But that fucker wasn’t just fast. He managed an even pace ahead of me and then did an imitation of my slide across the hood of a car—only the car he chose was moving. I looped around it and followed him across the street, already breathing hard.
Once on open ground, I closed in on him, but then he sprang over a pair of guardrails, jammed his feet into the side of a parking garage and somehow monkey-climbed the freaking wall! He then twisted his body, grabbed the edge of a windowless opening and pulled his legs up. He disappeared somewhere on the first level.
I stood there out of breath, four blocks from the restaurant and gaping up at the concrete hole he vanished into. That was how the asshole got those abs. Fucker trained in Parkour. Holy shit. I wanted him so badly.
Once I got over his being a scum-sucking criminal, that is.
“Yo, your boyfriend just whipped your ass.” Luis’s laughter carried through the car window as flung open the passenger door.
“What the fuck’re you laughing about? We just lost him, and what the fuck was he running for?” I flopped into the seat and slammed the door as the car screeched out. Luis handed me a piece of paper.
“…Detroit Street…” I read the address, frowned, and then my lips did a slow curve upwards. “2A.”
Unf Unf Unf
We made it there before Rabbit—er, Peter, asshole, liar. I waited patiently at his door while Luis watched the back gate.
His home was packed into the middle unit of a set of rundown brick townhomes smack in the heart of the most urban neighborhoods of Denver. I knocked and rang the bell. No answer. I had little choice but to wait outside in the muggy summer sun. I stank of sweat, but at least there was a small garden next door to offset the rank. I inhaled and played with the cuffs hooked to my belt.
We now had grounds for arrest, since he had fled, and I relished throwing cuffs on him. I almost hoped he ran again so I could see him do that shit all over. Then jump him and hold his wrists down and ram my tongue—
He ran. The moment he sprinted around the corner and saw me, he blinked wide, skidded and pivoted, hauling ass the opposite way. “Are you kidding me?” I shouted, giving chase. I was closer this time from the get-go, not to mention being newly familiar with his tactics. He made it exactly two blocks before my football tackle skills made themselves useful.
Perhaps not appropriate to mention to him that I played ‘tight end’ (but I did). And I was sure there were all sorts of ‘wide receiver’ jokes that could have been pertinent, but I was too busy struggling with—fuck he was strong—Peter to think of them. Maybe later.
“Hold—” I growled.
“—off me, pig!”
“—still,” I grabbed his wrists. He twisted and bucked under me. I was sure he could feel my erection because he finally stilled and tried crawling away, instead of rubbing against my crotch by twisting some more.
Sadly, I couldn’t enjoy this position for long because I had to get him cuffed. Though, there were much better ways I could come up with to cuff him besides behind his back. Later, I told myself again. With somewhat of a lesser struggle, I managed to get his hands cuffed and then throw myself off him and sit on the grass.
Peter lay on his stomach, breathing as heavily as I, and then he kicked me twice in the hip before I moved out of range. I found myself staring at his jeans-clad ass and his sparsely-freckled back where the shirt had ridden up during our fight. It was so wrong to be this aroused by him.
“Alright, we’ll talk later about where I’m picking you up Saturday.” Peter rolled over and stared at me with comically large eyes. “Right now I have some other questions.”
“What is wrong with you?” He glared at me.
“I’m somewhat sure I’m suddenly gay,” I shrugged, “My father and mother are hypocritical abandoning homophobic assholes. The former defending my chief suspect in the biggest case of my life—something I’m sure you had a hand in. I’m obsessed with your freckles, your bunny slippers and your lips—which I should be getting points for not kissing while you’re incapacitated, by the way. I’m dating a whore while working on the vice squad—points to me again for not arresting your ass for that—and I’m ridiculously horny. Oh, and my fiancée won’t talk to me.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and bit his lip deliciously before pulling it through his teeth again and again. “I’m not a whore,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“Just a poet, and you don’t even know it?” I held up the handcuff keys, attempting to dazzle him with my smile. “If I take those off, are you going to run away? You know what, Rabbit, never mind. You lied to me.”
“Peter,” he said quietly. “My name is Peter.” I opened my mouth to respond but he interrupted. “I did what I had to do.”
I leaned over and uncuffed him—because I was insane. My fingers stayed a little too long on his wrists. He pulled them in front of his chest and rubbed the chafed skin.
“We’re not going to arrest you for lying. I mean we could, but we’d have to prove you were lying. Which is a stretch. Jesus, is that why you ran?”
Peter turned his head away from me and pushed off the ground. “Sure,” he lied. Again. I recognized the lie now that my rosy glasses weren’t so shiny. I was not seeing him as this ethereal, innocent boy any longer. I saw him for what I dealt with all the time. A hustler. Attractive street trash, but street trash nonetheless.
And you know what? It didn’t lessen my attraction to him one iota.
“So what do you want?” He tucked his hands in his pockets. I sensed he was faking vulnerability.
“I came for that kiss.” I flashed all my teeth in a grin as I stood up. He stared at me with that withering glare. “You know why I’m here.”
He pulled his brows in and surveyed the park just west of us. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“Fuck,” I said, leaning my head back and pinching the bridge. “If I knew dating a whore would be this difficult, I’d have slept with you the first night.”
“Call me a whore one more time,” he warned.
“You’re sensitive about that? Do I need to define the word whore for you?” I couldn’t believe I was having this ridiculous conversation.
“I thought you’d refuse or leave me alone,” he spat. Literally he spat, at my feet. “You know, being a fucking cop and all.” He shook his head and huffed a laugh, biting his lip in that delicious way again.
Dear God, he’d broken my nose, charged me for sex, kicked me, made me look like an idiot, and all I wanted to do is bang the sense out of him with my dick. “I have no idea what to do with you, Peter.” I sighed, pushed my hand through my hair, and began searching my pockets for a handkerchief or tissue for my nose.
Peter’s fingers pressed under my chin, lifting it up. Using a bandana he pulled from nowhere, he dabbed away the blood under my nose. My heart beat like we were still on the run. “I don’t like you,” he muttered. “You’re a closet case, and you’re only interested in my ass.” He rubbed my bruised nose. I whimpered. I was fairly sure he pressed harder than necessary.
“Sadist,” I groaned. I was so hard right now, I could probably come if he accidentally rubbed my knees. Not the best time, since I saw Luis pull the car up across the street.
“You’re too pretty,” he murmured. I’d have grinned if my nose wouldn’t protest.
“You want me,” I joked.
“Against my better judgment,” he admitted.
My fingers brushed against his stomach as I rested them on the ridge of his waistband. The shiver that I elicited thrilled me. “Hi,” I said with a stupid grin and a wince of pain.
“So eager,” he said, wetting the bandana with his tongue and wiping at my nose again. I cringed, immediately regretting the gesture as pain shot into my forehead.
“I like you,” I said honestly. “Even though you’re probably a criminal and are going to get me thrown off the force. And you kicked me. Broke my nose. Made me gay and refused to kiss me.”
“You don’t even
know me,” Peter reiterated, stuffing the bandana in my pocket, and contemplating me for a few seconds. He stepped back and released my chin. “You need a name, I guess?” He popped a brow at me.
“Yeah,” I said, because that was the only coherent thought I had besides unf unf unf.
“I wish I could give you one. Even if I had it. Which I don’t. I just get calls for favors.” He shoved his hands into his pockets again, whipping the flop of hair out of his eyes. “Iss knows things. I can’t risk it.” The thought of him risking anything broke my heart a little. But it also made me more alert to my behavior. I was definitely more suspicious of his mannerisms at least. “But I might know someone who has more to give on Iss.”
“I need something from you. Something that justifies my not arresting you.”
He nodded once. “I’ll talk to my friend again. That’s the best I can do.”
“Okay. And, Peter? Don’t leave town,” I said. “Next time it won’t be me cuffing you. Joe’s not around to keep your record clean.” I was normally ruthless at my job. For a while Peter had clouded that instinct. Perhaps I’d see a bit more clearly now. “Besides, for our date Saturday? I was thinking less cell block and more movie house.” I said brightly.
His lips twitched, but he didn’t say no. I took that as ‘Oh, you sexy devil, Austin, I want to do you right here, but I’m super-duper excited about our date so I’ll wait’.
I was paraphrasing, of course.
Dave
Luis chewed me out the entire ride back to the station and continued his tirade for an extra fifteen minutes in the car after we arrived. I convinced him that Peter was going to come through with a name for us. That, combined with reminders that my law enforcement career, at least up to this point, had been impeccable and my standing in the way of him taking another bullet, finally shut him up.
I grew up Catholic. I was not above guilt trips.
He dropped me off at my Jag in sullen silence and left without a word. I turned on my car, and with nowhere to go, no one special to see, I drove aimlessly through the city.
For the hundredth time since Saturday, I wondered what the fuck I was doing. Apparently what I was doing was getting off on being lectured because I called Dave.
Knowing that he had spoken with Angelica. Knowing that he would not talk about Jesse—maybe even had purposefully forgotten him, like me—I still called.
“Buchnanan home, I’m Asa,” a bright soft voice greeted me.
Asa was almost five and insisted on doing things like answering the house phone and helping her mom with dinner.
“It’s uncle Oz, Asa. How’s my girl.”
“Mom says she’s mad, and it’s not nice for you to call her fat.”
I cringed again, making a splinter of pain rocket into my skull. “You’re right, Asa. That wasn’t nice. And Uncle Oz thinks you have the most beautiful mommy in the world.”
“Mom. Mom. Uncla Oz says you’re the most beautiful mom in the world.”
“Give mummy the phone, sötnos. Oz, the booties were perfect, but you didn’t have to.”
“Am I forgiven?”
“Always, Oz. I just teach you a little way to hold your tongue, yes?” Only the Buchanans used the nickname. I never told them how much I hated it. It didn’t matter, when they said it, it was different.
I laughed. “I think you taught me well, beautiful. But admit you forgave me because I sent the can of fermented herring.”
“Yes, this was very kind. But I think Dave will not talk to you after I open it.”
“For your love, I’d do anything, Marta.” I heard a mild scuffle over the phone, and the sound of lips smacking in a kiss.
“Are you quoting Oliver Twist to my wife?”
“I think that was just Oliver,” I smiled.
“You know she won’t let me ban you from the house for sending her that foul smelling crap. But I insist you be there for its opening.”
“Oh, wow. I’d love to, but I’m busy.”
“I haven’t told you when yet, man.”
“I’m monumentally busy. Weddings to break up, boys to chase, cases to solve. Busy, busy.”
“I heard.” The tone got serious faster than I was ready for. I pulled off the road into a parking lot and leaned my head back on the seat.
“Angel called Marta?”
“Marta first, then me. Wanted to know if I knew what instigated it.” I checked out the park across the street. Watched a couple of toddlers bounce on the rides. Would I ever have kids? “Do I?” He added.
“Last month, Luis and I are part of the sweep of the meth house on 19th Street, near the old hospital. You know it?”
“I heard something about it. Dead kid in the back room.”
“Not in the back room. In the backyard. Used his belt to hang himself in the tree. Seventeen years old.” Silence. “You there?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d we go eight years not talking about this? Not thinking about him at all?”
My father was always a lost cause. Telling him today wasn’t even that satisfying. Especially since I felt like I had lost Angelica at this point, and now I was risking the loss of Dave, too. I had even fucked up with Luis. Slowly peeling my life apart helped me realize how lonely and afraid Jesse must have been.
“This isn’t something we should talk about over the phone, Oz.”
“Did you hate him because of that kiss?”
“Shit no! We were cool after that. He made a pass, I said no, it was over. I loved him. You know that. Christ, we’d been friends since we were ten. Just. Goddamn that asshole. We laughed about the fucking kiss.”
“And then you told him I was gay,” I accused.
“Oz, sometimes it’d take a snap of my fingers at your fucking nose to stop you from staring at him.”
My laugh broke on a wrecked sob. I quickly stifled it all. When I had control again I answered. “I counted every freckle on his nose that first summer.”
Another beat of silence, and then we both breathed out in frustration and relief. “You want Jake’s and Terry’s new number?” Dave asked.
“Okay,” I sighed. A few seconds later I heard a beep announcing a text on my phone.
“I wasn’t mad about the gay shit, Oz. I was pissed at what he did, not who he was.”
Too much angst. I needed a break. “Angelica said she wouldn’t march in the gay parade for me.”
“Are you asking me to be your fella for the gay prom?”
“That’s like the worst impression of a woman in the history of mankind.”
“Do me a favor, Oz?”
“Sure?”
“Don’t ask them about ass-sex when they answer the phone. Marta feels guilty when you have no friends to visit.”
“No on the ass-sex. Check.”
“Next week, Jays vs Sox?”
“My place, bring beer. Laters.” Huh. No lecture?
I checked my phone and debated calling Jake and Terry. But I didn’t know them that well, and I had no idea how to be gay around gay people. Was I supposed to develop an interest in shopping and Cher? Right now all I wanted to do was go home and watch some sports and do my second pastime: first person shooter video games. So that’s what I did.
Chapter Seven
Thirteen Years Too Long
Why has it never been said in the history of the world that Thursdays suck? Thursdays are that awful place between halfway done and can’t quite see the finish line yet. Thursday morning, stuck in the evidence room, again, with Luis—who had decided he was done bitching at me and would just heretofore grunt all responses. I was in a rotten mood. I was pissed at myself for making a date on Saturday. Seriously. Saturday? What was I fucking thinking? Like the anticipation between now and then was a good thing?
“There’s nothing new in these boxes.” I kicked one and sent it skittering by Luis’s foot. He fielded it with his shoe and then shoved it back.
“Right now you’ll sit there and look through these boxes while I
try to figure out if I’m going to the captain to request your removal from this case. The less time we’re searching through evidence, the more I’m inclined to head to his office. It’s your call.”
“I haven’t fucked up the case,” I insisted.
“A miracle because you’ve done just about everything possible to fuck it up.”
“Bullshit!”
He pounded the desk and stood, leaning over, nose-to-nose with me. “Just let it go. Wait until the case is solved.” Our volumes began escalating.
“I can’t,” I said—which being interpreted was, I wouldn’t.
“A few weeks?”
“Weeks? Or months? You don’t know. And I can’t wait.”
“Why the fuck not? Is this kid—”
“Because I’ve waited thirteen years too long!”
“Ai, Dios mio! You! Ya estoy harto de tanta hostia. Estúpido cabrón!”
“I’m Googling that.” I sat down and began typing in my phone. “And if you just told me to suck your cock, I’m calling Denise.” While I waited for the tension to ease, I watched the latest viral pet video.
“I said I’d had enough of this shit, you stupid stubborn ass.”
“I love you, too. Which is why I say this with respect: If you keep rubbing your face like that, I’m going to have to lift up skin to look you in the eyes.”
“This kid is involved, Glass.”
“I know he is, but he was just used to throw us off Alvarado.”
“That’s little Austin speaking.”
“A, he’s not little. B, not even funny to go there. C, he’ll get us a name.”
“Says you and your—”
“Says me and eight years of being a cop.”
“Eight years is still primary school. I wouldn’t brag about that. He has until Monday to come up with someone. Or you bring us something we can squeeze him with.”
“Deal.” I exhaled, hoping I’d bought enough time that Peter could come through.
Luis grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and slipped it over his shoulders. “Let’s get out of here and find out where those kids are before the DA agrees to that plea. Because it ain’t here.”
Shattered Glass Page 10