Ric shook his head at the guy offering. “Thanks, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company right now.”
His pursuer, a nice-looking blond, didn’t give up. Instead, he slid onto the stool next to the one where Ric sat. “Bad day at work, huh?”
“The worst.” He took a sip of his beer as if that would both discourage the guy and somehow wash away the memories of cutting open that kid, Umi. He twirled the glass in his hand. “And given what I do, you wouldn’t be that interested in socializing with me afterward.” It was a cheap shot, testament to how he really wanted to chase the man away as firmly as possible.
“I don’t know. Someone as hot as you warrants the effort.”
Ric smiled, appreciating the compliment as much as the next person. It was always flattering to be told he was attractive, and normally he would use his looks to get laid without compunction. Not this night, though. Besides, for the last couple of months, he’d found that he’d become picky when it came to whom he wanted. Pale beauty accented with long black hair seemed to be his type now, which was so fucked up, yet nevertheless true.
He stared into his drink. “I’m a coroner.” A bit of a stretch. Quicker than explaining his medical residency, though. He lifted up his hands. “These were sunk deep in a kid’s chest cavity only hours ago.”
The guy’s eyes widened a second before he stood. “Okay then, have a nice night.”
Ric almost felt bad. The relief at being left alone again overruled his natural inclination to playing nice with other boys. He really was in a mood and had to wonder if he’d be having the same reaction after helping in the autopsy of that boy if he hadn’t known about the aliens and their war. His life had taken an unfathomable turn in the months since Emil had pushed him against a hospital wall to keep him from interfering in Val’s feeding Mackie. At the time, he’d known only heart-stopping fear. Then, he’d convinced himself that it was all about the cool science he had access to. Now?
He mentally shrugged and drank some more. His adventure in Wales had been surreal, so much so that he’d still managed to box his experience with the aliens into the clinical part of his brain. Cutting open the boy he could only ever think of as Umi, thanks to Trey, he could no longer pretty-up the situation. Umi had lived a short, brutal life, most of that being squarely a human phenomenon. Even the tearing and scar tissue in and around his rectum was an all too common form of abusive damage. But there was something about how the boy’s neck had been snapped cleanly in two that really got to Ric. A loop kept playing in his head of Umi’s last moments, of being fucked right as his head was violently twisted.
It could have been Dafydd. Yeah, that was another problem. He saw the Welshman in the same role. There was a superficial likeness, perhaps because the alien went for boys who looked like him. And he’d bet that if he examined Dafydd, he’d find similar signs of abuse. The thought made him shudder when it shouldn’t. He was a doctor and had seen horrific suffering in the emergency department. Horrible accidents, gun shot and stab wounds, children beaten by parents, women raped by intimate partners. Nothing should faze him now. Yet, here he sat, haunted by Dafydd and Umi alike.
Shoving his beer aside, he signaled to the bartender. “Can I get a shot of tequila, please? Beer isn’t cutting it tonight.”
The handsome guy smiled at him. “Sure thing. I get a lot of that in here.”
As he waited, Ric glanced around the room by way of looking in the long mirror behind the bar. He’d come in to check the place out as well as drown his sorrows. A couple of his friends had raved about it as a new gay-friendly pub that was fast becoming a nice pick-up place. It was pretty packed with mostly men.
The bartender came to pour him the shot. “Checking out the prospects?” he asked with a wink.
“Not tonight.” Ric downed the liquor, winced and nodded for another. “Right now, I’m looking for numbness. Maybe another night. I heard this was a great new hang-out.”
“Well, it’s under new management, but it’s been in business for about a hundred years.”
“Really?” Ric tossed back the next shot and after a half-second’s worth of deliberation, gave the signal for one more.
“Yeah.” The bartender tossed his head to one side. “See that corner over there with the big guy standing like a gargoyle?”
Picking up the shot glass, Ric turned his head to look.
The bartender leaned in. “That’s a secret entrance to the club beneath us. The bookcase actually has a door built in that swings open when he pulls a hidden latch. Back during prohibition, it was a speakeasy. Pretty cool, huh?”
Ric slammed down the tequila and stared at the spot and the man through the mirror so as not to be obvious about it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, not that the man in question was anything other than human. He was African-American, for one thing, and he knew the aliens were monochrome in all respects. But he was a scary motherfucker and there was something about him that screamed criminal, as well. Perhaps it was the dark, wraparound sunglasses that he wore indoors.
Waving off a fourth shot, he asked, “What’s down there now?”
The bartender shrugged. “Some private club of the owner.” He turned to put the bottle away.
“How does one join?”
“Sorry, dude. I have no idea. I’ve never met the boss, but the manager says that it’s strictly off limits. Pretty cool, though, still, huh?”
Ric nodded as the man headed down the bar to help another customer. He gathered his glass of beer in front of him and kept his gaze on the mirror and the corner with the bookcase. He nursed his drink because now it was about killing time, not getting drunk enough to forget his life for a while. It took nearly thirty minutes before anything of note happened. An older man, nicely dressed in an expensive suit and, like the gatekeeper, wearing sunglasses inside what was already a fairly dark room approached the entrance to the hidden downstairs. There was some kind of card produced discreetly, a nod from the doorman-slash-bouncer dude, then a section of the bookcase opened only wide enough for the man to slip through.
Ric’s grip on his glass tightened spasmodically, as if his body recognized something that his brain was still processing. His first thought was Nope, you’ve been hanging around blood-sucking aliens too long. Because really, what were the odds that he’d stumbled upon something useful to Duncan’s investigation into Father Ted’s and Umi’s murders? He was being ridiculous. On the other hand, the math wasn’t that outrageous. There were only so many places in Boston catering to a gay clientele, even fewer ones that were the more upscale spots he liked now that he had some money in his pocket. Add to that, anything new got spread around the community and attracted attention. So no, not a long shot after all that he might have walked into the monster’s lair.
He nursed his beer and one more for another hour, keeping tabs on the bookcase. Two more men went through and two came out. Every one of them was middle-aged and well-heeled, a sharp contrast to the younger, hipster crowd that filled the bar area. His bladder finally forced him to pay his tab and leave his seat. The restrooms were on the other side of the room from the speakeasy entrance, so he had no chance to get a closer look. But, a little bit of luck was with him as he started to leave.
One more man came out of the hidden spot, hunched over, eyes shaded and made a beeline for the front door. On a quick and perhaps stupid impulse, Ric raced out, twirled around and flipped on sunglasses that he had in his pocket. Then he deliberately put himself in the man’s path.
“Oh, sorry,” he said jerking back, as if only seeing him that moment. He put out a hand as if steadying himself and made contact with the guy’s shoulder. “I’m in too much of a hurry, I guess.” He chuckled, trying for a skeevy sound. “How are things tonight?”
The man quirked his lips. “No apologies necessary. I wasn’t looking where I was going, either. And these damn sunglasses don’t help. Stupid rules.” He smiled broadly. “I’m also wiped out. Barely know my own name. There
’s some new blood on tap. Tight as a goddamn tick.” With a chuckle, the man slapped Ric on the back and ambled off.
And it was that easy. A man spent from his time exploiting a boy, maybe a child, was only too happy to share a convivial moment with a stranger of like tastes. Ric felt sick and elated at the same time. Anything he could do to bring down what was left of Dracul’s cabal was cause for celebration. He told himself it was to protect his own people. Humanity was at risk so long as any vestige of the monstrous alien roamed the globe. Really, though, his goal was simpler and more complex at the same time. He wanted to help Dafydd. The man deserved the peace necessary to regain and live his life without fear.
That was difficult to face, however. So, he concentrated on the nobler goal of helping his own species. He also felt suddenly vulnerable, as if his interaction with the man had been observed. As he hurried away, he glanced up and around. There must be security cameras. Even if no one was watching them now, surely the feed was being recorded. It could be routinely reviewed, for all he knew.
He raced through the narrow alley where the entrance stood, past other people heading to their own fun. It wasn’t as if he were isolated or anything. It was simply every horror film he’d ever seen playing inside his head, reminding him that this was the part where the nosey secondary character got killed. By the time he hit the nearest street, Tremont, his heart was pounding and sweat coated his skin. With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone and called up a Lyft. He whipped off his glasses and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
Then, he called Duncan. Because, even now, he worried that he would somehow die before telling someone what he knew.
The cop picked up on the third ring, thank God no voicemail situation cropping up, again like in the movies. “Doc?”
“Duncan, I think I’ve found something important, maybe the very place you’re looking for.” He scanned the crowd before continuing. He gave the name of the pub and its location before adding in a few details in a low voice. “It could be nothing,” he finished up with.
“No. It sounds promising. Where are you now?”
“Waiting on a corner of Tremont for a car to pick me up.”
“Can you come to Lux?”
Ric licked his lips and blinked a few times to clear his head. Damn, all that liquor was hitting him hard. “Sure, no problem.”
“Good. I’ll call ahead and let them know we’re coming.” The cop ended the call.
Ric stuffed his phone back in his pants as a car pulled up to the curb amid blaring horns from cars that had to swerve around him.
The driver’s side window slid down. “Ric?” the man asked.
“Yeah.” He hopped into the car as fast as his suddenly clumsy body would allow. He fumbled, as well, with his seat belt. “Change of destination, though.” He gave the address for the club, then collapsed against the back of the seat.
“Hey, dude, you’re not going to, like, hurl back there, are you?”
Ric waved the concern away, although his stomach was churning. Not from the booze, though, but from the almost certain knowledge that he’d sunk deeper into the morass that was the secret internecine alien war. He would have been happier never knowing, except he couldn’t bring himself to truly regret anything, because anytime his thoughts strayed in that direction, the image of Dafydd intruded. Whatever else this journey did to him, he couldn’t shake the belief that it would someday be worth it.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m beginning to think I should rent a room at the club,” Karl griped. “Kitty told me that Alex has acquired the building next door. He intends to turn it into more space for the members to play and hang out in on an extended basis for an extra fee. She’s also planning on taking one of the suites herself and giving up her apartment in the West End.”
“Well, there’s a good reason to move that has nothing to do with the never-ending shitshow of a war.”
It was also interesting intel. He hadn’t known about Alex’s expansion plans. Maybe he could do the same. Alex would likely be reasonable about the rent, given Trey’s less-than stellar income. And it would put him closer to Demi, which would be both a blessing and a curse. God. He’d been such a weak bastard, taking the boy like that, roughly against a door. In a storage room no less. Demi deserved silk sheets and tender kisses, not splinters in his ass and bruises on his lips.
Mixed messages? What a fucking understatement that had been. And, boy, did Demi have his number, all that talk of moving out and sleeping with other men. He’d known exactly where Trey’s buttons were and had methodically, brutally and gleefully pushed each and every one. Even understanding what he was doing, Trey had been helpless to keep from reacting with unbridled fury and possessiveness. He’d been, if not proud, then content with how he’d handled Demi’s frightening and unrealistic expectations of what their having sex meant. In the span of less than twelve hours, he’d torched his own accomplishment.
“What’s eating at you, Trey?”
He gave his partner the side-eye. “Nothing.”
“Oh, no, can we not get on this ride of denial again?”
Trey blew out a noisy breath. “Fair point. It’s Demi.”
Karl snorted. “I already know that. I meant what’s new about Demi that’s bothering you?”
“I’m sorry. Were you not in the room when I dragged him out and… You know.”
“Not all the details, and I like it better that way. I take it you’ve been castigating yourself over your lapse ever since. I figured as much. That’s why I was nowhere to be seen before you and the kid reappeared. I take it the conflicting feelings weren’t improved by whatever it was that happened between you.”
“No, they weren’t. The only thing we managed to do was agree he wouldn’t date other men.”
“You mean fuck them.”
Trey took his eyes off the road long enough to glare at his partner. “Yes,” he bit out.
“That doesn’t seem fair, Trey, given that you aren’t willing to commit.”
“Because it isn’t!” he roared and instantly regretted his outburst.
Karl, damn him, merely chuckled. “God, that kid has you by the short hairs.”
“My point, exactly, but I don’t know what to do about it. I only know what I can’t stand at the moment and that includes making a commitment to Demi and not wanting any other man to have him.”
“Poor bastard,” Karl muttered.
“Thanks. That helps a lot,” Trey snapped, then shut his mouth because he was only making a fool out of himself the more he talked.
By the time, they entered Alex’s office, Paz was already there, nursing a giant mug of what smelled like coffee. He looked a little worse for wear and accented that impression by giving Trey and Karl a brief nod before practically sinking his face into his drink. The usual gang was ensembled, minus all the boys. Trey almost sighed in relief. That last thing he wanted was another encounter with Demi before he’d had a chance to remotely consider how he was going to handle everything. He was even happier when Alex asked him to close and lock the door.
He raised his eyebrows when he turned to face the room. “Is there someone in particular you’re keeping out?” The answer was kind of obvious, except Alex surprised him.
“Quinn. He’s out dancing and I don’t want him to hear any of this. I don’t think my nerves can take another instance of his being in the middle of a fight. And,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t want to have a new argument, having just ended the previous one.”
“I agree,” Emil chimed in. “Jase is a sweet boy, but nothing gets him steamed more than thinking I’m heading into trouble without him by my side.”
From where he sat with a laptop, Val snorted. “Sucks to be you. When I want Mackie to stick in one place, I simply lock him up.”
Emil scowled. “Unless he safewords, then you’re just as stuck as the rest of us.” He turned to Trey and Karl. “I’ve got cookies and coffee here if you want.”
/> “No, thanks.” Trey went over to the couch and slouched down. He nodded in greeting at Harry, then skittered his gaze away because he couldn’t face Demi’s father yet.
Karl, of course, headed straight for the food. But Alex was starting the meeting, asking Paz to run through his experience at the bar. It made as much sense as it had the first time Trey had heard it, and everyone in the room agreed that the doctor had stumbled upon useful information, thank fuck. Because Trey and Karl had racked their brains for hours trying to figure out where Cadoc might have set up his lair.
“I’ve run a search on that place,” Val said, taking over the conversation. “It changed hands within two weeks after what went down in Wales. The former owner wasn’t making a go of it, apparently, and sold the whole set-up, including the building. There was a general notice to creditors, as well as a filing at the registry of deeds.”
He tapped the computer keys. “The buyer is a Massachusetts limited liability company formed right before the sale.” He glanced up. “There’s only one name listed for manager and registered agent, a lawyer in Boston named Seth Murphy.”
Trey jerked his chin toward his partner. “I know what we’re going to be doing first thing tomorrow morning—unless you think that’s a bad idea, Alex. If we rattle the lawyer, he’s bound to report back to Cadoc.”
“He will indeed.” Alex drummed his fingers on his arm rest. “We can only risk it if we can do more than ask him questions. I suppose it’s too much to hope that we can find some leverage over him.”
“Hm-m.” Trey mulled over that idea. “How did Cadoc find him?” he asked the room at large. “Human criminals usually hire shifty attorneys, guys as lawless as they are. I have to assume that Dracul did the same and taught that lesson to his sons. I can’t believe this Murphy character is ignorant of what goes on in the private club area.”
“If he is,” Karl interjected, “we could interview him without concern. Once he learns what his client is up to, he’d want to distance himself from it and help with the investigation.”
Mating Dance Page 18