If You're Going Through Hell Keep Going

by Tinnean

  “Tony or Bryan?”

  “Bryan.” He was the consultant for the show. “Spike was working on a scene for an episode of CIA, and it sounds like that was the last time anyone can remember seeing him.”

  “I’ll call Bryan right now. What else can you tell me about the young man?”

  “Acting name, Spike, real name—”

  “Just a second. No last name?”

  “No. According to Paul—”

  “Who?”

  “Sorry. I don’t think I’ve mentioned him. He’s a good friend, and he and Spike have been together for a couple of years.”

  “Ah. I understand. Sorry, please continue.”

  “Okay, Spike’s real name is Val Duchesne—”

  “Of the Philadelphia Duchesnes?” He was chuckling.

  “Yeah. You know them?” I wasn’t surprised. Quinn was royalty in the intelligence community, but he was also as close to a blue-blooded aristocrat as this country had. His family pretty much knew everyone who was anyone.

  “I wasn’t serious!”

  “I am.”

  “I know of them. Mrs. Duchesne was on a number of Mother’s committees.”

  “Bunch of supercilious assholes.” Some people just shouldn’t be allowed to breed. The only thing that mattered to them was their perfect one point eight-six kids. “They freaked the fuck out when they realized he was gay and when praying the gay out of him didn’t work, they sent him to one of those facilities that do aversion therapy. Only Spike decided he wasn’t having any of it, so he ran. He was sixteen, and he wound up in DC. He found a lot of men there who liked boys, so he did what he had to in order to survive.”

  “Jesus.” There was a rough note to Quinn’s voice. He was an honorable man, and I could picture how he’d react to something like that. “What happened?”

  “Paul found him, which was a good thing.” I wasn’t going to tell Quinn that at the time, Paul had been a rent boy himself, going by the name of Pretty Boy. “Although he always says Spike followed him home and he decided to keep him.”

  “He sounds like a good man.”

  “He is.”

  The address system crackled, and the representative announced, “Flight 873, nonstop to L.A. is now boarding rows twenty to twenty-five.”

  “Let me make this fast. Our boy is almost nineteen but looks maybe fifteen. He’s five foot seven, one thirty-five or one forty, red hair, and the biggest gray eyes you’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh? Should I be worried?”

  “Ass. You know I prefer hazel eyes, and before you ask, the only hazel eyes I prefer are yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  Was something going on that was making him insecure? He had to know how I felt…. “We’ll talk more about this when we get together.”

  “Which won’t be this Friday.”

  “No. And let me tell you... I don’t begrudge the time you spend with your mother, but when I get my hands on the son of a bitch who’s got Spike….”

  “You’re certain he’s been kidnapped? Sometimes people…”

  “Walk away? I know. But if you ever saw those two together, you wouldn’t buy it. As I said, Paul’s called every hospital as well as the morgue. And maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree...”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “No. Spike isn’t like that. He’s a smart kid, and he knows what he’s got with Paul.”

  “In that case, give the son of a bitch a punch for me as well.”

  “Flight 873 is now boarding rows fifteen and higher,” the rep announced.

  “I’ve gotta go, babe.”

  “Go, Mark,” Quinn murmured. “Have a safe flight. I’ll call Bryan as soon as I get off the line. If he needs to contact you…?”

  “Give him my cell number, but let him know I’ll call him myself. I’m scheduled to get in to LAX a little after seven, Pacific Time.”

  “All right. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “I will. Thanks. Quinn…” I wanted to tell him how I felt and opened my mouth to say… something.

  Quinn must have been a mind reader. “I know,” he said. “Me too.”

  “Good. Bye, babe.”

  “Bye.”

  And then there was just dead air, and my row was called. I turned off my phone, hoisted the duffel over my shoulder, and crossed to the Jetway to board my flight.

  The flight was sold out. People shuffled in the aisle, looking for space in the overhead compartments. Ms. Parker had had to book me a window seat, which wasn’t something I was happy with, but I sucked it up. I stashed the duffel, and took my seat.

  And I waited for the jet to take off.

  Chapter 25

  Five hours later, the plane touched down at LAX. I waited until all the passengers got off before I stood up, removed my duffel from the overhead compartment, and made my way down the aisle and out into the terminal.

  Outside baggage claim, I caught the shuttle that would take me to the rental company’s site. Once there, I’d pick up the coupe that Ms. Parker had reserved for me and drive to Paul’s street.

  I’d been to the little apartment Paul and Spike shared only a couple of weeks earlier, when I’d had some spare time after I’d finished a job. While I was there, I decided to pay a visit to the producer and director of In the Dark of the Night.

  Early in December, the producer had spotted Spike when he’d been waiting tables at Falling Water, a trendy restaurant in West Hollywood. He’d offered Spike the part after testing him for it, and although Paul was overjoyed about the youngest rent boy being in a movie, Spike had been surprisingly blasé about it. His part wasn’t big, and shooting it had only taken half a day, but both the producer and director had been impressed by his acting, calling him a natural. They were also straight, which might not mean anything in the long run, so I’d just let them know that if Spike ever felt pressured by anyone to put out, they’d have to deal with me.

  The director waved aside my warning. “The casting couch is a thing of the past.”

  “That might be, but Spike’s a cute kid. In addition, he’s a friend of the family. Keep in mind what I said. If Spike has any cause to complain, I’ll see to it you…” I grinned at him and his eyes widened. “… never work in this town again.”

  “You’re threatening me?”

  I continued grinning at him.

  “You are threatening me! Do you have a SAG card?”

  “What?”

  “Are you a member of the Screen Actors Guild? I’ve got a movie in preproduction, and there’s a part you’d be perfect for!”

  Was he shitting me? My expression must have given him a clue.

  “No? Well, give it some thought. Meanwhile, Spike is safe with us.”

  Only it looked like he wasn’t. The director showed the clip of Spike’s character putting himself between his girlfriend and the Slasher to a friend who was the showrunner for CIA. The scene was supposed to be played for laughs, with Spike fumbling and bumbling his way through it, but it hadn’t come across that way. In fact, the showrunner was so impressed, he’d offered Spike a role in a future episode.

  And now it seemed the last time Spike had been seen was on that set.

  There was no answer when I tapped on the apartment door, so I jimmied the lock and let myself in. The place was stuffy, and I found the control for the air conditioning and turned it on.

  Paul was lying on the couch, tossing in a restless slumber. His clothes were wrinkled—I had the feeling they were the same ones he’d worn for the past day and a half. His lashes were spiked where they lay on his cheeks, and I knew he must have cried himself to sleep.

  Wrapped in his arms was the rattiest stuffed dog I’d ever seen. A plastic eye was missing, the tail hung by a literal thread, and clumps of fur had worn off.

  I guessed we all had our “Sams.”

  I dropped my duffel at the foot of the couch, sat beside him, and brushed damp hair off his forehead.

  He
rolled toward me and buried his head against my hip. “Spike? Where’ve you been, baby? I had such a bad dream.”

  “No, babe. Sorry. It’s me.”

  “Vince?” He bolted upright, nearly clipping me in the chin. “Oh, God, I’m glad you’re here!” The dog fell to the floor, and he wrapped his arms around me and held on tight. “What are we gonna do?” He shook, and I ran a hand up and down his back, hoping to soothe him.

  “You’re gonna take a shower and change into clothes that don’t stand up on their own. I’m gonna make you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, I am,” I lied. “And you won’t be good for anything if you collapse when I need you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.” I rose and pulled him to his feet. “Get going, and I’ll see what’s in your kitchen.”

  “Probably not much. I’ve been eating at the hospital, and Spike…” He threw himself at me, and I caught him and let him hold onto me again.

  “Hang on, babe.”

  He sniffed hard and nodded. “I’m sorry. But if anything happens to him, I don’t know how I’ll go on... if I’ll want to go on.”

  “We’ll find him. Now go shower. Oh, and give Theo a call. He’s probably having kittens.”

  He nodded again, brushed the tears from his eyes, and left the room.

  I picked up the dog and propped it in a corner of the couch, then took out my phone and dialed Quinn’s Uncle Bryan. A very young female voice answered the phone. “Sebring residence.”

  This must be Sunday, who, for a short period of time, had been the oldest Sebring’s stepdaughter. Now, in spite of the fact that the marriage had been annulled, she and her mother and her new dad lived in the guest cottage on the property.

  “I’d like to speak to Bryan Sebring, please. My name is Mark Vincent.”

  “Uncle Mark! You gave me the Princess She-Ra doll for Christmas! Thank you!”

  “Uh…” Uncle Mark? “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like her. But is Bryan available?”

  “I’ll—”

  “Who’s on the phone, sweet pea?”

  “It’s Uncle Mark, Daddy!”

  “You don’t have a…. Who is this?” the male voice barked in my ear.

  “Mark Vincent. Quinn said he was going to let his uncle know I’d be calling.”

  “Right, sorry. This is Cisco.” John Cisco was the former op who’d protected Sunday from her drug-dealer dad and then fell in love with and married her mom. “Tony and Bryan are out. Bryan got clearance for you to visit the studio tomorrow, but he asked me to meet you at Falling Water so you can bring me up to speed... in about an hour and a half?”

  “Good enough.” The more so since that would give me time to change clothes, make sure Paul ate something, and drive to Culver City. I wanted to check out the studio, which was a fifteen minute drive from here. It was another fifteen minutes to the restaurant, where Spike still worked. He was a smart kid; he knew his time in the spotlight could last fifteen years, but it could just as easily be over in fifteen minutes.

  “I…uh… what’s this kid to you?”

  “Who, Spike? His partner is an old friend. Why? You think I’m screwing around on Quinn?”

  “You can hardly blame his uncles for being concerned. You drop everything and fly out here—”

  “I do that for people who mat—tell me something. If Quinn was involved with anyone other than me, would you all be this concerned?”

  He was quiet for a full minute.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Wait, Vincent! I’ll… I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

  “In an hour and a half.” I disconnected the call and went into the tiny kitchen. The fridge was fairly empty, but there was a package of hot dogs in the freezer. No buns or sauerkraut, but I did find a can of baked beans in the pantry. That would have to do.

  Minutes later, Paul came into the kitchen. He looked fresh. Still worn, but fresh.

  “Did you call Theo?”

  He held up his cell phone. “I was just about to.”

  “Paul. Put it on speaker.”

  “Okay.”

  We heard the number being dialed, and then, “Paul! How’s Spike?”

  “Oh, God, babe, I don’t know! I haven’t seen him since eight yesterday morning. I tried and tried calling him, and it goes right to voice mail, and none of his friends have seen him, and no one at work knows any—” His voice broke, and I went to him and put an arm around his shoulder. “—anything.”

  “Is Vince there?”

  “Yes. His flight got in about an hour ago. He made some phone calls, and now he’s making dinner. But, Theo, how can I eat....”

  “You have to, for Spike.”

  “What if he doesn’t come home?”

  I could feel the tremors running through Paul’s body. “He’ll be home, babe,” I told him. “And as soon as I get some food into you, I’m going to see someone.”

  He set his lips in a firm line. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Jesus. Okay, but you have to eat. Tell Theo good-bye and you’ll call as soon as we know what’s going on.”

  “Theo—”

  “I heard him, babe. Go. Just remember to call me.”

  “I promise I’ll call as soon as... I’ll call.”

  “Okay. I love you, babe.”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “You never say that!”

  “I do now.”

  “Awesome! Theo? I love you too.”

  I didn’t want to burst the bubble on this mutual admiration society, but, “Dinner’s getting cold!”

  They said good-bye, and Paul disconnected the call. “Vince....”

  “Okay, let’s get some food into you.”

  He didn’t have much interest in the dinner I’d prepared, and in spite of what I’d told him, neither did I.

  I scraped off the meal we hadn’t eaten into the garbage disposal and ran it, then changed into the clothes in my duffel—black jeans, black shirt, black running shoes, and made sure I was armed.

  “What about me?” Paul asked. He was all in black as well.

  “Can you handle a gun without shooting yourself in the foot?”

  “Uh….”

  “Here, take this instead.” I handed him my pocketknife. “This is sharp, so don’t cut yourself.”

  “Thanks—” His phone rang, and he picked it up. “I don’t recognize the number.”

  “Answer it anyway.”

  “I was going to.”

  “And put it on speaker.”

  He gave me a look and pressed the button. “This is Paul Stark.”

  “Stop looking for Val.”

  I took the slim cable from my phone and connected it to Paul’s. Romero had added some nifty attachments to my phone, and one of them was a device that would track incoming calls.

  “Vince?”

  I touched my forefinger to my lips and then drew my fingers apart, indicating he needed to keep the conversation going as long as he could.

  He swallowed and nodded. “Uh… Val who?”

  “You don’t even know his real name? And you’ve already got someone new. Don’t lie to me, I heard you say his name! God, you fags are disgusting! You don’t care about Val. You’re just taking advantage of him.”

  “Who are you?”

  “That’s not important. I’m taking Val home to his family. He’s agreed to go. He was always a smart boy, and he knows what’s best for him. Oh, and by the way, he’s admitted he never loved you.” There was a muffled sound in the background, and then the sound of a slap.

  Paul looked sick, and I squeezed his shoulder, giving him a shake.

  “God knows where he got the notion he was gay. Probably from that queer brother of mine.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes and he curled his fingers like a pair of talons. Whoever had taken Spike had no idea what he’d bitten off.

  “Anyway, we’re leaving now, and…
What’s that?”

  How the hell were we supposed to know? Paul’s phone suddenly went silent.

  “Vince?”

  I checked the readout on my phone. “We’ve got the location.” It was the studio in Culver City, where CIA was shot—the last place, as far as anyone knew, where Spike had been seen. I disconnected the cable, let it retract into my phone, and clipped it onto my belt. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 26

  I stared at the panorama before me in irritation. No one was supposed to be here— except Spike and the bastard who’d snatched him—not until the morning.

  Paramedics were working on Spike; Cisco was sitting on a tall, skinny, twenty-something guy who bucked from time to time; leaning casually against a wall were Quinn’s uncles, Tony and Bryan Sebring.

  Paul rushed to Spike. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

  “Glad.” Spike’s voice was thready.

  “What’s wrong with his wrists?” He was staring at the bandages the paramedics had wrapped around them, and he sounded shaken. The white was marred by bright red where blood was seeping through.

  “He kept trying to work himself free of the handcuffs, and as a matter of fact, he had succeeded in freeing his left wrist. That’s why the blood—”

  “Handcuffs? Oh God!”

  “It’s okay, Paul. I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not! Your poor face! Your poor wrists!”

  “That’s nothing.” Spike’s face crumpled, and he buried it against Paul’s waist. I was close enough to hear his whispered words. “He made me piss myself.”

  Yeah. I’d been struck by the almost overpowering odor of stale urine, and I’d had the feeling forcing Spike to have an accident was part of this bastard’s plan, whatever that was.

  “It’s okay, baby.” Paul wrapped an arm around Spike’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “Vince. I want that son of a bitch dead.”

  I touched his hair. “Consider it done.”

  Tony Sebring glanced at his watch, and then pushed himself away from the wall and stalked toward me. For an older man, he moved easily. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “My bad.” I curled my lip at him and growled, “How long have you been here?”