by Lynn Lorenz
“I’m not making a delivery, sir.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m looking for work. I can wash dishes, set and bus tables, anything.”
For a moment, Sammi thought the man would tell him to get lost, but he narrowed his gaze at Sammi, then nodded. “Come on in.”
Sammi followed him inside to a storeroom outside the kitchen.
“Take off the shirt and show me your arms.”
Sammi obeyed.
The old man searched his arms, then nodded. “Don’t want any druggies. They steal. You steal, boy?”
“No, sir.”
“Better not. I’ll shoot you dead, you steal from me.”
Sammi nodded, his eyes wide with fear. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“Can you start now?”
“Yes, sir.” Sammi’s spirits soared. He never thought it would be this easy, just walk in and ask. There had to be a catch, right?
“Good. Get that washer loaded. Rinse the dishes off first, then stack them. When you finish, I need the kitchen floor mopped.” He motioned to the equipment with a scrawny arm.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Sammi grinned and rushed to the washer. Stacks of dirty dishes waited for him. He began to scrape off food into the garbage can, rinse them with the hose, then load them into an industrial dishwasher.
“Hey! You didn’t ask how much I’m paying,” the man called to him.
“Don’t care.” And he didn’t. As long as he was off the streets and not selling himself, it didn’t matter.
“I pay six dollars an hour, cash. I’ll need you until we shut down at ten, maybe an hour after, for clean up.”
On the street, before Donovan, Sammi had charged twenty for a five-minute blow job. He had no idea how much Donovan had charged his upscale clients, but it was probably more money than Sammi had ever seen.
“Sounds good,” Sammi called back as he rinsed a plate. He’d worry about where he was going to sleep later.
The man shook his head, grumbled and got back to unloading his boxes.
Sammi scraped off another dish, rinsed it, and stacked it. If Mitchell could see him now, he’d be proud of him. But that was never going to happen. Sammi paused, blinked to clear the tears, and got back to work.
* * * *
Mitchell leaned back and stretched. After a trip to the hardware store to buy the new wooden pieces of the busted doorframe and a better deadbolt, he and Brian had repaired the door. Now, his home was secure and he felt a little better.
They had bought a box of black plastic garbage bags and were going through the debris, saving what they could and throwing the rest away. Brian held the bag open as Mitchell dumped the contents of the sweeper into it.
“Think he came back to your place?” Mitchell asked for the third time.
“Maybe. If he does, he’ll see the note you left.”
“Think he’ll wait?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Mitchell shrugged. He’d gone through the motions of cleaning like a robot, following Brian’s quiet orders, not having to think about what he had to do. Brian always knew what to do.
They worked all afternoon and into the evening until the place was as clean as it had been before the break-in. Most of his stuff had to be thrown out.
“Now, let’s take a look at that computer of yours. I’ll put some protection software on it and you’re going to start using a password to log in,” Brian told him.
“Yes, sir.” Mitchell gave him a salute. “I feel like an idiot, leaving my info just sitting on the computer for anyone to look at.”
“Don’t. Lots of people do it. No one expects someone to break in and steal info off their computers.”
“But I should have known better. I did know, I just thought…”
“It would never happen to you.”
“Right.”
After an hour of Brian’s tinkering, Mitchell’s computer was password-protected and he’d gone into all the online programs Mitchell used to pay his bills and bank with and secured them.
They returned to the kitchen and sat at the table. Mitchell leaned back, pulled open the fridge, and took two Coronas from the door. At least the bastard hadn’t drunk all his beer. After handing one to Brian, he twisted off the cap of his and drank.
“Cold beer. Gotta love it after a hard day’s work.” Brian raised his in a toast.
“Hits the spot.” Mitchell stared into space and let his mind drift.
Sammi.
Just as before, no answer.
“Hey, I’m starved. Let’s go get dinner.” Brian stood, drained his bottle, and tossed it in the trash.
“Can we swing by your house?” Mitchell stood and poured the rest of his beer down the drain.
“That was my plan.” Brian slapped him on the back and they left.
* * * *
Sammi gathered his pillowcase and stood at the back door of the restaurant. The man who’d hired him turned off the last of the lights. It was eleven-thirty. Sammi—covered in sweat, dishwater and the smells from the kitchen—leaned in the doorway. He was tired, but it was a good feeling. He’d worked for honest pay for the first time in his life. It felt great.
“You did a good job, boy.”
“Thank you, sir. What time tomorrow?” Sammi hoped this would be a steady job.
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of money. After licking his thumb, he counted out fifty dollars in assorted bills, and handed it to Sammi. “Here’s your pay. Can you come in at ten a.m.?”
“Sure.” Sammi grinned as he shoved the money into his front pocket.
They exited and the man turned to lock up the door. Sammi walked to the sidewalk on Montrose and stood in the shadows between the buildings. He’d found a job. His next problem was where to sleep. He glanced across the street to the laundromat and the sign that said 24 hours. He figured that was as good a place as any.
“You need a lift anywhere?” The old man had never given his name, and Sammi hadn’t asked. For that matter, the old man had never asked for Sammi’s name, either.
“No, sir.” Sammi shook his head.
“Well, going to hang around here all night?”
“No, sir.” Sammi pushed off the wall, slung his pillowcase over his shoulder, and dashed across the street and into the laundromat.
He found a seat and put his things on the chair next to him. Exhaustion flowed through him. He began to relax as he closed his eyes.
Moments later, the chair next to him creaked as someone sat in it.
“You plan on sleeping here tonight?”
Sammi cracked open an eye. It was his boss. “Yes, sir.”
“Shit.” His boss sighed. “Come on with me. I got a place off the avenue. You can bunk there for a few nights.” He stood and waited.
Sammi nodded, picked up his stuff and slung it over his shoulder. “Just the bed for a few nights? That’s all, right?” He hoped the man didn’t want anything else from him because he hated to walk away from a good job.
His boss grimaced at Sammi. “What you think, boy? You think I’m one of those old perverts who like young—” He stared at Sammi. Then he shook his head. “Just the bed, boy. I’m not going to touch you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sammi gave him a curt nod.
“Come on.” His boss left and Sammi trailed after him. They walked down the avenue, side by side. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Sammi.”
“I’m Otis.” He held out his hand for Sammi to shake, so he did.
They turned after two blocks and Otis walked up to what must have once been a two-story motel. Now, it housed low-income workers. They climbed the worn metal stairs, and Otis stopped at number nine and pulled out his keys.
“It ain’t much, but it’s home.” Otis stepped aside as Sammi entered.
Inside, Sammi checked it out. One large room with a bed, dresser, couch and TV. A small counter with a double cook top and a small refrigerator undern
eath. The only door was to the bathroom.
“You take the couch.”
“Yes, sir.” Sammi nodded, grateful for a couch to stretch out on. This was so much better than sitting in the laundromat chair all night. Otis tossed him a pillow and a thin blanket. Sammi arranged them as Otis went into the bathroom and shut the door. The shower ran for about ten minutes, then Otis came out dressed in his boxers.
“Bathroom’s yours. Water will be hotter in the morning, but it’s still warm now.”
Sammi nodded and took his turn. As the warm water faded to tepid, he lathered up quickly, then rinsed away the stink of the kitchen and his sweat. Using one of the thin white towels, he dried off and slipped into a pair of briefs. With the towel draped over his shoulders to cover his chest, he came out and crossed the room to his bed.
Otis was already asleep and snoring.
Sammi stretched out and pulled the blanket over him. Rolling onto his side, he remembered the feel of Mitchell’s body against his. A perfect fit, unlike the couch. It poked and sagged, but it was good enough and Sammi was more than grateful to Otis for the job and the bed.
In the morning, he’d get up and go to work.
Just like a regular guy.
Sammi smiled.
* * * *
Mitchell and Brian finished dinner and left the restaurant. Getting into Brian’s SUV, Mitchell asked, “Can we cruise the avenue for a while?”
“Sure.” Brian didn’t ask why.
They drove up, then down the restaurant and bar-studded avenue, then up and down Westheimer for a few blocks. No Sammi.
Mitchell rode along, his eyes scanning the sidewalks for any sign of the man he’d known and loved. “Shit, Brian. What am I going to do?”
“Keep searching. Keep hoping he’ll come back.”
Mitchell sighed. “Maybe…” He didn’t want to finish what he was going to say. It had been in the back of his mind all night. “Maybe it’s for the best.” He slumped against the seat.
Brian didn’t say a word as he drove, making a show of watching the heavy traffic on all sides of his car.
“He’s turned my life upside down.”
“Yep.”
“I lost my job because of him.”
“Yep.”
“My house was trashed because of him.”
“Yep.”
Mitchell glanced over at his best friend. Brian stared straight ahead.
“My life was threatened.”
“Yep.”
Mitchell sighed. “I’ve had the best sex of my life and I can feel again.”
Brian didn’t say a word, just kept driving, cruising along as Mitchell scanned the people walking in the night.
“I love him.”
“I know.”
“You don’t think I’m nuts to fall for this guy in one night?” Mitchell picked at a small hole in the knee of his jeans.
“Honestly? I think you’re vulnerable.”
“But—”
“Hear me out, buddy. I think you’re not completely healed from losing Steve, and wham you meet this incredibly sexy guy. And wham again, you fall for him. It’s not hard for me to believe, I’m a romantic and believe in the love at first sight shit.” Brian chuckled. “And maybe this is just what that is. Look, for what it’s worth, I think Sammi loves you. And I think you love him. And for me, that’s good enough.”
“What the hell am I going to do?” Mitchell let his head fall against the headrest. “What if he never comes back?”
“You’ll go on. Let time heal you, just like it did with Steve.”
They turned off the avenue and down Mitchell’s street.
“Let’s check your place first, then, for tonight, I think you should stay with me.” Brian’s tone said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Mitchell gave him a grateful smile.
Brian pulled up and parked. Mitchell hopped out of the car and jogged up the steps. No note.
He came back down and got in. Slamming the car door shut, he said, “Let’s go.”
Brian drove off.
They got to Brian’s and parked. The small porch was empty. The note Mitchell had left for Sammi was still stuck in the door where he’d left it. He pulled it out and crumpled it in his hand.
Brian unlocked the door and they entered. Mitchell walked toward his room in a trance. “Good night, Brian.”
“Night, Mitchell.”
Mitchell shut the door, undressed then lay down. After pulling the covers over him, he floated on a dark sea with no light from the stars to guide him and no land in sight.
He should give it up and forget about Sammi. It was the best thing for both of them. He just didn’t know how to let Sammi go.
Wherever Sammi was, Mitchell prayed he was safe.
Chapter Ten
Moretti scanned the club. Nothing but a bunch of old fags hoping to hook up with young fags. He kept a sneer of disgust from twisting his lips as he leaned over the bar and held out the photo of Sammi.
“Have you seen this guy?”
The bartender glanced at it. “No.” He took the bald man in, then sniffed. “Never seen him. He’s cute. If you find him, I’d like to meet him.” The bartender licked his lips and winked.
Moretti pulled the photo away and stuffed it back into his jacket. He’d lost track of the bars he’d been in tonight. Maybe his men were having better luck hitting the sex shops and video stores. As he moved through the packed club, his eyes darted from face to face, searching for his prey.
To his boss, the kid was money in the bank, just another body to sell on the market, funding the good life. Moretti knew Donovan had indulged himself with Sammi, just as he had with the women. Donovan swore Sammi had special abilities that made him valuable but never went into details. For the life of him, Moretti couldn’t understand what they could possibly be and he didn’t care.
But the kid had caused all sorts of trouble for him, bringing Donovan’s wrath down on him for letting him get away in the first place, and now for not being able to find the little fucker. Donovan just didn’t understand the sheer number of fags who lived and played in Houston. They were like fucking roaches, coming out at night. For Moretti, the only way to treat a roach was to squish it.
A good roach was a dead roach.
Same with fags.
As he wound his way through the crowd around the bar, he made certain not to touch any of them. He didn’t believe half of the crap on television, but AIDS was some scary shit and he wasn’t sure if he believed you only got it from butt-fucking, blood and needles.
Moretti didn’t indulge in daydreams often, but he had one where he’d beat the crap out of Sammi. He resented the fact that the little shit had escaped on his watch. It irked him, pissed him off, like a burr in his sock or an itch he needed to scratch, but couldn’t reach.
Donovan had been quite clear, as soon as he’d recognized Sammi’s talents, that Moretti not put a mark on him. And he never had, but he’d wanted to hurt him. Instead, he’d made the fag sweat. Workouts that lasted for hours, until Sammi’s arms and legs shook. But the little fag was as tough as his body had become and that had surprised Moretti.
Fags weren’t supposed to be tough. They were supposed to be wimps, weak-wristed boy-girls who cried for their mamas. Sammi had never cried until the first time Donovan put him in the closet. Moretti had realized the punk was terrified of confined spaces. What a day that had been! He smiled just thinking of it.
And just like that he knew how he could fuck with Sammi. Make him toe the line and show him who was boss around the penthouse.
He’d taken real delight in preparing the closet. Pulled out the shelves, weather-stripped the frame, and installed the dead bolt. Nothing was getting out of that box. And all the time, Sammi had watched, puzzled at first, then to watch the growing horror on his face as he understood why Moretti was fucking with the closet. It was priceless.
Once he caught Sammi, it would be straight to the closet. He didn’t care how much the bastard s
creamed, cried or begged, he wasn’t getting out until it was time to deliver him to his buyer. Moretti wasn’t taking any chances.
And when he finally caught Sammi, he hoped he’d find that bastard Collins who’d been hiding him. Now, Moretti could hurt him. He hoped he’d catch them together, maybe fucking. That would be sweet. Moretti reached beneath his jacket and touched the holstered gun secured under his armpit. Oh, yeah, Collins would pay for making Moretti’s life difficult.
He finished his round of the club and left. The driver waited in the Mercedes at the curb. Moretti got in the passenger side and shut the door.
“Any sign?” the driver asked.
“No.”
“Next place?”
“Let’s try over on Westheimer. He hasn’t been seen on Montrose in a week.”
The car pulled away from the bar and cruised down the street, past closed restaurants, video salons, sex shops and an all-night laundromat. Moretti wondered who the hell would be doing his fucking laundry at two in the morning.
* * * *
“Rise and shine, boy. Daylight’s burning.” Otis’s rough voice woke Sammi.
He sat up, the thin blanket rumpled around his waist, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Otis had dressed and was moving around in the miniscule kitchen.
“Morning, sir.” Sammi rifled through his pillowcase and pulled out fresh clothes and the razor, but decided not to use up the aftershave. He wanted to save it for something special. Maybe if he ever got to see Mitchell again. In his mind, he imagined seeing Mitchell, letting him know he’d done good, found a job, hadn’t resorted to selling himself, but was on his way to fulfilling his dreams.
After he gathered up his clothes and necessities in his arms, he trod to the bathroom.
“Breakfast will be ready soon,” Otis warned as he cracked an egg.
“Yes, sir,” Sammi called from behind the bathroom door. He dressed and came out. “Can I help?”
“No. There’s only room for one of us, and that’s me. Got eggs and toast.” Otis worked with a spatula, cooking the eggs in a small frying pan. The toast popped up from a two-slice toaster and he quickly pulled it out, buttered it, and put each slice on a plate. Then, he divided the eggs and slid them onto the plates.
