Leith smirked. “You’ve got the gun, Sunshine. Why don’t you use it?”
“Because he’s a titty-baby,” Hastings said, dragging a sleeve across his face. “No worries, boss. I’ll take that gun away and give him an enema with it.”
“Just stay where you are,” Jarold said as Russ punched Stanwell in the jaw. The blow rocked the thug’s head against the floor and put his lights out. Taking a couple of cautious steps backward, Jarold reached down a hand to help Russ to his feet. “You okay?”
Russ coughed. “I’ve had better days,” he said hoarsely. “Give me the gun.”
“You’re not gonna shoot anybody, are you?”
“Not unless they try to shoot me,” Russ promised as Jarold handed over the Glock. Their fingers brushed and Russ quelled the impulse to pull Jarold into his arms and assure himself the other man was all right. This wasn’t the time, and it sure as hell wasn’t the place. “Well, mates,” he said, pointing the sidearm at his former colleagues, “I hope you’ve no doubts about my willingness to pull the trigger.”
“And I hope you know you’re a walking dead man,” Hastings said.
“You’re so bloody predictable,” Russ said as he gestured Jarold to the door. “We’re going. You’ll have no more trouble with us, Jason, my oath. Just let us walk away and you’ll never hear from us again.”
“You saw what you saw,” Leith said. “If I were you, boy, I wouldn’t walk away; I’d run.”
“Russ!” Jarold stepped out into the hall. “Come on.”
“Run,” Hastings said, looking up from binding his necktie above his stab wound. “I’ll hunt you down, and then I’ll have my fun.”
“You’re a sick bastard,” Russ said as he exited the room and slammed the door shut. “We’ll not get far without help,” he said to Jarold as he pulled him down the narrow corridor.
They had barely reached the stairs when the door flew open behind them and Leith barreled into the hall. He had his cell phone to his ear as his gaze fell on Russ and Jarold pushing their way through the surging crowd on the steps. It was a busy night at the Wall and the dance floor was full, but that didn’t hinder the patrons of the hottest gay bar in all of New South Wales. Russ and Jarold were as polite as possible under the circumstances, but most of the couples weren’t pleased to be jostled. A big hand grasped Jarold’s bicep and stopped him in mid-stride. The American boy looked up into the meticulously painted face of the muscular transvestite he’d met out front.
“Karla!” Jarold exclaimed.
The drag queen was easily six eight in heels and had to bend down to reply. “My, my, Miss American Pie. What’s the drama?”
Karla’s entourage arranged themselves behind her and awaited the entertainment, prepared to laugh, hiss, or faint when appropriate. Instead of the clever, barbed remark they expected, their goddess of glamorous bitchery smiled at the underdressed Yank.
“Hello, chook. Is this your friend?”
“Yeah. We’re in kind of a hurry though,” Russ said, taking Jarold’s hand. “Sorry to be rude, but….”
“I wasn’t asking you, mate.” Karla’s voice lost its lilt.
“We sorta pissed off the bouncer,” Jarold hedged. “We need to get outta here fast.”
“Get caught snogging in the loo?”
“You’re too smart for me,” Jarold said. “We really gotta go.”
Karla looked out over the heads of the crowd and saw ripples converging on the stairs as hired muscle snaked through the throngs. “You’ll not make it out the door. Not without my help.”
“And what’s the going rate for that?” Russ cut in.
“That depends on the client,” Karla said. “Just walk close to me and let my friends shield you. Craig, give us your hat, and we’ll have that scarf as well. Les, trade jackets with Russ, there’s a good boy. And presto! I am so over this place, darlings. We are leaving.”
Karla and company made no attempt at stealth, but courted attention as they made their way down to street level, across the lobby, and out the front doors.
“May I ask a practical question at this point?” Karla said as they paraded down the teeming sidewalk. When Russ nodded, the towering drag queen continued. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
Russ nodded again. “If you can get us to King’s Cross station, we’ll manage from there.”
“Who’s after that handsome hide of yours, Russ?” Karla asked, stuffing the Glock in a big handbag as Russ and Jarold started down the steps to the train.
“It’s a new standard in stupid,” Russ called back. “Spat my dummy over a bit of fluff.”
“Best reason there is to go mad,” was Karla’s opinion.
They could feel the wind that the train pushed ahead of it through the tunnel, and Russ took Jarold’s hand again, pulling him down the stairs. “Thanks, Karla,” Jarold called back.
“My pleasure, boys. Good luck,” Karla answered as the loudspeaker announced that the train on platform one went to Cronulla and all stops between. Jarold and Russ were already rounding the corner, Russ digging for coins for the ticket machine. In moments, they had boarded and the train rattled away, taking them further out of Leith’s reach. The car was empty, and Russ slumped onto a bench seat near the doors, pulling Jarold down beside him. Both of them stared at the streaming dark beyond the windows, trying not to focus on their reflections as the rocking lulled them down from the turbulence of their escape.
“Strewth,” Russ breathed. “That was a near one.” When Jarold didn’t answer, the Australian turned to look at him. “How ya goin’? All right?”
“Yeah. I’m just a little shaken up. I can’t believe that just happened.”
Russ took in the waxen texture of Jarold’s skin, the rapid, shallow breaths. “You’re all right,” he said, putting an arm around Jarold’s shoulders and pulling him close. “I’ve got a friend in Surrey Hills. She’ll know what to do.”
Jarold leaned against Russ, into the solid warmth that assured him he wouldn’t fall, letting the other man support him for a while. He didn’t notice the moment he crossed from waking to sleeping, but when Russ called his name, he opened his eyes in another place.
“Come on,” Russ said. “This is our stop.”
Jarold followed Russ into an apartment building and up the stairs to the fourth floor. Feeling exhausted, he leaned against the well as Russ knocked. After a second round of slightly louder pounding, the door opened a crack. A pale blue eye peered out.
“Russ, what the bloody hell?”
“Let us in and I’ll explain.”
“I suppose it’s useless asking if you realize the time?”
“Robin.” Russ’s voice deepened a notch. “You owe me, and all I’m asking is to come in.”
With a put-upon sigh, the woman swung the door open just far enough for an average-sized person to enter. When she saw that Russ was not alone, she looked as though she wanted to protest, but turned around and preceded the boys into the apartment. She picked up a pack of Peter Jacksons and lit one with a crystal table lighter. Blowing out a silver-blue plume of smoke, she fixed a cold, unwelcoming gaze on her unexpected visitors. “I’m waiting,” she said.
Russ let Jarold slide to the suede-upholstered sofa and helped himself to a cigarette. “I’m in a tight spot,” he said without preamble. “I just need a place to stay for a few hours to rest up and decide what to do next.”
“Who’s after you?”
Russ considered lying, but knew she’d ferret out the truth eventually. “Leith.”
“You can’t stay,” she said immediately.
“Do I have to remind you exactly what I did for you?”
“No.” She took a deep drag, her porcelain skin tightening on her prominent facial bones. “I remember well enough. You stood up for me when I wanted out. If not for you….” She paused. “I think I would have made it out on my own, but it would’ve taken a lot longer without your help. I know I owe you, laddie, but I don’t like the idea of Leith c
oming here.”
“No reason you should. I’m just asking for a few hours, Robin. All right?”
The reed-thin woman glanced at Jarold, slumped on the couch with his eyes closed. “Come into the kitchen,” she said.
Russ hopped up to sit on the counter as Robin busied herself with the kettle and teacups. “I wouldn’t have come here if there was another choice,” he said.
“I know that. So who’s the blue-eyed baby kipping on my couch?”
“Jarold’s an American I hooked up with.”
Robin turned to look at him, raising a fox-colored eyebrow. “I’m sure there’s a story there.”
“He got sucked into the scene and it’s my fault,” Russ said. “I couldn’t leave him there.”
“No, not you,” she smiled, exposing her rabbity teeth. “That heart of yours is going to get you into big trouble someday.”
“Too late,” Russ said as the kettle whistled.
Jarold came in a few minutes later, hanging in the doorway until Russ gestured to him. After an awkward introduction, Robin told them they could have her room, as she wasn’t likely to go back to sleep. She accepted Jarold’s thanks with an expression that said she didn’t particularly want his gratitude. Going back to the living room, she lit another smoke and picked up a magazine. Russ led Jarold down a short hall and showed him the bathroom. When Jarold entered the bedroom, Russ was already between the sheets.
“Whoa,” Jarold said. “I was almost afraid to use the toilet. I’ve never seen so many pastel glass bottles in my life. What the hell’s in all of them?”
Russ chuckled. “Robin’s a bit vain. Come and have a lie down.”
Jarold toed off his sneakers, dropped his jeans, and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Leaving his boxers on, he crawled under the top sheet and put his head on the scented pillow. “None of this seems real,” he said wearily.
Propped on one elbow, Russ looked down at the other young man. “It’s real, sport, but I got you into it and I’ll get you out of it.”
The corners of Jarold’s mouth curled up. “Very gentlemanly of you to take the blame, but I think you’d have to admit that I got myself into this.”
Russ put his palm to Jarold’s cheek, stroking Jarold’s eyebrow with his thumb. When Jarold didn’t object to the caress, Russ dipped his head for a kiss. As his lips brushed Jarold’s like flint striking steel, sparks flew. They had stood in the shadow of death and come out whole. Relief at the narrow escape converted to gratitude that bade them celebrate the fact that they were still breathing. In defiance of their mortality, they worked together, moving in concert, maintaining the friction that stoked the fires of life.
When Jarold rolled him onto his back, Russ obligingly grabbed his knees and held them out of the way. Jarold snagged a bottle of moisturizer off the nightstand and greased his aching length. He wasn’t going for finesse, their urgent coupling left no time for that, but he managed to rein himself in as he entered Russ. The tight heat surrounding his hard cock goaded him to drive in to the hilt, to bury himself in the most exquisite sensation he’d ever felt, to lose himself in the other man. Though he had enjoyed the sex he’d had with women, he had never before felt this merging of spirits as well as bodies, and he had no idea how he was going to give it up when this was over. He couldn’t see any future than didn’t include his separation from Russ, and it made these moments as bittersweet as Cuban coffee.
“You’re not half bad,” Russ praised his lover after a few tentative thrusts.
“I have done this a couple of times,” Jarold joked breathlessly.
“Ahhhh, bloody brilliant! Just keep doing that.” Russ raised his legs to rest on Jarold’s shoulders and took hold of his arousal, smearing it with the fluid that leaked from the tip. Shuttling his fist up and down, he stroked himself to the rhythm set by Jarold’s thrusts. The American wrapped one arm around Russ’s honey-tanned thigh and dipped the head of his cock rapidly in and out of Russ’s hole in a series of shallow thrusts. Russ’s eyes were squinted into half-moons, eyebrows drawn down in a frown of determined desire. Jarold closed his fingers around Russ’s, squeezing gently as he rocked into him. “Ohhh, you beauty,” Russ moaned. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Ah, Christ, you’re making me come.”
Jarold eased his stroke the way his only serious girlfriend had taught him. Pulsing his buttocks, he rubbed the blunt tip of his cock against the spot that made Russ’s muscles jerk involuntarily. Jarold might not have a colorful nickname like the Australian’s, but none of his lovers had ever voiced complaints. His willingness to trade pleasure for pleasure and improve upon it matched Russ’s hedonistic approach to lovemaking.
“Come on,” Jarold murmured, rubbing his whiskers against the inside of Russ’s knee. “Come for me.”
Russ’s belly quivered and his pelvis stuttered upward as a stream of creamy fluid spurted from the end of his shaft to splatter his chest. Shivering in reaction to the strong climax that held him in its grip, Russ rolled up on his shoulders, bending double to pull Jarold closer. Jarold sank into the contracting channel as his lips met Russ’s. Fused together at the mouth and groin, the two men bucked and shuddered until Jarold came with a yelp of fulfillment that Robin heard out in the living room. She stopped speaking into her cell phone and glanced guiltily toward the hallway before resuming the conversation.
Jarold woke staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. He was disoriented for just the length of time it took for Russ to brush the hair off his forehead and kiss him tenderly. Jarold smiled up at his lover as he stretched a little. “Wow,” the American said. “That was some night.”
Russ nodded, tracing the sweet lines of Jarold’s lips with a forefinger, effectively hushing him. “I’m sorry, Jazza,” he began, before Jarold took hold of his wrist.
“The only one at fault is that Leith guy,” Jarold said firmly. “And his thugs. Jeez, can you believe that one guy quoted Crocodile Dundee while he was cutting that other guy’s throat? What kind of people are they?”
“The bad kind,” Russ said. There really wasn’t anything particularly funny about Guy Hastings. “We can’t stay rugged up all day, no matter how much I’d like that. I’ve got a sort of plan, but….”
“We have to go to the police,” Jarold interrupted.
“That’s not really an option for me.”
“There aren’t any options here. We saw a man murdered. We have to tell the cops.”
“The Blue Heelers are just as likely to take a bite out of my bum.”
“Look, I know you’re living a little outside the law,
but—” Jarold stopped speaking as Russ’s head turned toward the door. Then he heard it too: stealthy footsteps coming down the hall, the tread too heavy for a woman.
Jarold grabbed his jeans and yanked them on as Russ pulled up his trousers. Both young men snatched up shirts and shoes and went to the window. Russ stepped out onto the fire escape and Jarold followed. They were almost to the ground when Stanwell stuck his head out the bedroom window and spotted them.
“Jump,” Russ said.
They hit the alley at nearly the same time. Russ wasn’t surprised to see Hastings sitting in a car blocking the entrance. As the enforcer pointed a gun out the window, Russ ran for the wall at the other end with Jarold on his heels. They went up and over the six-foot wall, a bullet chipping brick near Jarold’s shoulder. Clanging down onto the dumpster on the other side, they leaped to the ground and ran full out. Gaining the cross street, Russ looked both ways for signs of Hastings’ car before going left. He slowed his steps, pulling on his shirt and blending with the early morning crowd headed for the train. In a few breathless minutes, they were clacking down the tracks, headed for the beaches of the Eastern Suburbs.
“Bitch,” Russ said suddenly, drawing the disapproval of some fellow passengers. “Robin dobbed us in. I thought I could trust her.”
Jarold put a hand on the Australian’s shoulder, not caring what anyone thought about it. “Doesn’t mean you’re stupid
or anything,” he said. “Just means she’s scared.”
Russ nodded and stayed quiet until the train stopped at the end of the line. He led the way out of the Bondi Junction station, weaving through the street vendors and buskers to a clear space by a phone kiosk. Critically, he looked Jarold up and down. “We need to stay out of sight,” he said. “And you’re a bit of a tall poppy.”
“Dare I ask what that means?”
“You stand out,” Russ understated, trying for a cowboy drawl. “Round these here parts, we sez that the tall poppies is the ones that git cut off first. See, poppies are a nuisance in the wheat, and they used to use scythes to….”
“Yeah, I get it,” Jarold said quickly. “You’re not exactly short yourself.”
“I thought you ‘got it’,” Russ said. “I’m not talking about your height; you stand out because you shine, Jazza. In case you didn’t know it, you’re sex on a stick.”
“I could say the same about you… if I was sure it was a compliment. Tell me you’re not seriously talking about wearing disguises.”
“It got us out of the bar.”
Jarold rolled his eyes. “But we no longer have a six-and-a-half-foot, two hundred and twenty-pound drag queen running interference.”
“Look, sport, if you want to make it to the police, we have to stay alive, right?”
“Right,” Jarold sighed.
“I’m not talking about wearing fake mustaches that make us look like porno stars from the Seventies. Let’s have a dekko at the surf shop.”
“You have cash?”
“Heaps. Come on. Where’s that brash Yank spirit?”
“Yeehaw,” Jarold muttered as they entered the shop.
A man with a shock of sun-bleached hair looked up. “G’day. Can I help you?”
“Need a bit of gear,” Russ said as a striking blonde woman approached from the back of the store.
“You’ve got all the tackle you’ll ever need,” she grinned. “Go on then, try and remember my name, stud.”
The Raw Prawn Page 5
