly turned to look at Maloney, who stood on the back bumper of the van, glaring at him. He turned back to Brandt, then leaned in and kissed him. On the lips. It was not a passionate kiss, but it apparently went off like a bomb in Maloney’s head. He grunted and disappeared into the truck.

  “Fucker,” Brandt whispered. “You just outed us.”

  Donnelly’s face was all wide-eyed innocence. “I just did what he told me to do.”

  Brandt, to his own surprise, didn’t give a fuck what the others in the department thought about him and Donnelly being a couple. Why not put all of that sensitivity training to good use, right? He grabbed Donnelly around the back of the neck and pulled him into a kiss—a real kiss. In the corner of his eye, he could see the truck rock a bit, and hear muffled whoops coming from inside.

  “Crazy bastard,” Donnelly muttered through a brilliant smile. “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” Brandt replied, winking.

  Brandt got in the car and drove out of the lot while Donnelly walked over to the truck. By the time he reached it, the noise had settled down and the people inside were conspicuously busy with their preparations for the mission. Donnelly, as the officer in charge, wanted the air cleared.

  “Anyone have anything to say before we get underway?” he asked in a brusque tone.

  There was silence. The only movement was a very slight headshake from one of the techs operating the monitoring equipment.

  “Officer Walters, you got something?” demanded Donnelly in his command voice.

  “Permission to speak frankly, sir?” Walters asked, still looking at his control panel.

  “Of course,” Donnelly replied.

  Walters turned to look at him.

  “Why didn’t you tell us, sir?”

  “Tell you what?” demanded Donnelly. The sick feeling in his stomach was turning quickly into anger.

  “Look, you remember my kid brother? You met him at the college recruitment thing last year.”

  Donnelly was dumbstruck. This is not the conversation he thought they were having. The others in the truck shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  “Tall kid, glasses?” Donnelly asked, trying to focus.

  “Yeah, that’s him. Well, he thought you were hot—was totally into you. Sure you were gay, kept bugging me to introduce him. I told him you were straight as they come. Now I find out… damn, man.” Walter’s shook his head again. “Brandt is nice and all, but Rickie is a great guy. You missed out, is all I’m saying.” He turned back to his console.

  Donnelly seemed to have forgotten all the words he knew. He gaped for a few seconds, then shook it off.

  “All right, we’ve got a job to do. So unless anyone else has any burning issues to bring up….” He paused, the expression on his face purposely not welcoming any response. “Then let’s get this thing moving.” He sat down in one of the rear-facing jump seats and buckled himself in.

  As the truck lurched awkwardly out of the lot, Donnelly sat with his head in his hands trying to figure out what had just happened with Walters. It occurred to him that this would be a lot easier if everyone could just be like Maloney (barely hidden disgust) or like Walters (enthusiastic acceptance). Not knowing which of these reactions he was going to get from any particular person was the tough part.

  As per the plan, Brandt arrived at the house first and parked in the wide driveway. The truck rolled up to a position around the corner, out of sight.

  “Ah, what a beautiful day,” Brandt said. It was a kind of inane thing to say, but it was the agreed-upon test signal. Immediately, his cell phone buzzed with a new text.

  “Don’t forget to pick up milk,” it read.

  Brandt was glad that the pervasive use of texting had made undercover work much easier in recent years. No one thought anything amiss if people checked their phones every few minutes, and this way the team in the truck had a way to communicate with Brandt; they, of course, could hear him clearly. They had established a few code phrases—the one about the milk meant that everything was in place and he should proceed.

  Brandt
rang the bell, and within seconds Nick opened the door, fully dressed. Brandt confessed to himself that he was a little disappointed.

  “Hey, Jason! Good to see you. Come on in!” Brandt stepped in the door, and Nick immediately wrapped his arms around him. Brandt gave himself entirely to Nick’s embrace, feeling that familiar warmth in a new way. Nick released him, partially, and then gave him a quick peck on the lips and a wink.

  In the truck, Donnelly jerked his head a bit as he heard quite clearly the sound of the kiss come through the headphones. No one else seemed to have noticed. But then Donnelly chuckled softly to himself—he owed the greatest happiness in his life to that guy’s kiss.

  Nick put his arm around Brandt’s shoulders and led him down the hall, past the dining room, to Mr. Drake’s office. He knocked, and then said, “Mr. Drake? Jason’s here.”

  “Oh, do come in, Jason!” came the immediate reply. Nick opened the door and pushed Brandt in. The door closed softly behind him. It was go time, when his plan would be put to the test.

  Drake stood and reached out a hand. Brandt shook it firmly.

  “Jason, I’m so glad you could make it today,” said Drake, smiling.

  “My pleasure, sir,” replied Brandt, willing himself into character. He was not a cop, he was a college student who had found that rich men would pay money to watch him jack off. The ridiculousness of this whole operation once again threatened to knock him out of character. But he grinned in what he hoped was genuine warmth mixed with slutty ambition. It was a hard line to walk.

  “And this,” Drake continued, gesturing at the chair to his right, “is Mr. Big.”

  Brandt did a double take at the handsome, slightly graying gentleman whose presence had been obscured by the opening of the door, and giggled in spite of himself.

  “Is that a nickname?” he asked before he had time to consider whether that would be an impertinent familiarity coming from his alter ego. He decided it would be fine, as long as he accompanied it with a quick glance about midway down the man’s body.

  It worked. The man noticed Brandt’s eyes flick to his crotch, and he laughed good naturedly.

  “No, it’s Bigg, with two g’s,” he replied, standing to shake Brandt’s hand. “But please, call me Barry.” Brandt took the man’s hand and shook it, this time giving it a little hesitation that he hoped would convey his character’s awe at meeting, well, Mr. Big.

  “Pleased to meet you—” A beat. “—Barry.” There was a tentative note in his voice he was quite proud of.

  “Well, let’s all sit down and have a chat, shall we?” said Mr. Drake, motioning Brandt to the third chair around the small conference table.

  As Brandt sat, fingers flew over keyboards in the truck parked around the corner. In moments, a list of potential Barry Biggs were displayed on the monitors, and the men began their work of identifying the one in the room with Brandt.

  “Well, Jason, first let me say that your work is phenomenal. That live show auction thing on Friday was just amazing,” Drake opened the conversation.

  “Yes,” Bigg added, nodding. “You’ve set records, and we look forward to your continued work here.”

  The idea of continuing to do this work would normally have caused Brandt to blanch, but he felt sure that this was all coming to a close, so he simply nodded. Eagerly.

  “Good, good.” Bigg was clearly pleased that his new star/cash cow was willing to continue. “I have to say, Jason, you bring an energy and an intensity to your work that I hope we can build on.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Brandt replied. Then he thought for a second. “Build on, sir?”

  “Yes, Jason,” Drake chimed in. “You have blazed a new trail for us, and we’d like to have you foster new talent. What we’d like to offer you is a full-time position, much like Nick’s, where you would help bring new talent up to speed.”

  “Of course, we’d like you to keep making videos yourself,” blurted Bigg. “You have an enthusiastic following, and I’ll admit that the live show you did is the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

  In a moment of telepathic horror, both Brandt and Donnelly choked on that last bit.

  “You saw the live show?” coughed Brandt. Suddenly, he realized that despite the fact that his most private parts had already been broadcast on the Internet, the idea that what he shared with Donnelly had been watched by others made him nauseous.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Bigg placidly. “With all of the excitement around it, I needed to see it for myself, even if it meant departing from our customary practice of not keeping recordings of private shows.” He shrugged, confessing his weakness. “It was amazing. In fact,” he said in a lower voice, leaning in conspiratorially, “I amazed myself with it again just this morning.”

  Drake and Bigg laughed, and Brandt, half a beat late, joined in. Donnelly was trying not to puke.

  “So, Jason,” said Drake once businesslike order had been restored, “What do you think about joining us?”

  The plan. Think about the plan!

  “Well, I’m flattered,” stumbled Brandt, trying to get back on track, “but I’d really like to get to know a bit more about the business first.”

  Drake and Bigg exchanged puzzled, but amused, looks.

  “See, I’m not sure at this point whether I’m going go to law school or business school when I graduate next year, and I’m kind of curious about how you guys run this company.”

  Drake nodded.

  “I see. Well, you know that we always try to use the skills of our employees to the best advantage. For example, Eugene has coded much of our web infrastructure. I think he’s made more money doing that than he has doing videos. It’s great that you have an interest in the business side. So, what can we tell you about the company?”

  “Well, I took a forensic accounting course in the spring, and we learned a lot about taxation.”

  Mr. Bigg sighed. “Ah, yes, taxes. A necessary evil, particularly if one wants the firemen to show up when one’s house is aflame.”

  “So, I was kind of wondering. There are taxes that need to be paid on services, not just goods, right?”

  Drake nodded.

  “Do you pay that tax for the live shows and stuff that we do?” Brandt asked, hoping Drake would believe that this was something he would actually be interested in.

  “Jason, I’m glad you asked that,” Drake replied, beaming. “Our accounting structure is something I’m particularly proud of.”

  “See why I hired him?” Bigg broke in. “All of you beautiful boys walking around and he gets a boner for the accounting structure.”

  “Seriously, though,” Drake continued, not to be deterred from his topic. “The accounting part of a business like this is incredibly important. There are people who would love to find an excuse to shut us down, and tax is where they would look first.”

  Brandt blushed in spite of himself.

  “So we’ve been very conservative on that front. For example, did you look at your check for the live show?” Drake asked.

  Brandt shook his head. So much had happened since he got that check, and none of it had to do with money.

  “Well, when you look at it, which I recommend you do, you will see it indicates that we have withheld payroll taxes from it. We play by the rules.”

  “But I didn’t fill out a W-4,” Brandt replied, being the good student.

  “No, we haven’t had you do that yet,” said Drake, warming to his subject. “So we did a pro forma withholding on an actuarial estimate basis.”

  Brandt looked blank, as even a student with a course on forensic accounting under his belt would.

  “That means we withheld the amount of tax that people your age would have withheld on average; then, once we get a W-4 from you, we adjust for any difference from average. It’s a way to pay people quickly, but to also meet our fiduciary obligations.”

  Drake looked very pleased. Bigg rolled his eyes and smiled at Brandt.

  “Now,” Dra
ke continued, gathering steam, “To your question about tax on retail services. Here’s a question your forensic accounting professor might not have asked: Where is this business located?”

  Brandt looked at Drake, not sure he understood the question.

  “Um, here?” Brandt gestured around himself.

  “Ah,” Drake nodded, his trap sprung. “That’s what I expected you would say. And that makes sense, given this is where you’ve worked for us. But the service we deliver to our customers doesn’t come from here.”

  Brandt squinted a bit at Drake, just as Maloney was squinting at Donnelly right now in the truck, as they all tried to figure out where this was going.

  “The shows are performed here, but they become a service only when they are delivered to our customers. And that delivery point isn’t here, but in Springfield.”

  “The Springfield two states from here?”

  “The very one. They call it ‘Silicon Springs’ because of all the tech companies there. That’s where the hosting provider for the web site is located. So, the service is actually provided there.”

  “Oh, because the tax rate is lower?” Brandt asked.

  Bigg laughed. “Hardly. It’s actually higher there.”

  Brandt looked stumped, as did Maloney back in the truck.

  “Data protection,” muttered Donnelly.

  “What?” asked Maloney.

  “Data protection. Brandt and I were working a case a year ago—at the crime scene we found a printout of a Google Maps page that showed the route we knew the killer took. We wanted the suspect’s ISP to tell us if he had accessed that map, but they were based in Springfield. They wouldn’t do it—there, state law says that they don’t have to give any information if the data accessed was legal. And it was a fucking Google Map, so no laws broken there.”

  Back in the office, Drake continued.

  “We do it to protect our clients—and the guys who work in the house. There, we would never have to divulge anyone’s identity. As long as the activity is legal—and it is—everyone’s covered.”