by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish
Gil saw Miles’ discomfort and frowned. Why had he come tonight if all it was going to do was make him miserable? “Miles, no big deal. You won’t be in the way...”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Miles staggered slightly as he stood but managed to disguise it as a stumble rather than a drunken lurch. “These jeans aren’t really comfortable. I think I’ll go home. I’ve probably had too much to drink anyway.” Normally he would have been able to handle a lot more booze than that, but either it was the lack of food or those babies packed more of a punch than he realized. “Have a good time.” He clapped Gil on the shoulder and headed for the door.
“Miles...” Gil called, but the man was either not listening or couldn’t hear him above the noise of the club. Gil made his way back to their table and slid in beside Lyle.
“You’ve been a while,” Lyle’s tone was that of concern, “everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, saw Miles. The doctor I work with?”
“Oh yeah, we bumped into each other the other day. Seems like a nice guy. Handsome under that dishevelled look too.”
“He’s tidied himself up a bit but...I’m worried about him. He’s about your age and yet he acts like he’s almost drawing his pension sometimes. I know he....” Gil stopped himself. “He’s got his problems, haven’t we all? Still, I thought I saw a glimmer of something....seems like I was mistaken.” I wasn’t mistaken at all, Gil thought, reflecting on the exchange. Something had upset the man.
Lyle sensed that Gil was concerned for his colleague... future housemate... pal... whatever. He hated himself for it even as he spoke, but the words got out of his mouth anyway, “Do you need to go speak with him some more?”
Gil looked at Lyle. He was going to refuse, then thought about it. Maybe he needed to set his mind easy about the doctor. “Would you mind? It seems a bit crass, I’m with you.”
“So long as you come back... I’ll let you make it up to me later.” If you forget me and leave me sitting here alone like the sad bastard I probably am, I may never speak to you again though, Lyle thought to himself, I may still keep checking out your ass and crotch, but I’ll never say a word, honest.
Haven Falls #155 - Thrown Out
Miles Sutherland, Flynn Archer, Carter (Gil) Gillespie
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Miles tried to push through the crowd. Where had all these friggin’ people come from? Half Haven Falls must be here plus Asher Bay, Addison and the cowboys from Elky county. Wannabe cowboys most of them, he thought to himself as he stifled another hiccup, no telltale bowed legs from spending all day on a horse.
Back in Australia most ‘cowboys’ used bikes nowadays. Horses were for fun not work.
Miles adjusted his denim jeans. Thank God he’d resisted Gil’s efforts to get him into leather ones. There were enough beached whales here tonight without him adding to the tally. He was forced to stop as another surge of people crossed his path. He rubbed the back of his neck. Cold sweat coated his palm. Shit, he wasn’t going to make the exit.
He hiccuped again and the familiar taste of bile seared the back of his throat. Drinking on an empty stomach with a dormant ulcer? He could almost see a friggin’ angel with Darren’s face sitting on his shoulder, wagging a finger at him. The face morphed into Gil’s. Miles swayed on his feet as his brain tried to process the changed image.
The pounding music stopped suddenly, giving his tortured skull a chance to recover. In the break, the sound of a smarmy voice made him pause in his tracks. “I don’t think so.” ... Henry Vale. Seemed like the whole funeral parlor crowd had turned up tonight. Not just the prissy blond assistant.
The music started up again. Miles straightened to see where Vale was, but even with his height he couldn’t see over the tops of the crowd around him. Everyone seemed to have dragged out their high-heeled Cubans for the night. Fucking wankers.
The man was somewhere over to his left. Should he go and ask him again about Stan? Bile rose in his throat again.
“Hey, Mad Max, I wouldn’t have figured this for your scene,” Flynn said, coming up beside Miles. Damn, he smelled like booze. Did he spill some on himself, or had he really been hitting the bottle?
“It’s not, in fact the sooner I get to the john and out of here the better.”
“I can help.” Flynn whistled sharply, and shouted, in his best butch voice, “Move your asses or you’re bounced!” That did it; people started clearing a path for them. This was power he’d be happy to abuse.
“Thanks, mate.” Miles noted the smug look of satisfaction on Flynn’s face. He got off on bossing people around did he? At least he’d helped him get to the restroom. He shoved the door open and nearly cleaned up two guys necking as they waited their turn. Shit, all the cubicles must be taken. The sound of a toilet flushing helped him keep down the next wave of nausea. He pushed past the man as he came out and ignored the indignant, “Hey, wait your turn,” from behind him.
He just made it. The faint tinge of red in his technicolor yawn too familiar to be funny. One week off the grog obviously hadn’t been enough. He wiped his mouth as best he could and pointed percy at the porcelain. As he shook himself he remembered his father teaching him all Bazza McKenzie’s sayings when he was young. He’d chundered... done the big spit tonight. Just like old times. Miles backed out of the cubicle. The stench still lingered. Bit of a turn off. “Sorry guys,” he muttered as he brushed past. At least his head was clearer now.
“Wow, Max, sounded like you were singing the Bulgarian national anthem. What did you drink?” Flynn glanced up, and wondered why someone would put mirrored tiles on a bathroom ceiling. No, he didn’t want to know.
Miles ran his tongue around inside his mouth. Crap. A jug of water would go down well. “Yeah, I did throw my voice tonight.” He glanced up, but Flynn obviously didn’t get the joke. “Those bloody Alizes or whatever they’re called. Shoulda stuck to beer, but the bartender kept wanting me to try all the different flavors.”
Flynn rolled his eyes. “Ah, fancy ass Zimas. Avoid them if you don’t want to spend the night with everything in your stomach shooting out one end or the other.”
“I managed to limit it to one. What I need is water.”
“Tap, or expensive tap? We have two varieties at this club.”
Typical. “The day it’s different, I’ll eat my hat.” Miles followed Flynn to the restroom door. Before he left, he glanced up and saw the mirrors on the ceiling. A quick glance over at the spot above the cubicles showed the guys inside were getting down and dirty or at least one of them was. Did they realize their actions were being reflected? Maybe he should just hang around and enjoy the show. “I’ve got this thing against drinking out of the taps in the loo. Fussy ain’t I?”
Flynn shrugged. “I wouldn’t drink out of ‘em either, I know what these guys have been doin’ in the sinks.”
“Yeah, sealed bottle of water might be the go. Don’t want to get spiked. You wouldn’t be calling me Mad Max then, more like Randy Max.”
Flynn gave him a sidelong glance. He wasn’t hitting on him, was he? Weirdly enough, he kind of thought of Mad Max as asexual, and he wasn’t sure why. “Is that your porn name?”
“Nah, that’s Hugh Jackoff.”
“Mine’s Phuc Ng Hung.” There was an extra Asian fusion joke in that, but he didn’t expect Anglos to get it. (And his actual porn name was Brand Steel, but the less said about that the better. Jesse came up with that one.)
“Not Hung Far Lo?” After waiting for an age at the bar to get served, Miles opened the bottle of water and took a swig. The improvement in his mouth had been amazing,and the jokes cleared his head. He almost felt human again. “Have you had many problems tonight?”
“Not yet, just that Jude asshole showing up. Hey, you know that guy at all? His real name’s Lyle, he’s Vale’s new assistant. Think he might be in on Riley’s disappearance?” Lyle seemed too naive for such a thing, but he wanted it to be true, because he was a dick.
The reminder of Gil’s date took all the enjoyment out of his evening again. Miles finished off the bottle and chucked the empty in the bin. “Pretty boy? Yeah, I’ve met him.” The guy hadn’t been so bad when he picked up Bernie’s body, so why was he suddenly wishing him inside the back of the hearse instead of driving it? “I asked him the other day but he said he knew diddly squat.”
Flynn snorted derisively. “Yeah, he would. Either he’s a prick who doesn’t give a shit, or he really hasn’t taken his head out of his ass since he left jolly old England. Which is worse?”
“He’s not as bad as his asshole boss though. I thought I heard his voice earlier, but I didn’t actually see him.”
Flynn felt the hairs on the back of his neck. “You heard him? Where?” He’d known since the run in at the drugstore that this bastard was taunting him. But he still hadn’t figured out what it was he thought his father gave him.
Miles waved a hand, showing where the voice had come from. Flynn looked in the direction Miles indicated, but all he saw was pretty boys and wannabes, no one over twenty five. There was a guy with hair bleached so blond it was almost white, maybe that’s what he saw. Miles was wasted; he probably could have been convinced Brad Pitt was here. “Can I call you a cab or something? How you getting home?”
Flynn’s reminder about Gil and Lyle made his stomach heave again. The sooner he left the better. “I’ll be fine. Exercise and fresh air will do me good. It’s not as if the town’s that big anyway.” The walk to the exit seemed easier this time. Maybe Flynn’s presence helped. In a way it probably looked like he was being escorted off the premises. Thrown out for being DAD. That wouldn’t be a first, but not the image he was trying to promote.
The cool night air cleared his head. He muttered, “Thanks mate,” to Flynn and set off home.
Flynn watched the drunken Aussie walk down the sidewalk, trying to keep some modicum of dignity by not staggering. Weird - did he know anything about this guy beyond being Crocodile MD and into rugby? He was almost as secretive as he was. Well, why not? Everyone had something they really wouldn’t rather share with the world. Flynn’s problem was it was his entire life. Too bad you couldn’t induce amnesia. He could start as a blank slate, maybe not fuck up so much this time around.
Flynn turned around and shoved his way back into the club, and almost walked right into Feelgood. “My shift ends at two. Meet you in the side parking lot. No knives,” he told him. Although he did have that butterfly knife Jorge gave him, and he’d been practicing the one armed open. It was cool, if you could avoid slicing your own fingers off.
“What?” Gil looked at the man incredulously. “What are you talking about? I was looking for Miles. I saw him at the bar and...” why the hell was he even giving this man the time of day? He was worried, that’s why. “He was drunk. I wanted to find him, check he was okay.”
“He’s not that drunk. Throwing up has a way of sobering you up, at least a little. He’s walking home, you missed him.”
“Damn...you sure he was in a fit state to get himself home?”
Flynn rolled his eyes and pushed aside, walking around Gil. If only Feelgood knew how many parties he’d attended where he was the only one close to sober. His whole life felt like he was watching everyone else have fun. “He could make jokes and hold a conversation lucidly. He’ll be as hung over as fuck tomorrow, but tonight he’s fine, as long as he doesn’t guzzle a bottle of Jack.”
Gil relaxed a little. It didn’t sound like Flynn was lying. “That’s okay then. So sorry to have bothered you.” Gil turned to leave. “Oh, and I won’t be taking you up on the challenge. I’m not stupid.”
Was that sarcastic? Flynn studied him, decided it probably was, and then suddenly just didn’t give a shit. “Look, whatever you’re up to, keep Miles out of it, okay? I don’t know a lot about Mad Max, but I think he’s probably had enough heavy shit in his life.”
“Up to? For god’s sake, get over yourself Flynn. The only thing I’ll be up to tonight is hopefully getting myself laid. You know squat about Miles, just keep him out of whatever shit you’re up to, okay?”
That made Flynn chuckle. “We found the hands, remember? We’re in it already. At least you have Jude to cover your ass. The rest of us ain’t so lucky, squire.”
Squire? Where did he think he was from? Gil shook his head and sighed. “Well, you got one bit right. I’m hoping Jude will cover my ass tonight. Just not in the way you mean.” He pushed away from Flynn and back toward where Lyle was waiting for him.
Flynn grimaced at the mental image of Jude and Feelgood fucking. “Keep your kinky shit to yourself,” he shouted after him. “I’m not a furry!” Good, some people heard him and looked after Feelgood curiously. That’ll pay him back for that mental image.
“That’s not what you told me a few mornings ago!” Gil called over his shoulder. Bugger but that one just loved the last line.
“You’re mistaking me for your mom again, jackass!”
Gil wondered briefly if he should enter into a public slanging match with Flynn, then decided he didn’t give a shit. “Admit it, you can’t resist me!” and he stalked off.
“In your dreams, wanker!” Man, he used to think Feelgood was cute, but if he was hooking up with Jude, he must have no taste at all.
Haven Falls #161" Thrown Out, Part 2
Flynn Archer & Aiden Parker
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Aiden walked up to Flynn after he heard the comments slung back and forth and frowned. “Furries?” What the hell was that about? He glanced around the room to see if Angel or Evan were there. He really didn’t want to be, it wasn’t his thing, but what the hell. He could stand a few minutes. And Flynn was there, which was a plus.
Flynn turned, shocked as hell Aiden was here. He had said clubs weren’t his thing. “Um, insult contest. When did you get here? I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I got here a few minutes ago,” he said with a small shrug. “I wasn’t planning on it, but... I don’t know. I just didn’t want to stay home tonight.”
Flynn nodded. As long as Vale wasn’t here, he would be safest here. Oh hell, even if that old bastard was here, he wasn’t going to try anything with this crowd. “Understood. Come on, let’s get you a drink.” He cleared a path towards the bar, feeling like a cow catcher on a train. No, strike that, a cow catcher would have been cool. With this dorky jumpsuit, he felt like the janitor on the USS Enterprise. Wasn’t Asher supposed to be some fashion guy? You’d think he could have done better than this. “What’s your poison, Aiden?”
“I’ll just have a beer.” Aiden followed after him, unable to hide a smile. He didn’t quite look like a bouncer. But he wouldn’t tell him that.
Flynn waved to Serlena and felt oddly like a big, bossy man, ordering his man a drink. Jesus, what a night. He couldn’t wait until it was over. While waiting for the beer, he asked, “Meeting any of your school chums here tonight?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure if they’re coming or not. I hope they are.” How lame was it to come to a club with no one else? The more he thought about that, the more uncomfortable he got. Maybe he should just go home now. Make it a movie night with Dante or something.
“Well, if I take a break, what say I drag you out to the dance floor? I bet you can really shake your moneymaker.” It was hard for Flynn to say this with a straight face. Somehow, Aiden hadn’t struck him as the partying type.
“I haven’t danced since college, but it can’t be that different.” He glanced out at the floor. It seemed to be the same. And the thought of his body pressed against Flynn’s... yeah, he could hang around for a few minutes. It wouldn’t hurt.
Flynn grinned at him, and handed him the glass of beer Serlena had just given him. “Nope. Everybody still does the robot. You know how to do the robot, right?” There was a bit of a disturbance in the back of the room, just loud voices, but it might get worse, so he had to check it out. So as Flynn left, he tried out his robot moves, stif
fening his arms and moving away like he had no joints. It was dorky as hell, but appropriate with this fucking tacky jumpsuit.
Aiden laughed as he left and shook his head. There was no other person like Flynn out there, that was for sure. As he sipped his beer, he moved around the edges of the room and found an empty table.
What Flynn found on the other side of the club was a couple of very drunk muscle queen exes having it out. They were calling each other all the names you could think of, but they were so drunk it sounded like gibberish ... or maybe Klingon. (Maybe the jumpsuit made sense after all.) He told them to knock it off and go to separate corners or be booted, but then the one with the frosted tips and the stripper sized man boobs took a swing at him. He was too drunk for it to be serious, and Flynn saw it coming a mile away. He side stepped it, and as Frosty stumbled forward, he grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and started shoving him through the crowd. “Move it! Punk ass bitch coming through!” Frosty continued to curse him, but again, it was all slurred consonants and an occasional mushy vowel. “And fuggin’ mushma to you too, buddy,” he said, as they reached the door. Flynn shoved him out, and told the door bouncer, “This one’s barred. If he looks at you funny, have the cops haul him away.”
The commotion coming from the other side of the room was loud enough to attract Aiden’s attention, and he watched as Flynn stepped in and dealt with it. He could definitely be tough when he needed to be. He was... an enigma. Everything all rolled into one. Aiden could usually read people like he read a book, but not with Flynn. He could get small bits and pieces, but never the whole thing. If he was being honest with himself, it was kind of frustrating, but he supposed that was what attracted him the most. Maybe.