The Boss

by J. Calamy

  “Shut your fucking mouth, Sonny,” Bishop said. “You are being an—”

  “There he is,” Tony said. They all leaned forward. A police SUV had pulled up to the intersection. They watched as three men got out. Two went into the building.

  “One minute,” Tony said. They leaned forward again, huddling close. The CCTV footage had no sound but they were silent anyway. Graves was practically holding his breath. Doubt was snaking around his back, up his belly, down his arms.

  Everything in the left-hand screen went white. The right stayed on, but it was hard to see through the smoke and flying debris. Stinton gave a low whistle.

  “Get me another view, Tony! Now!”

  “Yes, Boss,” Tony was already typing away, the white screen switched to a view down the street—people running, an overturned car. Graves slapped his hand on the desk.

  “I can’t fucking see, Tony!”

  “I’m trying, Boss!”

  “Don’t shout at him,” Charlotte snapped. Graves chewed his lip and then kissed Tony on the temple.

  “I’m sorry, our Tony,” he said. “How soon until it hits the news outlets?”

  “Right about now, Boss,” Tony said, turning and nuzzling briefly into Graves’s neck.

  “All right. Let’s see if we got the son of a bitch.”

  They scrolled through their monitors, Bishop and Russ sharing low exchanges as they texted their contacts. Rook had the news on mute on the other side of the state room.

  “We didn’t!” Joe Stinton had one phone tucked under his chin, another in his hands texting away. Graves spun on his heel.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Damn it!” Joe threw the phone from under his ear out the window. “Tang’s in an ambulance.”

  “News says the same,” Rook said. “We missed.”

  *

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Nick said, looking around. Unlike most of the food pavilions he was familiar with, this one had only a handful of stalls, and the tables were even flimsier than usual. One of them was an honest-to-God pile of shipping pallets with boards on top.

  “It is,” Roger said. “I promise. I hope I’m right—but I have heard there is a young chef here cutting her teeth, and she may be someone we want to showcase at our event.”

  Nick let the we and our event roll over him, closing his eyes a moment to savor the idea. Me and my…boyfriend? are picking food for the hottest event in Singapore this month. Me. Some idiot who gets into bar fights and doesn’t know a… He couldn’t even think of names of artists to say he didn’t know. Which made him laugh, a sudden delighted bark that made Roger jump.

  “What?” Roger asked, smiling wide.

  “I’m the luckiest guy in Singapore,” Nick said and kissed Roger right on the mouth with a loud smack. Roger drew back with a puzzled smile, a blush rising up the back of his neck.

  “Stop,” Roger said. “I need to be cool when we meet your friends. Now sit here and look pretty while I find this chef and let her know she better bring her A game.”

  Nick did as he was told, sitting back and watching whatever cricket was on the dusty TV hanging in the corner. Cricket was beyond his understanding, but he loved the sound of the announcers and the nonsense language of the sport.

  The first person he saw was Morris. Or rather, Morris saw him and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard.

  “Swear to me we won’t get into a fight this time, asshole,” he said.

  “Dude, stop,” Nick hissed. “I’m on a date. Don’t fucking tell him.”

  “Tell him what? That you’d fight a street sign for a single corn chip?”

  “Please?”

  “A date?” Lena had arrived. She glanced over where Roger was deep in conversation with the awestruck chef. “And here I thought you were having some fling with Nelson fucking Graves.”

  “That guy?” Nick gave a weak smile. I wish. No I don’t. Do I? “Nah. I mean. I’m just some guy from Minnesota who hands Jeanne Kyaw things— What’s a guy like him going to do with a guy like me?”

  “Well this one…” Lena gave Roger a considering look. “God, he looks like a movie star. You sure he isn’t too pretty for you?”

  “I knew you were gay,” Morris said. “I knew it.”

  “I’m not, though,” Nick said. They both rolled their eyes.

  “No, I mean…” Nick wasn’t sure he even wanted to talk about this. “I mean, I didn’t know. And I guess I like men and women? I don’t know yet. I’ll send a memo when I figure it out.”

  “Put it in your Weekly Updates.” Lena said dryly. They all groaned.

  “I do not miss writing those,” Nick said.

  Roger came up to them with the chef in tow. She looked impossibly young, her wide face flushed with pleasure, her hands tucking stray hair behind her ears. She gave the group a stuttering half bow, clearly unsure what to say or do. Nick empathized. Roger had that effect.

  “Could she be any cuter?” Morris muttered. The chef turned crimson and laughed.

  “Thank you,” she said. “But I hope you like the food.”

  There was a general uproar at this with everyone patting poor Morris on the back as he buried his face in his arms. Introductions were made and the chef, whose name was Latipah, was invited to sit with them. Morris was sent in disgrace to fetch the beers. After a decent conversation, during which Nick decided they were hiring the sharp-witted and funny Latipah and also maybe taking her home to live with them, Latipah went to prepare the food. Other vendors came to talk as well, and Roger ordered something from each of them, urging them in a mix of Singlish and Malay to pull out all the stops.

  The group ended up at the pile of pallets under the TV. There was so much food they had to pause a moment and admire it. Lena posted everything to her Instagram, she and Roger getting into detailed arguments about social media that eluded Nick entirely.

  Morris leaned over and spoke into Nick’s ear.

  “I like him,” he said. “If he’s mean to you, I’ll have him erased. But I like him.”

  Nick tried not to choke on his beer. He was turning to answer, feeling a swell of love for his buddy when he saw everyone staring up at the TV. The game was cut and instead a news bulletin appeared.

  POLICE STATION BOMBING

  In-between aerial shots of a burning building and dust-covered men picking through rubble were clips of an earnest-looking police officer in front of a podium giving a press conference. “Police Chief Louis Tang is in the hospital but in good spirits—statement forthcoming.”

  The headline was scrawling across the bottom in a mix of English, Mandarin, and Malay. Nick couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

  “That’s home!” Roger said, surging to his feet. “I live right down the street from there!” He shouted to the man who ran the nearest booth who clambered onto a box to adjust the TV, turn up the sound, and wipe off a little dust.

  Hong Kong Police Station Bombed—Crime Syndicates Suspected Reprisals For Record-Breaking Drug Bust—Death Count Is Believed To Be Above 20—Mostly Senior Police Officials

  The scroll ran along the bottom. They ate their food and watched in silence as the death count climbed, finally settling on forty-six. Latipah seemed unsure what to say to them. Nick shook himself and pulled her down to sit, asking her about each dish, writing what she said in his phone as he always did. It seemed to settle the table a little, drag Roger back into the present. Lena and Morris were having a quiet conversation off to the side, but even they made themselves come back to the food, to something present and happy.

  “I say we hire everyone here,” Nick said to Roger. He gestured to the table. “I mean. Look how well it all goes together.”

  “This would mean so much for us,” Latipah said seriously. “We are a small hawker center, all new.”

  Roger was already nodding, squeezing Nick’s knee under the table.

  “I love this idea,” he said. “I will come tomorrow morning when its quiet, and
we can draw up the lists of equipment and ingredients.” He swung into Singlish with an apologetic glance at Nick, writing down information as he talked to the chefs. Nick waved him off. He had no idea about the logistics anyway. Instead, he scooted his plastic chair closer to Lena.

  “It has to be. The word was most of that shipment was relaying between Myanmar and the Philippines,” Lena was saying. “That’s all Red Sky. The heroin moves east west and the meth moves north south.”

  “That’s what the DEA guys think.”

  “You think Red Sky blew the police station?” Nick asked.

  “Probably,” Lena said. “But it could be that’s what the Chinese want us to think. So we don’t look too close at the pro-democracy people either.”

  “Those guys are idealist college kids—they aren’t going to kill cops,” Morris said dismissively.

  “Unless the Chinese decide they want them to,” Lena sighed. “It’s hard to know what the real deal is in Hong Kong. But Louis Tang is the police chief, and he was riding high on that bust at the port so…”

  “Jesus,” Roger said, done with his negotiations. “I’m going home to a real mess.”

  He held up his phone to show the stream of text messages piling in.

  “I better call in; Energen just opened three new platforms off Rakhine state. If this is linked to Myanmar, investors will get crazy jittery. I dread what my schedule will look like when I get back.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Nick sighed. “I can’t believe we have less than a month.”

  “Oh stop,” Roger said. “You’ll be in Hong Kong for New Year’s, and then you’ll love it so much you’ll move there, and we will spend all our time eating delicious food and shopping.”

  Lena and Morris protested this, and the group got up to leave in a more cheerful mood than they had been. Roger got on his phone after saying his goodbyes, leaving Nick to walk his friends to the train.

  “I like him,” Lena said. “He’s charming, kind of a dork, and pretty. Exactly like you.”

  “Aw, gee, thanks,” Nick snorted, elbowing her. “That’s terrific. Just the best.”

  “Really, I mean it.” She doubled down. “You two are a good match. Much better than you and Daddy Warbucks.”

  “Him again,” Nick sighed. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

  “That the richest man in Asia was staring at you like a field he wanted to plow? No. Never. I will never let it go.”

  “Oh my God,” Nick said. “He isn’t like that.”

  “Yes he is! You should see the women he gets for Ambassador Young!”

  “Yes, okay, but it doesn’t matter. He and his Bugatti and his yacht and his bodyguards and his fancy cigarette case full of perfect little joints and his gun and his supermodels… Who wants all that anyway?”

  “Me,” Morris said, leaning over their shoulders. “Sign me the fuck up.”

  “I’d give you his number, but David Bishop would kill us all.”

  “Who?”

  “The old guy with the crew cut,” Nick said. He felt a sudden pang. Yes, he missed Graves. But his feelings about the boss were too complicated to think about. But he also missed Bishop and Russ and Charlotte and Tony. His heart gave a little twist, and he rubbed his sternum. Those guys were fun. I miss them. I wonder what they are up to?

  *

  Roger picked Nick up once Morris and Lena were gone, clearly distracted by what was happening back home. But he was excited about their evening anyway. They sat huddled together in the back of the car, talking as the city lights slid by out the windows.

  “Those little mochi in the cold ginger soup?” Roger said. They were recapping their favorites. “I could eat a thousand of those.”

  “I liked the pork belly with the nuts,” Nick said. “Give me a pile of those and some coconut rice and leave me alone.”

  “I had a good time,” Roger said. They stood in front of his hotel, neither ready to end the night. “Do you want to come up?”

  Once in Roger’s hotel, they settled in the big sitting room, Nick pouring drinks and talking about introducing Latipah to Jeanne.

  “It was so good,” Roger said. “I’m sorry that events kind of overshadowed the whole thing. God, look, my phone is still blowing up!”

  “It’s fine. We’ll hang out with them again,” Nick said. “Morris and Lena will both probably have to work on the bombing too. We can all hang out when things settle.”

  “With Lena sure, but Owen Morris needs to up his game if he wants to hang out with us. Where on earth did he get that shirt?”

  “Hey!”

  “I’m only teasing,” Roger said. “I’ll buy him a shirt so we can be seen with him.”

  “Stop it,” Nick snapped. “What people wear doesn’t matter.”

  Roger let out a mock gasp, hand over his heart.

  “You wound me!”

  They laughed, and Nick felt a shift between them. Something…

  “I want to kiss you,” Roger said. He touched Nick’s face with his fingertips, tracing down his cheek to his jaw. His palm against Nick’s cheek was smooth and soft.

  “Okay.”

  Roger leaned in and placed his warm lips against Nick’s. The kiss was gentle, soft as a cloud. The smell of ice cream and aftershave seemed to wrap Nick up as Roger trailed his lips over his. Nick felt part of himself melt at the sweetness of it, being treated like something delicate and fragile. But after the first sigh, Nick’s traitorous brain remembered that other kiss. Kissed me hard. Like we were the last people on earth. I bit him. Nick forced the thought away angrily. Roger stroked his cheeks, planting light kisses along his eyelids and lips before kissing him again.

  Coherent thoughts weren’t exactly at the top of Nick’s mind. But he understood intuitively that with Roger it would always be like this, gentle and soft. His heart was beating fast, nervous and happy all at once. More. He wanted more. Roger was being soft and sweet, and Nick was fighting the urge to push, unsure what to do with his hands or…

  “You okay?” Roger asked, pulling back. Nick nodded.

  “That was…” Nick didn’t know what to say.

  “Have you ever been with a man?”

  Nick shook his head. It was easier to lie. He didn’t want Graves in his head, never mind in the room here with Roger.

  “I’m not sure what to do,” he confessed.

  “Kiss me back,” Roger said. “Show me what you like.”

  Nick did, holding Roger’s face, asserting himself a little. He kissed a little harder, pushing their chests together. He wanted more contact, more pressure, more touch…

  Roger pulled back, a wicked little smile on his face.

  “You like it a little rough?” he asked.

  “Maybe I do…or not. I don’t know,” Nick said. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. Okay, okay. Settle down. Don’t come across as a lunatic.

  “Lean back,” Roger said. Nick did, his stomach doing slow summersaults. He was painfully aroused, confused, as unsure of himself as he had ever been. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Roger’s hands pushed up his shirt and tangled in the top of his pants, tugging at them.

  “Wait, wait,” Nick said, as Roger tugged his cock free, his hands wrapping around the shaft. Nick was achingly hard, the head of his prick flushed pink and leaking. Roger stroked featherlight trails of fire that made Nick’s hips stutter.

  “Trust me,” Roger said. Nick squirmed, shuddering as Roger caressed him, planting little kisses on his navel. His clever fingers skimmed over Nick’s balls, sliding up to his head and back.

  “Roger,” Nick said. “Seriously, stop.”

  Whatever Roger saw in Nick’s face he stopped moving and scooted up to cup his cheek.

  “What is it?” he asked. Nick dragged his thoughts together. He licked his lips, breathing through his nose. Did he want this? His stomach clenched. Yes, he did. He really did. But…

  “Please, go slow. It’s been a long time,” he said. Roger curled against him, kis
sing him on the lips, back to the sweet, gentle kisses of before. His hand cupped Nick’s prick again, fingers dragging slowly up and down.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Nick gasped. “You won’t laugh if I don’t last?”

  “Never,” Roger said. “Relax. Let me make you feel good.”

  It felt better than good, almost torture. Nick’s thoughts scattered, his body twisting as Roger stroked him. Gentle. So gentle. The word kept repeating itself in Nick’s head. Roger was kissing down Nick’s throat, mouthing above his collarbone. It was a dream, like flying, like— The memory of Graves intruded again, his mouth, hot and demanding, the size of his shoulders, his hands pulling Nick’s crotch into his—

  Nick lost his fight and came, between one breath and the next, his back arching. Roger’s mouth caught the end of his cock, slurping and lapping at his slit until he sat up with a shout. Overstimulated, he pushed Roger hard, sending him tumbling off the couch. They laughed, and Roger clambered back up. Nick’s hands were shaking. He tucked himself away hastily, flustered and embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, kissing Roger haphazardly on the face, neck, shoulders, everything he could reach. “That was intense. I’m sorry.”

  “Next time, you can be on the outside of the couch,” Roger laughed. He pushed Nick over and retrieved his drink, miraculously preserved despite the two men nearly kicking the side table over. They sat comfortably together, Roger checking his vlog while Nick tried to wrap his mind around what had happened. Dimly he wondered if he was supposed to return the favor, but Roger seemed content with his head on Nick’s shoulder. They watched a little TV, finished their drinks, and then Roger called the car to take Nick back to Jeanne’s.

  Nick curled in his bed and stared out the window. His body gave the occasional shiver, caught out by the whole experience. I’m gay? Or bi, I guess? It’s like Jeanne said. A whole new life.

  *

  Nelson Graves was in Jeanne’s kitchen, foul tempered, trying to work the coffee machine, when Nick came in the next morning. Nick was in nothing but underwear, wearing headphones and dancing to himself. His steps stumbled when he saw Graves, and the two stared a moment before nodding to each other, trying to be polite.