Deconstruction

by Kit Zheng

  And Jon. Would Jon really let him go, now that things had gone so far?

  He took a deep breath and dialed. Counted the rings. One. Two. Three. He knew Vic had his phone, had seen it on his belt earlier. Four.

  Vic’s message played, the beep sounded.

  Tomas tried to speak. His tongue stuck in his mouth, but eventually he managed.

  “Vic, Robbie remembered the guy had a birthmark. Looked like a star, he said. He didn’t know if it would help but— Um. Yeah… I guess. That’s it.” He wanted to keep talking, started to say, “I’m sorry, come home—” but an automated voice interrupted him, suggesting he push 1 to review his message, or push 2 to delete it and re-record. Tomas hung up on the voice. Stuffed the phone back into the holster hooked on his belt, breathing hard.

  He dropped onto the bench of the bus shelter.

  A shadow crossed in front of him, and he thought nothing of it until its owner spoke. “So you got off, too, huh?”

  Tomas looked up, confused, to see Mr. Deer. He was different than last night, for more reasons than his clothes. He wasn’t wearing a white coat, but Tomas knew he was a doctor, something about his carriage, his confidence. The glasses were absent; now that he was not caught off guard, caught between lust and fear of Jon, Tomas could see that he stood like a man unafraid of Tomas’ size, his muscular build. He stood with arrogance.

  “Yeah,” Tomas said, frowning. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but it seemed that Mr. Deer was.

  “Visiting someone?” Mr. Deer said, hovering, his hands in his pockets.

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  Tomas nodded.

  “That poor Mr. Heywood, isn’t it? The stripper. Is he all right?” Tomas stared, then made himself look away. Mr. Deer explained, “I’ve seen him at the 11:30 Club before. He’s very good. You work there too, don’t you? I’ve seen you.” The club was immensely popular with the affluent gay community, so Tomas was inclined to believe him. Mr. Deer blended in with so many others like him, stuffed-shirt leering professional. Still, Tomas didn’t like the coincidences. He shrugged.

  “Do you think they’ll catch whoever did this?”

  “Soon.” Tomas looked at Mr. Deer out of the corner of his eye.

  “Oh, so he was able to help the police? God, that’s a relief.” Mr. Deer smiled.

  “Those murders just made me afraid to go out at all.”

  He was lying, Tomas knew. It seemed Mr. Deer was an expert at pretending to be someone else, like Tomas himself. It could be that he’d just kept himself in the closet so long, lived a double life with a wife and kids at home, but—

  “Is there something you want?” Tomas said, slowly, carefully. Made it clear that he knew prominent successful doctors didn’t speak to lowly strippers in a public place like a bus stop. That he doubted very much that Mr. Deer rode public transportation.

  Mr. Deer stopped feigning a lookout for the bus. “Uh, so, um, I don’t know how say it but—” He lost some of his confidence. “I’ve got an itch, if you could help me out…” Mr. Deer took out his wallet, slid a thick wad of bills partway out.

  Tomas thought of Robbie: “All I saw was green.”

  “No, thanks,” Tomas said. And then he glanced at Mr. Deer again, thought of Robbie saying, “He never got it in me, came before he could.” Thought of Mr. Deer fucking against his ass—coming on him, watching so intently as he fingered Tomas’

  hole—

  He tried not to breathe harder or act strange. It was just a coincidence, Mr. Deer and the hustler-killer. Judging by his outfit, the hospital was home turf for Mr. Deer. Of course he was more confident here. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to ask about his own 92

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  victim, to ask the victim’s friend about him and then solicit that same friend for sex. He was probably just clumsy at making a pick-up. Maybe he had never done it before, picked up a hooker in the middle of the day, where anyone could see.

  Still, something didn’t feel right. Tomas had learned to walk away from the jobs that didn’t feel right.

  “I just want a—” Mr. Deer made a jerking motion with his hand.

  Or he could be a vice cop. Tomas took a step forward, meaning to push past Mr.

  Deer. Mr. Deer didn’t want to let him pass. But Tomas wasn’t small like those dead boys Vic had in his photo file for the case; he wasn’t slim and lean like Robbie. He was tall and built like a football player and Mr. Deer was hardly three-quarters his weight.

  Tomas wasn’t afraid of him.

  Mr. Deer was probably just a sad little man who had convinced himself frottage would spare him any STDs.

  Tomas could find out for sure, he knew. Give the guy a blowjob, tug his pants down enough to see. Tomas could get more use out of Robbie’s clue than Vic, or at least find out easier, and if he was right—

  Then what? Hope that he could overpower Mr. Deer? And if the other man had a knife?

  Mr. Deer hadn’t tried to kill anyone last night. But maybe they were lucky—maybe they’d interrupted him.

  It would be easy for Tomas to find out for sure. After all that he’d done, all that he owed Vic—it was the least he could do. It was all he could do. All he was good at.

  Tomas heard himself say, “Can I borrow some bus money? Just a couple bucks.” Gave Mr. Deer and then Mr. Deer’s wallet a meaningful look. The doctor grinned and nodded. As he slipped Tomas two crisp fifties, something crossed over his face that explained everything, whether he was a cop or a doctor or a killer or just a crazy stalker.

  He thought of Tomas as stupid, easy, gullible.

  And sometimes Tomas was all those things. But this time, he was just a reflection of 93

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  what Mr. Deer wanted to see on the surface.

  He gestured for Mr. Deer to start walking and put one hand on his hip, just over his cellphone. When the other man turned, Tomas’ fingers did a familiar dance over the keypad, hit send. Hoped Mr. Deer didn’t notice. He smiled at Mr. Deer with all of his charm, mentally counting the time until Vic’s message said, maybe a little louder than he usually would, “Might be a while before the bus gets here. There’s a good view back around the Simryn building. I, ah, used to hook up there all the time. Want to take a look?”

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  Chapter Ten

  Vic’s phone vibrated to life against his hip and he glanced downward, scowling.

  Couldn’t stand having fucking Newman in his car, riding where Carl ought to be, smirking and gloating. He thought about those fucking marks on Tomas’ wrists and saw red—

  “Way to set a good example for the civilians, Nimikos.”

  “If you’ve got a problem with it, you drive,” Vic snarled, narrowly cutting off an SUV. The bleating of its horn was satisfying.

  His phone was vibrating again and he saw Jon glance over at the illuminated LCD.

  Jon’s mouth quirked and Vic spat, “Mind your own fucking business!”

  “But yours is such a good fuck.”

  Vic’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. If Jon wasn’t in so good with the captain, if he wasn’t actually the officer with the most experience in the hustler-killer’s playing field, if Vic didn’t have a goddamn sense of responsibility—things would be a lot different.

  And Tomas, fucking cold-hearted shit—

  Vic’s phone buzzed again, loudly.

  “Don’t you want to know what he has to say for himself?”

  “No,” Vic snappped, hitting the silence button.

  “But he begs so nice —”

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  Vic pulled the car over with a squeal of tires, expertly slotting two tons of metal and machinery in between two other parked vehicles.

  “You don’t know a fucking thing about our relationship, so shut the fuck up.” He was so close to just throwing professionalism and protocol out the window, to just dragging Jon out of the car and hitting him until he saw bl
ood.

  “I know he has to go elsewhere to really get what he wants in bed.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “You should have seen him last night, on his knees in a filthy bathroom, sucking off total strangers and begging me to fuck him.”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  “C’mon, maybe you could learn a thing or two. Maybe the two of us could have some fun with his sweet little mouth.”

  “He’s more than—”

  “What, a slut? A toy? God, you don’t know him at all, do you, Detective? What a little slut he is. How he likes being used up, used badly—” Vic hated that Jon’s nasty words brought images of Tomas to mind that he didn’t want to indulge in right now.

  “If you can’t stand that he fucks all these other men, maybe you ought to learn how to tie him up and fuck him ‘til he listens. Works good for me—”

  “He’s going to get fucking killed!” Vic exploded. “I can’t just sit here and watch that, you goddamn piece of shit! If he wants to be the biggest goddamn slut in the entire fucking U.S.A. then all fucking right, but he’s going to get fucking killed and he doesn’t give a fucking shit, he’s too goddamn stupid and goddamn stubborn and I just can’t get fucking through his thick skull!”

  And for once, he seemed to have shut Jon up, stopped the man’s gloating; as if even Jon couldn’t fail to recognize Vic’s pain.

  Vic’s phone shook back to life, startling them both. They watched it ring, once, twice, three times; over to voice mail. Vic took it out of the holster on his hip and looked 96

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  at the little icon of a phone, the caption under it reading, “Missed Call: Tomas 4:23

  p.m.”

  “Fuck,” he said. He dialed voicemail, heard Tomas’ voice. But it wasn’t an apology, or the plea for some explanation that he expected; instead Tommy was saying in his usual even-keeled manner, “Robbie remembered the guy had a birthmark. Looks like a star, he said. He didn’t know if it would help, but— Um. Yeah, I guess that’s it.” Vic’s mouth twitched. He struggled for control; to not be angry, to not wish that Tomas would fucking emote a little, would be pissed off or afraid or maybe a little sad

  —but that wasn’t the intent of his leaving the house. It was like he told Jon. He couldn’t stand to watch. He’d rather be away, distanced, until this all was over. And maybe they would be over, too, and—

  He didn’t listen to the automated voice instructions, automatically pressed “9” to save the message. He hung the phone up, turned the key in the ignition and eased the car out of the space. Without looking at Jon, he said, “The victim remembered something. It could be a lead. I’d like to ask him a little more, get more details.”

  “All righty,” Jon said, and if the surliness in his voice brought Vic a little pleasure, it passed quickly.

  They were almost to the hospital when Vic’s phone buzzed once more, long and drawn out, which usually meant he had a new message. He lifted an eyebrow—Tomas?

  It was a long time after his phone had rung. Maybe his voicemail was delayed.

  He turned them into the hospital parking lot and dialed voicemail again, impatiently keying his way through the menus. And then almost hung up on the message; it sounded like an accidental call, hard to make out anything through the rustling of phone still being in pocket. But there was Tomas’ voice:

  “A good view back around the Simryn building. I, ah, used to hook up there all the time. Want to take a look?”

  Vic felt his stomach lurch. Jon started to say something but Vic tuned him out, covered his other ear with his palm. This was sick, he thought; he should hang up. He 97

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  didn’t want to be an accidental voyeur to Tommy’s pickups.

  There was a lot of scrunching and noise; Vic thought Tommy must have been walking. If it was the spot he was thinking of— Anger swelled in him again. He and Tomas had fooled around there a lot when they first got together. Sometimes he’d pull his patrol car in there, meet Tomas for a little hasty quickie in that alley.

  The message ended abruptly. He was about to hang up when the automated system spoke again. “Next new message.”

  Vic frowned and stayed on the line.

  * * * *

  Tomas smiled and cornered Mr. Deer before the man could get oriented in the alley. “This OK?” While Mr. Deer gave him a nasty look, he pushed the redial button on his phone, then went down on his knees.

  Then he wrapped his hands around Mr. Deer’s ass and tugged him forward; so that his lips mashed against the bulge in Mr. Deer’s khaki trousers. He dragged his lips over the shape of the swell, licked his way up the zipper. He looked up at Mr. Deer; knew how the johns loved that, played it up. As though he was doing a show, he took Mr.

  Deer’s zipper in his teeth and almost curled downward, opening his fly. He kept his eyes on Mr. Deer’s hands, knowing he might not be able to get out of the way if the man really tried to attack him.

  “I said a—” Mr. Deer made a jerking motion with one hand.

  “I just want a look,” Tomas said. “You’re so hot. Let me look at you. I won’t charge extra.”

  He hooked his fingers in Mr. Deer’s belt loops and tugged.

  * * * *

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  Vic pulled the phone a little away from his ear as the rustling got louder. He could tell Jon was looking at him, caught between curiosity and annoyance. He tried to keep the irritation and disgust off his face, but he was never good at hiding how he felt.

  Settled for turning slightly away. Didn’t know why he was still listening anyway. If this was an accidental dialing, he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. And if it wasn’t—well, Tomas was a fucking vengeful piece of shit. More of an asshole than Vic would have given him credit for.

  Then Jon laughed lightly. “Nice wood,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his chest and settling back in his seat.

  Vic was surprised to find Jon was right. His dick was fully hard, fucked up as that was. “Fuck you,” he said, trying to shift and hide it.

  Now Tomas was moaning and Vic’s face heated up and he heard Tomas speak.

  * * * *

  “Fuck, yeah.” Tomas pressed his cheek to Mr. Deer’s hip, nuzzling his nose and mouth against Mr. Deer’s cock. But his half-hooded gaze was turned toward the man’s knees as he worked the man’s trousers down. Mr. Deer was resisting, but halfheartedly, fingertips losing their grip on Tomas’ when Tomas kissed the skin just beside his cock. “Don’t be shy,” he purred, let his grip on the khakis slip and watched them fall down around Mr. Deer’s ankles. “You’re fucking hot.”

  How long had it been? How long would Vic’s voice mail record? Tomas didn’t know. He wanted to redial, just to be sure, but Mr. Deer had almost caught him doing it once already. He caressed his way down Mr. Deer’s thighs, and then he saw it, inside of the right knee, almost toward the back. Ran his fingertips over the mark and said,

  “You’ve got a birthmark here.”

  Mr. Deer reached down for him, guided him upward with a sharp tug in his hair.

  “What is it with you hustlers and that stupid thing?” The look on his face made Tomas 99

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  afraid that he knew, that he wanted Tomas to confess that was what Robbie told the police about. Maybe he thought he could find a way to have it removed on the run.

  Tomas felt his heart rate speed up. He hoped like hell that the voicemail was still listening. He hoped Vic was listening. He articulated clearly, like he was performing on camera. “It’s cool. Looks almost like a star.”

  “Suck my dick,” Mr. Deer growled.

  * * * *

  Vic froze, felt everything inside him lurch. He spun the car around, ignoring the squeal of tires as he cut illegally through the parking lot, toward that back alley in the south campus of the hospital. “You fucking idiot!” he yelled, and he couldn’t make the car go fast enough. He didn’t hear Jon telling him to slow the fuck down
unless he wanted to go on report. He listened to the phone, terrified of hearing screaming, of hearing Tomas in pain, Tomas in trouble, Tomas being killed.

  But the message cut off. Vic threw the phone down into the lap of a startled Jon.

  “Call him,” he said, and when Jon said, “Who?” he snapped, “Tomas, for fuck’s sake—call Tomas!”

  Maybe Jon thought that it was a bad idea; maybe he was just startled, but he didn’t do it. Vic stamped on the brakes. “Tomas is with the goddamn killer!”

  “You’re just gonna set him off—”

  “Robbie was saved because someone interrupted them!”

  “I don’t think—”

  Vic whipped out his gun, even though he knew he could get in some real trouble for it. Pointed it at Newman’s lap like he’d wanted to for so long. “Fuck what you think!

  Dial, you motherfucker, if you want to keep your balls attached to your body!” Newman dialed.

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  * * * *

  In the alley, Tomas swallowed down Mr. Deer’s bitter spunk; felt the hands tighten in his hair and the alleyway filled with the chirruping of his phone. Mr. Deer’s eyes narrowed, but not with pleasure, not this time.

  * * * *

  Jon said, “No answer,” after waiting three rings, irritated and out of control. “Shit.” Vic stepped on the gas.

  * * * *

  Tomas knew what Mr. Deer was about to do as he used his grip on Tomas’ hair to jerk him halfway to his feet, reaching deep in his pocket with his free hand. He lunged. Tomas grabbed at his wrist, fought him as he revealed six-odd inches of knife. They rolled once, backs colliding against the brick wall, Tomas stumbling on something rotten and wet and slimy. He went down on one knee and faster than thought, Mr. Deer had the knife against his throat, cutting his skin.

  Tomas froze, almost afraid to breathe. Funny, how all he could think of in the face of death was what he wanted to say to Vic. He twisted while falling back, getting out of range of the sharp blade, relying on his bulk to protect him.