Dreamspinner Press Years One & Two Greatest Hits

by J. M. Colail

  Frank nodded. “We’d like that. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll just see myself out.” He shook Jack’s hand again, and then headed for the front door. Mr. D followed along behind.

  “Thanks,” he murmured as Frank stepped out to the front stoop.

  Frank nodded. “That’s… that’s a real nice guy you got there, Mr. D.”

  He shuffled and flushed a little, to Frank’s amazement. “Yeah, I know,” he said, staring at his shoes.

  “You know, even if all of us got to meet him, and saw your house, and talked to you the way people talk… we’d all still be scared to death of you. So where’s the harm?”

  Mr. D smirked a little. “Getcher ass back to Cinci. Don’t wanna get back ta work and find everythin’s gone ta hell, y’hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  D SHUT the door after Frank and went back inside, readying a defense for Jack’s admonishments that he should have encouraged Frank to stay, that it wasn’t polite to make him drive back to Cincinnati so soon, that he’d wanted to talk to Frank some more, and so forth. “I know, I’m a rude son of a bitch,” he said.

  Jack was shucking his jacket. “You think I care?” he said, coming up to D and twining his arms around his neck.

  “Oh, I, uh… thought you’da wanted ta talk ta Frank some more,” he said, his own hands finding their way around Jack’s waist.

  “Sure. But after you’ve been gone for two weeks I’d rather do this,” Jack said, leaning forward and kissing D’s lips softly. He drew away, his eyes roaming all over D’s face. “Your case go bad?”

  D flinched a little and looked away. “Makes ya say that?”

  Jack kept looking at him. “It did, didn’t it? Really bad.” He rubbed his hands up and down D’s arms. “You’re all buttoned up. You look exhausted.” He pulled D back into his arms and D let him, sagging into Jack’s strong embrace and exhaling some of the horror into the clean, fresh air of their home. Jack rubbed his back. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap? You’re half-dead on your feet. I’ll get you up later and we’ll dig something out of the fridge to eat and then we’ll fuck like crazed weasels and you’ll feel better.”

  D sighed, tucking his face into Jack’s neck. “You got a real way a plannin’ an evenin’, doc.”

  Jack chuckled and kissed the side of D’s face. “Get upstairs, now.”

  “Hmm,” D said, pulling back. “Sure I cain’t getcha ta come with me?”

  “That would kind of defeat the purpose of a nap, wouldn’t it?” Jack said, smiling, that twinkle in his eyes that D so missed seeing when he was away.

  JACK LISTENED to D’s footsteps above his head until he heard them stop at the bed, then the creak of him climbing in. He nodded, then took out his cell phone and dialed Portia.

  “You better not be canceling on me,” she said, in lieu of a greeting.

  “I’m sorry. Anson came home early.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case,” she said, her tone softening, “I guess you have better things to do.”

  “I don’t know. Something went wrong on his last case.”

  “What?”

  “He didn’t say anything about it.”

  “Then how do you know something went wrong?”

  “Because of how he’s acting. Too normal. He’s putting on a front for me.” He sighed. “He’ll tell me eventually, he always does. He’s taking a nap right now.”

  “Whoa, stop this crazy train!”

  Jack grinned. “He was tired. I can’t have my fun with him if he keeps falling asleep.”

  “You’re a bad man, Dr. Francisco.”

  “Yes, and he’d shit a brick if he knew I talked to you like this. I’ll let you know if we’re coming to Abe’s party tomorrow.”

  “Okay. “

  Jack hung up and went into the front room to retrieve his briefcase and abandoned, half-drunk latte, which was now cold. He couldn’t face this evening without caffeine. The local coffeehouse wasn’t far, and a walk sounded like a good way to pass the time while D napped. Jack put on his coat and headed out.

  It was a clear, chilly day. It had been a mild fall, and even now in early December they’d only had a few really cold days. Just having arrived at December felt like a victory. Soon he and D would spend their first Christmas together, and he couldn’t help but be excited even if D downplayed it at every opportunity.

  His mind wandered as he walked. He thought of Frank, glad to have met one of D’s co-workers even if it had been brief (no doubt at D’s unspoken insistence), and wondered again what had happened to bring D home early, wearing his “everything’s okay” mask.

  Don’t think about it. No use worrying now. Think about something happier.

  His mind grabbed at a random memory, of a time when he and D had made out in an elevator at the Venetian Casino in Las Vegas.

  Sunburned from the day at the Canyon, weary from a long drive… why the fuck are we staying in this gaudy monstrosity, again? Oh yeah, it’s fun. Fun, sure. It’s what you do, it’s Vegas. Wanna play craps? Don’t know how. C’mon, I know how to play blackjack. Damn right, you do. Looking windblown and casual among the tacky tourists and seedy gamblers. Winning once, twice. Fuck, that’s the cost of our room. Where are those free drinks I hear about? Flashing his eyes at D across the table, watching the flush creep up his neck as the thought in his mind traveled across the table to take root in D’s. Watching the waitresses eye D, women passing by with their lingering eyes on his tan face, sun-bleached hair. Back off, bitches. That’s my man you’re mentally undressing.

  Past one a.m., the elevator is empty. Pockets flush with cash. Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said you could play blackjack. Just got lucky, I guess. Guess so. Think I might do again? The doors closed on them and he moved so fast Jack was caught unawares, shoved up against the wall, grabbing hands and devouring mouths, straddling thighs and shirts untucked, fingers pulling at bared flesh. Fuck, D, there’s probably security cameras in here. Good, let ’em see what I got, a deep possessive growl and D’s mouth hard on his neck and shoulder, Jack’s arms twining like creeper, then the ding and the doors open on them mussed and panting but three feet apart.

  Jack smiled to himself at the recollection, along with the memory of what happened once they got to the room.

  He turned the corner onto Third Street and went up the block to Cup O’ Joe. “Hey, Jack,” said Marc, the barista, as he approached the counter. “Latte?”

  “Mmm… nah. Gimme a large mocha with a shot of hazelnut, skim, no whip.”

  “Okay.” He rung up the sale. “By yourself tonight?”

  “My better half is home asleep. Just got back from a two-week trip.”

  “Well, tell him I’ve got some ‘regular goddamn coffee’ here with his name on it,” Marc said, winking.

  Jack grinned. “Will do.” He picked up the Other Paper and sat down with his drink. Half an hour passed. Customers came in and out of the shop. Jack read some movie reviews and News of the Weird, then looked over the concert schedule. He got out his BlackBerry and noted on his calendar that Jose Gonzalez was going to be playing at the Wexner Center in January. He half-hoped the concert would fall on a night D was in Cincinnati. He’d never go. He hated “that indie crap.” In fact, Jack had yet to determine what sort of music, if any, D did like. He seemed equally disinclined toward all of it. In fact, he tended to view most pop culture with a species of dubious contempt that made Jack feel like a prole for watching TV. D had many qualities to recommend him, not to mention physical attributes that would make a man wish to forgive him for the ones that didn’t, but sometimes he was just a stubborn, ill-tempered bastard and there was nothing for it.

  He got up after an hour or so and left the shop. He took his time walking home, taking a circuitous route around Schiller Park, stopping to pet a few dogs and chat up some neighbors. It was nearly nine by the time he got home. He paused in the entryway, listening for movement, but heard none. D was likely still asleep.

  Jack
took off his coat and shoes and tiptoed up the stairs. He pushed the bedroom door open a crack; D was sprawled out on his back, arms and legs flung wide; he’d stripped down to his boxers and a T-shirt. Jack came in and shut the door carefully behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Anson, his face quiet in sleep but still bearing traces of the tension he’d sensed there earlier. He felt his own expression soften as his affection for this difficult man rose to tighten his chest. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that they were both really here, living together, that neither of them was dead or permanently maimed, that it had all really happened, that it had really worked for them in the end. It hardly seemed possible that such a horrible time in his life could have led him to the partner he would walk beside for the rest of it.

  He smiled to himself. I think someone needs to wake up. He slid his hand up the outside of D’s thigh, then dipped it between his legs, cupping him through his boxers. D grunted and shifted. “C’mere,” he said in a sleepy growl, pulling Jack down with him and rolling him to his back, scooping up Jack’s mouth with his own. “Mmm,” he growled. “Taste sweet,” he whispered.

  “I went out for a mocha.”

  “Nah. Think it’s just you,” D said, smiling crookedly, lifting one hand to flick a lock of hair from Jack’s forehead. Jack melted a little. “And I think yer overdressed, doc.”

  They sat up and stripped quickly, yanking back the bedclothes and diving underneath, coming back together in a tangle of naked limbs, D’s skin deliciously warm and soft against Jack’s as they lay on their sides and necked for a while. They fell into a lull, just lying quietly, looking at each other. “I missed you,” Jack whispered.

  “Me too.”

  “I hate sleeping in this bed alone.”

  D sighed. “I hate bein’ in that sterile apartment. Nothin’ a you there.” He leaned in and kissed Jack again, his hand sliding down Jack’s back to his ass, drawing him close, his kisses intensifying. They rolled so D was on top, his hips between Jack’s legs, both of them gasping as they rubbed against each other, D’s hips rocking against Jack’s. D kissed him again. “You wanna come like this?”

  Jack shook his head. “Want you inside me.”

  D nodded and grabbed for the lube, slicked up and pressed in, his face going slack with pleasure as he slid into Jack’s body. Jack held his breath, his hands clutching D’s flanks, until they were joined again and D sank into his arms with a shaky exhale. He didn’t move for a few moments, just lay there like he was savoring the sensation again after weeks of anticipation. Jack shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around his lover’s body, glad as always to have him back home, in his bed and in his body where he belonged, safe and unhurt, another job survived.

  Slowly, they began to rock together as one, friction inside and out warming them and bringing sweat to their pores, D’s mouth hard and insistent on Jack’s as his thrusts grew harder and faster. He propped himself up and stared down into Jack’s eyes, his defenses leaving him as his body flew to another peak; Jack saw the horror of whatever had happened on this last job show through D’s eyes as the rising tide of his passion dragged other emotions up from the seabed to crash upon the shore. He looked confused and even frightened; he was pounding Jack now with panicky intensity. Jack gasped as D stroked his insides, his orgasm peaking fast and hard; he shot upon his own stomach, grasping D’s face in his fingers as D screwed his eyes shut and came with a shout, gasping and crying out, then… crying. His face creased and pulled against itself, tears squeezing out from under his eyelids. He fell against Jack, shaking and trying to swallow it back.

  “It’s okay,” Jack whispered, holding him tight. “Let it out.”

  He wept quietly for a few moments, and then got himself under control. He stayed where he was, head tucked into Jack’s shoulder, still nestled inside him.

  “What happened, baby?” Jack murmured, letting a seldom-offered endearment slip from his lips. “Can’t you tell me? You’re so torn up; I hate to see you like this.”

  D sat up abruptly, pulling out of Jack with a suddenness that made him wince a little. He turned away, wiping at his eyes, and put his legs over the side of the bed. Jack sat up and folded his legs under him, staying quiet and letting D manhandle the words out of his mouth in his own time. “Case went bad,” D finally said, his voice low and scratchy. “Real bad.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  D shook his head. “No. But I think I gotta.”

  “Okay.”

  He was quiet for a long time, just sitting there at the side of the bed, his hands gripping the edge, his head hanging down. “Jack, I…,” he began, halting. “I think I need… can ya, uh….”

  Jack knew what he couldn’t ask for. He slid forward and snuggled up to D’s back, then wrapped his arms around him from behind. D relaxed a little, his hands coming up to grip Jack’s where they rested on his chest. He leaned the side of his head against Jack’s for a moment, then straightened up and began to speak.

  “Her name was Jennifer Nang. She had a seven-year-old son, Evan. She didn’t know what kind of man her husband was before she married him. She left him when Evan was five. We got word through the channels that the husband put out a hit on her and the boy.”

  “His own son?”

  “Weren’t nothin’ ta him but a prop, a trophy. Knew the best way ta threaten the mother was ta threaten the child. So we take them both inta protective custody. Got folks watchin’, but far as we can tell nobody’s taken the hit. Ain’t too many pros who’ll do a child like that. Even we got standards.”

  Jack bit back a comment at D’s use of the pronoun “we.”

  “Anyways. We was gonna hand ’em off ta some federal marshals this mornin’. They had a safe house set up ’til the Bureau could arrest the husband; they was workin’ up a case. Myerson asked me how much muscle ta put on the little cabin where he had ’em. I said two men. If nobody’d taken the hit, weren’t much danger yet.” D sighed, a sigh of such bone-deep weariness and despair that it made Jack’s lungs hurt in sympathy.

  “When the men on the door didn’t make their check-in, we went out ta see what was up.” He fell silent and stayed that way for some time. Jack just sat holding him, feeling deep tremors in D’s guts and wondering what had been horrible enough to knock D for such a loop. He was a little scared to hear about it, but he would. “They was dead. Both dead. Mother and child, both our men. The men just shot, but the woman and the boy….” He shook his head. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. Nobody had.”

  Another long pause.

  “They didn’t kill Jennifer. She was tied to a chair, but… they didn’t touch her. She was shot once through the head, but they didn’t do it.” Jack didn’t understand, but he said nothing, just let D get around to it in his own time. “The boy, he… he was….” D’s body shuddered. “What was done ta that child I couldn’t hardly get my mind ’round. What they done ta him. He was beat, burned, tortured, raped, the worst things you could imagine, they done it. And they made her watch it all.”

  Jack felt like throwing up. “Jesus.”

  “Made her watch ’til they finally let him die. Then they put the gun near her hand, loosened the rope and left. She worked her hand free and shot herself.”

  Jack pressed his forehead to D’s shoulders, holding him tighter. “Oh my God, Anson.”

  “Nobody knew how ta deal with it. I had a forensics tech throwing up in the bushes. Went out for some air and one a my agents was sittin’ in his car bawlin’ like a baby.”

  “What about you?” Jack whispered.

  “Me?” D snorted. “I jus’ did my fuckin’ job. Put my head down and did it. Jack… I tell ya, whoever done this ain’t nobody I ever heard of or seen. Never known no pro ta do somethin’ like that. Took hours, what was done. Don’t make no sense. Ya want somebody dead, ya shoot ’em or poison ’em, ya just get it done. Ya don’t do somethin’ like this unless the point is the doin’. Whoever done this done it ’cause
he wanted ta do it. That is somebody the sun don’t like ta shine on.”

  “This wasn’t your fault,” Jack said.

  “Coulda put more men on that door. Didn’t think they was in no danger yet, but hell was I wrong.”

  “You aren’t all-knowing, D. You did what you thought was best.”

  “Sound like Myerson. Could be yer right. It’s still on my head ta find who done it, though. And I am gonna do that.” He squeezed Jack’s hands tighter. “I agreed ta come home early ’cause… I jus’ had ta see you,” he whispered. “Saw her body and couldn’t stop thinkin’ ’bout how near that was ta bein’ you, at my own hand even. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ how near I came ta pullin’ that trigger on you, how much I woulda missed, how much I don’t deserve any a this, how many folks I done left in much the same way.”

  Jack silenced him with his lips on D’s cheek. “Shh,” he said. “Thought we were past this.”

  “Ain’t no past it, Jack. You think I don’t know what ya gave up ta be here with me? The kinda compromises yer makin’ in yer own head?”

  Jack said nothing, thinking of Raoul Dominguez, safe as houses, to buy Jack’s life. “Let’s not talk about that now.”

  “You never wanna talk ’bout that. You afraid a what ya might say?”

  Jack sighed. “I just don’t know what more there is to say.”

  D shook his head. “Times it gets ta be too much. Just reminded me again how I almost….” He turned and faced Jack, his hands going to Jack’s shoulders. “If I’d a gone through with it I’d be dead now,” he said. “Not just ’cause Josie was gonna turn me in. I was right on the fuckin’ edge, Jack. Ta think ’bout how close I was ta killin’ you,” he said, his voice choking and wobbling over those words. “And if I had I’d a never known what I’d really done, who it was that I’d taken from this world or how much the world needed him. Tears me up thinkin’ on never knowin’ you or lovin’ you. Cain’t hold it in my mind too long before it burns.”