Angel wasn’t hungry either, and maybe the icy morning ocean would deflate the hard-on and the little monsters having a bacchanal in his stomach. He said “Yeah” with more enthusiasm that the situation deserved, but he decided to stop overthinking and let himself go. What was wrong with enjoying a nice moment with a nice man? “Oh, but we don’t have towels.”
“We do.” Malachi moved deeper into the limo and retrieved pristine white towels from a compartment.
Knowing that those towels weren’t meant for swimmers, images of he and Malachi doing whoopee flashed in front of him.
Cold water, pronto.
Malachi undressed swiftly, ending up in black silk boxers. The muscles and the roughed contours of the astronomer’s body were mouthwatering and left Angel with a throbbing ache. Once again, everything in the man spoke of anything but a scientist. One with such a built definition couldn’t really spend that many hours researching the stars.
Snapping out of his awe when he felt the taste of salt on his tongue, Angel stripped hastily. Now the flaming pink brief didn’t seem the good idea it was when he exited the club. They weren’t at a nude beach so he had to make do with the skimpy underwear.
As they stepped out of the limo, Angel noticed for the first time their chauffeur, a little old man that in another life must have been a prestidigitator by the way he was manipulating his croissant and cigarette.
Then Angel paid attention to the necklace Malachi wore.
I’ve never seen a Star of David within a circle before. Hold on. One, two, three… that’s not a Star of David; it’s a pentagram.
“Are you a devil worshiper, mister?” Angel tried to joke but sounded solemn instead.
“No.” Malachi rubbed the pendant between two fingers and continued, “Heh, this confuses people sometimes. See, it’s pointing up, just a sign of the goddess. When you find a pentagram pointing down, it is a calling for dark things.”
“You said the goddess? The longer I stay around you the less I believe you’re a scientist. Science and Religion are supposed to be at odds.”
“And yet there are scientists in the Vatican. Anyway, I’m not Catholic but Pagan, and we don’t have a problem with enlightenment. The God and the Goddess encourage knowledge and wisdom.”
“I don’t know whether to be scared or fascinated.”
“I encourage you to be fascinated,” Malachi murmured huskily, kissed Angel softly on the lips this time and offered his hand. “Come on, the ocean calls.”
They ran together to the welcoming waves like raucous children.
Angel couldn’t wait to discover all the secrets Malachi had.
CHAPTER TWO
The elevator opened doing its unnecessary dingy-ling, and Malachi Neun stepped out, Kovak, his partner, right beside him. He stopped, raising his hand. “Wait. Something’s wrong.”
Kovak deactivated the device creating the illusion he was a short, scrawny old chauffeur, transforming him into his actual six-foot-two, three-hundred-pound beastly self. The two inches shorter than Malachi were compensated with sheer bruteness.
Both drew weapons and moved stealthily toward Malachi’s apartment. It was too early on a Sunday for his neighbors to be wandering about. Unlocked and ajar, the door screamed foul play.
“What’s the point of a doorman if people let themselves in at their own leisure?” Malachi spat under his breath as he positioned himself on one side of the door, leaving Kovak at his left.
“A stupid comment coming from you,” Kovak growled, amused.
Malachi let out a sound between a growl and a chuckle; he had let himself into other people’s houses, offices, and bodies easily enough on a regular basis. He flipped a happy bird at Kovak, then pushed the door slowly with his foot, since they were not part of any governmental agency that could go slamming doors and shouting “Freeze.”
Not the best way to find your place after a night out. A fucking hurricane would have being a lot more considerate than the sons of bitches who had destroyed his apartment. There was literally not a thing left untorn, unbroken, unfucked.
They divided to check the area; it was a big apartment after all.
“What’s that smell?” Kovak asked, entering Malachi’s room, upon finishing his checkup.
“The fuckers didn’t just jerk off on my bed. They also took a giant dump.”
“So wrong, man. So wrong,” Kovak shook his head, the perfect tailored suit made him look extremely out of place amid the ransacked room.
“We do breaking and entering, but we never do shit like this. Plain wickedness, if you ask me.” Malachi settled his weapon on the small of his back secured by his waistband as he gathered the bedclothes to cover the massive gift and mitigate the unwelcoming fragrance. “These fuckers weren’t looking for something. They just wanted to leave a message.”
“Whatever happened to perfumed letters?”
“Not funny, Kovak. Did they fuck your bed too?”
“Nah, apparently they don’t mess with the help.” Kovak grimaced. “Do you wanna take samples of the spunk or the shit?”
Malachi let go of the bundle. “Be my guest. You’re the help after all, heh.” After Kovak rewarded him with a scowl, Malachi added, “Something tells me it’s not gonna be human’s.”
“One can never run too many tests.”
“You just like to play with your food first.”
“Ha, you were doing exactly that with the boy.”
“Shut up.”
After removing several violated books out of the way, Malachi opened a secret compartment on the floor at the far end of his bedroom. He punched eight keys, and a screen emerged. A robotic female voice requested, “Activation code?”
“Prince Charming is in love with Cat Woman.” Malachi enunciated. He caught the blond Dutch rolling his eyes. His partner thought such a password was the stupidest thing in the world. Malachi viewed it as the complete opposite, nobody in their right mind would think of it to break it. Sometimes the silliest things proved to be the most reliable things.
A woman of undefined age appeared on the screen. She arched a perfectly delineated eyebrow. “What is it, Nine?”
“I made contact with the target.”
“Took you long enough,” she hissed like the serpent she was.
“The point is to make him want to be part of the operation. I had to study him first to be able to sweeten the deal.” Malachi gave a sharp nod. “I’m aware he must be willing for it to work.”
“Nine, I don’t care much for your prattle. Just make the damn boy fall in love with you. Fast.” She narrowed her Machiavellian eyes. “Or you want me to assign another agent. We have better looking men, there are just not as competent, but I’m confident they could manage to charm the little queen.”
“No reason for that, you’d be back to square one.”
“Then start moving rooks or bishops or whatever the fuck you need to move to make this happen.”
“Of course, Tau. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Put the Penis in Pronto, Nine.” The screen went dark.
“Uh-oh, she called you ugly.” Kovak singsonged behind him and patted his head.
“She didn’t.” Malachi growled, “Besides, what’s this—Mr. Universe?”
Kovak shrugged. “Well, Nine, if they accomplish what they want, the whole world will be involved, so… I guess that makes you Mr. World, at least.”
“Would you shut the fuck up for a minute, Kovak?” Malachi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “Be useful and run the frigging tests while I check the security cams, just for the sake of doing it because I’m sure it is not gonna enlighten us.”
“You didn’t tell her about the break in.”
“No use. She would tell us to move, and then what? How long ‘til we can equip another place with all the secret shit we have in here? Have you forgotten how much space of the apartment next door we’re using? Go do your lab thingy and play with the data base.” Mal
achi waved Kovak away.
“Sure, Daddy,” Kovak squeaked, clapped and gave little jumps like a six-year-old girl just told to have tea with her humongous pink stuffed unicorn. “And while I play with my gadgets…” Now he changed to his usual bass. “You can call a fucking cleaning team because you got a date tomorrow night and perhaps, if the goddess is merciful, you’re going to get lucky and bring the boy home.”
Malachi growled under his breath, hoping for all kinds of holes on the floor to swallow the three-hundred-pound brute and take him far, far away. “Sure, let’s get this show rolling.” After a second, as Kovak walked to exit the room, he barked, “And the goddess is always merciful.”
His partner turned and gave him an unconvincingly sad stare, shaking his head. “You’re so gullible.” He whistled on his way to the secret lab until Malachi couldn’t hear him anymore.
His thoughts turned to his target.
Angel…
The worst target on Earth.
“Mister Smith and Miss Gomez: Nerva and Trajan. Mister Green and Miss Harvest: Hadrian. Mister Hunter…”
“Fuck. Why do I get two?” bitched Miss Gomez (better known as Potty Mouth Maria) with a huff.
“Shhhh, Nerva only ruled for 16 months. Professor Theseus is trying to make twenty or so years periods. See? He put Lucius Verus and Marcus Aurelius together for Tiffany and Eric.”
“Oh, shut up, Angel, they were co-emperors.”
“Girl, you do love to bitch.” Angel was happy with his emperor, Hadrian, but not with his partner Alicia; she gave him the creeps.
Professor Theseus continued, “…focusing on issues of urbanization, trade and consumption, colonization, and the army. That’s all for today, you may go.”
“Better than the one on possession in Ancient Greece,” Potty Mouth grumbled, rolling her eyes.
“It’s not like they were doing exorcisms. It was part of the cult, more a medium thing that evil spirits.”
She re-doubled her eye-rolling efforts. “I’m Catholic, hun,” as if that explained everything.
Angel wasn’t raised anything, so he didn’t have dogma to interfere with his belief in reincarnation and other esoterically spiced ideas.
The students started to exit the lecture room. Luckily, Roman Archaeology was the last class of the day. Angel could invite spooky Alicia for a latte or something and discuss the assignment. He didn’t want to dwell too much on his date that night with dreamboat astronomer Malachi Neun.
It had all been really nice and everything, but he wasn’t a doe-eyed, fresh from the closet and raised in a backwater town gay boy anymore. He couldn’t let some random man (ahem, customer) distract him from his main goal: to have a career and become someone, so he could throw his success at the faces of those who treated him like zilch in said backwater dumpster.
The fedora-wearing scientist had offered a chunk of money as tip for the time spent together, and Angel refused since they didn’t even kiss (a little touch of lips didn’t count, thank you very much), even if a bunch of geese (in V formation) crossed his mind for a second, crazy-honking to take it, and that way disillusion the darn cue-ball.
Malachi’s dark eyes kept popping in Angel’s head every time he wasn’t focused on something for more than two minutes. After their quote unquote dinner, he would fuck that man within an inch of his life to get him out of his system. It had been a fucked up Sunday, and Monday was proving nothing better, especially with Alicia from the Gloom giving him the evil eye across the table.
“How you wanna do this research, internet, the library…?”
“I work best alone.” She whispered, sipping her Nine Wonders aromatic tea afterward.
“Well, if you intend to become an archeologist, you’d better learn to play with others.”
She grimaced, “I like dead things.”
“You mean, old things.” Angel seriously considered slapping her, if he would not end up charged with assault of a walking corpse. “Okay. Our next class together is Wednesday, so let’s come up with some ideas and discuss them then. I have to go.” He didn’t wait for her to replay; he simply stood up and left. She giggled maniacally as he walked away.
Angel shuddered; he would need double scrub after that encounter to get rid of her clammy vibes. Some nice mud from the Dead Sea would do the trick.
“Don’t you look dapper in that suit?” Hugo announced as Angel walked out of his room.
“Well, the darn Flaming Peacock is black tie only.” Angel was used to being arm candy, so fancy places didn’t faze him. And there was no point in denying that his five eleven looked good in Armani. The midnight blue brought up the sky in his eyes, and hair gel was the best invention after flavored lube.
Hugo whistled. “Hmm, that astronomer has to be fucking or getting fucked by the owner or the owner’s wife. I heard reservations take at least six months in line.”
“All I know is, if I were a lady, I would be wearing a tiara and diamonds up my ass.”
“I can lend you some ruby cuff links.”
“Nah, this fake Rolex could screw even a connoisseur. You know I’m not a materialistic boy.” Angel spent most of his well-earned money in tuition and school stuff. There was no such a thing as cheap and good education. The expensive Italian suit had been a gift from an appreciative client with a tendency toward hot liquids (as in coming from somebody else’s body).
“Good for you.” Hugo opened a beer and flopped on the couch. “Is he picking you up in that flashy limo of his?”
“No idea. I texted him to text me when he arrived. I have the uncanny impression that he might appear at the door with roses, and I would totally slap him if he does something like that.”
“You are a true romantic, sweetie.” Hugo continued his channel surfing.
“Hugo, you know my position on love and other pink-related items.” Romance, falling in love, chick flicks: Angel avoided those like the Black Death.
“Yeah, you only love ancient things.”
“I’m gonna discover fucking Atlantis, baby” He knew he looked completely silly doing some gangster hand gesture and speaking like a thug—in formal wear. Double O Seven would kick his ass for desecrating the uniform.
“The Flower Duet” from Lakmé howled from Angel’s cellphone. Your carriage awaits you, handsome, was the succinct message. He went to the couch and gave Hugo a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t wait up.”
“Eat like a man. You gonna burn it all afterwards anyway.” Hugo flipped to a horror movie.
Malachi waited, seated on the hood of a sleek black Lexus. A brilliant smile appeared on his magazine-cover-worthy face as soon as he saw Angel. No fedora tonight, just a smoking suit that made Armani and other Italian princes next to paupers.
Angel told his stomach to control the frigging somersaults and cartwheels; this was just a darn cue-ball playing dress-up.
Uh-hmm deny all those sweet vibes coming from him, telling you he can fuck you twenty-five ways to Sunday and then some.
Gosh, how much Angel hated that inner voice. He pasted his most charming smile on and approached Malachi. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. Hungry?”
“Starving!” He was not going to ask about the missing limo or the venerable chauffer. Perhaps it had been rented.
Malachi opened the door for him and whispered, “I hope you are ready for a little dancing too.”
“I’m a boy scout, always ready.”
“Adorable.”
As Malachi rounded the car to the driver seat, Angel grumbled inwardly.
Bunnies are adorable.
CHAPTER THREE
“Chico, we have a problem.”
“Sheez, you sound like somebody put a flare up your ass.”
“I told you there was something dodgy about that astronomer.”
“What—Chico chuckled—he has ties with the Armenian Mafia?”
Hugo huffed, “Neun is a German last name, not Armenian. The Brotherhood has traced him back to Juggernaut.”
/> “Are you shitting me?”
“Nope, his father was a prominent member of Juggernaut until his assassination in the late 80s, and you know no family leaves those fuckers.”
“Well, if we have eyes on all twelve living embodiments. It’s only logic that they’d do the same. Any activity around the others?”
“The LE’s closer to the three gates haven’t reach puberty yet—same as other four, so they are inoperative. No reports on suspicious liaisons with the others. The only red flag is Angel.”
“Damn Angel, I knew he was going to be a problem since he picked up Greek and Latin so fast in college.” Although Chico had laughed his ass off when he learned Angel had been correcting his professors.
“I thought we had some years before the PhD and field work. With that face and that body, funds will never be an issue for that boy.” Hugo sighed.
“By that time, we would have found a way to keep him away from Europe. Sent him to Tibet or fucking Easter Island. I want a detail on that boy, every single minute. I want to know what the fuck he dreams. Understood?”
“I have two shadows with him in the restaurant.”
“Good. Freaking Flaming Peacock is worse than a Monte Carlo casino.”
“Oh, but the band is so good.”
“Focus, Hugo. If Juggernaut gets that boy, we—you, me and the rest of the world are fucked.”
“Clear as vodka, Chico.”
“I want a complete account on that date first thing tomorrow. Have two or three new clients prepared for Angel in case we need to interfere with whatever is happening between him and the motherfucking stargazer. You know his type.”
“First thing in the morning.” Hugo ended the call and smashed the disposable cell phone on the pavement. He walked to his car, beeped it open, started the engine, blared some Black Eye Peas and drove straight to their apartment.
“I love that you have a sweet tooth.”
“This tiramisu is to die for.” Angel’s big baby blues twinkled as he cleaned the delicate silver spoon.
Séptima Luna Page 2