Pipe: (A Romance & Suspense Mystery) (Red Doors of New Orleans Mystery Series Book 1)

by Wade Lake

  From the dining room, Mack can hear the neighbors climbing the steps to the front stoop.

  They don't bother with the doorbell. Mack hears the front door push inward. Hears Chase leap from the couch to greet them.

  Mack draws a deep breath … holds it as he counts to ten.

  He's as ready as he'll ever be.

  A moment later, Chase is shepherding the neighbors into the dining room. Jim is smiling and talking about the Farmer's Market. When he sees the table setting, his voice trails off …

  There’s a classic moment of awkward silence.

  A flash of embarrassment moves across Chase's face.

  If they had four matching place settings, Mack would have used them. They don't. They've never needed them. Mack wasn't going to go out and buy new dishes for just one evening. If Chase wanted matching plates, he should have bought them himself.

  "Please, sit down," Chase says cheerily and waves Jim and Jeremy toward their seats. "It's not fancy, but it's the best we could—well, we're still remodeling, there are boxes we still haven't unpacked."

  "Don't you dare apologize," Jim says. "I'm not here to judge, I'm here for the company."

  "Thank you," Chase says. He looks only slightly relieved.

  Jeremy glances at Jim as if asking for permission before sitting down.

  Jim nods.

  Jeremy sits.

  Everybody sits.

  "It's about time we all sat down together,” Jim says, carefully directing his words to both Chase and Mack. “Jeremy and I have been looking forward to this all month—haven’t we, Jeremy?"

  “Yes!”

  "We've been looking forward to it, too," Mack speaks up. "Haven’t we, Chase?"

  Chase throws Mack a sharp glance that vanishes so quickly, Mack isn't sure it was intentional. While Mack's deciding, Chase throws his attention back to Jim. "Y'all both like chicken, I hope," Chase says.

  "We do," Jim says.

  "Great!" Chase is showing way too much enthusiasm. "Our main dish is chicken. Unfortunately, it's not quite ready." He grimaces to show he's not sure how that happened. "I guess we, uh, didn't get it in the oven on time, so it's got a few minutes to cook yet."

  "Perfectly fine," Jim says, nodding as if to say he's not surprised.

  "We could have a glass of wine while we wait," Mack suggests.

  "We certainly could," Jim agrees.

  “Yes!” Jeremy says.

  Chase seems pleased. He looks at Mack. "Good idea."

  Points for me, Mack thinks to himself, sarcastically. Chase agrees I had a good idea.

  Jim raises his wineglass into the sunbeam. Frowning, he uses his paper towel to wipe off a fingerprint.

  Chase is already up from his seat and uncorking a bottle of Merlot. "This is a California wine," Chase says and points to the label with his thumb.

  "I know," Jim says.

  Chase fills Jim's glass halfway. Jim curls his index finger, inviting Chase to keep pouring. Chase tops off Jim's glass.

  Jeremy holds up his own glass.

  Chase glances at Jim to make sure it's okay. Jim nods. Chase fills Jeremy's glass … not quite halfway.

  Next, he fills his own glass almost as full as he filled Jim's.

  Mack pushes his mug across the table.

  With obvious irritation, Chase fills Mack's mug, emptying the bottle.

  As the last drop slips from the bottle's mouth, Chase looks to Jim. "Don't worry," he says, "there's plenty more. Walmart had a sale."

  "Of course it did," Jim mumbles.

  Mack stands up abruptly and clears his throat. "I would like to make a toast," he says.

  "Brilliant idea," Jim says.

  Chase looks less certain of that.

  Mack sucks his lower lip and scratches his left ear. Nervous gestures. Mack was raised to believe everybody is best served when people do their best to get along. Out of respect for his raising—and only that—he’s going to try to make this a pleasant evening. He's going to try his best.

  Chase is studying the floor. When he finally looks up, his eyes go to Mack's.

  "A toast!" Mack repeats. He's not sure what to say now. He notes the concern on his husband's face. Chase doesn't trust Mack anymore. That's clear. And Mack's okay with that. He certainly doesn't trust Chase anymore. Turning his attention to Jim and Jeremy, and attempting a formal voice, Mack says, "I know that, uh, over the past month, I haven't had the chance to get to know the two of y'all as well as Chase has."

  Jeremy grins at Jim.

  "But," Mack continues, "I want to change that. I wanna thank ya both for coming to our house to share our dinner—however humble that dinner might be. And, uh, I guess my toast is, 'Here's to getting to know each other better.'" He raises his mug.

  "I like that," Jim says. He stands and raises his glass.

  Jeremy enthusiastically mimics Jim.

  Chase raises his own glass—cautiously, as if waiting to hear the catch.

  Every glass touches.

  Chase's eyes are now boring into Mack's.

  Mack is trying to interpret Chase's expression. He's frightened, Mack thinks to himself. He wishes I wasn't here. He's worried I'm going to somehow hurt him. No, that's not right. He's worried he's going to somehow hurt me.

  "Soon," a voice above the table whispers, but only Mack hears it.

  ✽✽✽

  Three rounds of wine and a half-dozen toasts later, the chicken is ready. Mack brings out the glass dish.

  Chase has put a record on—an original first-press double-vinyl LP of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road—and is showing off his turntable. The album isn't really first-press. Chase just thinks it is because he overpaid. And the turntable isn't vintage. Chase bought it at a storage-unit auction, so he assumes it must be. Mack was never one to rain on anyone's parade. Of course, the turntable didn't work when Chase bought it. He repaired it himself, he explains, and Jim is impressed by that. Chase likes impressing Jim, so now he's going into the details of the repair process. Jeremy's eyes are going round and round as he attempts to read the words on the center of the disc. The volume is low, but it's loud enough that everyone has to talk just a little louder than Mack would like. There are already too many voices in this house.

  Mack sets the glass dish containing the whole chicken on a potholder at the center of the table beneath the wind chime then hurries back to the kitchen. He returns a moment later with the mashed potatoes. After that, the green beans.

  At this point, everyone has noticed the table filling up with food. Jim steps away from the record player, refills his glass, and prepares to take his seat. Jeremy and Chase follow Jim’s lead.

  Once everyone is seated, an idea hits Mack.

  Maybe he shouldn't pursue it. He's never been a religious person, but he's always believed in showing appreciation for the things he has. Chase is the same way. Sort of. Not as much. But. Well. This feels like an opportunity to share something of their deeper selves. "Before we eat, I have a request," Mack says, interrupting the conversation. He looks across the table to Chase. "If you wouldn't mind, Chase, I'd like you to lead us in giving thanks—a blessing, something like that … if you wouldn't mind."

  Chase grins awkwardly. "Where's this coming from? We never say a blessing." He looks embarrassed.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. "I just thought," Mack says, clears his throat, "since this is our first time hosting in our new house, maybe we should kick it off official-like by saying something meaningful, something … nice."

  "Such as?" Chase asks.

  Jim snickers.

  Mack flushes. His hands begin to shake a little. "Something like, um, how we appreciate how lucky we are to have … a home, and neighbors, and … each other."

  Chase nods. "Well, I think you've just said that, so let's eat."

  Jim agrees. "Let's eat!"

  "Let's eat!" Jeremy parrots.

  Chase grabs up the bowl of mashed potatoes. He digs into it aggressively, stirring it up a little, then plops a spoonful o
n his plate and passes the bowl to Jim on his left. Jim stares into the bowl for a moment as if staring at an unfortunate accident. Reluctantly, he scoops a spoonful onto his plate and passes the bowl to Jeremy, who matches his own portion size to Jim's and passes the bowl to Mack.

  Mack digs out a large serving. He’s not planning to eat much of it, but a cook should at least pretend to have an appetite for his own food.

  Chase is hovering over the whole baked chicken now, turning the dish in a circle as if inspecting the bird. "Hey, babe, you forget somethin'?"

  Mack isn't sure.

  “The knife,” Chase says. “Fetch me a knife so I can carve this thing up."

  Oh. Mack hurries to the kitchen and returns with a carving knife. As he hands it to Chase, the neighbor's faces are mirrored on the blade: Jim looks much older, Jeremy looks much younger.

  Chase stands up to pull the chicken dish toward himself—leaning over the table, his bald spot hits the wind chime's longest pipe.

  The steel pipe makes a soft, startled clank, followed by what sounds like a pleasurable sigh: a slow-rolling baritone hum that Mack can feel through his clothing.

  Chase cringes.

  The neighbors snicker.

  Mack touches himself underneath the table.

  Chase plunges a fork into the breast to hold it steady. He grips the closest leg, pulls it away from the body, and slices through the skin and leg meat. The look on Chase's face now is pure focus. It's like when he's staring into Mack's eyes while sliding his middle and index fingers into Mack's body. His hands are working, but his eyes don't move. More forcefully now, he pulls back the leg to expose the hip joint and keeps pulling until the round end of the hip bone pops. Mack used to adore that determined look in Chase's eyes. Mack used to believe it revealed Chase's gentleness, his genuine benevolence. The look meant Chase was interpreting a deliberate moment through all his body's senses. It meant he could ease into his lover with more than his fingers or his shaft. It meant he could ease in with his whole being: his generosity, his charity, his struggles, his journey. Mack knows better now. That's not what that look means. When Chase's eyes are fixed with hunger, so is his heart: He wants to devour you.

  Chase positions the blade between the hip bone and the body and pushes down until the leg detaches.

  Jim takes the first leg-thigh combo.

  Jeremy takes the second leg-thigh combo.

  Chase serves himself a huge slice of breast.

  When it’s Mack’s turn, Chase asks, “What do you like?”

  "Same as you,” Mack says.

  Chase slices off a good-sized serving of breast meat. "If only," he mumbles, and drops it onto Mack's plate.

  "Sorry, what did you say?" Mack asks.

  Chase shoves a large piece of breast into his mouth and begins chewing. "I said," he says, mouth full, "You didn't much like m'choice ah paint color, but that's aw'ight."

  "Well ..." Mack starts to say he should have stuck with the color they picked out together but stops himself. He isn't comfortable talking about it in front of the neighbors. "It wasn't my first choice, but I’ll get used to it,” he says, attempting to keep his tone pleasant. "Maybe we can add some curtains and—"

  "Salt's not on the table, babe" Chase interrupts.

  Mack excuses himself to fetch the salt and pepper.

  Behind him, he hears Jim's incredulous whisper: "He didn't like Mint Fire? Everybody likes Mint fire."

  "I know, right?" Chase says. "It's like the hottest color for bedrooms right now."

  "Did you get the room painted? I'd love to see it."

  "I'll show you after dinner."

  "I just can't believe he didn't like it."

  "You can't expect him to have the same polish we do,” Chase explains. “He's a plumber."

  Sure, Mack is in the kitchen, but Chase isn’t even whispering.

  Sometimes Mack imagines words as wasps. They buzz about and dive at your face. They're hard to ignore, but don't generally land. That one did. And it had a big stinger.

  Mack collects the salt and pepper shakers off the stovetop. The crooked faucet is dripping. There's a pan in the sink. It's half full, and the rapid plop, plop, plop draws his attention. As Mack steps toward the faucet to turn off the drip, it stops on its own.

  When he turns his back, it starts up again.

  Plop, plop, plop.

  Once again, Mack faces the sink.

  The drip stops.

  Using casual, relaxed movements—nothing out of the ordinary—Mack steps toward the sink but passes it by and moves to the countertop beside it. The faucet begins dripping. Mack sets the salt and pepper shakers on the counter. Gently. Very gently. Quick as a blink, he throws out his arms and grips the faucet's metal neck with both hands. With a powerful twist, he bends it into a backward U-shape.

  When he returns to the dining room, Jim and Chase are still chatting away. They sound like self-appointed legislators of all things pretentious. Queens of humble birth but noble taste. Mack sets the salt and pepper shakers on the table and takes his seat. Of course, nobody reaches for the salt or pepper. Mack takes a bite of the chicken. It's already too salty. As he chews, he listens politely.

  It seems the conversation has moved on to a new topic: The good old days.

  Apparently, that was less than a decade ago—when Chase had hair, Jim had a muscle car, BnBs hadn't yet gentrified The Tremé, tourists hadn't Bourboned Freemen Street, public buildings still had trough urinals, and all the best gays were closeted. Apparently.

  Jim seems particularly adamant about the closeted thing. In a clear attempt to pull Chase into a discussion on the matter, Jim declares, "Sometimes I wish I'd never left the closet. Secret sex is the best sex."

  "I don't know 'bout that," Chase says, swiping his hand across empty air as to turn the page.

  "Oh, I think you know a little about that," Jim prods.

  Chase shakes his head. "I never had issues one way or the other. Nobody ever gave me trouble for being gay." He flexes his pectoral muscles, causing his shirt to pull at its buttons. "Course, that could be 'cause it's pretty obvious I can take care of myself."

  "Or, more likely," Jim says, placing his hands on the table, "it's because you were born during this brief window of opportunity that my generation created. You hit your sexual peak within a small parenthetical bracket on civilization's timeline when being gay is perfectly acceptable—more than acceptable, it's practically mandatory. Even straight men suck an occasional dick these days. It didn't use to be like this, and it certainly won't last. We always lose what we take for granted," Jim assures him.

  "You could be right," Chase agrees easily, but doesn’t appear to really care one way or the other. Mack isn't sure which of Jim's points Chase is actually agreeing with. He’s pretty sure Chase doesn’t know either. The wine is flowing fast, and a contented look is settling in on Chase’s face.

  "When I was a kid, coming up in this town," Jim continues, "all I knew about gays was from rumors and gossip. Disparaging whispers I'd heard about all-male Mardi Gras Krewes. I assumed gay folk came in every year on a float and left town with the last parade down St. Charles Avenue."

  Mack is listening, but it sounds rehearsed, like a speech Jim has repeated often, probably plagiarized.

  Jim continues: "When I was in my teens, and sneaking into the gay bars," Jim continues, "The gay Vieux Carré was a world the three of you wouldn't recognize." He holds up one finger. "Bouncers enforced race quotas." Two fingers. "Polite gays never talked about The Upstairs Lounge." Three fingers. "And only hippies were out of the closet." He cracks his knuckles for punctuation..

  Mack is skeptical about some of that, but Jim's point is valid. Times have changed. And quickly.

  "There were still laws against men kissing men in public," Jim adds, turning on his radio voice now. "And those laws were enforced. There were consequences for men caught sneaking out the alleyway exit of a drinking establishment known to be frequented by deviants. Before going
out for the evening, I had to ask myself—everyone in my generation had to ask ourselves—'Am I lonely enough to risk public ruin?'"

  Mack studies Jim's seasoned, handsome face. His splendid head of hair dyed too dark. His strong jaw, which could indicate either a life of heartfelt convictions or one of ceaseless talking. Whatever his faults, Jim is a survivor of civil rights battles Mack has only read about. Granted, Mack strongly dislikes this man. Yet he can't help but feel … empathy? Appreciation? Jim is no more than twenty—maybe twenty-five—years older than Mack, but Jim's youth was as different from Mack's as someone's from a different continent. Raising up in his chair to catch Jim's attention, Mack says, "I'm sorry you had to … grow up in … a world like that." The compassion in Mack’s voice is genuine. "It must have been tough."

  "Bullshit. It was good for us," Jim says, brushing away Mack's compassion with a flick of his wrist. "Frankly, it was way more fun to be gay when it was still scandalous."

  Mack starts to roll his eyes but restrains himself out of respect for his elders. Not this elder, particularly. More of a general respect.

  "The danger of being outed kept us humble," Jim explains. "It kept us well-mannered. It kept us devoutly loyal to our tribe." A lascivious smile broadens his whole face. "It also kept us sooo horny," he laughs. "We were well dressed and concealing dynamite. Ready to explode twenty-four-seven. Nowadays, they'd have to put us on a watch list—the slightest touch could have set us off and taken out an entire city block. Oh, imagine the horror! Innocents bystanders running for cover, screaming for napkins, their faces all melty-looking, covered in gobs and gobs of semen."

  This time Mack does roll his eyes.

  Chase forces a short laugh, which is just weird because Chase never laughs at crude jokes. Anything approaching politically incorrect sends him into confused robot-like twitching. But now he's listening intently, holding his chin as if Jim's crass fantasies require deep contemplation.