Black Market Blood

by Francis Gideon

  But then, who would solve all these murders? Who would eat this cake? The large and the trivial things overwhelmed Chaz. He clung to Sully, who was humming again.

  “Oh, Atlas, Atlas, don’t carry the world on your shoulders,” he said. “Carry it on both of ours.”

  Fear swelled inside of Chaz. He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know what to say. And his head hurt again. “I think… I think I need pills.”

  “I think I need to get some rest. I will clean your kitchen later. I will look at those files too.”

  “I can’t keep you here.”

  “You’re not keeping me. I’m free, remember? We both are. And we’re partners.”

  “Partners. I like the sound of that.”

  While Chaz rose from the chair and braced himself against the counter, Sully wrapped up the rest of the cake and put their plates in the sink. He checked the front door several times to see if it was locked and ran a glass of water for them to share as they took pills. “You feeling steady enough on your feet for a shower?”

  “Oh. Right.” Chaz ran a hand through his hair and realized he was a mess. “I think I’m a bit shaky, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me come in too.”

  Chaz couldn’t argue. Sully was already stripping off his shirt and pulling down his pants. When Sully grasped the edge of Chaz’s belt, he nodded. A shower sounded good. He let Sully undress him carefully, taking extra time to help Chaz out of his socks and easing back the clothing that had become stuck to his skin. Each action was intimate, caring—not sexy, though Chaz reacted when their skin brushed under the stream of water. In the shower, Sully ran his hands over Chaz’s back, washing it with soap, then washed himself. Chaz’s vision blurred under the water stream as Sully washed his hair.

  “You next?” Chaz asked.

  Sully nodded and turned so Chaz could comb his fingers over the black hair. He noticed the brown roots coming up and realized it was the first time he’d seen Sully’s real hair color. He wanted to watch it all grow out in that instant.

  When Sully kissed Chaz, it was as intimate as his caresses. He licked along Chaz’s lips, coaxing more out of him, and once their tongues touched, Chaz knew he was in love. It was like it had been with Nat—a stunning revelation made through touch. Chaz placed his palms on Sully’s shoulders and ran them down his back, then over his ass. Sully grew hard against Chaz’s thigh. Chaz wanted to make love to him in the shower, but a deep aching tiredness came over him. Sully broke the kiss to nuzzle along Chaz’s neck and then turned the water off.

  They dried off together, barely speaking until they walked into the bedroom and Sully closed the drapes.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere,” Sully said. “Unless it’s next to you.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Chaz needed the feel of another body next to him in bed.

  Without the light from the bedside, he was scared Sully would look like Nat in the dark. He closed his eyes when darkness washed over them. He waited, counting the time between his heartbeats, before he opened them again.

  It was completely different. Sully only smelled like cake. Red velvet. He was human, and he was next to him. Chaz had to swallow down too many words as they swarmed to the surface, like a bruise underneath his skin. He clasped Sully’s face in the dark, bringing their lips together. It was a chaste kiss in comparison to all the others, but one that he needed.

  “I know, I know,” Sully said, pulling away. “But we need sleep, okay?”

  “Yeah, I will. And I know too.”

  In the dark, Chaz felt Sully smile. For tonight it was enough.

  Chapter 24

  “HEY, TABBY. Is Artie around?”

  “No, Sully, she’s not right now.”

  “Hmm.” Sully shifted on the floor. A pile of papers was in front of him, all from the former crime scene. He’d been reading them since dawn of the second day in Chaz’s place, and when he looked out the sliding glass window to Chaz’s balcony, he was shocked to see the sun had sunk lower in the sky. Sully’s back suddenly hurt from staying in one place so long. He’d taken some of the pillows and his backpack and used them as a support against the wall, but it hadn’t done much. He swore, if there was as much paperwork in Czech as it seemed, he may need to buy Chaz a couch so he could keep working.

  Or I could just do this all in bed. It was a tempting thought. He’d let Chaz sleep as long as he could as soon as he noticed Chaz’s injuries healed even faster when he was out. Chaz seemed happy enough to comply, as long as Sully came in every so often and woke him up. Sully had taken to crawling in behind him, and resting his arms around his waist. Chaz called it being a “jetpack” rather than being the big spoon, and Sully liked the sound of it.

  “Sully?” Tabby’s voice on the other end startled him to attention.

  “Sorry. Got sidetracked. Do you know when Artie will be around? I have some questions.”

  “I can ask her.”

  “Not a good idea. Sensitive.”

  “Okay, Sully. I’m writing a note.”

  Sully thanked Tabby and was about to let her go when a familiar screech on the other end startled him. Tom or Trina was running toward the phone and wrestling it out of Tabby’s hands. There was some laughter and explanation that of course Sully will speak to his best friend, and then Tom was talking. The deep pitch made that identity obvious, though the scream of delight could have belonged to any gender.

  “Hi, Tom. How have you been?”

  “Working. Being bored. You know the drill. But you! I heard about the explosion that you were in the middle of. And about you being a professor. Hah! All that poetry is finally paying off.”

  “It’s an opera, and I’m just a translator. They needed someone for Czech and….” Before Sully knew it, the entire story spilled from his mouth.

  Tom listened on intently, though Sully braced himself for what he knew was coming. Don’t fall for him. Don’t fall for anyone. If they buy you now, they’re always going to think they can. But instead, Tom asked, “And how has he repaid you for your services?”

  “Um. We haven’t exactly talked money. I said I owed him for what he did?”

  “What the hell did he do? Come on you in gold?”

  Sully laughed. A sugar daddy was called a “Midas” in the supernatural world, due to that expression. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Okay, I appreciate discretion, but seriously: What are you getting out of this?”

  Sully touched his back. His neck hurt. His eyes were bleary from so much Czech. He glanced at the front door, the windows, and the fire escape he’d noticed when he first got there and surveyed all the exits, as was his habit. He knew how to leave the apartment and he knew he could if he wanted to. But there was no urge to flee, no desperation clawing at his stomach. Sully was… happy here? Happy sounded too saccharine, almost like a myth. There was no couch and his back hurt. But when he did sleep, he slept well. Because he’d spent most of his teenage years keeping one eye open every single night, sleep was a huge measure of his safety.

  “I’m sleeping,” Sully stated simply, hoping Tom would understand.

  “Well, sleep is nice. Any good dreams to tell me about? I can interpret them.”

  “No, just standard stuff.”

  “Well, what do you need? Tylenol? A toy? Maybe a shoulder rub?” Tom said, his laughter becoming a cackle. “I’m sure you’re getting that, though.”

  “Oh, calm down. We haven’t even had sex.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No. He was injured. The explosion knocked him down and so I’ve been checking in on him, and translating.”

  “Yeah, but that’s really it?”

  “Yeah.” Sully shrugged. He suddenly felt awkward about not having sex, because he and Chaz had been intimate. The shower, sleeping naked, and the conversations were much more personal than Sully had ever done with any of his clients. Because Chaz isn’t a client. Not anymore. That had changed a long time ago. Sully tri
ed to figure out when—at what point it all clicked and became something different—but Tom’s question cut his wonderings off.

  “Do you not want to?”

  “No. I do. Whenever we get to it.”

  “Oh no. You do. You really do. And not just for the money.”

  Sully groaned. Not even three seconds and Tom already knew. “So what? It’s the same difference, isn’t it?”

  “Not really. But what do I know? Maybe getting paid for your translations is harder work.”

  “With the way my eyes feel, it is.”

  Tom laughed. He rambled on about his dates the past little while, keeping Sully up on the current situation with the new people in the house. “Those who want to stay are in new rooms and those who were just waiting for Imogen are now gone. We’re thinking of doing a program soon—you know, how to spot a bad john and protocols for if you have a shitty customer.”

  “Good. I told Artie I wanted that done.”

  “You want to help? You probably know way more about it now than I do.”

  Sully worried his lip. He had no idea how much longer this sojourn in Chaz’s apartment was going to last. There were too many files to go through and not many of them were useful. The list of names that appeared over and over again was in front of him, and he figured that was about as much as he could glean from this assessment. He’d wanted to run those names by Artie to see if they were in her system as good or bad, since Sully was only peripherally aware of them. Also, Chaz was still healing—more mentally than physically. There had only been three days of convalescence, but he was almost good to go. Sully could leave tonight if he wanted to.

  But you don’t want to. There was also the fact that Sully hadn’t told Chaz about Fatima yet. Maybe I never will. Save us both some heartache that way.

  “I don’t know,” Sully said. “I may be done here sooner than I expected, but don’t plan for it. You should ask Cecil to help.”

  “Who?”

  “Water guy. He may want to go to the workshop on bad johns or even teach some of it. He’s getting good at his sucker punches.”

  “Nice. You know what? You should bring Chaz. Maybe he could give the talk? Or part of it?”

  “I doubt that. Most of the new ones would see cop, and vamp cop, and be terrified.”

  “True. But you should bring him by. If he’s on our side, then he should want to meet us. Hang around with us. We’re not diseased, you know. We’re just….”

  “I know,” Sully said, a bit too quickly. “But let me think about that for a bit? I want to be sure he’s healthy and that I’m done with the work we’re doing together.”

  “Oh yeah. Lots and lots of jobs.”

  When Tom made sex noises, Sully sighed. “You know, for someone who does sex work, you’re pretty immature.”

  “Come on, it’s my coping mechanism. Laughter. We all have one.”

  “True. We do.” Sully ran his hands over his Czech dictionary and photocopies of the play he’d brought along. Maybe he could work on that for the rest of the afternoon, think about nothing but the roses and daffodils from the second act. He could translate the flowers of spring in two, maybe three different languages. He closed his eyes, breathing in for a moment. The apartment still smelled like cake. Even after Sully made other food for himself, the vanilla scent lingered.

  “Hey. Did my book come in yet?”

  “The one you got me to do the spell for? Hmm. Good question. I haven’t checked the mail yet, so who knows. You give me permission to open your stuff?”

  Sully laughed. “Sure, whatever. But only if it’s book-shaped.”

  “Not if it’s dick-shaped?”

  Sully rolled his eyes even though Tom couldn’t see them.

  “Sure, sure, I will look,” Tom said, his tone more serious. “I really hope you do get what you want.”

  “The book is pretty cool.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I do,” Sully said. “But when Artie comes around, can you tell her to call me?”

  “Will do. But I know what she’s going to say.”

  “What?”

  “Come over on Sunday. Bring the boy home to see Momma.” Tom laughed. “I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

  “Thank you.”

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Sully hung up the phone. He leaned back against the wall and looked at the list of names that seemed familiar after his visit with Artie. He really needed to remember the orange pathways and the missing routes she’d highlighted, but that could wait.

  He pulled out the worn edges of the photocopied play. He went right to act one, wanting to relive the opera from beginning to end. He fell asleep with the pages over his chest and his face in the sun. It must have been only a short nap—the kind he was used to getting between jobs on a busy night—because when he heard the clatter of a fork in the kitchen, the sun had barely moved in the sky.

  “Hey?” Sully called out.

  “Shit.” Chaz’s voice. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Sully rose from the floor, highly conscious now of the mess he’d made of the living room—and the kitchen apparently. Chaz stood in front of the counter, dish soap in one hand and a towel hanging over his shoulder. He wore only his boxers and a T-shirt. Sully could tell from the way he stood and the look of visible skin that he was better. There was no more gash on his head; his eyes were bright, though his brow was furrowed in embarrassment.

  “I was cleaning the kitchen. I thought… when I saw you asleep with all that work, I didn’t want to bother you. But then I dropped a fork.” Chaz picked up the fork with a huff and added it to his soap pile.

  Sully stood in the doorway, unsure what to do.

  “I’m sorry,” Chaz went on. “I should have just waited, but I figured you’d been helping me so much and—”

  “Don’t. It’s okay. Sorry. I’m staring because I’m still waking up, but also… thank you. No one has ever done dishes for me.”

  “What do you mean?” Chaz bit his lip like he wanted to take back the question.

  The answer was obvious: Sully had always done his own dishes because he’d never really had anyone looking after him, not even his parents. Even when he was at Artie’s, there was a strict policy about cleaning. Everyone in the house rotated cleaning duties at some point because that was what living there meant. Sully ate his food alone, cleaned his dishes, and always did laundry. Including Trinity’s.

  “Do you want to dry?” Chaz asked. “If you’re awake, that is.”

  “Yeah, sure. I will.”

  Sully picked up the towel from his shoulder and started to dry the dishes as Chaz finished them. They worked in comfortable silence, their bodies in tune with one another. Since so many of the dishes had been purchased by Sully to make the cake, most of them didn’t have places anywhere in Chaz’s apartment. Sully started to pile them up on one side of the counter, thinking it was the easiest solution. He was unsure if he wanted to take them back or keep them at Chaz’s place. By the time they were done, the entire task had only taken eight minutes.

  “Huh. Really does go faster when you have more than one person.”

  “Teamwork.” Chaz smiled. “Speaking of which, I think I’m healed.”

  “That’s teamwork?”

  “Yeah. You helped and I healed. Kind of teamwork?” Chaz blushed, almost as if ashamed of his joke. He motioned into the next room. “What have you been working on? I feel bad not helping. So catch me up?”

  “Oh wow. I don’t even know. It’s chaos right now.”

  “But you know something.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, you’ve been touching your left ear a lot. It’s your tell.”

  Sully touched his left ear and realized there was a wet spot there. “Shit. I suppose I knew I had a tell, but hearing it out loud….”

  “I bite or lick my lips,” Chaz said, “and smoke, am
ong other things, when I’m nervous or thinking really hard. So what’s up? You find something distressing in the case files? Should I call Jack, hand it over—”

  “No.” Sully’s stomach flipped at the thought of getting anyone else involved. He still needed to tell Chaz about Fatima and listen to the 911 tapes. The weight of the real investigation, not Artie’s research, pressed against his chest, like his nightmares.

  “Are you okay?” Chaz said. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “Yeah, we should. I couldn’t tell you this at the crime scene, and then there was the whole explosion, but… I know who the vamp is. The woman.”

  “You do? Who?”

  “Fatima.” Sully clasped Chaz’s hand and braced himself for… what? Aggression? When Sully realized he was priming himself to be hit, he shook off the impulse. Chaz wasn’t like that, he was sure. He didn’t solve his problems with fisticuffs, not even if he was being attacked, probably. When Chaz’s hand went limp in Sully’s, his hunch proved true. Faced with death, Chaz didn’t get angry; he fell apart.

  “We need to sit down,” Sully said, attempting to guide Chaz to the kitchen table, but he stayed put. “Chaz? Please. You’ll feel better if you sit down.”

  “How do you know? I didn’t recognize her.”

  “I know. I didn’t either. But one of the women there told me. I confirmed with Artie.”

  “You’ve known this whole time?”

  Sully flinched. As soon as he did, Chaz moved toward him. He wrapped his arms around him and tucked Sully’s head under his chin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “You were healing. You were… fucking happy for a while. I didn’t want to tell you. But we have to do something. She’s a murder victim.”

  “I know,” Chaz said, his voice weak. “And it’s all my fault.”

  Chapter 25

  “WHAT?”

  Sully stared at Chaz, his dark eyes confused and accusatory. Chaz’s heart rate climbed. His chest was tight. He wished all the myths about vampires being undead were true. Maybe if that was the case, he wouldn’t feel the gut-wrenching sense of guilt that he did now. Just when Sully made him feel okay—not exactly better, he’d never feel better about Nat—Fatima was killed and Sully was looking at him like a murderer.