Mountainway Chant

by M J Calabrese

  Adam got up and began to pace. “Then I guess I’ll give it to him.”

  George wrote instructions to his paralegal then put down his gold Mont Blanc ink pen. “Okay, I’ll have him served at the police station tomorrow. It will be doubly embarrassing to get served in front of everyone he works with, so you may get an irate call or text by evening. If you don’t,” George stood, “then my bet is your marriage is really over. Don’t bother fighting it. Just give him what he wants, sign the papers and move on. Agreed?”

  Adam felt sick to his stomach as they followed the lawyer to the door. The reality of what he was doing hit him hard. He didn’t want to lose Eagle. He still loved him, always would, but for both their sakes they needed to move forward or have some sort of closure. Divorce wasn’t the end. Adam swallowed hard. How could there be an end to something that never really began. Three months. Three months was all the time he’d given to a man he’d known all his life. He’d run after just three months, unable to cope with all the emotional pain being thrown at him every day. Shorter than any of his previous marriages. Even darling Claire lasted ten months before she couldn’t watch his personal self-destruction anymore.

  Michelle stepped out of the office to bring her car around. George, again, took Adam’s hand. “If he divorces you, fair warning. I’m going to ask you out. I’ve always wanted a rich, handsome boyfriend who knows how to push all my buttons in a very good way.”

  Adam smiled wistfully, “I’m not great boyfriend material, too broken.”

  George’s smile faded, “We’ve all got secrets, Adam. You already know a few of mine. I think you and I could have something wonderful.”

  The younger man wrapped his arms around Adam, giving him a hug, then a kiss on the cheek before letting him go to Michelle. George turned to step back into his office before he closed the door. Leaning back against the warm wood paneling, his breath quickened as he pushed down a persistent erection that started the instant Adam Coulter entered the room. He headed to his private bathroom, feeling the need to alleviate the pressure building in his swollen cock.

  George focused on the memories of the exquisite pain this man had inflicted on his body and mind. He centered his thoughts on how those nights with Adam fulfilled a dream. He had tried to recreate those moments of delirious euphoria time and again as the endorphins overwhelmed his senses, but never could. The epic orgasms that drove him to ecstasy those nights so long ago. He’d had many lovers since then, but none came close, never taking that chance of bringing him to the brink of death the way Adam dared. George touched his throat, remembering the feel of his true love’s fingers tightening around his neck. He wanted that pain, that fear and that pleasure again. He wanted Adam Coulter.

  Chapter Ten

  “Where’s your secretary, Richard?”

  Nelson Greybill walked into his lawyer, Richard Coulter’s, office like he owned the place. Fact was, he almost did as he forced Coulter to accommodate his most demanding client.

  “She’s on a break.” Richard looked up, jaw tightening and eyes narrowing at the unwanted intrusion. Whenever this man appeared, it never meant anything good.

  Greybill made himself at home in the comfortable leather chair across from the other man. “Seems like she’s always on break lately when I show up.” He motioned his two bodyguards to stay near the door. “I kind of like it when there’s someone to announce me, Richard. Makes me feel, you know, important.”

  Coulter sighed, “What do you want, Nelson?”

  Greybill smiled a smile that would send chills down a normal man’s back, but Richard Coulter showed nothing on his face and this went a long way in pissing Nelson Greybill off.

  “I have two problems, meaning you’ve got two problems, old friend.”

  “Two? I only know about one and Eagle Woodard’s been handled.”

  “Really?” Greybill didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “My people inside the APD don’t think so. He was a bit rattled by the photograph your man sent, but they haven’t cancelled his deposition.”

  Coulter looked away. This was what he got for letting inexperienced men in his office handle issues like this.

  “We need something solid on that cop, Woodard. He won’t back off easily. Look to see if he has an addiction problem, drinking, something that will put him out of action. Worst case the boys can handle him.” Greybill turned his head and smiled at the men near the door. Neither of the two black suited giants moved. “That fag is married to your son, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Greybill looked down at his fingernails, admiring his recent manicure. “The girls at Sun Hi do a fantastic job, don’t you think?” He held his hand for Richard to see. “Your boy’s name is Adam. I did you a favor concerning him recently, didn’t I?”

  Richard shook his head and laughed, “Your man screwed up. He’s still alive. He was supposed to be dead and it was to look like a drug overdose.”

  The man across the desk drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. He hated when his people messed up. It meant he had to get rid of the person he sent to do the job. That had been a tough one. His wife’s cousin wasn’t going to forgive him anytime soon about that one, but business was business. Letting those who fail you live sent the wrong message.

  “Yeah,” Greybill leaned back, still checking his nails. “OD’s are tricky. Lots of variables, but you still wouldn’t have gotten your mother’s millions. She was a wily, old bird. From what I understand about the law, with him being married to Woodard. He’s his heir even if he dies without a will.”

  “I lost out because of your man’s incompetence. If he had OD’d and died, I could have had the marriage ruled invalid. Adam was drunk and probably high as a kite that night. I had video and witnesses galore willing to testify to his lack of compos mentis. He was impaired when he signed that marriage certificate. According to Ronald Dills, Sr., now he’s in the process of making a will with Woodard as beneficiary plus he’s in recovery.” Coulter snickered, “Not that that’s going to last. It never has.”

  “Still,” Greybill tapped his lower lip with his steepled fingers, “Is there something else from Woodard’s past? Did he ever score for your boy? I heard from my contacts he recently got a suspension for being in a drunken bar fight. He’s a veteran. Those guys come back with a lot of skeletons in their closets. You just need to dig a little deeper, Richard. I’m not going to do your job for you.” Greybill smiled, “I mean, If I’m doing all the work for you. Why am I even paying you?”

  Coulter almost bit his tongue off. He never got a penny from Nelson Greybill. He expected his victims to work gratis or bad things happened. He looked away as the other man started to speak.

  “If you can’t get enough dirt on him to shut him up then you need to shut him up permanently, catch my drift? I don’t want to waste any more time on him.” Greybill stood, then suddenly leaned toward Coulter. Richard jerked back, surprised. “Remember, if I go to prison because you couldn’t do this one little favor, trust me, Ricky, I’ll make sure the Feds have everything they need to put you away for life.” He tapped the other man’s cheek, “Believe me, if I have to take care of him, you will suffer for it.”

  The tall man headed toward the door as Richard Coulter remembered Greybill’s opening words. “You said you had two things you wanted me to do.”

  Greybill stopped. He looked back over his shoulder, “Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me. I want you to pay an old man, Hal Willowman, fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Hal Willowman? Who the hell is he?”

  Greybill turned and cocked his head, eyes narrowing to thin slits. “He’s an old man who’s blackmailing me. Just a harmless bit of blackmail. He’s got a grandson he wants to help go to Medical school and he’s a relative. A distant one, but still…. If he comes back for more, I’ll have the boys kill him.”

  “I don’t have fifty thousand dollars. You’ve bled me dry. You’ve run off all my other paying clients. How the hell am I suppo
sed to get fifty grand? You screwed up, Nelson. I’d be ninety-seven million dollars richer, but your guy fucked up. I’m not paying him. I can’t.”

  With a small hand gesture, Greybill’s thugs moved fast. They grabbed Richard Coulter and dragged him to the middle of the room, forcing him to his knees. One of the men tangled his fingers in Coulter’s expensively quaffed hair and painfully pulled his head back so he was staring up at his boss. Greybill stepped closer. He looked down at the helpless man at his feet. His lips distorted into a parody of a smile as he noted Coulter’s face was starting to glisten with sweat, his breath quick and short with fear. He liked this look on this arrogant bastard.

  He leaned down and spoke softly, but every word held menace. “Since when do you tell me no, Ricky?” He paused, his smile broadened. “You need a lesson in who’s in charge…, who’s really the top dog here. Open your mouth.”

  “What?” Richard’s eyes widened.

  “I’m going to fuck you, Ricky. Mouth or ass, your choice. If you don’t decide in ten seconds, I’ll choose for you. You remember how it felt when I shoved my dick up your ass the last time, don’t you, Ricky?”

  The two men stared at one another, but then Richard Coulter flinched. Slowly, he opened his mouth.

  “You bite me, Ricky, Max here….” He nodded to the giant to his right. “Will put a bullet in your head.” To emphasize that he was serious, Max pulled his weapon and put it against Coulter’s temple. “I promise.” Greybill whispered. “I’ll come in your mouth so I don’t mess up that St. Laurent shirt you’re wearing.”

  Greybill unzipped his trousers and drew out his semi-hard dick. He placed his broad hand on the back of his lawyer’s head and slipped his cock between Coulter’s lips. His hips pressed forward, shoving his cock so deep it made Coulter gag, but still he persisted. Tears began to leak from Richard’s hate filled eyes. Over and over, Greybill drove deep until his victim began to take him more smoothly. “Not bad, Richard, but you’re not a natural. Maybe you should ask your boy for some tips about sucking cock because believe me, Ricky, this won’t be the last time we have this little discussion.”

  *****

  Adam Coulter left his sister, Michelle, in her office after a tearful goodbye. Both promising to talk again soon. He’d walked into that office this morning poor, begging for a handout, and was leaving this evening with a fortune. His Jeep sat wedged between two black SUVs at the far end of the darkened parking garage. Even on the brightest days, he remembered as a child, this place seemed a little spooky.

  A man stepped from the shadows. He stopped to brush a bit of nothing from his lapel, then he waited. Seeing him, Adam slowed his pace before halting several yards away.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “I thought you died.”

  Adam’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I did and like Lazarus, I’ve risen from the dead.”

  Richard Coulter took a few steps toward his son. Adam thought he’d grown out of it, but his father’s familiar swagger still irritated him. “Dills was more than happy to let me know you collected your inheritance.”

  “Yes, I did. By the way, Dills Sr. sends his regards.”

  The older man moved closer. Close enough Adam could look into those Coulter green eyes. His eyes. Anyone doubting Adam’s relationship to Richard Coulter need only look at their eyes.

  “My mother never had a lick of sense when it came to you. She knew about your predilections. Drug addict…, alcoholic…, a womanizer who frequented male prostitutes…, faggot.” He snarled, deliberately emphasizing each hate filled word. “I tried to make her see what you really were, pictures and all, but for some reason she always forgave you.”

  “She loved me.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed, “She was my mother. That money should have been mine.” He roared. Richard Coulter reached out, laying a hand on his son’s shoulder. Adam’s gut twisted again. He wanted to pull back from this man’s touch, but found it impossible. Coulter shook his head. “And it would’ve been if my man in Los Angeles had added just a little bit more Fentanyl to your last dose of heroin.”

  Adam’s eyes widened in understanding. “That money would never have been yours. I did marry Eagle Woodard. It’s all quite legal. He’s officially my next of kin. No matter what happens to me, Father, I made certain everything goes to my husband. Dills Sr. was more than happy to make me a will that even the great Richard Coulter can’t break.” This little lie slipped easily over Adam’s tongue.

  The elder Coulter stepped closer. The hate that filled his eyes as he looked at his son was palpable. Coulter’s hand moved from his son’s shoulder to his cheek. He tapped the tender skin near his scar twice making Adam flinch against the pain. “You take care of yourself, son. Druggie faggot’s like you might not be so lucky next time.” With that warning, Richard Coulter turned and walked away.

  Adam watched him go before slumping against the side of his Jeep. He whirled, suddenly slamming his fist into the metal. Face twisted. Angry with himself for once again allowing his father to infuriate him. He didn’t understand all the animosity that Richard Coulter felt for him, his only son. From his earliest memories, there was no love or affection. He had rebelled, trying his best to get a reaction from his father and then there was the unforgivable sin.

  When he was thirteen, his father had instigated his years with James Farnam by allowing the man to molest him and to brainwash him into believing that he wanted to be fucked by the older man. He now understood how they took advantage of a young man’s confusion over his bisexuality. When he was seventeen, Farnam had cast Adam aside for a younger victim. He’d taken Farnam’s rejection hard because he had believed his molester actually loved him. Eagle never knew that this was the first time he attempted suicide, but he knew about the two other incidences. Eventually all that negative reinforcement, the continued sex abuse, the ensuing depression, cemented a lifetime of self-destructive behaviors that he fought against every day.

  Turning, Adam sighed wearily as his outburst drained what energy he had left. He knew he needed to go to a twelve step meeting. If anything could shake his resolve to stay clean and sober, it was Richard Coulter. This man could drive him back to drinking. He wanted to deaden the memories of the abuse and the pain he’d suffered at his father’s hands. Adam unlocked his car door and checked the meetings app on his phone before driving off to join his clean and sober tribe.

  Chapter Eleven

  Through the years Richard Coulter had defended some of the worst criminals in New Mexico. He never got paid by these clients. He never expected to. What he expected was that one day, he would ask them to do a favor for him. A favor given. A favor returned. He kept this stable of desperate men and women for jobs when he couldn’t get his own hands dirty. Sometimes, he needed information on someone’s weaknesses like drug addictions, mistresses, or secret gay romances. He was once able to get a client off because he let the judge know he was intimate with the man’s dominatrix, the one the judge’s wife didn’t know about.

  Sometimes, he needed more of a hands on approach, such as the witness in a case he was defending who needed some persuasion by a gang of biker thugs he’d gotten off of a rape charge. Sometimes, like now, he needed a delivery person. He searched his mental rolodex and came up with an abusive, small time drug dealer/pimp. He’d been able to keep the guy from being charged several times and the young man owed him.

  Richard pulled a phone from his desk drawer. He only gave out this number to his former clients that he thought might be useful one day. They all knew better than to ghost him. You never knew when you’d need a good lawyer again. It took four rings before the young man answered.

  “Speak to me, Richard.”

  Coulter closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn’t like this arrogant asshole’s disrespect, but sometimes there was no option when you needed them. “Not smart, Rico. If anyone overheard you say my name….” He could hear the man get up and move. By the background noise, he was now outside.r />
  “Sorry.”

  The young man sounded genuinely contrite, so he let it pass. Anyway, it was very conceivable that Rico had a lot of customers named Richard.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  There was a long pause before he got an answer.

  “Yeah, sure, what?”

  “I need you to deliver a package to someone.”

  “What’s in the package?”

  Richard rubbed his forehead with his free hand. This was definitely not a good idea. “None of your goddamn business, Rico. You’re just an errand boy, got me?”

  He could almost hear Rico fuming. The petty drug dealer had an overinflated opinion of himself. He was too cocky and he tended to runoff at the mouth. One of these days, someone would close that mouth, permanently.

  “You owe me, Rico. If you don’t do what I tell you, then the next time you get your sorry ass caught, you’ll have to get a public defender and you know how well that works out.”

  “Okay. Okay. Don’t get all bent out of shape. How do I get the package from you?”

  “There’s a strip club called Bliss. Go to the bar. Ask for Mickey.”

  Rico laughed, “Like the mouse?”

  Richard rolled his eyes as he found his patience wearing thin. He was beginning to wonder why he’d chosen this idiot. “Yeah, like the mouse. When Mickey comes over, tell him you are there to pick up the package. He’ll give you a duffel bag. Do not open it! Got me? After that, I want you to meet an old man. Now write this down so you don’t screw it up.” Coulter gave Rico, Hal Willowman’s name and phone number. “Text me at this number when the job’s done.”

  “Sure.”

  “And Rico, you try to screw me over, you won’t live long enough to regret it. You know the type of guys I defend. They owe me favors, just like you do.”

  “Yeah…, yeah, whatever.”