by Inge Mayhem
“That’s ok. Leave it on. I can use the distraction.”
Tyson racked his brain to change the topic.
“So, tell me about your housemate. How did your meeting go last night?”
Drew smiled. “I wouldn’t call him my housemate. He’s letting me crash for a few nights. He actually knew my dad, funnily enough. He’s the one who gave me the tip off.”
“Oh wow. That’s a crazy coincidence.”
“Kind of. His brother Hank runs the ranch where I used to work. My dad worked there, once upon a time.” Drew gazed out the window. “Anyway, the guy’s name is Brad. He’s really nice.”
“Oh yeah?” Tyson fought an irrational jealousy, which was taking hold of him. He felt incredibly foolish, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know everything there was to know about Drew and his life. “So, Brad lives alone?”
“I think so. We didn’t really talk about his life very much.” Drew’s attention was clearly elsewhere. “Anyway, how was the rest of your night? Did Florence eventually win over that bouncer?”
“Oh gosh. No! That is a lost cause.”
“Florence or the bouncer?”
Tyson chuckled. “Both. She’s a menace, and I’m pretty sure the bouncer is gay.”
“You think everyone is gay. Or do you know something she doesn’t? From firsthand experience with the guy, perhaps?” Drew teased.
Tyson stole a glance in his direction, taking his eyes off the road.
“Hardly! He’s not my type.”
“Well, what is your type?” Drew inquired.
“Umm . . . that’s hard to answer. I like . . . I mean, how do I put this? I like confident men.”
“Confident?”
“Yeah, like, I’m not necessarily attracted to any one look.”
“So, he can be a bear. Or really old.”
“Maybe! But generally, no. I suppose I am shallow, to some degree. Roughly my age. I mean, muscles are always pretty hot. I dunno. It seems stupid to write a shopping list. When you meet someone . . . you just know, you know?”
Tyson glanced at his passenger again, but Drew wasn’t looking in his direction, and Tyson felt a wave of disappointment. He knew in that moment that Drew wasn’t having the same feelings that he was, and that his crush was one-sided.
“So, what about your type? What sort of guys do you usually date?” Tyson couldn’t help but to ask.
“Oh gosh. I haven’t really been dating. . . . Ever. My thing is that the guy needs to be emotionally unavailable.”
Tyson laughed again, but it was forced. It felt like a dagger twisted in his stomach. Tyson knew with progressively more certainty that Drew wasn’t interested in him, except as his chauffeur and his friend. Tyson felt like he had been completely transparent, with his heart on his sleeve. But maybe, it was possible that Drew was oblivious to his feelings. Stupidly, Tyson had let himself believe that this car ride might have been a date.
Tyson quickly talked himself out of any self-pity. He needed to focus—on the road—and on helping Drew to find his father. Their mission was more important than any of his tiny feelings of love.
Chapter 11
The Hammer and Wrench, Harbor South
“It should be right up here on the left,” Tyson said, as he pulled the car over to a stop. The street was relatively suburban and quiet for a Saturday night.
“Oh yeah, I see it.” Drew craned his neck to make out the sign swinging above the entranceway. There were hanging flowerpots in the style of an old English pub.
“Are you ready for this?” Tyson didn’t mean to pry, but he felt nervous for Drew and what he was about to face. Drew pulled a rucksack from the floor of the car and cradled it on his lap. Tyson hadn’t noticed it before.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. But I’ve thought about this moment a lot. What he would look like. What he would say.” Drew paused for a moment. “I’m not really sure what I will say, come to think of it.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me. I know we only just met, but please know that you can trust me. I want to help.”
“Thank you, Tyson, I appreciate that.”
“I guess you should prepare for the possibility that he might not be in there right now. You never know—there’s a good chance this stakeout might last a few hours. So, I hope there are snacks in that bag!”
Drew let out a short, quiet laugh. “Yeah, no luck there. But you’re right. Samuel has probably moved on. It would be unlike him to stick at anything for too long.”
Tyson searched for the right words to say. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Drew could feel Tyson looking at him: he could sense his feelings of compassion. It made Drew snap.
“Look, I appreciate the lift, but there’s really no point talking about this anymore. Right now, I just need to walk in there and accept whatever I find. Whatever happens.” After his short speech, Drew opened the car door and stepped outside, but he paused, turned around and stuck his head back in.
“Tyson, really, I mean it—thank you. Do you mind waiting for a few minutes?” Drew held his rucksack to his chest like a security blanket.
“Not at all. Take as long as you need, and if you change your mind and want some company in there, just call my cell.”
“Ok.” Drew closed the door with a soft thud. Tyson watched as he walked inside, trying to accept that Drew could always be his friend, but as things stood in that moment, he would never be his lover.
The bar had a familiar smell of old stale beer when Drew walked in. There was a smattering of patrons lined around the room, who had all managed to find a dark corner. Drew felt odd entering alone and wished he had brought a hat or something to disguise his age and appearance.
Drew decided to sit at the bar, but he couldn’t bring himself to order anything. So, he pretended to look at the menu. Eventually he explained to the bartender that he was waiting to meet someone, so he was happy to simply wait for a while.
The pub seemed to have a beer garden attached, and the sounds of a live band drifted into the room, getting louder every time someone opened the door that led outside.
“I might take a look outside and see if he’s there,” Drew called out. But the bartender was distracted and didn’t seem to care what he did with himself.
Emerging into the night air again, Drew heard the band’s lead singer. He was warbling in a low, melancholic tone and seemed to be matching the mood of the crowd. The beer garden was mainly filled with older gentlemen, and each one had a look of defeat or depression written on their faces.
Drew quickly scanned the crowd, looking to spot his dad before he was sighted himself.
There was a group sitting at low tables, smoking, and it seemed to be the most likely spot for his old man. As the men shifted, talking and laughing, he spotted the back of his father’s head. He knew it to be Samuel in an instant. Drew didn’t feel anything but a cold sense of dread. The man turned to chat to his neighbor, and his profile was unmistakable. People had always said that Drew looked like his dad.
It was the only confirmation he needed, and yet, Drew felt paralyzed.
Someone pushed past him, muttering something in a tone of annoyance—they splashed beer on Drew’s shoe. It made him shift his stance and make a split-second decision.
Drew turned on his heel and exited the building the way he came, which seemed to be the only route in and out of the building. Drew had been sure to check for other exits, as he had rehearsed in his head during the many occasions when he had imagined this scenario.
Back in the car, Tyson tried not to look too expectant when Drew opened the door and lowered himself into his seat.
“That was quick,” was all that Tyson offered, as he tried to read Drew’s facial expression.
“He’s in there.”
Drew’s voice sounded deeper than usual, as though he was in a mild state of shock.
“Oh wow. Did you talk to him?”
“No.”
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah.”
Tyson waited, but he couldn’t help himself from speaking. “So, what do you want to do now?”
Drew took a few long deep breaths, as if to calm himself. His brain was whirring with so many conflicting thoughts.
“I’m not sure,” Drew said eventually. “Do you mind if we just sit here for a minute?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
Drew finally made eye contact with Tyson—there were no words necessary. They both intrinsically understood what it was like to confront your father, and Drew knew that Tyson would be there for him, no matter what he asked.
“We don’t need to talk, if you don’t want to,” Tyson said, turning on the radio again, but keeping the volume low. It was a useful buffer for when the conversation died.
“I don’t really know what to say,” Drew replied. “I mean, he was always an absolute bastard. I’m sure he still is, and to be honest, I fucking hate him.”
Tyson nodded and waited, giving Drew the space he needed. Eventually, Tyson’s resolve crumbled. “So, why do you need to talk to him now?”
Drew looked like he was about to cry. “I don’t want to—I have to. This is just something I have to do.”
Tyson waited, but finally offered solace. “I understand.”
“Do you? Because I hate myself for sitting here. I should walk right in there, right up to him, grab him by the shirt, and punch him in the fucking face.” Drew’s sudden rage was frightening, and Tyson flinched.
“I don’t think you should do that.”
“No,” Drew’s voice dropped deeper again. “For one thing, there are too many witnesses.”
“Should we get out of here? Do you want to explore the city? Or try a new restaurant?” Suddenly, Tyson wanted to put as much space between them and the pub as possible. He wasn’t sure what Drew was capable of, and it scared him.
Drew thought about things for a moment and then looked at his watch.
“It’s 8:25 pm.” He seemed to be thinking through a plan. He looked at Tyson and recognized immediately that he had overstepped a boundary. “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
Tyson immediately acquiesced. “I get it. Don’t worry.”
“Do you mind if we wait five more minutes? I have a feeling that my dad will head home soon—I haven’t seen him for years—but he’s a creature of habit.”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Tyson, I mean it. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, you just name it. I promise, after tonight, I won’t ask you for any more personal favors.”
“It’s ok, Drew.” Tyson felt the words bubbling to the surface, and he couldn’t stop himself. “I like you.”
Drew didn’t hesitate. “I like you too.” But he continued staring out the window. “Do you think that’s him?”
Tyson checked the clock on the dash. “It’s 8:28 pm.”
“Quick—start the car.”
“What?”
“Can we follow him?”
“Are you serious? Oh my gosh: you’re serious.”
“Please, Tyson!”
“Sure. Fine.” Tyson indicated and moved his car out into the street. “You really weren’t kidding about this being a stakeout.”
“Look, I know this seems crazy to you. I get it. I’ve dragged you out here in the middle of the night and ranted and raved about my psychopath father. Now, I’m asking you to follow him. I know it’s deranged. But I have a chance to finally do something with all the anger I feel. Tyson, I need this.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Drew, I’m doing what you ask.”
Samuel had already rounded the corner and disappeared into the night. Tyson could tell that Drew was panicking, but he decided to drive slowly. He had never tailed someone before. He decided to keep Drew talking.
“So, what now? Do I follow him for a bit and see if he goes to his car? What if he decides to walk home? He has been drinking.”
“Turn the next corner and pull over once we spot him.”
“Alright.” Tyson did as he was told, and both men saw a redheaded gentleman climb into a waiting taxi.
“Keep following him. Follow that taxi.”
Ordinarily, Tyson didn’t like being told what to do. But with Drew, he found himself doing his bidding, and he wondered where it would end.
Chapter 12
Michael’s Bedroom, North Headland
Michael hadn’t heard from Brad for hours, and it was driving him crazy. He was trying hard to fight his feelings of paranoia.
On one hand, it felt like everything they had shared together was falling apart. But Brad had still sent him a good morning text message. It sounded like his houseguest was a nice young man, who was polite, and mostly kept to himself. There just wasn’t the same intensity—the same desire—and longing. Michael went many times over their last encounter. There was no reason to think that their relationship was over, but the thought persisted in his brain.
Michael decided that he needed to keep himself distracted. It was Saturday night and he hadn’t made plans in the hope that Brad would be available. Now, he felt foolish and completely alone. He knew he was being ridiculous, but his feelings were hard to shake. So, he texted his single friends, trying to reclaim some feeling of independence. He got an immediate response:
‘We’re out. Come meet us.’
Michael knew it was exactly what he needed: to get out of the house and to be around people. But just in case his plans had changed, he would text Brad too.
‘Hi Brad! I know you’re busy tonight, but if your plans change, I’m heading out to meet the boys.’
Brad wrote back immediately.
‘Ok babe. I might see you later then. XO’
It was the perfect response, and Michael was elated.
He cranked up the volume on his favorite playlist and skipped to his closet, so he could decide what to wear.
Later that night, it was only by coincidence that Michael and Florence ended up at the same bar. Over shots of tequila and dance floor moves, they complained about men and discussed devious plans for late-night hookups.
Chapter 13
Blue Moon Sidewalk, Blue Bridge
Tyson dropped Drew off at home a few hours later. They didn’t want to discuss what happened that evening or what they would do next. They had followed the taxi, and it had not ended well.
Both men were tired, and both of them simply wanted to fall into bed. If Tyson had been more alert, he might have noticed that a car had been following them since they had left Harbor South. But completely oblivious to the danger that lurked behind him, Tyson followed all the familiar roads home.
When he was standing at the entrance to his building, fumbling to insert his key into the lock, two men approached him from behind and struck him on the back of the head. They grabbed his body as he collapsed and pinned his arms behind him.
Tyson didn’t have a chance to scream for help or cry out in pain. He was already groggy as he was dragged back down to the gutter and bundled into the back of a vehicle. Later, when he awoke, he wouldn’t be able to recall any faces or details. He had been unconscious as the car had pulled away from his home.
There would be scandalous stories of speculation in the newspapers over the coming days. Headlines would read, ‘Man abducted from his stoop’ and ‘Body found after shooting in Harbor South,’ but no one would connect the two occurrences, except for Drew.
When he did regain his senses, Tyson immediately knew that he was in trouble. He felt shooting pain in his head and wanted to reach out to touch the back of his skull. But his hands were bound, as were his legs. He slowly realized he was tied to a bed frame. The room was quite dark, but some light crept in from a doorway. He could hear men talking quietly from outside and he could smell blood. Tyson wanted to scream, as panic coursed through his veins.
Slowly, more and more details became clear. He had been stripped down to his underwear. He badly
needed a bathroom. So, he decided to play things safe and politely called out for help.
“Hey! HEY!”
The man who burst through the door had no discernible details in the shadows. His appearance was nothing more than a silhouette.
“Ok, guy. Keep your voice down: I’ve got you.”
Tyson almost whimpered, as the man strode to his side and cut him loose. He helped Tyson up to a sitting position.
“That’s quite a nasty bump you have on your head there, so I wouldn’t make any sudden moves.” The man sounded friendly, considering the circumstances. “In fact, I’d recommend a hospital visit for you. Does that sound ok, lad?”
“Yes. Please. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Tyson’s voice was hoarse. He wanted to beg, but the man was so forthcoming.
“You’re so very welcome, Tyson. You just need to do me one small favor, so that I can help you.”
“You know my name?” It was the least surprising detail of the whole incident, but it was the thing that struck Tyson as strange in that moment.
“Of course, of course. I stole your wallet. And I know just from looking at you, that you don’t want to be caught up in this mess. In fact, Tyson, I will call you an ambulance, right this minute, but you have to do me this favor.”
“Anything.” Tyson’s mouth tasted like dried blood, and he wanted more than anything for the man to help him. His captor sat down next to him and cradled one arm around his shoulder. The man held him in place, and for one surreal moment, Tyson felt safe.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I knew you were a good boy, Tyson. Now, you just need to tell me—who pulled the trigger?”
“What?”
“I know that you know.”
“Know what?” Tyson was so disoriented; he was genuinely confused.
“Now don’t play stupid. Was it you? Did you kill him?”