Pick Up the Pieces

by Tinnean

  “What, all of them?”

  “All of them.”

  “Goddammit. All that Paul went through, and he wasn’t even paid.”

  “I’ll see he gets paid, Sweetcheeks.” The bills disappeared into his pocket. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  I remembered the Russian Vince had beaten the shit out of. Whoever this “Michael Shaw” was, I knew he was going to pay heavily for what he’d done to Paul, and the counterfeit money was the least of it.

  “Come on.” He rose and threw away the paper cup his coffee had been in. “Spike is going to think we’ve eaten his Oreos.”

  Chapter 11

  PAUL HAD regained consciousness and was shifting restlessly, favoring his left side.

  “The nurse just gave him a shot of something,” Spike told us. “Look, Paul. Vince is here to see you.”

  “Hi, babe.” Paul’s eyes were slits, so swollen I wondered if he could see out of them at all. He stretched out his hand, and Vincent took it.

  “If you’d wanted to see me so badly, you really didn’t have to go to these lengths, baby. A call would have been sufficient. Look, I have some errands to run, but I’ll be back, probably before these assholes can find a room for you.”

  “No, please!” Paul’s hoarse whisper sounded scared. “Please don’t go!” Paul was never scared.

  And then I realized he was afraid, not for himself but for Vincent. Of what might be done to him or of what he might do?

  “Okay, Pretty Boy. I won’t leave.” Vince’s concession was easy.

  I sat down and swallowed hard. Vince’s expression was deadly. And then just like that, it smoothed out, and he looked as if revenge was the furthest thing from his mind.

  Spike crawled onto the bed and put his arms around Paul, easing his grip when Paul winced.

  “I’ll be okay,” he mumbled just before the drugs took effect and he fell asleep.

  Vince checked for messages on his phone, then settled down to wait, tapping his fingers restlessly against his thigh.

  “Hey, I’ve got a deck of cards.” I pulled them from my pocket, and he and I played two-handed solitaire while we waited for a room to be found for Paul and for a call from the lab.

  His cell phone rang. “Vincent.” He looked surprised at first. “I’m visiting with a sick friend. Contrary to popular belief, Matheson, I do have friends.” There was a pause. “What’s the damage?” His expression became cold, colder, coldest, and I shivered. When the call was finished, he flipped his phone shut without saying “good-bye” and leaned over the bed. “I have to go, baby.”

  Paul was too doped up to object this time, but he gripped Vincent’s sleeve, refusing to let go.

  I touched his arm and mouthed the words, Blood results?

  He shook his head. “Business.”

  “Go, Vince.” I eased Paul’s fingers loose. “I’ll take care of him. You’ll be back when you can?”

  “You bet your ass.” And he was gone.

  “He’s gonna… he’s gonna kill someone, Sweets. Know… know it.”

  “Vince?” I hoped the drugs affected Paul enough so that he didn’t realize how hollow my laugh was. “You’ve gotta be kidding. He wouldn’t harm a fly.”

  “Like… like Norman Bates?”

  “You’re being silly.” But Vince carried a knife in his suit pocket—I’d seen it. What kind of troubleshooter was he? I pushed the thought out of my mind. Not my business. “No, this is just about work, Paul, I promise you.”

  “Not… not lying to me?”

  “Hell, no. Hey, I’ve got a great idea.” I hastily changed the subject, because I was afraid I was lying to him. “How about if I tell your fortune?” I picked up the cards and began to shuffle the deck.

  “Since when did… did you know how to… to do that?”

  “Since forever. I’m a man of many hidden talents, I’ll have you know. Now this was taught to me by a wandering gypsy by the light of a full moon.” I drew one card after another from the deck and placed them on the blanket in the shape of a cross. “Now, see, this is very good. You’re going to live to be ninety-five.”

  Spike leaned forward, staring at the royal flush I had inadvertently dealt. “Will… will I be with him?”

  I tapped the jack of hearts. “Well, the cards say a handsome younger man will be at his side, so I’d say that had to be you.”

  “What else?”

  “You’ll be surrounded by children and grandchildren, he’ll be as in love with you as he is today, and….” I thought of something I’d have wanted if the future was mine to arrange. “… and yours will be the last face he sees.”

  “You’re… you’re pulling that out your… your ass, Sweets.” Paul’s eyes had closed, but there was a faint smile on his lips.

  “Would the cards lie? Don’t give the fortune-teller a hard time, wiseass.”

  Spike’s brow wrinkled.

  “What’s wrong, baby? Don’t you want to be with Paul when he dies?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I was just doing some figuring. Paul is ten years older than me. If he lives to be ninety-five, then I’ll be eighty-five when I die.” He sighed happily. “That’s a pretty good age.”

  “Whoa, whoa! Who said anything about you dying?”

  “With Paul gone, you don’t think I’m going to live a moment longer, do you?”

  “Ah, baby.” Paul managed to open an eye. “C’mere an’… an’ give me a kiss.”

  My throat ached. I’d never have that in my life. I cleared my throat, gathered up the cards, and shuffled them again.

  “Now, don’t interrupt me. I need to concentrate and see what else the cards say.”

  A FEW hours later, Paul was resting more comfortably, although still in the ED, and the fear and tension that had banded my head and wrapped itself around my chest like constricting restraints had eased off. As bad as his injuries looked, Paul was going to pull through.

  True to his word, Vince returned. He wasn’t alone, however, which was unusual.

  “Fuck.” He scowled. That seemed to be the expression of the day. Him, the nurse… Shaw. “Haven’t they found a bed for him yet?”

  “’S okay, baby,” Paul said softly. Spike had fallen asleep on the bed next to him, and he was stroking his platinum hair.

  Vince lowered his voice. “It’s not okay. You’ve been down here for hours. I’m not leaving until I get you settled.”

  “You always make such a big thing out of everything, baby.” Paul shifted.

  “You need something for pain?” Vince asked, looking around as if searching for a nurse.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re not, but I won’t argue with you.”

  “Vince is so protective of Pretty Boy, you know,” I said to the man standing a couple of paces to the side of Vincent. Who was he? I decided to start the ball rolling introduction wise. “I’m Sweetcheeks, and that’s Spike. I run this menagerie, as much as these two will allow.”

  “And when are you going to give it up?” Vince demanded. “This life is getting downright dangerous.” He noticed my gaze was on the other man. “This is Matheson. He’s with me.”

  Matheson, hmm? The one who had called Vince earlier? Was there anything between them? After a second or two, I decided not. If I hadn’t known Vince had had sex with Pretty Boy, nothing about him would have set off my gaydar. The man with him, on the other hand, definitely had it going tick, tick, tickety tick.

  I studied him carefully.

  Brown hair, brown eyes, average height. The suit he wore was unremarkable, and his hair had been cut with apparent disregard for style and how it could be made to highlight his angular face. There was nothing special about him—he could have been any of a hundred other guys seen on the street and forgotten as soon as I walked past them.

  So why was it that I couldn’t take my eyes off him? Why did I want to strip off that suit and make him squirm, want to make him admit that, whether he was bi or gay, he wanted me?

 
; It was that unremarkable suit, I decided as I rose to my feet and offered him my hand. It was so bland and ordinary; I just wasn’t able to resist. I tickled his palm with my middle finger. He tightened his grip, and my gaydar began pinging like mad, but then he dropped my hand as if he’d been burned.

  Vince had his cell phone out, and I was pretty sure he’d missed me teasing his boy.

  A hospital staffer came bustling into the bay. “I’m sorry, sir, use of cell phones….” He looked horrified when he saw Vincent. “Oh no! Not you again!” They’d had a run-in earlier.

  Matheson stepped in, steering the little man away. “Why don’t you point me in the direction of the cafeteria, and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee?”

  Vincent flipped open his phone and pressed a number. After a few seconds, he spoke. “Senator? It’s Vincent.” I wasn’t surprised he knew a United States senator—Paul and I knew any number of politicians—but that he had the senator on his speed dial…. “I have a situation here, sir. A friend is in the emergency department of GW, and he needs to be admitted, but they don’t seem to have a room available. Can you…? … You will? Thanks very much, Senator. I’ll wait for your call.”

  “Should I take out the cards?”

  “No. This shouldn’t take too long.” Within minutes, his cell phone rang, a discreet sound, unlike mine, which played “Let Me Entertain You” for just about everyone. “Vincent. … Yes, sir. … Oh, they did?” A hard smile curled his lips. “Yes, sir. Thank you again, Senator. It’s been a pleasure. … Good-bye, sir.” He glanced at me. “They’re going to move some woman to the maternity floor, and Pretty Boy will have her room. They’ll probably be coming for him soon.”

  “Cool. We’d better get Spike off the bed.”

  Matheson came back just then. He was alone. “Some men just shouldn’t work around sick people. Edgar was feeling a little queasy. He’s decided to go home early.”

  Vince nodded. “Nice work, Matheson.” He shook Spike. “They’ve found a bed for Pretty Boy. Go wait out in the lobby until they’ve transferred him.”

  I didn’t know why he wanted Spike out of the area—maybe in case the hospital gown slipped and revealed the bruises that covered Paul’s torso—but I jumped at the chance to be alone with the delectable Matheson. “Vince, I’m going to get some coffee. Mind if I bring your boy along with me?”

  Matheson looked as if he might say something, but he didn’t. He just turned to Vince.

  “Go ahead, but I expect him back in one piece, Sweetcheeks.”

  Matheson flushed a little.

  “Sure thing. I won’t even dent the suit.” This was going to be fun.

  I hadn’t realized it was so late the cafeteria was shut down for the night. Matheson fished some coins from his pocket and fed them into a vending machine. He handed me a cup of the black sludge that passed for coffee everywhere at this time of night.

  “Thanks.” Little containers of creamer were on the counter. I emptied three of them into my cup. “Milk?” I offered him one.

  “Milk’s for wusses.”

  I had raised the cup to my lips, but that stopped me from taking a sip. “Are you calling me a wuss?”

  “I’m certainly not calling you Sweetcheeks.”

  “Oh?” Son of a bitch. The first man I’d been attracted to since… well, forever, and he had to turn out to be a shit. “Mind telling me why? You think it makes me sound like a rent boy?” I gave him a hard glare. Vince must have told him what our line of work was. It didn’t matter a hill of beans to him, but too many times people had put us down because of what we did for a living.

  The glower that I’d learned from Tim didn’t seem to bother Matheson at all.

  “No.” His expression was bland. “It makes you sound like my boyfriend.”

  My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. He was flirting with me? “You… uh… you really call your boyfriends ‘sweetcheeks’?”

  He studied me coolly. He wasn’t going to answer me.

  I opened my mouth to tease him, and instead heard myself say, “Theo. My name is Theo.” My brows snapped together. Why had I done that, given him my real name? I hadn’t used it since the day my father had thrown me out of the house when I was fifteen.

  “Theo,” he repeated.

  I shivered in pleasure at the sound of my name on his lips and forgot about trying to figure out why I’d given it to him.

  “Nice name.”

  “So….” I gazed at him, let my lashes sweep down then raise up. “You gonna tell me your name?”

  “You know my name. Matheson.”

  “I don’t intend to call you by your last name when I kiss you.” Neither of us was drinking the coffee. I took his cup and threw it away with mine. I wanted us to have both hands free.

  “You… you want to kiss me?” He seemed surprised and probably didn’t even realize it when he swept his tongue across his lips, almost as if he were already tasting my kiss. “William.”

  Hmm. So he was called…. “William?”

  A slow grin and an even slower shake of his head.

  I took a step closer to him. “Billy?”

  He frowned, and I didn’t need the shake this time to know not Billy.

  I kept my gaze on his, hoping to distract him. Another step and I worked the buttons of his overcoat and suit jacket free. Did he even realize? Finally I had my arms around him and my lips a breath away. “Wills?” I kissed him.

  His lips were soft and pliant, warm, and he parted them beneath mine with a sigh.

  There was something about the way he kissed—careful and… restrained, almost as if he were afraid he’d hurt me. I threaded the fingers of one hand through that ordinary, nothing-special haircut and brought his face closer, deepening the kiss, and slid my other hand into his pants.

  That suit disguised the firmness of his ass, and he moaned softly into my mouth as I gave it a testing squeeze.

  He was wearing shorts, but I didn’t let that stop me from exploring. I ran my palm over the curve of his ass, traced my fingertips along the crack, and rubbed my middle finger against the dip of his hole. His hips jerked, driving his cock against my groin. He was hard, and I could feel his heat through his clothes. I let his hair sift through my fingers before easing that hand into the front of his pants, where I could shape his cock through the material of his shorts. This time his moan was deep in his throat, desperate.

  Others had moaned for me. Sex was my livelihood, and it behooved me to make my clients feel like the world’s greatest lovers, but when this man moaned and shivered and held tight to me, I forgot about what I should do and could only think about what I wanted to do—take him to my bed and have wild, passionate, heart-pounding, mind-blowing, knock-your-socks-offing sex with him.

  He tore his mouth from mine, gasping for breath. “Have to… have to breathe.”

  I ran my lips along the side of his throat, nudged his collar out of the way, and began to nibble and suck on the strong column. The stubble made my lips tingle. I wanted to feel it against my skin. I licked the spot and went back to sucking on it.

  “Oh, fuck breathing.” He wound his fingers in my hair, hummed, “Soft,” at the feel of it, and pulled my mouth back to his.

  I knew he couldn’t afford me, but payment was the last thing on my mind. I was so hard I thought my cock would break the zipper of my fly. I was willing to give it away. Me—the realist of the group, always seeing things the way they were and not through rose-colored glasses, who hadn’t had sex with anyone in ten years without getting paid for it….

  For the first time in ten years, since Charlemagne, I was thinking with my little head. I’d forgotten how wonderful it could be. Or maybe it was just that I hadn’t allowed myself to remember.

  A plan. I needed a plan.

  I’d undo William Matheson’s pants. Yeah, that would work. Then I’d drop to my knees and swallow his cock, and give him a blow job that would cross his eyes and make him my slave for life….

  But first I ha
d to get my hands out of his pants.

  Before I could do any of that, Wills got my hands out of his pants for me, and he shoved me away.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. What the fuck?

  Spike had arrived on the scene.

  “Oh, no, tough guy,” I muttered. I wasn’t about to let Matheson push me away just because he was embarrassed that Spike had seen us making out. “You’re not getting out of this that easily!” He’d wanted me. I’d felt how much he’d wanted me pressing against my hip, and I wanted to fuck— No, I had to stop that train of thought. I’d learned not to wish for what I couldn’t have. He was going to fuck me, and that would be as good.

  Spike was backing away from us, looking terrified. I glanced at Matheson and felt myself turn cold. The man I’d just been kissing stupid, who I’d been planning on taking to bed, was aiming a gun at Spike’s head.

  That gun and that suit didn’t go hand in hand.

  Matheson made a disgusted sound in his throat and put the gun away. In the blink of an eye he was once again the innocuous young man who’d stood quietly behind Vince.

  “You here for a reason?” He sounded unhappy. Because he’d been caught kissing me, or because we’d been interrupted?

  Spike gulped and swallowed several times before he could get a word out. “Vince… Vincent sent me to get you guys. He said Pretty Boy’s being transferred up to room 412, and he wants you there.”

  Wills nodded and headed for the stairs.

  “Hey, wait a second. The elevator’s over here.” Spike took a step in the other direction.

  “I’m taking the stairs.” Matheson met my eyes. His were cool. He tucked in his shirt and began fastening the buttons of his jacket.

  I had no intention of letting Vincent’s boy get away from me long enough to rationalize his reaction to my kisses.

  “We’re taking the stairs,” I tossed to Spike over my shoulder and followed Wills.

  And Spike followed us, pissing and moaning the whole way.

  Chapter 12

  WHEN WE entered Paul’s room, Vincent looked us over carefully. Spike was huffing and puffing, and in spite of my time in the gym, I was pretty winded myself, but Wills was barely out of breath.