by Gregory Ashe
Hazard was grateful for the darkness, and he tucked his chin. “It wasn’t a date.”
“Don’t, ok? I just can’t with you tonight.” Somers stood, cracked his back, and moved toward the stairs. Then he stopped and came back. He was a black hole in the room, swallowing the tiny specks of light: the LED display on the DVD player, the red pinprick of the fire alarm, the soft glow of the nightlight in the hall. “You know what, Ree? I gave up a lot to be with you. A lot.”
He turned again. This time, though, Hazard was faster. He launched out of the seat. His knee caught the coffee table. Pepsi cans cascaded onto the floor, aluminum tinkling, and he grabbed Somers’s wrist. He didn’t yank or drag. He just held him and said, “No. No fucking way you get to run off like you’re in a fucking movie.”
Somers sighed. “What?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You gave up a lot for me. What’s that mean?”
“Never mind.”
“No, something’s gotten into you. What? I came home tonight, you looked really upset, and all you wanted to do was pick another fight.”
“Oh, sorry. I guess I went a little crazy, getting left here to handle everything by myself. I hope you had fun, though. I hope you had a great time with Nico, watching him give his hero googly eyes all night.”
It had been easier with Nico, Hazard thought with a shock. Much, much easier. Not better—he wasn’t stupid, and he remembered how bad things had gotten with Nico at the end. But it had definitely been easier.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Somers said. “I want to go to bed, and I still have to grab some clean clothes and drive over to that fucking bed and breakfast. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
“No,” Hazard said. “We’re working on the Sackeman case.”
“It’s too late. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“No. We won’t. Look, I don’t like how things are right now between us.” He hated it in fact. He still had those words, I gave up a lot to be with you, in his head like a swarm of bees. “But we’re like this because we both owe your dad, and we’re paying up. So let’s finish paying up and get this over with. Maybe if we can take care of Sackeman, your dad won’t worry so much about the election, and you can move in again.” He worked his jaw, and it cracked once, the sound running through the darkness. Relaxing his grip, he slid his hand down to Somers’s. “Please?”
“Evie—”
“Noah or Rebeca will come sit with her for an hour.”
“An hour?”
“I just want to drive by his place,” Hazard said. “Maybe grab his trash.”
Somers raised an eyebrow. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”
“It’s not that far to the trailer—”
“No,” Somers said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t live there.”
“That’s where we met him, though. When he wanted that interview—”
“Yeah, but that’s not where he lives. I spent a few hours this afternoon trying to dig up dirt on him. Here, take a look.”
Somers dropped Hazard’s hand and moved up the stairs; Hazard followed him into the office. They both sat in front of the computer, and Somers showed a series of PDFs he’d scanned. “I felt gross doing this kind of stuff with police resources, so I just stuck to what I could dig up on my own. County property records just show him owning a Chevy Impala. He doesn’t own any real estate, which seems bogus to me. I can’t picture a guy like Sackeman living in a mobile home, not when he’s the head of the Bright Lights movement. Maybe he uses that trailer to conduct business. Maybe he just met us there that day. Anyway, I couldn’t get driver’s license info without, you know, feeling like I was using my position to help my dad, so I started thinking. Sackeman is really involved in politics; how do I find him that way?”
“Campaign donation records?”
“Yeah, kind of. I had to dig back, but Sackeman has been behind a lot of right-wing political committees and campaigns over the years. On some of the older ones, I found a home address instead of PO box. Want to guess where he lived?”
“In Wahredua.”
“Yep.”
“What are the odds he still lives there? You said he doesn’t have any real estate in his name.”
“Guess who owns the house now?”
“You probably don’t want to hear this right now, but this side of you, the one that does research, is . . . distracting.”
Somers offered a tight smile and said, “It’s a shell company that has Naomi on its articles of incorporation.”
“He went to all that effort to hide his home address?”
“Let’s go find out why.” Then Somers paused. “Ree, you know how blackmail works. If Sackeman has any brains, he’ll have contingencies, copies, backups. Whatever he’s got on my dad, it won’t be as simple as just stealing the originals.”
Hazard nodded. “The only way to deal with a blackmailer—besides the police, which I recommended, as you’ll recall—”
“Yes, I recall very well, thank you.”
“—is to neutralize them.”
“I know,” Somers said. “Which means now we’re blackmailers.”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be part of this, Ree. It’s bad enough I have to do it. I don’t want to drag you into it.”
Something moved inside Hazard, something like a wave or a tremor or a wind shear. “I love you,” Hazard said, shrugging—mostly for himself, to try to ease the intensity of whatever he was feeling right then. “Where you go, I go. That’s my choice. Nobody can make me do what I don’t want to do.”
Somers said nothing.
While Somers packed a bag—which almost led to another fight—Hazard went next door and asked Noah to sit with Evie for an hour. Noah agreed, and fifteen minutes later they were on the road. Somers had insisted on driving, which was fine once Hazard transferred his bag of gear into the trunk. Hazard tried to ignore the duffel bag that Somers had added.
“This guy came into the station,” Somers said as he drove. “I guess your new job, whatever it is, has him rattled.”
Hazard listened as Somers told him about Josh and, more importantly, the strange phone call that Somers had overheard.
“Any idea who the best friend is?”
“Yeah. Sheriff’s deputy named Daniel Minor.”
“I know Minor. I mean, I’ve seen him around. He’s young, probably hasn’t been on the job more than six months. He seems competent.”
“It sounds like he’s the one who told Josh to get the restraining order on me.” Hazard frowned. “He was pretty friendly to my face.”
“Yeah, well, it also sounds like Josh wants more than just advice. Asking Daniel to ‘have his back,’ that sounds like they’re involved in something together. Even if Daniel isn’t freaked out about it, Josh is. I mean, he described you as the guy who ‘solved all those murders.’ Whatever it is, it’s more serious than custody.”
Hazard nodded, but he didn’t know what else to say, and silence fell over them again.
The spring night was humid, fogging the glass until Somers fiddled with the defrost. Much of the city had gone to bed; when they first turned out of their neighborhood, which was set near the heart of Wahredua, they saw a man wrapped in a blanket and pushing a three-wheeled shopping cart past a swath of government buildings. After that, they saw no one. Their drive took them into a subdivision that had been attached to Wahredua since Hazard had been in high school; he remembered the homes as new construction, very large in contrast to homes built in the 50s and 60s and 70s, and now he was surprised to find that they were what he had come to think of as ordinary two-stories on half-acre lots.
When they parked, Somers reached to unbelt himself, looking at something outside the car. Hazard followed his gaze; in the house across the street, the curtains were pulled back, and warm yellow light revealed a party in progress. At least twenty people, including a blue-haired gran
dmother who looked like she was trying to do the electric slide, although the distance and the lack of sound made it hard to tell. Maybe she was just choking on a peanut.
“I thought Sackeman lived alone.”
“Huh?”
“John, what’s going on? Why are those people in Sackeman’s house?”
Somers shook his head, undid his seatbelt, and got out of the car. Instead of moving to the house with the party, though, he jogged to the end of the block, cut down a side street, and led them two more blocks away. Which was smart, Hazard realized; parking in front of Sackeman’s house in the Mustang was just asking for attention. Then Somers turned down another street and led them up a drive toward another cookie-cutter two-story: white vinyl siding, landscaped beds of rock and shrubs pressing up against the house, a neatly trimmed lawn. No weeds. No obvious signs of neglect.
Somers led them around back, where he thumbed at a door and raised an eyebrow expectantly.
“I said just the trash,” Hazard whispered.
“He’s at a fundraiser; let’s not miss an opportunity.”
Hazard tried his bump keys, and one of them did the job on the lock securing the doorknob, but the deadbolt was another story. It took him a few tries with the picks, and he was sweating by the time he finished—and swearing a blue streak under his breath.
When the door swung open, Somers clapped him silently on the shoulder and moved into the house. Hazard followed him, caught his shoulder, and when Somers looked back, Hazard held up a hand and wiggled his fingers.
“Nobody’s home,” Somers whispered. “And I promise I won’t leave any fingerprints.” He held up a pair of nitrile gloves and passed a second pair to Hazard.
“If nobody’s home,” Hazard whispered back, “why are you whispering?”
A huge grin cut across Somers’s face; whatever unreadable emotion had possessed him in the car, it had passed, and he looked like a kid in a candy store. He turned and headed deeper into the house, pulling Hazard with him.
They searched the house quickly. Everything was clicking again between them, the gears turning with that perfect, clockwork precision that had made them great as cops, better as lovers. While they worked—moving furniture, checking cushions, pulling books off shelves, emptying drawers—the fight that had dragged over the last few days ebbed from Hazard’s consciousness. He was only aware of the fact that they worked well together—so well that it was like they were one, like they were meant to do these things together. It was hard to imagine his life without Somers, although he had lived over thirty years that way. Hard to imagine, too, how Somers could have caved so easily to his father’s demands. Hard to imagine how Somers could smile and nod when people asked about them splitting up.
And then, like it or not, Hazard’s mind had slipped back to the impossibility he was facing. The inexplicable dilemma he had found himself in—or, if he were honest, that he had helped make for himself. When Glenn had stated his ridiculous demand, it had seemed easy enough for Hazard to agree. Hazard had to keep his word—that was important to him—but, if he were honest with himself, it had been easy to say yes because he had known in his gut that Somers would say no. And then Hazard could have the satisfaction of having kept his word without the ugly reality of actually having to take a break from Somers and really think about the marriage.
But nothing had turned out the way he had expected. He had been sure that Somers would tell his dad to fuck off, more or less in those words. Somers had done it before. And the money, the debt, that was a bogus excuse because Somers had never minded taking money from his parents and turning around a moment later and telling them to fuck off. He’d done it with college, hadn’t he? He’d let them pay four years at Mizzou, the frat fees, the study abroad, the vacations. And when it was over, he’d told them flat out that law school was not even a consideration, and he’d gone into the police academy before moving back to start his job as a cop. How much money? Over a hundred thousand dollars, easily. And Somers hadn’t blinked.
So, Hazard wondered as he dug through the contents of the bathroom vanity, why was this time different? The money couldn’t have been more than a few thousand dollars—enough to cover the rent at the office, maybe a little more if Glenn Somerset were feeling petty and wanted to throw in the cost of the desk that Somers had boosted. A few thousand dollars was pennies compared to how much they’d spent on Somers’s education.
But Somers had tucked tail, cringed, and done exactly what Glenn had demanded. Split up. Think about where this is going. Really think about it.
I gave up a lot for you.
It sounded like Somers had been doing plenty of thinking.
Hazard slung a bottle of prescription sleep aid back into the vanity, and then he shut the mirrored cabinet. The latch didn’t take, and he slammed it again, harder, pinching his thumb in the process. He gritted his teeth to suppress a howl.
“Jesus Christ,” Somers whispered from the doorway. “Are you playing the drums in here?”
Hazard let out his breath in a hiss, juggling rage and the throbbing in his thumb.
“Nobody’s here,” Somers whispered. “You can yell if you want. That sounded like it hurt.”
“If nobody’s here,” Hazard whispered back, “then why the fuck are you still whispering?”
Another of those crazy grins spread across Somers’s face, and he moved until he and Hazard were nose to nose.
“Penis,” Somers whispered.
For a wildly hopeful moment, Hazard took it as an offer; then he remembered the old game. He shook his head.
“Penis,” Somers whispered again. A little louder this time.
“Stop it,” Hazard whispered. “You’re being a kid.
“Penis.” It verged on normal volume now. Then Somers added, “You’re going to lose. I’m giving you a few freebies, but you’re going to lose.”
“I’m not playing this game. It’s juvenile. It’s risky. It’s stupid. It’s—”
“Penis,” Somers said, louder, almost a shout. “It’s ok if you’re scared. You don’t have to do it if you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared. What the hell has gotten into you? You looked like a wreck when I got home, you wanted to fight, and now you’re acting like you’re twelve years old. Are you—”
“Penis,” Somers shouted.
“For fuck’s sake,” Hazard growled, “will you stop—”
“Penis.” This time it was a scream.
“Stop it.” Hazard got a hand over Somers’s mouth, and for a moment they struggled until Hazard had him pinned against the vanity, his fingers clamped tight over Somers’s jaw. Penis, penis, penis. The little shit had gotten it into his head, and now Hazard was doubly aware of Somers’s crotch pressed against his thigh. “What the fuck is going on with you? Are you going to act like a rational, sane human being if I let go?”
Somers nodded.
As soon as Hazard peeled his hand back, though, Somers drew in a deep breath and shouted, “Pen—”
Hazard clamped down again, forcing Somers’s head back against the glass, exposing the lines of his neck, his collar slipping to reveal dark ink. He was hard. Both of them were. And Hazard was panting like he’d been the one shouting—all that rage still boiling inside him, all that frustration, all that hurt. And now, like this, to want to fuck it out of his system.
Somers’s eyes were big and innocent, and he held up three fingers. Scout’s honor.
Hazard released him slowly.
“I’ll stop,” Somers said in a normal tone of voice. “But you have to do it too.”
“No.”
“One time.”
“No.”
“Fine, I’ll just keep—”
“Once,” Hazard said, the word mostly a growl.
Grinning, Somers nodded and held a up a single finger. “But loud.”
“Penis.”
“Come on, you can do better than that.”
“There, I did it. One time. That’s what we agreed.”
“But loud. Try again.”
The fuckery of it all was that Hazard’s only other option was to gag his fiancé and drag him back to the car. He blew out a furious breath, took another, blew that one out too.
“Penis.”
“Louder.”
“Penis.”
“Come on. You’re louder than that when you’re chasing Evie. One really loud one.”
“Penis!”
It went through the house like a thunderclap. In the quiet that came after, Hazard found himself struggling with a grin.
Somers started to laugh.
The grin on Hazard’s face got even bigger. He covered his mouth with one hand, trying not to laugh.
Somers laughed even harder.
“Stop it,” Hazard said, his voice low and harsh, but that was all he could manage before the need to laugh made his voice veer up in pitch. He had to clap a hand over his mouth again.
Wiping his eyes, Somers just kept laughing.
“Enough,” Hazard whispered after a few more moments, forcing the smile off his face, fairly sure he hadn’t even managed to get rid of it completely. “That is the most adolescent thing I’ve ever done.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment; Hazard still leaned into Somers, bearing down on him, their legs slotted together. Hazard was hard for him right now. Ached for him in a way that had to do with the cocktail of emotions he couldn’t begin to separate.
Somers grinned lazily, rutted up once against Hazard, and said, “Now, tell me again that no one can make you do what you don’t want to do.”
Hazard left the bathroom before he did something stupid.
The rest of the search passed without incident, but they found nothing they might be able to use to neutralize Sackeman. No incriminating pictures, no drugs, no signs of alcohol abuse, nothing that might give them leverage. They came to a halt in Sackeman’s office—a small room with faux wainscoting, a sagging sofa, and a computer that had to be at least ten years old.
“Nothing,” Somers said.
“Nothing yet.”
“We’ve searched the whole house, Ree. There’s nothing. If we were going to find something, we’d have found it by now.”