Eyes and Ears

by A. R. Moler

  Eyes and Ears

  By A.R. Moler

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2018 A.R. Moler

  ISBN 9781634866590

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Eyes and Ears

  By A.R. Moler

  When Alicia leaned into Brian Townsend’s cubicle at the architecture firm, she had a bright orange envelope between her fingers. “Here’s your official invitation to the Halloween party. If you and Tristan don’t show up I’m going to be devastated.” She mimed a back of the hand to the forehead style expression of pain and grief.

  Brian chuckled. “You just want credit for introducing the two of us.” Almost one year ago, architect Brian Townsend had met NYPD homicide detective Tristan Blake at one of Alicia’s epic parties. Over that past year Brian and Tristan had fallen in love. Tristan had recently proposed.

  “Damn straight, or maybe rather not so straight. Anyway, you know what I mean. So, where’s my invitation to the wedding?”

  “Still at the printer’s. I think they’re pissed that we only ordered thirty-five of them.”

  “Small weddings can be a good thing,” she said grudgingly.

  “This from a woman that invites eighty-five people to a Halloween party?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “Any joy from Tristan’s family?”

  Brian let out a long sigh. “It’s not going well.” He looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, I’m supposed to be meeting Tristan and his father for lunch. I have to bail.” Brian grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

  As he waited for the elevator, he thought about the past year. It had started out as little more than a hook-up but had slowly progressed to falling in love. There had been misunderstandings and rocky moments, the good times and the evolution of a relationship outweighed those. Just a few weeks ago, Tristan had proposed. It had blown Brian out of the water for Tristan to make such a serious commitment and Brian had blissfully, happily, said yes.

  With Brian still healing from a brutal stab wound from a mugging gone bad, Tristan had hired a moving company to transport all of Brian’s possessions from the apartment to the brownstone Tristan owned. That had been mildly frustrating, having so little control over who packed what where. Belatedly, Brian realized that if Tristan hadn’t used the moving company, they would have had to wait a couple of weeks minimum, before Brian could have even halfway helped with the task. Even now, when he twisted wrong, the muscles of his side protested. It’s only been a month, he told himself.

  * * * *

  Body language said a lot. When Brian came into the restaurant, he could see Tristan and an older man standing near the bar. Both men had ramrod straight rigid posture and crossed arms, all defensive. The older man wore an immaculately tailored suit. Tristan had a sport coat and a tie. Tristan had asked Brian to come have lunch and meet his father. The meeting was supposed to smooth the waters before Brian and Tristan got married the following month. Obviously, things were not going as planned.

  Brian walked slowly toward the pair. Tristan’s dark hair was slightly mussed, and Brian suspected Tristan had run his hands through it in frustration. The older man bore a resemblance to Tristan but had squarer features.

  “I’ll have nothing to do with such a farce. It shouldn’t even be legal,” the elder Mr. Blake said icily. He turned and strode toward the door. Brian paused for a moment and watched, wondering if it was worth following the older man and telling the arrogant prick that his son had hoped his father would come to his wedding. Nope, decided Brian, it wasn’t worth it. He approached Tristan, who was staring at the bar. Brian laid a hand on Tristan’s shoulder.

  Tristan turned and wrapped both arms around Brian. “You missed the fireworks,” he muttered.

  “I heard a little of it. Listen, we don’t have to do lunch if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I’m hungry. I don’t care if I only came here because my father likes this place. We should stay and have lunch.” Tristan’s voice was tight.

  Brian weighed the idea. It was obvious that this place catered to money and power, more specifically the old boys network idea. He and Tristan were drawing a few glares standing there in each other’s arms. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Want a drink? I could use one.” Tristan slowly let go.

  The bar itself was a fairly impressive mass of dark wood and brass fixtures. The shelves behind it were lined with high end liquor. Brian glanced at what they had on tap. “I’ll have a Boddington’s.”

  Tristan ordered him one and got himself one, too. “You’ve spoiled me. I can barely tolerate the cheap mass produced domestic stuff anymore.”

  They were shown to a table in a quiet corner and Brian wondered if it was to get them out of plain sight. Tristan didn’t seem to notice. They sat across from each other.

  “At least your family seems to think us getting married is a good plan,” Tristan said, rubbing his hands over his face.

  “We never thought convincing your family was going to be easy.” Brian reached out and took Tristan’s hand in his own, and lightly squeezed Tristan’s fingers.

  “Would you believe my mother called and told me there was ‘plenty of time to call the whole thing off’ and that I ‘didn’t have to go through with it.’ Jesus…you’d think this was a shotgun wedding.”

  “Knocking me up would be a really difficult task,” Brian dead-panned.

  Tristan gave Brian a rueful half smile. “Yeah, that it would.”

  “Can I change the topic?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “Alicia gave me the invitation to her Halloween party today. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know the date,” Brian said. “Since she likes to hold it on a weekend so everyone doesn’t have to worry about getting up the next morning.”

  “I take it we’re planning on going?”

  “I went makeup shopping a few days ago and put a reservation on a costume for you.”

  “Do I even dare ask what you ordered?” Tristan grimaced slightly.

  “I thought we’d go as Batman and Two-Face. I went thrift store shopping and bought a cheap gray suit. I ran over the left side of it with the car a couple of times and I’m thinking about singeing it with a blowtorch.

  “And you want me to be Batman?”

  “Hey, I thought we’d continue the theme of not being able to see half your face, since you were Zorro last year.” Brian ran a fingertip along Tristan’s lips.

  * * * *

  He should have known Brian would go all out for Halloween. Tristan rolled his eyes, but also kissed Brian’s finger. �
��There are days when I don’t know which is worse, letting you Halloween shop or sending you to the hardware store.” The third floor of Tristan’s Victorian brownstone was slated for renovation. The intention had been for Brian to start on it a couple of weeks back but his recovery from being stabbed was going slower than anticipated, and there was no way Tristan was going to let Brian start knocking down walls until he was fully healed. Brian had been taking out some of his frustrations by shopping for supplies.

  “I priced some wainscoting that I was thinking about using to reface the walls of the staircase. Are you okay with white? It’ll show fingerprints more but that space is fairly dark and even with a light fixture replacement, it’s always going to be a narrow space,” said Brian.

  “That’s fine. You know you can do whatever you want.”

  Brian rubbed his thumb across Tristan’s knuckles. “That house represents a lot of memories for you. I don’t want to do anything to disturb the good ones.”

  “Grandfather would probably have thought gutting the top floor so my partner could have office space was a good idea.”

  “The plans I’m working on also involve a guest bedroom and a full bath.”

  “You miss the big cast iron monster of a tub from your apartment, don’t you?” asked Tristan.

  “A little. I’m leaning toward putting a double size jetted tub in the plans, but I need to rip out one of the floor boards to check the strength of the joists underneath,” said Brian.

  “Let me know if you need help.” Tristan glanced at his watch. “We have about fifty minutes until I need to head back to work.”

  * * * *

  Barely an hour after lunch, Tristan got a call to a homicide in an apartment block. When he arrived at the murder scene, one of the uniformed officers crooked a finger at him.

  “Coroner’s office is on the way. The forensic people are just getting started.” The officer’s name plate read—Ramirez.

  “I heard there’s a suspect in custody?”

  Ramirez pointed his thumb toward a squad car. “Suspect my ass. We found him standing over the body with a bloody chair leg in his hand. There’re two witnesses, the grandmother and a twelve-year-old boy. The woman is the one who called 911.”

  “Was there any reason given for the lethal assault?” Tristan glanced at the police car. A stocky man wearing a blood-spattered T-shirt was in the back. He appeared to be yelling, but with the doors and windows closed, little sound escaped.

  “Um…Drunk off his ass covers half of it,” said Ramirez. “But you’re not going to like the other part.”

  “Yeah, well, I seldom like the reasons people think murder’s a good idea.”

  Ramirez looked somewhat uncomfortable. “The young woman, the Vic’…according to the grandmother, told her father she was a lesbian. He apparently blew a gasket.”

  Tristan felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been on a few similar cases, but after the events at lunch time…He managed a nod and turned away from Ramirez, walking slowly toward the corner ground floor apartment. He took a slow deep breath before he went inside.

  In the main room, a young white woman’s body lay sprawled on the carpet in a large patch of blood. One of the forensic people was placing bags over the woman’s hands to preserve any DNA evidence that might be under her fingernails. The entire side of the victim’s head was a bloody mess. Was that brain matter that had oozed out of the shattered skull?

  The tech looked up at Tristan. “This is probably a pretty open and shut case.”

  “I’m guessing that massive blunt force trauma is COD?” Tristan asked.

  “I’m not the coroner, but probably so. You okay? You look kind of green. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t puke on my crime scene.”

  Tristan felt both embarrassed and sick. God, it wasn’t like he was a rookie. He’d had to pull wallets off of three-day old floaters.

  Somebody laid a hand on Tristan’s shoulder from behind and he flinched. He turned to see who it was: Mitch Robertson, another detective. Tristan had worked with Robertson on a number of cases and appreciated the straight forward no-nonsense attitude of the other man. Robertson also was one of the few who gave Tristan no grief about his personal life.

  “Go interview the witnesses, Blake. I’ll handle this part,” said Robertson.

  Tristan took the offer for the kindness meant. He couldn’t avoid the case or the scene but he didn’t have to be the one watching the techs preserve trace evidence on the body. He nodded and walked back out of the building.

  * * * *

  Brian let himself in the back gate and was surprised to see Tristan sitting on the steps that led up to the narrow porch. There was a beer bottle in Tristan’s hand and he was sitting with his elbows on his knees.

  Everything about what Brian saw felt subtly wrong. He walked up the steps, set his briefcase off to one side, and sat down beside Tristan. “Is this about the thing with your dad at lunch?”

  “Yes and no.” Tristan lifted the beer bottle and had a sip.

  Brian took Tristan’s free hand in his, weaving their fingers together. “Talk to me.”

  Tristan shook his head. He squeezed Brian’s hand. “Can we just sit here for now?”

  “Take your time, but I do want to hear about it, whatever it is.”

  “Later,” Tristan murmured. He put the beer bottle on the porch behind him and nudged Brian to come sit on the step below him. Wrapping both arms around Brian from behind, he hugged Brian to his chest, and buried his face against Brian’s neck.

  It tore at Brian’s heartstrings to see his partner this upset, but he knew he had to give Tristan a little time before there was any hope of prying the reasons for the black mood out of him.

  They sat on the steps until the sun finished setting and streetlights came on. The air became noticeably cooler, definitely bordering on chilly.

  “How ‘bout we have some dinner?” Brian suggested.

  “Okay.” Tristan let Brian go and stood up slowly, offering Brian a hand up.

  * * * *

  In the kitchen, Tristan watched his soon-to-be husband taking a bag of tortellini out of the freezer. He knew it was just a matter of time before he’d have to clue Brian in on why he was upset. Brian wouldn’t let him get away with refusing to discuss the nasty side of his job. Just because they had an agreement didn’t make it really that much easier.

  “There should be a jar of sauce in the cupboard,” said Brian, filling a pot with water.

  Tristan focused on the minor task, searching for the requisite item.

  As water began to heat on the stove, and sauce was warming, Brian leaned back against the sink and drew Tristan close. “You know it’s quite possible none of your family will show up for the ceremony.”

  “I know.” Tristan kissed Brian softly, as he leaned into the embrace. “What happened when you came out to your family?”

  “I was seventeen. My mother wasn’t particularly surprised. She mostly just asked me if I was sure it wasn’t just a crush on a particular person. My sister teased me for a few days, mostly because she’d already suspected. My father…he was really quiet. I think he may have suspected. He avoided actually talking about it for a good month afterwards. I think maybe he was processing the idea. I remember you said something implying your parents were pretty mad.” Brian’s voice was soft.

  “My mother screamed, then cried, then tried to convince me I’d get over it. As you can tell, some parts of that haven’t changed much. My father…started shouting at me and calling me a filthy faggot. He threw a high ball glass at my head. It missed. I’m still not sure if that was accidental or intentional.” Tristan was half tempted to pull away in pure embarrassment. Mentioning the events of that night was painful even though the only one listening was Brian, the man he loved.

  Brian looped his arms around Tristan’s neck. “This is about more than the spat in the restaurant this afternoon isn’t it?”

  “There was
a new case this afternoon. A father, drunk as a skunk, beat his nineteen-year-old daughter to death.”

  “And?” Brian prompted.

  Tristan couldn’t meet Brian’s eyes and buried his face into the side of Brian’s neck. “The witnesses said it was because she told him she was a lesbian.”

  “God…” Brian muttered and hugged Tristan a little tighter. “On top of what happened at lunch, I’m surprised it was beer in your hand and not the bottle of Glenfiddich.”

  “Forgot we had that,” muttered Tristan.

  “Maybe that’s a good thing.” Brian ran his fingers through Tristan’s hair. “Love you.”

  Tristan sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I love you, too. I’m sorry I’m letting all this get to me.”

  Brian hooked a finger under Tristan’s chin and tipped his face back up. “No apologies. You have to be willing to tell me about the bad stuff, too. If cases like this don’t get to you, it’s time to quit, because the job is stealing your humanity.”

  * * * *

  Finding a parking place in the neighborhood Alicia and her husband lived in was always something of a pain, and being two days before Halloween didn’t make it any easier. Brian momentarily wished he and Tristan had taken a cab instead of driving. He glanced across the car at Tristan, who was wearing the very detailed Batman outfit with the hooded mask pushed back behind his shoulders. Tristan said it blocked way too much of his vision to feel safe driving with it on.

  “Oh, there’s one,” said Tristan, and he began to angle the car back into a parking space on the right-hand side of the street. “I guess we’re going to have to hoof it the last few blocks because I didn’t see anything closer.”

  “That’s fine.” Brian continued gazing at his lover’s profile, entranced, inspired…aroused.

  When Tristan turned off the car, he looked at Brian with a puzzled expression. “What?”

  “You make an utterly hot caped crusader.”

  Tristan smirked. “Next thing, you’re going to tell me is that you have a thing for rubber.” He tapped a gloved finger against the heavy chest plate of the suit.