“You’re a very confusing person,” Noah said.
“I don’t mean to be.”
“Where?”
“My place?” Izzy said. “If they’ve fixed the window and there isn’t any police tape on the door…”
“There’s nothing wrong with my windows,” Noah said, “and I don’t attract police attention the way you clearly do.”
“It’s been a weird week.”
“I’ll bet.”
Noah set the flowers on a chair and snagged a brochure from the assortment on the second-hand coffee table, on which he scribbled his address. He passed it to Izzy and said, “Eight?”
“Eight,” Izzy said.
“Any food allergies?”
“No, but I hate olives.”
“Green or black?”
“Any. All.”
“Wine or beer, or what?”
“I don’t really drink.”
“Noted. See you then.”
“Awesome,” Izzy said, and he rushed out the door.
By his car, he put his head on the roof and hissed, “Awesome. Jesus, Bishop.”
The place was a duplex in Travis Heights, south of the river between I-35 and Riverside. Noah lived on the right side, nearest to the driveway, where Izzy parked behind a red Ford Focus with a pride sticker on the back window and sighed. Then he sighed some more.
The neighborhood was nice, even upscale. Some prewar homes, many divided into duplexes or apartments, but nearly all of it renovated, restored, and decked out to high real estate value. This one in particular featured an irregular stone façade and dramatically sloped terra cotta roof with large decks on either side for each tenant. Noah’s deck was surrounded by outdoor lights that reminded Izzy of Christmas trees. An assortment of cacti in potters lined the street facing edge, and there were more cacti in the ground on both sides of the front door—beehive, horse cripplers, eagle claws and prickly pear. The whole Texan assortment seemed to be covered. To top it all off, a metal decoration cut in the shape of Texas and painted to resemble the state flag hung in the front window. It reminded Izzy of the floral design on the grounds of the Travis County State Jail.
He climbed out of his car and made his way between the cactus needles to the door, on which he knocked. Balanced precariously on one hand was a key lime pie he picked up at an HEB on the way.
He didn’t like key lime pie and didn’t know exactly why he’d bought it. Probably because it was the first one he saw and he didn’t want to have to make a decision.
The decisions he’d made lately were, at best, questionable.
The door unlocked and swung inward to reveal Noah in a silvery short sleeved button up shirt and dark brow slacks. He was barefoot, freshly shaved, and grinning to beat the band.
“Five minutes early,” he said. “Off to a good start. I like a man who’s punctual.”
“On time and bearing pie,” Izzy said.
“Even better.”
Noah led him in, through the living room to a small kitchen that looked out over the porch. He took the pie and set it on the counter, then peered in the small stove window.
“Veal medallions,” he explained, “with apple thyme sauce.”
“Do you cook like that every day?”
“Christ, no. I was planning on microwave lasagna tonight.”
“Sorry to ruin your plans,” Izzy said.
“Nearly ready,” Noah said, straightening up. “How about some coffee on the deck?”
The coffee was only marginally better than the motor oil in the nurse’s lounge at Stoneridge, but Izzy didn’t much mind. Noah liked that Izzy took it black.
He said, “I almost made the old ‘I like my coffee like I like my men’ joke, but I’m not quite sure about you.”
“Maybe you ought to take that gaydar back to Radio Shack,” Izzy said. “Trade it in for something brand name.”
“But you’re not, are you?”
“No, not quite.”
“Ah,” Noah said, nodding his understanding. “I see. The elusive, ever-mysterious bisexual.”
“In his natural habitat,” Izzy said, toasting with his mug.
“So not hobo hangouts with bodies in them? That’s not your natural habitat?”
Izzy sneered awkwardly. “Only of late.”
“Sorry,” Noah said. “I’m really not mad about it. Well, I wasn’t happy at the time. I’m not a big fan of getting hounded by cops, as it happens.”
“No one is.”
“But you’re really after this thing, huh? I mean, your friend’s passing and all?”
Sipping the coffee, Izzy nodded.
Noah said, “I can drop it. I’m just a nervous talker.”
“I’m a nervous shutter-upper. So it evens out in the end.”
“So we’re both a little nervous. That’s good.”
With that, Noah smiled and stood.
“Confidence is overrated,” Izzy said.
“Sit tight,” said Noah. “Finishing flourishes, then soup’s on.”
They ate at the latticed iron table where they’d had their coffee. Izzy ate slowly and meticulously, overly aware of his table manners and worried about looking like a pig. Noah talked a lot between infrequent bites, gesturing with his knife and fork, his voice carrying out over the yard. The cords in his neck stood out when he got animated. His well-shaped shoulders rolled beneath the thin, silvery shirt he wore when he move his arms.
Izzy swallowed. Hard.
The medallions were better than he expected, and he restrained himself from bringing up or even thinking about the inherent cruelty that brought about such a delicious meal. In future, he decided, he’d be more vocal about his food ethics. But this was only a first date.
“Originally I planned on becoming a psychologist,” Noah said. “Open a private practice, you know? I still haven’t necessarily ruled that out, but the volunteer work I did when I was in school really changed my direction. I thought I could sit on my pedestal and analyze people’s anxieties from on high, or I could get down in the trenches with people who are really hurting in a tangible, at-the-breaking-point kind of way.”
“You ever been there?”
“If you mean have I ever been sexually assaulted or abused, no. Thank god, no. But I don’t think I need that history to do what I’m doing.”
“I didn’t mean that as an attack on your credentials,” Izzy said. “I was just curious.”
“My childhood was a dream,” Noah said. “Better than I deserved. Came out to my parents freshman year of high school and it really wasn’t a problem. I’ve had bad relationships, but only in that ‘what was I thinking,’ bad match sort of mode. I think my life is really incredible, which to me is a different kind of cred.”
“I can see that,” Izzy said, though he couldn’t.
“What about you?” Noah said. “Sandy tells me you used to volunteer regularly at the center but kind of pulled back from it.”
“I’m not exactly counselor material. I can get in there, gather the evidence, put together the narrative. That’s why I’m studying to get certified as a forensic nurse. But my sympathy gets overshadowed, I think…”
“By what?”
Izzy poked a sliver of veal into his mouth and chewed, thinking.
“By the anger,” he said.
“Mmm,” Noah said, nodding his head. “I get that.”
“Most anyone gets angry about somebody being victimized, especially the sorts of cases you and I tend to deal with. But I’ve felt it so deep in my bones I just wanted to…” He trailed off, gathering himself. “When I met that girl, my friend Cynthia? She’d been abducted, raped, really had the shit beaten out of her. The person responsible for that, before I ever knew who it was, was somebody without empathy, without compassion. No soul. A monster who only looks human. That’s what he was. What he still is. And after I found out who he was? She could identify him, describe him to a T. And the forensic evidence put him not only there, but secured two more conviction
s for attacks on other women. I knew his name, his face, where he lived. My heart ached for Cynthia. No joke, Noah. But the anger…”
“You wanted to hurt the guy,” Noah said.
“I wanted to annihilate the bastard.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Of course it bothers me. There’s something in me, a part of me, that I’m not sure is any better than assholes like that. We had a bad situation the other day in the ER, a whole family brought in after the father committed suicide while speeding down the highway.”
“Good god.”
“He was trying to take the wife and kids out with him. Succeeded on the wife, kids made it. Of course there was a kit done on them, but I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”
“Izzy, that’s not unusual. That’s a really hard, ugly thing…”
“It’s not just that. It’s that I knew they’d find evidence, I knew the father…”
“There’d be no one to take the anger out on,” Noah inferred. “He was dead, so you couldn’t take revenge or testify and prosecute.”
“Yes,” Izzy said. “Exactly.”
“But that’s not why you do this. Any of this.”
“No.”
“Tell me something,” Noah said. “Are you just angry at whoever hurts these people, or are you angry at whoever hurt you?”
Izzy stared. Noah’s face softened, and he averted his eyes. Some squirrels leapt in the juniper branches hanging over from the tree next door, shaking the leaves. Somewhere a car honked.
Izzy said, “How about that pie?”
A text buzzed in halfway through his slice of key lime, which he was forcing himself to suffer through. It was from Forbes.
Samples at DPS. I’ll let you know.
Short and to the point, Izzy thought, just like Forbes.
“Not bad for store bought,” Noah said.
Izzy studied his face for a moment, then said, “You don’t like key lime, do you?”
Noah grinned sheepishly.
“No,” he said. “I can’t stand it.”
“Neither can I. I don’t know why I got it.”
“Then the hell with this,” Noah announced, and he swiped the plate away from Izzy, carried them both into the kitchen, and dumped the half-eaten slices into the garbage. The rest of the pie went in after them with a loud thud, pan and all. He bared his teeth in a silly, chimpanzee smile and Izzy started to laugh.
Noah said, “I’ve got some cake mix around here someplace. Devil’s food. Or we could go for ice cream—there’s a terrific little place over on Oltorf.”
He opened a couple of cabinets until he found the cake mix and brought out the box. He presented it with both hands to Izzy, eyebrows raised. Izzy stood up, took the box from him, and put it back in the cabinet. He then coiled an arm around Noah’s waist and kissed him.
The kiss lasted for a few minutes, going from lips pressed hard together to Izzy pushing his tongue into Noah’s mouth. When it was over, Noah took a breath and looked into Izzy’s eyes with surprise.
“Or that,” he said.
Izzy said, “Or that,” and gently undid the topmost button on Noah’s shirt. Then the next one down. Noah kissed his neck, on the side, while Izzy made his way down to the last button.
“I speak the truth,” Noah said, “when I say this isn’t why I invited you over.”
“I’ll decide whether I believe you later.”
“I’ll be on tenterhooks ‘til then.”
“That’s a weird word,” Izzy said, nipping at Noah’s bottom lip. “Tenterhooks.”
“They were used to weave wool in the old days,” Noah said, and Izzy made a face.
“Is that supposed to be bedroom talk?” he asked.
Noah grinned, and motioned with his head to a door behind the kitchen at the end of a short, brightly painted hallway.
“It’s in there, by the way,” Noah said.
They went.
Twenty-Four
Izzy woke alone in bed, momentarily puzzled and stunned. His brain was several seconds behind his eyes in processing the information, the strange, dark room he was in. The bed was rumpled, the chocolate brown comforter half on the floor. A desktop computer on a desk in the corner whirred, but the monitor was off. He wiped the crust from his eyes and fumbled for his phone, face down on the night table nearest the window. A condom package rested beside it, torn open and empty. Izzy could feel his cheeks warm as he checked the time.
He stepped into his blue jeans and went shirtless from the bedroom to look for Noah. He found him out front, sitting on the concrete step among the cacti, reading a paperback book with red-rimmed reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. A cup of tea steamed on the concrete beside him.
“What are you reading?” Izzy asked him, his voice raspy and thin. He was dying for a cup of coffee.
“Horror novel,” Noah said, keeping his page with his thumb and closing the book to show Izzy the cover. There was a bank of clouds designed to look vaguely like a screaming face atop a small farm house. “Hard to get into. I’ve been reading it on and off for almost two weeks. You look like you need coffee.”
Izzy nodded and pressed his palms together in gratitude.
“Please.”
Noah got it brewing in the coffee maker and got a mug down for Izzy. It was oversized, to Izzy’s delight, and had the orange University of Texas Longhorns logo printed on the side.
“Football fan?” Izzy asked.
“Not really. Alma mater.”
“St. Ed’s man, myself.”
“Too rich for me,” Noah said. “Plus I’m not Catholic.”
“I’m a dyed-in-the-wool apostate,” Izzy said, eyeing the slow drip of the coffee with unmasked impatience. “Four years and they never once burned me at the stake.”
“I’m sure they’re all still praying for you,” Noah said. “Milk? No, that’s right. You take it black.”
He poured a cup, and they went together out to the deck on the side of the duplex, where Izzy braved the heat of the coffee in his desperation to caffeinate. Once he’d gotten a third of it down, he sniffed and said, “Noah, I think you should know I’m not really a casual sex sort of person.”
“I bet you tell all the boys that,” Noah said. “Or girls, in your case.”
“I’m serious. It’s something I guess I experimented with when I was younger, but I discovered I always felt awful after. I’m not against it in theory, but for me…”
“So you feel awful about it. About us.”
“Well, no,” Izzy said, watching his ambiguous reflection in the surface of the coffee rippling. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. Which is odd, but also probably a good sign. I think I needed the release, but I’m glad it was you. This is all coming out completely wrong.”
“I can tell. Maybe you should have rehearsed this in the bathroom mirror first.”
“I have issues,” Izzy said bluntly.
“Who doesn’t?”
“Fair point.”
“There’s no hurry, you know,” Noah said. He sat back, at ease with the world, and smiled sincerely. “I like you. I’d like to get to know you. I’m not really into musical beds either, so don’t worry. You know where I work and where I live, so take as it comes. I’ve been on my own for quite a while, so I can handle it.”
“I’m glad.”
“How about you?”
“How about me what?”
“How long have you been single?”
Izzy sipped at the coffee and avoided eye contact.
“Couple days, I think,” he said. “My girlfriend stormed out on me the other morning…I think that was Wednesday.”
“Jesus take the wheel,” Noah said, gawping.
On his way up I-35 to Research Boulevard, Izzy called Forbes to ask about the samples. She’d only just dropped them off, she told him, along with a submission form full of blank spaces she couldn’t fill in. It would take days in the best case scenario, she warned him, and he oughtn’t to ke
ep his hopes up about that.
“I’m calling in a favor here,” she explained. “When the results are available, I’ll introduce you to the technician I know over there, and I’m backing out of this from this point. Clear?”
“As Crystal Pepsi,” Izzy said, and they rang off.
Partytown was a pre-fab brick structure visible from the freeway, standalone in a cluster of strip malls. Northwest Austin was, in general, a cluster of strip malls—practically a different town altogether from the trendier southerly sections. Izzy had to go well past it and loop back around, then worm his way through three of the strip malls with enough speed bumps to jar his muffler loose. He parked right in front and marveled at the busy window displays of balloons and streamers and festive signs of celebration for birthdays, Fourth of July, Halloween, and even Memorial Day. He wondered if the employees had trouble keeping track of the time of year.
Inside he was greeted by a laconic teenage girl in a blood-red vest with the store’s logo on the back. Her attention was fixed to the phone in her hand, her eyes so heavily shaded she looked almost alien with them mostly closed. Eighties pop ballads echoed tinnily from speakers in the ceiling tiles. The girl yawned.
Izzy said, “Is there someone I can talk to about helium tanks?”
“Aisle three,” she said. She never looked up.
Izzy said, “Thanks,” and he went in search of aisle three. What he found were piles upon piles of balloons in bags, deflated, of every color and size imaginable. There were also small red tanks for personal use with the store logo printed on the boxes, but close inspection of the packaging revealed they weren’t any good for long term use, and they weren’t refillable. He lingered in the aisle, tapping his fingers on the box. Any inert gas in small quantities could kill a person, he theorized, if it was all the person was breathing, therefore cutting off all oxygen flow. The small tanks would do the trick if done right.
From around the corner, another vested employee appeared at the end of the aisle. This one was an older man with a gray and brown mustache and a pink necktie. He grinned and said, “Are you finding everything all right?”
The Irish Goodbye (Izzy Bishop Book 1) Page 12