Double Indemnity

by Maggie Kavanagh

“Did you know he was into pills?”

  “It’s not a surprise. So are half the people in this town. Everyone’s got their poison.” Sam looked down at his empty glass. Yeah. He’d probably been drunk three times in the past week, and tonight wasn’t shaping up to be much different. A sting of something like shame wormed into his gut, but he tamped it down. It wasn’t like he was an alcoholic or anything. He pushed the glass forward.

  “I’ll take another.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be working.”

  “Don’t give me any shit, Rach. I’ve had a helluva day.” Her eyes grew concerned again, but Sam didn’t feel like talking about the letter he’d received from his insurance company. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away. Yeah.

  “So where’s Yuri tonight?” Rachel asked. She poured him another pint of Guinness, but this time left out the shot. Sam didn’t argue.

  “How should I know?”

  “You two seem to be spending a lot of time together lately—off the clock. I thought—”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Yeah, and I’m your monkey’s uncle.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Sam raised his glass. “I didn’t know my monkey had an uncle.”

  “Don’t be a jackass.” More customers entering the bar cut their conversation short. The Star was a popular after-work hangout for people in the neighborhood, but shit always got more interesting on gay night. As one of the only options in town, it drew men from a thirty-mile radius. One of the new arrivals was Sam’s type—dark hair, long legs, cowboy boots, and lips that looked like they knew their way around a cock. His dark eyes flashed when they met Sam’s, and Sam smiled over his pint.

  Another server brought Sam’s burger. He ate it carefully, every so often letting his eyes drift to Cowboy Boots to maintain the connection. He didn’t want to think about Feldman and his kids anymore. And he certainly didn’t want to think about the possibility Rachel was right about Yuri.

  They’d seen each other at work since the last time they’d fucked, and it had been fine. They hadn’t talked about it, of course, but they never did. It wasn’t that Yuri didn’t mean anything to Sam. They’d been friends for years and then business partners when Sam had bought into the company. He thought Yuri knew where they stood, but you could never be sure. After all, he didn’t want to fuck up their friendship or working relationship if things got weird. That might be one of the reasons he felt a little guilty making eyes at Cowboy Boots. The guy returned his look with a subtle nod that asked “your place or mine?”

  Shit. He needed to get back and finish up before his deadline, but he couldn’t face the photograph again. Not yet. He grabbed his wallet to pay the tab. A familiar voice said his name.

  Sam swiveled in his bar stool as Yuri slid into the seat next to him. He gave Sam a sunny grin, but the circles under his eyes told another story.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Yuri said. His Greek accent had faded over the years, but it was still damn sexy, and the smell of his fresh aftershave provided added enticement.

  Sam cleared his throat and looked away. “What’s up, man?”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but you ran off today and you never answer your phone.”

  “Sorry. I have a thing due tomorrow.”

  “Finish it?”

  “Nope.” Sam emptied his pint. “Working on it.”

  “Seems that way.” There was a pause in the conversation as Rachel noticed Yuri and came over.

  “Hey, stranger. What can I get you?”

  “Whiskey, neat.”

  “All right, baby.”

  “You might as well bring me another too,” Sam said.

  Rachel took Sam’s empty plate away as she went, but not before mouthing something along the lines of “play nice.”

  The bar, which wasn’t large to begin with, had begun to fill up with a sizeable crowd. He liked the lively atmosphere, but not when the mass of bodies interfered with his eye fucking. He couldn’t see Cowboy Boots or his friends at their table anymore, and with Yuri sitting here….

  Yuri nudged his arm as their drinks arrived. “What’s with the Guinness? You going full Irish?”

  “I think it’s Rachel’s attempt to throw me on the wagon.”

  “Good luck to her.”

  “So,” Sam said casually. “How’re we shaping up for the flatwork tomorrow?”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about that.” Yuri sipped his drink, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

  “All right. Well, if you can handle it on your own with Pete and Juan—”

  “How long have we been friends, Flynn?”

  It didn’t take Sam long to think about. They’d met during a time when Yuri’s own life was at a low point, watching over his father dying from lymphoma at the same hospital where Tim was a patient. They’d bonded over shitty hospital cafeteria food one day, and the rest was history. And then, once Yuri’s dad died and he took over the family business, he offered Sam a job.

  Sam had taken it gladly. After the accident that had killed his parents and stolen his brother, his childish dream of becoming a journalist didn’t seem to matter anymore.

  Now, with Yuri looking at him like a stranger, Sam wanted to lean forward and rest his head on his friend’s shoulder.

  “A while. Dammit, Yuri, listen—” He slid a hand onto Yuri’s thigh and squeezed.

  Yuri pushed Sam’s hand away. “Hey, it’s all right. We’ve been over this before. But after last week, I think it’ll be better for both of us if we stick to the plan this time.”

  Sam stared. “What?”

  “I’m saying it’s better if we don’t sleep together again.”

  “Okay,” Sam said slowly. “That’s fine with me.”

  Yuri’s smile looked more like a grimace. “You think I don’t know you? A few drinks and you’re looking to score. And when I’m around, it’s convenient. I don’t really feel like being a convenience anymore, especially when you pass out as soon as it’s over.”

  “It’s not like that.” His protest sounded feeble to his own ears. He’d barely been able to remember the last time. Not a good sign.

  “What’s it like, then?”

  The question wasn’t asked with malice, but with genuine curiosity. Sam flailed for an answer that didn’t make him look like a major dick and came up with nada.

  “Are you saying you didn’t want—Come on, there’re two of us.” Yeah. He was totally full of shit.

  “I’m not saying that at all.” Yuri sighed and sipped his whiskey. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how I feel about you.”

  The words, so long unspoken, sucked the air out of the room. Rachel caught Sam’s eye mid-drink-mix and gestured conspicuously in a way Sam couldn’t interpret. It might have been a reprimand or an indication of constipation. He ignored her.

  Yuri went on. “I know you don’t feel the same way, so please spare me. Let’s go back to how it used to be, all right? You keep your hands to yourself, and I will too. We’ll both be happier.”

  “But we’ll still be friends?” It sounded so stupid, but Sam didn’t have many people in his life he could designate with the term. Rachel and Yuri were about it. His family. Fuck. He took a long sip of beer and waited for what seemed like forever. Yuri took his time with his drink too, to draw out his suffering—the sadistic bastard.

  “What do you think?” Yuri slapped him on the back and finished his drink, then threw a few dollars on the bar. “I’ve gotta head out.”

  “Hot date?”

  Yuri winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know? See you tomorrow.”

  Once he was alone again, Sam stared at the wet rings his beer made on the coaster and traced one with his finger. It could have gone a lot worse, he supposed. So why did he suddenly feel so goddamn lonely? He didn’t get a chance to think too long on it. Rachel approached and leaned forward on the bar, not even trying to disguise her nosiness.

  “What was that all about?
” she asked.

  Sam shrugged. “I think I just got dumped.”

  “I thought you said—Oh, never mind. Men are so fucking weird.”

  “But dicks are awesome.”

  “Are they? That hasn’t been my experience.” She stuck her tongue out at him and retreated before he could rally a comeback.

  Sam nursed his pint for a few more minutes, trying to decide what to do. He had to get back to work, but the thought of his apartment wasn’t very appealing. It was only ten, after all—plenty of time to finish the article later on. His eyes drifted back to Cowboy Boots.

  The crowd parted as he advanced in the general direction of his mark. There was a good chance the guy had already found another hookup and left while Sam was distracted, but no—there he was, sitting in the same place with his friends. He looked up and raised an eyebrow when Sam approached the table.

  Sam mustered his most seductive smile. “Hey. I’m Sam.”

  “Xavier,” Cowboy Boots said. “And these are my friends so-and-so and so-and-so.”

  Sam nodded at the other guys but kept his eyes focused on Cowboy Boots. Actually, now they’d been introduced, the name seemed too formal. Boots, then.

  “You want to join us?” Boots asked.

  “Actually, I’m thinking of heading out.” Sam scratched the back of his head.

  Boots drew his lips into a knowing smile. He had the kind of handsome, nondescript face that belonged in a menswear ad, Sam mused as they made their way out of the bar. He had an incredible ass, though.

  Boots’s apartment was on the other side of town in an area that had been recently gentrified, but Sam didn’t care about the gigantic flat screen or the saltwater fish tank. Luckily, Boots cut the tour short.

  “Bedroom’s back here.”

  Sam found himself in a room with a bed, which was good enough for him. His cock was already pushing against the seam of his jeans. They didn’t waste time on preliminaries. Boots backed Sam up against the bed until his knees buckled, then crawled on top of him and kissed him. His stubble scraped Sam’s chin. He was a good kisser, and Sam was only hazily aware of the guy kicking off his boots. Sam had forgotten his name—something unusual. Didn’t matter.

  When the guy pushed Sam’s hands overhead and held him down as they kissed, Sam groaned his approval.

  “So, what do you want to do?” the guy asked. “I don’t fuck on the first date.”

  Sam nodded, oddly relieved. “I wanna suck your cock.” He grabbed the guy’s ass and urged him forward to straddle his chest.

  The guy smirked and reached for his zipper. His erection sprang out and grazed Sam’s bottom lip. Sam licked the slit with the tip of his tongue, testing the waters before finally opening his mouth to take it in. The guy fed his meat deeper until it hit the back of Sam’s throat, and still Sam wanted more. He moaned as the guy withdrew and started to slide in and out, his salty precome coating Sam’s tongue. Sam wanted to suck out every last drop.

  It was a good thing they had all night.

  Chapter 3

  THE FOLLOWING week when Sam visited the Walkers’ place, only Emma’s car was in the driveway. Sam mowed the lawn and did an upkeep of the gardens, once in a while glancing over his shoulder at the inviting, empty pool. It was probably for the best Nathan wasn’t around to distract him. It meant he could get on with his work and stop in sooner to see Tim. The increased summer workload of his day job meant he hadn’t been able to stop by Shady Brook the previous Saturday. Sam didn’t like to think about leaving Tim for so long, with no visitors save the nurses who attended him. At one point, Tim’s high school friends had dropped in on holidays and special occasions, but they didn’t come anymore. Of course Sam couldn’t blame them. They’d grown up, gone to college, met new friends—and in their minds, Timmy was already dead, forever fifteen.

  Not forever. Fuck. There was always a chance Tim would emerge from his wasted body, one day. Six years was a long time, though. He couldn’t believe it had been almost six years.

  Sam worked quickly. Once he’d stowed his tools, he jogged to the front door, planning to remind Emma about her outstanding bill. Usually he and Yuri didn’t mind so much about immediate payment with regular customers, but it had been a couple of months since they’d gotten a check from the Walkers. Sam rang the bell. It broadcast his presence with a three-part chime that brought up bad childhood memories of church.

  When Emma opened the door, the words of greeting poised at the tip of Sam’s tongue died there. She looked like she’d been crying. Her red-rimmed eyes starkly contrasted with her pale, freckled cheeks. Sam hadn’t seen her since he’d gone to the station the previous week to ask about the autopsy. She gave him a tight smile.

  “Can I help you, Sam?”

  “Actually, I was just heading out, but I thought I’d stop by and see about the check for June and July.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” She shook her head and held the door open. “Come in.”

  While Emma rummaged through a hallway drawer for her checkbook, Sam looked around. He’d only been in the house a couple of times, but the clean tidiness impressed him. They must have a service. With a car like Nathan’s and a house like this, they had to be loaded or mortgaged to the hilt.

  Tasteful, substantial pieces furnished the house. An overstuffed leather sectional dominated the living room to his left and complimented its companion, an oak coffee table with a neat spread of magazines. Evidence of Emma’s green thumb was everywhere in potted plants that gave the place a lived-in feel. At least fifteen types of orchids with blooms of various colors and sizes were arranged near the eastern-facing windows at the front of the house. Emma had shown him how to care for them once, before she and Nathan had gone on vacation.

  “Five hundred, right?” Emma asked.

  “Yep. Make it out to Manella’s.”

  Sam peered toward the kitchen beyond the foyer, surprised to see an overturned carton of eggs on the floor. Most had smashed and now formed a pool of viscous liquid on the stone tile.

  Emma cleared her throat, and Sam flushed at being caught looking.

  “The doorbell startled me,” she explained.

  “Sorry.”

  She passed him the check and he took it, folded it carefully, and slipped it into his back pocket. “I don’t mean to bother you, but did you ever find out about those stomach contents?”

  “I talked to the chief yesterday, but I’m sorry, no. I don’t have any information for you.” Emma considered Sam for a moment. “You want a drink?”

  Sam shrugged. “Sure.” He thought she meant water or, like last time, iced tea, but she pulled two beers from the fridge, and then stepped around the broken eggs like they weren’t even there.

  Sam cracked both bottles with the opener on his keychain and took a swig, then handed Emma’s over. He couldn’t help being disappointed the Feldman story seemed DOA, which meant the blog post he’d never actually started was too. After a morning of hot, uncomfortable work, the cold brew went down smoothly, but the strange look on Emma’s face concerned him. She seemed lost in her own thoughts.

  “You ever think about quitting, Sam?”

  “What, you mean give all this up?” He didn’t mind the work, though the load had increased since he’d become a partner.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “I’m curious if this is what you always wanted to do?”

  “I wanted to go to New York when I was younger. I had an internship lined up after college.”

  “And you didn’t do it?”

  “I had to stay and take care of family.” He said the words without bitterness or malice. He had never once regretted the decision.

  “If you didn’t have any obligations, if you could go anywhere, do anything, what would you do?”

  Sam thought as he drank his beer. It had been a long time since he indulged in any sort of fantasies regarding life goals.

  “I guess I’d like to write. Travel. I’ve always wanted to go abroad.” All of those things cost
money, though, and the insurance letter sat heavy in his pocket. “What’s with all the questions?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot about my life lately, the choices I’ve made. Do we ever really know someone? A friend, a lover? Do we ever get close enough to anyone to really know them, or is there some part that’s always hidden away?”

  Her eyes grew bright again, and she wiped at her face. He wondered if she was talking about Nathan.

  “I don’t know.” His mind drifted back to Yuri’s confession and to Tim lying in his ergonomic bed. “I guess there’re some things you’re better off not knowing, you know? I think people have a right to privacy.” He took another sip of his beer and put it down, irritated with himself at how hard it was to leave the bottle unfinished. It wouldn’t do to drink more, because then he’d want another—and he had to visit Tim.

  “But what if you trusted someone.” She stared at the floor, where the cracked eggs slowly drained from their shells. “If you ever found out you weren’t right about someone. That you didn’t know that person, after all. What if they did something terrible? Could you ever forgive them?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what they did.” He didn’t know why he said it or even if it was a lie. This wasn’t exactly the time to debate the relative severity of particular crimes, though. And fuck, he wasn’t good at this, but he reached out and touched her shoulder anyway. She seemed so delicate, so unlike the confident woman he knew. For some reason, he liked seeing this more vulnerable side. Maybe he could talk to her about Tim.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, sniffing. “I’m sorry. You must be busy. I’ll see you out.”

  They walked to the front door without speaking. The tick of the clock in the living room seemed almost loud as he reached for the door handle.

  “Are you okay, Emma?” he asked before he left, thinking of the eggs she hadn’t even mentioned or bothered to clean up.

  “Yes, of course.” She smiled, and this time it seemed genuine. “Thank you for all of your hard work, keeping the yard beautiful. I know it isn’t easy.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”