Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  Dabb started searching the apartment, opening drawers and sifting through stuff, no doubt looking for booze or drugs. Logan moved as far away from his PO as possible in the 350-square-foot apartment.

  “F-fine.”

  Wanting to keep this conversation short with Dabb listening, Logan said, “Let me call you back. Dabb is busy sniffing through my dirty drawers.”

  “No!”

  Logan heard what sounded like a muffled argument. “Caleb?”

  For a blinding moment, Logan knew what real panic felt like. A barrage of worst-case scenarios exploded in his brain like a triggered minefield. The force of it sent him reeling against the wall. At the sound of the dial tone, reason punched through and reminded him he’d seen Caleb’s home phone number on the cell display. He made it home, but who the fuck is with him? He doubted Caleb was arguing with Mrs. Simon. Six rings later, the voice mail kicked in. Logan stared at the phone, trying not to lose it.

  Raising a brow, Dabb asked, “What’s up?”

  Logan’s phone rang before he could respond. In lieu of a greeting he asked, “Who were you talking to?”

  “Uh, n-no one. I accidentally turned on the television.”

  Logan frowned at the phone. It hadn’t sounded like the TV, but Caleb didn’t sound panicked. Tired and a little rattled, yes, but that was expected after a trip to the ballpark.

  “Tell Dabb it was my fault you were late.”

  “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep.” Logan ended the call and turned to find Dabb wearing an amused smirk.

  “Do you want me to go over there and tuck him into bed?”

  Logan scowled at him.

  Dabb put up his hands. “Hey, don’t get grumpy with me. You’re the one who sent him home by his lonesome instead of bringing him back here. You could’ve been braiding each other’s hair and painting each other’s toenails tonight. Sleepovers are allowed provided the person has their own permanent residence.”

  Logan looked away. “I don’t want him coming over here. Nothing but former drunks, druggies, and wackos live here.” Many of which weren’t very former.

  “Newsflash, Logan. You’re one of them.” An uncomfortable expression crossed Dabb’s face as he shifted from one foot to the other. “Did Caleb tell you I showed him the crime photos?”

  Logan stared at him. Caleb hadn’t said a word. He’d assumed Dabb had told him about the fight, but learning the details wasn’t the same as seeing the gory pictures of his crime. He brought a hand to rub at his forehead. He wanted to ask Dabb why he’d done it, but he was afraid of the answer he’d hear. Complete strangers went out of their way to help Caleb. He couldn’t be angry with Dabb for trying to protect him.

  “You know what he said after I got done trying to scare him off?” Dabb said, pulling Logan back from his thoughts. “You deserve a second chance. He’s right. But you’ve got to let yourself have that chance. Pretending the past didn’t happen is a surefire way of reliving it.”

  “What if I fuck it up?” Logan asked, hearing the desperate edge in his own voice, the way the words came out frayed around the edges. “What if I go back to being that man and I drag him down with me?”

  “Being that man is a choice, not a foregone conclusion. Ask for help before you get to that point.” Dabb’s eyes turned cold and hard. “If you can’t, then you don’t deserve to be with him.” Logan wondered if the glint in his PO’s eyes meant he was ready to pinch hit if Logan couldn’t get his shit together.

  “I’m not going to report the curfew violation, just don’t let it become a habit.”

  “I won’t,” Logan said, opening the door for Dabb. “Thanks.”

  Dabb looked like he had something more to say, but then he shook his head and headed out.

  THE FOG rising off the lake was still thick at 8:00 a.m. The billowing mists seemed to highlight the city grime by forcing people to focus on the clear pockets in front of them. Caleb shivered in the back of the cab, wishing he had put a jacket on over his sweats and long-sleeved T-shirt. The cold wasn’t the only thing making him shake, but he needed to stay focused in order to help Logan.

  Arriving at his destination, Caleb paid the fare with a trembling hand, exited the cab at the corner of Monroe and Wabash, and entered the Office of Parole. In his last session, his therapist, Dr. Ryan, had made him create a list of triggers for his panic attacks. The emotional ones had been easier than the physical triggers. How could he describe that prickly feeling he got when someone was staring at him? Watching and waiting for him to fall apart. Caleb could feel it now. He zeroed in on the main desk and focused on it as he moved through the lobby, trying to ignore the way his skin twitched with each step.

  A dark-skinned woman in her forties with close-cropped hair talked on the phone while typing into her computer rapidly. Her eyes narrowed as he approached. “Hold on,” she said, before covering the receiver. “Do you have an appointment?” Tilting her head to look around Caleb, she barked, “Why are you still loitering in my lobby, Carlos?”

  Caleb looked over his shoulder and saw an attractive Latino man with warm, brown eyes and slicked back hair.

  “I’m waiting on my ride,” Carlos said, before pressing his lips together as if to keep another word from escaping. He turned his attention to Caleb. “You an ex-con, pretty? Did some pig catch you on your knees?” He looked Caleb over, slow and deliberate.

  The woman snapped her fingers. “What do you need, blondie?”

  Caleb whipped his head toward her. “I’m here to see John Dabb.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No,” he said, realizing he had been stupid not to call first. He’d been too focused on psyching himself up to leave the apartment.

  “He won’t see you without an appointment. I can call him and try and schedule one for ya, but that’s it.”

  “Okay.”

  This response seemed to throw her momentarily. Like maybe she expected Caleb to argue. Handing him a notepad, she said, “Write down your contact information and when you’d be available.”

  When Caleb completed the task, the woman directed him to take a seat on a long, wooden bench.

  Watching Caleb’s approach, Carlos asked, “Why don’t you come closer and keep me company until Big D gets here.”

  Caleb took a seat on the bench. “She said he won’t see me without an appointment.”

  “You watch.” Carlos pointed to the woman as she dialed a number. “Big D won’t send you away.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “He’ll give you hell for breaking the rules, but he won’t send you away.”

  Caleb smiled. It was good to hear his impression of Dabb confirmed. Tough but fair. “Is Mr. Dabb your PO?” He flushed as he realized he had assumed the man was an ex-con, but Carlos didn’t seem bothered by it.

  Carlos slid over the bench until their thighs pressed together uncomfortably close. “Yeah, they give all the faggots to Big D. Let the fag deal with the faggots.” He rolled his eyes. “Better we have him than some of those other culos. But if you get caught trickin’, he’ll nail your ass and not in the fun way, bebe.” Carlos licked his full bottom lip slowly. “A damn shame. I’ll bet your mouth would be worth it.”

  Caleb snapped his gaping mouth shut when Carlos winked at him. “I’m not… a prostitute,” he whispered. The ding of the elevator compelled Caleb to stand, ignoring Carlos’s murmurs of appreciation.

  Scanning the lobby, Dabb asked Caleb, “Did you come here by yourself?”

  “Yes. I took a cab.”

  Dabb studied Caleb’s face for a moment before tilting his head toward Carlos. “Was he behaving himself?”

  Carlos gave Dabb a cocky grin, but his shoulders hunched just a bit. “Was only being friendly, Big D.”

  Drawing Dabb’s attention back to him, Caleb said, “I’m sorry I didn’t think to call first. I can come back later.”

  Dabb shook off the offer and ushered Caleb toward the waiting elevator. L
eaning against the wall, Dabb demonstrated his tenaciousness. “You want to tell me what Carlos said to get you redder than a lobster?”

  “He said a lot of your parolees are gay.”

  “And no doubt me being gay was the reason they were assigned to me.”

  Caleb nodded, embarrassed all over again.

  “That’s not the official reason.” The tone of Dabb’s voice made it clear that the reverse was true.

  “If it’s any consolation, Carlos would rather have you for a PO.”

  Dabb’s lips twitched, but he didn’t comment.

  The elevator arrived at the third floor and they exited the car. At the opposite end of the hallway, an emaciated man with straggly brown hair looked to be arguing with an older man with a thick, black mustache and a fresh-faced police officer with curly brown hair.

  The older man—Caleb guessed he was a PO—said, “You need to calm down, Pauley.”

  “The test is wrong, man. I’m clean. Clean as a fucking whistle.”

  The officer rolled his eyes and put a hand on the ex-con’s shoulder. The touch seemed to ignite the growing tension. Pauley made an inarticulate noise and shoved the officer’s hand off him. When his PO grabbed his arm, Pauley kicked him in the balls. The PO made a squeaky grunt and collapsed to his knees.

  Putting a hand on Caleb’s chest, Dabb said, “Stay here,” before sprinting toward the men.

  Pauley made it halfway down the hallway before the officer tackled him around the waist and drove him to the floor. Dabb quickly joined him, pushing Pauley’s shoulders down. It wasn’t until the cuffs clinked in place that Pauley began to cry. Great, big sobbing breaths that made his slight frame shake. He repeated “I’m sorry” over and over as the officer drew him to his feet and read him his rights.

  Dabb returned and unlocked his door, dragging a stunned Caleb inside, away from Pauley’s desperate pleading.

  Dabb seemed unfazed by the altercation in the hallway. Unable to resist, Caleb asked, “Will Pauley be sent back to prison?”

  “One dirty drop likely wouldn’t have got him sent back, but assaulting his PO and resisting arrest all but guarantees it.”

  Caleb puzzled over the phrasing—not wanting to ask—until he remembered Pauley’s claims he wasn’t using drugs. He blinked several times as he took notice of his surroundings. Even though Logan had described his PO’s unusual décor, Caleb wasn’t prepared for the explosion of color clogging the small space. Taking a seat in front of Dabb’s desk, he tried not to gawk, focusing instead on Logan’s PO.

  Dabb leaned back on his chair and cranked up his stare like the dial on a stereo. His drawl slow and ragged, he asked, “What can I do for you, Caleb?” Flushing as if realizing how suggestive his tone sounded, he clarified, “Why are you here?”

  When Caleb tried to speak, his voice wavered. “I need your help, but I don’t know how to convince you I’m telling the truth. And I’m afraid I’ll make things worse if you don’t believe me.”

  “I can’t give you any guarantees, but I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

  Caleb’s mind congested with doubts and fears. I should leave now before Logan ends up on the ground with handcuffs tight around his wrists like Pauley. Sleep hadn’t come easy last night, and when it had, it was filled with disturbing dreams. A litany of worst-case scenarios. But he didn’t see any other solution. Logan would never let Karen dictate his life, no matter how serious the threat. “About four years ago, I was working as a package handler at my uncle’s company. My shift was the Night Sort and Karen Foster was the supervisor.”

  Dabb grunted. “A real peach, that one.”

  And rotten to the core, Caleb thought. He went on to explain the suspicious behavior he had observed in the bathroom. “The guy took off, but Karen stayed.” He swallowed hard, his heartbeat fluttering in his throat. “She told me just how bad it would be for me if I accused her of stealing and I ended up having a panic attack.”

  “Did she admit to stealing?”

  “Never.”

  Dabb seemed pleased by this answer for some reason. “What happened afterward?”

  “I stopped working there.”

  Dabb squinted. “Why?”

  “I couldn’t….” Caleb raked a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t handle the idea of going back there. I was having a hard enough time leaving my dorm room to go to my classes.”

  Dabb looked thoughtful. “You’ve been dealing with the agoraphobia a long time.”

  Caleb ducked his head. “Too long.”

  “But you’re making progress, right?”

  “More like two steps forward, one step back.”

  “That’s still progress. It may take you longer, but you’ll still get to where you’re going.” Dabb didn’t push further. Instead he asked, “Are you afraid Foster will try to drag Logan into her theft ring? Four years is a long time to keep a scam like that going.”

  “I hadn’t realized Karen still was… or maybe I didn’t let myself believe it. But last night she was waiting for me when I got home from the game. She wanted me to convince Logan to quit his job. She implied she could make life difficult for Logan if I didn’t.”

  Dabb’s salt and pepper beard twitched. “I’ll bet she implied with the subtlety of a sledgehammer she could get Logan’s parole revoked if you didn’t go along with her.” He pulled off his glasses. “You took a big risk coming here. Have you told Harry about all this?”

  Caleb stared at him blankly. “Harry? Do you mean my uncle?”

  “Uh, right.” Cool, collected Dabb tore into a bag of M&M’s like a starving man. He shoved a handful into his mouth and chewed. After swallowing, he asked, “Have you talked about your suspicions with your uncle?”

  A disturbing thought occurred to Caleb. “Do you know my uncle? Is that why he picked Logan? So you and he could report back to my uncle.”

  “What? I had no idea Harry picked Logan until I called him. I tried to talk him out of it.”

  “But you vouched for Logan and my uncle trusted your judgment. That’s why he was willing to hire an ex-con with a history of alcohol abuse and violence to work at the warehouse and to help me.”

  “It wasn’t a setup, Caleb. We both know Logan well enough to know he’d never spy on you for Harry.”

  “You must’ve known him a long time if he lets you call him Harry.” His mother called him Harry, but Caleb couldn’t remember anyone else being allowed to use the nickname. He shivered as he remembered the last time he had heard her use it. “His heart, Harry.” The hysteria in her voice had sliced through him, but it hadn’t been sharp enough to separate him from the panic. It wasn’t until his uncle cried out to him that the panic released its hold. With effort, Caleb pulled back and focused on what Dabb was saying.

  “It wasn’t anything serious and it was nearly twenty years ago. We’ve stayed… friendly.”

  Caleb tried to mask his surprise as he realized what Dabb had said. The look on Dabb’s face said he had failed miserably. Dabb and Uncle Harrison?

  Dabb closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me I didn’t just out your uncle.”

  Caleb didn’t bother lying. His mind was too busy reeling.

  Dabb swore under his breath. “Why wouldn’t he tell you? Or at least tell me he hadn’t told you. You’re gay and from what I’ve seen not the self-loathing type.” He added another layer of shock. “Your mother knew he was gay.”

  Caleb answered him honestly. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell me. Maybe because he made me promise not to tell my mom I was gay.”

  Dabb darted a glance at Caleb before looking away. “I’m sorry.”

  Caleb shook off the apology. Dabb wasn’t to blame. “I need to talk to my uncle and Logan about Karen. But I won’t mention anything about you and him if you don’t want me to.”

  Sounding concerned, Dabb asked, “Have you done that before?” At Caleb’s confused expression, he clarified. “Gone back to a place where you had a panic
attack?”

  Caleb fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt. “Not since they first started happening.”

  “If you can face that, I figure I can handle old Harry being pissed at me.”

  Caleb attempted a smile and rose to leave.

  CALEB KNOCKED on his uncle’s office door. Directing his attention to his uncle’s secretary, he said, “Thanks for letting me see him, Sally.”

  Sally was short and had her gray hair in a bowl cut so precise she was probably wearing one when it was cut. “Welcome, sweetheart,” she said, looking like she wanted to ruffle his hair, or worse, pinch his cheeks.

  He escaped into the office when his uncle bade him to enter.

  His uncle’s eyes widened. “Did you come here by yourself?”

  The question of the day. Caleb didn’t blame him for being surprised. For nearly a month after he had panicked here, the mere mention of the warehouse sent his heart into overdrive.

  “I’m sorry to just show up, but I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Caleb had intended to question his uncle about Karen, but his brain had other ideas. “You and John Dabb… know each other,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm.

  “How very indiscreet of John,” Uncle Harrison said primly, lacing his hands together on the mahogany desk.

  Caleb bit his lip, his need to understand overpowering his mortification. “Mom’s been gone for years. Why keep it a secret from me?”

  “I suppose, I lived the lie so long, it felt more real than the truth.”

  Something told Caleb they still weren’t even in the same ballpark as the truth. “Do you wish you weren’t gay or that I wasn’t? Is that why you didn’t tell me?”

  “There was no such thing as out and proud forty years ago, and there was still so much fear twenty years ago when I met John.”

  The more his uncle prevaricated the clearer it became the man wanted the truth to stay buried. In the past, Caleb would have let the matter drop, but not anymore. It was time to get out a shovel and dig. “Wearing a rainbow T-shirt isn’t the same thing as telling your gay nephew you’re also gay.”