by J. D. Mason
“Of course I mean you.” Russ’s heart skipped a beat. The pretty lover he held in his arms cast a spell over him once again. “You’ll steal my heart if I’m not careful,” he said, daring to go a little further down the rabbit hole.
Toby smiled warmly. “Then you go and play with the other boys,” he said sweetly. He pulled free of Russ’s grip. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to come home.” He winked, and blew Russ a kiss as he turned and walked away.
Aaron was new here, a slender black lad with the most beautiful mouth Russ had ever seen or tasted. He watched in awe as nineteen-year-old Aaron sucked and slurped patiently on his cock. Russ sat on the side of the bed in the private room, running his hand across Aaron’s hair, smiling appreciatively down at him.
“That’s it,” he said, over and over again. “Take your time,” he told him. “There’s no rush.”
He wasn’t an old man here. And the routine that had become his life was nothing but a figment of his imagination in this place. The moments were special, the encounters—memorable. The sex, mind-boggling. It was his little piece of heaven.
Heat crawled up the back of his neck, and beads of sweat erupted across his forehead. Russ Fleming stared in horror at the photograph he held in his hands. He let his eyes close, and let his thoughts drift back to a moment he’d wished had never happened.
He didn’t look like the same young man Russ had spent time with that night. Aaron Baker. That was the name in the small newspaper clipping that had been in the envelope with the photograph.
He slid his reading glasses up to the bridge of his nose, and read through the article from a newspaper from a small town in Louisiana.
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD MISSING
was the headline. He’d told Russ that he was nineteen. Russ swallowed.
Aaron Baker was reported missing six months ago by his grandmother, Lois Baker. He was a freshman at Smith High School. Aaron is five-nine, weighs one hundred and fifty pounds, and was last seen getting into a black pickup truck outside of his high school.
There was nothing else in the package delivered to Russ’s house. He’d closed himself off in his home office and had been there for hours wondering how this could’ve come to him.
He and Aaron hadn’t spoken to each other in front of anyone. They’d made eye contact across the room. Russ was intrigued by the young man. All it took was a nod indicating that he would like to get to know Aaron better in private. He led the way down a corridor to the private rooms. Aaron followed and the two of them …
“Supper’s ready, Russ,” his wife called to him from downstairs.
A guttural groan escaped from the back of his throat. Russ hadn’t meant to go as far as he did that night. Other club members told stories, but he’d never even come close to entertaining the thought of—
“You can do what you want here,” he’d been told. “What happens here stays inside these walls. We take care of each other.”
“Russ?” His wife opened the door without knocking.
“Dammit, Delilah!” he spat angrily.
She looked stunned. “It’s time to eat,” she said, surprised by his outburst.
“I’ll be down shortly,” he said, struggling to compose himself.
“What’s wrong with you?” Delilah stepped into the room and walked toward his desk.
Russ tossed a book on top of the picture lying on his desk. “Nothing,” he grunted. “I’ll be down in a minute, honey.” He forced a smile.
Delilah sighed, tossed a hand up, and turned to leave. “I ain’t keeping it warm,” she said irritably, slamming the door behind her.
The only people who knew anything about Aaron Baker were club members. The longer he sat there and began to put all the pieces together, the more obvious it became that it had to be someone from the club who had sent this garbage to him. Someone from the club or … Desi Green.
“Four-four-five-seven-six,” he said to the person on the other end of the phone. “I need a meeting.” Russ pulled out his handkerchief and swiped it hard across his forehead. “Immediately,” he said gruffly, before hanging up.
He’d paid those people too much money to have his confidence betrayed like this. And if they were behind this shit, if they were the ones who’d taken that picture with some kind of plan to try and extort something from him, or if they had sold it to her to use against him, every last one of them would be sorry as hell. Russ was a small-town judge, but he wasn’t one to be messed with. His connections went further than the city limits of Blink, Texas. They went all the way up the ladder to the Texas Supreme Court, and if these mother fuckers wanted to dance, then he’d snatch the goddamned lead right out from under them.
To Feel Again
She came here more often that anyone knew. Olivia knelt at Julian’s headstone, laying a spray of golden irises at the base of the marble headstone.
JULIAN ADDISON GATEWOOD
1936–1985
Every man dies. Not every man really lives
—WILLIAM WALLACE
Every time Olivia came here, she left overwhelmed by sadness and grief. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her driver leaning against the car, waiting patiently for her. Olivia seldom left the house anymore, except to come here. She turned back to Julian’s headstone with tears in her eyes and watched it dissolve into a moment from her past.
“Charles,” she said to her driver from the backseat of the car. “Promise me that you won’t tell him about this.”
She had hardly ever said two words to that man before, but tonight, for whatever reason, he seemed like the only friend she’d ever had in the world.
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked back at her from the rearview mirror. “I mean, no, ma’am. I won’t mention it.”
The children were safe at home. God, how she loved her children, Jordan who was headstrong and determined like his father, and Janelle, her quiet and timid princess. She lived for them, and her family meant everything to her. Olivia would do anything to keep them together.
Charles parked the car out in front of a house so small, it reminded her of a box made of bricks.
“How could he stand such a place?” she asked herself in a whisper.
There were no immediate neighbors. The house seemed even smaller because of the distance from the others. She walked up the sidewalk and noticed the silver sedan parked in the driveway. The air smelled of honeysuckle, and fireflies flitted around her, seeming to light her way.
Olivia turned to look over her shoulder at her driver, leaning against the car, waiting patiently for her. His presence reassured her.
A woman knows when her husband is being unfaithful. She’d come to confront that other woman, and to bring her husband home.
* * *
“Jesus!” Ida ran, stumbling out of that house, moments after Olivia had arrived. “She shot him! Dear God! She shot him!”
The faint sounds of Olivia’s own voice echoed in her mind. “No!” she cried as she cradled her husband’s head against her chest. “No! Julian!”
The room filled with a kaleidoscope of colors, movement, and sound.
Charles rushed in from outside. “Oh, Lord!” He rushed over to Olivia. “Mrs. Gatewood. Put him down,” he told her. “Put him down and come with me.”
“No! No!” Olivia shook her head violently. She held on tighter to her husband.
She didn’t remember leaving Julian, or walking down the stairs of the porch. Charles poured her into the backseat of that car. Olivia looked out of the window and saw Ida collapsed to her knees on the grass, crying uncontrollably.
Charles disappeared back inside that house, came running back toward the car, piled into the front seat behind the steering wheel, and shot out of that town like a rocket.
* * *
The void Julian had left behind was gaping and endless. Olivia had felt cold inside since the day he’d died.
“Mrs. Gatewood?” Her driver came up behind her and gently helped her to her feet. “It’s gettin
g late, ma’am.” He smiled. “I need to get you home.”
Olivia looked up at him, confused. He looked like … “Charles?” she asked, her voice trembling.
He smiled. “Not Charles, ma’am. I’m Paul. His son.”
He helped Olivia into the back of the car, and slowly pulled away from the curb. She remembered Desi’s face. Olivia had barely even noticed that the girl was in the room when she walked into Ida’s house. It wasn’t until the trial began, and she saw who was being charged with Julian’s murder that she saw what Desi looked like. She looked like a child, fragile and afraid.
“Testify? There’s no way my mother is up to testifying!”
“The only other witness is Ida Green, and she’s going to lie to protect her daughter! Now, if you don’t want her to get off, Jordan…”
“I don’t!”
“We can’t guarantee it. Not without Olivia’s testimony.”
Olivia never testified, and yet Desi Green was found guilty. Olivia guessed they’d found a way to make sure of it.”
Waiting for a Surprise
The unidentified body of a young, black male was found early this morning by a hunter, deep in the woods of Pearsall, Texas, an area popular for hunting whitetail deer, wild hogs, and fishing. The body was reportedly discovered wrapped in tarp material, and was buried in a shallow grave, found by the dog of the visiting hunter. Authorities report that the remains were badly decomposed, and that they are hoping fingerprints or dental records can help identify the victim. No word yet on cause of death.
* * *
The automated voice on the other end of the phone prompted Russ for his ID number. “Four-four-five-seven-six,” he responded nervously, swallowing the bile that had risen in the back of his throat.
“Yes,” a man responded mechanically.
“I was assured that the matter was handled.” He spoke quickly.
The voice on the other end was quiet for several beats before finally responding. “It was.”
“Is that— On the news. They found someone.” His hands shook so hard, he couldn’t control them.
“I assure you,” the man continued in monotone. “All precautions were taken.”
Rage washed over him like a hot wind. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Calm down.”
“Have you seen the fuckin’ news?” he shot back, angrily.
“Yes.”
Russ waited for the man to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Is it him?”
Again, the man was in no hurry to respond.
“Well?”
“Yes.”
He sunk deeper into his chair. “Oh, God!”
“All precautions have been taken,” he repeated.
Russ abruptly hung up on him. The boy had tried to take pictures. He’d had Russ in his mouth when Russ saw the camera hidden on a shelf across the room behind one of the plants. The red light caught his attention.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Don’t you like this?” The boy looked up at Russ. “Don’t you like me?”
The steady red light hypnotized him, and Russ pushed the younger man aside and crossed the room. He stared full-faced into the lens of a video camera.
Russ turned to the other man. “You put this here.” His heart raced. Heat washed over his face. Russ’s palms began to sweat.
“No! Of course I didn’t put that there!” He stood up, yelling. But Russ knew he was lying. He could tell when people lied. Hell! He’d made his living looking at and listening to liars!
“You put this here,” Russ said again, holding the camera in his hands, and stepping toward him.
His face twisted in anguish. Liars looked like liars. Russ could almost hear the wheels spinning in that boy’s head as he searched for a way to get out of this.
“Why would I do that?” he argued. “Come on, man,” he said, pleading with his eyes. “We were having a great time. Just—throw it away. Break it or something! Let’s finish what we was doing.”
Russ had placed all his trust in this place. He had believed that he was safer here than he was in his own home. He had put his trust into these people, and most of all, into this other man. He’d trusted him with his most intimate self and desires. He had been gentle and caring with these people. He had been kind and generous, and patient. Russ had had the patience of Job with some of these men. He began to wonder—how many other cameras had caught images of him naked? How many others had lied to him, betrayed him in this place? Everyone was searched when they walked through those doors. Even elite members, like Russ Fleming were searched for cameras, weapons, anything that could cause harm to another individual. Everyone trusted that their secrets would be well-kept here.
“How’d you get it in here?” he asked, stalking the other man until he backed him into the wall.
He shrugged. “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”
“How’d you get this past security?” Russ yelled, his eyes wide and wild.
He was on that camera. Russ didn’t have to see the footage to know it. It had been running since he’d walked into that room. It was running as he got undressed. It was running when he kissed the other man. It was running when he sat down on the side of that bed.
“I didn’t, man! I didn’t even know it was there!”
But he lied. And it was a lie that sliced into Russ like a dull blade. He hit him. Russ hadn’t planned to, but it happened. He hit him with that video camera, in his head, in his face, over and over again. He hit him until blood spattered the walls, the crisp white linen on the bed, and Russ. He hit him until he stopped begging Russ not to.
Oh, Sinner Man
After he left Cabo, Jordan kept himself busy, avoiding his wife. He hadn’t seen Claire in over a week. She was sitting in the living room with another woman flipping through pages of fabric swatches when he walked into the house.
“May I take your bag, Mr. Gatewood?” the maid asked.
“Hey baby!” Claire exclaimed, bolting to her feet and rushing across the room to greet him. She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him. “I didn’t think you were getting in until tonight.”
“Change of plans,” he said dryly.
She looked radiant, fresh, and genuinely happy to see him. “We’ll be wrapping up shortly,” she said so that the other woman couldn’t hear her. “I need to get reacquainted with my husband.”
Jordan excused himself and went upstairs to the bedroom, undressed, and took a shower. He stood there, letting the water wash over him, thinking about Cabo, Lonnie, and what he’d said to her. Jordan was so engrossed in his thoughts that he never even heard the bathroom door open. The next thing he knew, Claire walked up behind him in the shower and pressed her naked body against his back.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured, resting her head between his shoulder blades.
Jordan couldn’t help himself. He became aroused, turned to her, and raised her chin until her lips met his, kissing her in a way he hadn’t kissed her in years. Claire moaned, and dug her nails into his back. Jordan bent low enough to grab her by the thighs from behind, raised her up and pressed her against the wall, parting her legs and pushing deep inside her.
He closed his eyes and when he did, it wasn’t Claire that he was making love to. What in the hell was wrong with him. Jordan forced images of Lonnie into his thoughts. They were her thighs he held in his hands, her tongue he tasted, her breasts brushing against his chest.
“Baby,” she whispered, her breath grazing his ear. “I missed you , so much.” Lonnie wrapped her lips around his. “I love you.”
Jordan opened his eyes. Claire was caught up in the rapture of him.
He felt nothing.
Claire thrust her hips forward. Jordan moaned, and forced himself not to lose his erection, but she wasn’t the one he wanted, not even enough to fake it.
Claire opened her beautiful amber eyes. “What’s—What is it?” she asked, desperate to keep that shower action going. “Jordan? B
aby?”
Claire wasn’t what he needed, and Lonnie was playing games. Jordan pulled out of his wife and carefully lowered her to the floor. He turned his back to her, picked up the bar of soap from the soap dish and started to bathe.
“I need to finish my shower, Claire.”
Jordan didn’t actually see the humiliation on her face, but he felt it. Claire left as quietly as she had come in.
He found Claire sitting on the side of the bed with her back to him when he came out of the bathroom.
“You must be serious about this one,” she said, without turning around. “To shoot me down right in the middle of fucking me.” She turned to look at him. “Must be love,” she finished sarcastically.
Jordan ignored her, and pulled a pair of boxers from the dresser drawer. He spotted a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the nightstand on her side of the bed.
“How long have you been seeing this one?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not the one who started this, Jordan,” she said, casually. “You did. And then, once again, you didn’t follow through.”
“Have you eaten? Drinking on an empty stomach can make you sick, wife.”
“Like you give a damn.”
“Obviously, it gives you a false sense of courage, too. Makes you say the kind of shit you’d know better than to say sober.”
“Oh, I say it all the time, Jordan, sober, drunk. Just not always loud enough for you to hear me.” Claire had started to cry. He wasn’t surprised. Drunks cried.
“I’m so tired of living like this. Why do we have to keep doing this, Jordan?”
Jordan sighed irritably, stood up, and slipped into his robe. “Come downstairs. I’ll make us both a sandwich.”
The phone on the small table next to him rang.