Fish on a Bicycle

by Amy Lane

  The shark stepped forward, extending his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Galen Henderson—esquire.” He paused for a moment, which was all Jackson needed to stick his foot in it.

  “You’re a lawyer looking for a lawyer?” He scowled. “I mean, I thought most of you were pretty shady to begin with, but that’s amazing.”

  Galen Henderson turned his attention to Ellery as though he was the only person in the room. “I recently took the bar exam in California for corporate law,” he continued smoothly. “The results have not yet been reported, but I spent nearly a decade practicing law in Florida. I’m here on a criminal matter, though, and you come highly recommended.”

  Jackson and Ellery exchanged looks. “By, uhm, whom?” Jackson asked. “We haven’t even moved shit in.”

  “By your old firm, of course,” Mr. Henderson said, deigning to notice him. “Mr. Langdon, in particular.”

  Jackson sighed. He’d liked working for Lyle Langdon, and no matter how badly things had ended, he hadn’t been as bad as Sac PD, where Jackson had worked as a beat cop before literally getting blown out of the water. “Well, fine. He’s not a complete douchebag. Let me put on a shirt and we can talk to you in the foyer. The windows are open and the paint smell won’t kill us.” But not for long. The rooms were getting hot and close, the breeze through the windows notwithstanding.

  He went to the counter behind the reception stand and grabbed a towel, grimacing when he saw the paint. “See?” he said to Ellery. “This is why I wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

  “Yes, Jackson, because that thing you’re hauling over your head is made so much worse for the paint.”

  It had holes in it. So sue him. They weren’t supposed to be meeting clients. They were supposed to be painting.

  “At least he’s got good taste in music,” the kid in the cargo shorts said, as though unused to making peace between complete strangers.

  “I’d be more impressed if he was listening to Seth Arnold,” Henderson shot back dryly.

  “He’s next on the rotation.” Jackson raised his eyebrows, feeling the surprise roll off him. “He and his husband are friends of ours.” He and Ellery had gotten invites to the very private, very informal wedding that winter, but they’d been recovering then and had needed to decline.

  Henderson took a deep breath and tried not to look impressed. “Friends?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Old case. Here, I know there’s only camp chairs, but you caught us early.”

  “I’ll get my briefcase,” Ellery said. He kept it in his office, but while the desk was there, the office chairs had belonged to the old firm. New ones were supposed to be delivered today.

  “This will be quite a nice little place,” Henderson said, looking around. “I see you’ve got some room back there for two more lawyers.”

  Ellery nodded. “The idea was to pick up a couple of partners, yes. But first, I need to get the business license to clear.”

  “You can practice law, though, right?” Henderson asked anxiously.

  “Yes. Full standing with the bar.”

  “Then why’d you leave your old place?” The kid in the cargo shorts wasn’t really a people person. He had laugh lines in the corners of his eyes like he might have been once, but everything out of his mouth now was hostile and irritating.

  “We pissed off the wrong people,” Jackson said mildly, meeting Ellery’s eyes. Ellery shrugged. That story was going to have to be refined—secret military branches and trained assassins sounded a little too extraordinary to the denizens of Sacramento. “Ellery was invited to practice law elsewhere.”

  Blond-cargo-shorts kid grunted skeptically, but Henderson nodded in appreciation.

  “You sound like exactly the people we need,” he said, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. Ellery made his exit to his office, and Jackson gestured to the camp chairs set up around a table made of milk cartons.

  To his surprise, Galen Henderson sank down gratefully. He looked up at the young man in cargo shorts and said, “I’m going to need help out of this,” as though asking for help with what appeared to be an old injury was not a problem at all.

  The kid nodded. “Copy that.”

  Jackson’s eyebrows went up as the kid confirmed what he’d already suspected. “Military?” God, they made ’em young—or maybe the kid just looked young.

  “Infantry. Just got out,” the kid said. Which could make him anywhere from twenty to twenty-eight. His familiarity was starting to bother Jackson on a molecular level.

  Jackson nodded. He didn’t thank the kid for his service—although that had always been his go-to. He’d met servicemen who were not particularly excited to be thanked, and this guy seemed like he’d rather have his teeth pulled than talk.

  Jackson could identify.

  “So,” Ellery said, entering with his laptop and the inevitable yellow legal pad. “What brings you here?”

  Jackson’s phone buzzed, and he checked it as Henderson opened his mouth to answer. “Also, we can offer you beverage service in about five minutes, in case you thought we were rude,” Jackson added.

  The kid’s eyebrow twitched, and finally Henderson acknowledged his presence. “Water would be appreciated when it arrives,” he said, and Jackson detected a hint of Southern gentleman in his voice.

  His bonkers meter was working overtime, because these two men did not appear to like each other much, one of them needed a lawyer and the other one was a lawyer, and this situation was bonkers.

  Ellery gave Jackson the sort of look that said he’d been raised by wolves and continued on. “So if you called my old firm, you know I’m a criminal attorney. What can we help you with?”

  Henderson gave a sigh. “So, my boyfriend runs a company—”

  Blond Cargo Shorts gave a disdainful snort.

  “Henry Worrall, I do not give a good goddamn what you think of me, but you will be quiet and respectful until I am done speaking, do you hear me?”

  Henry grimaced and tried not to roll his eyes. He failed. “Copy that,” he managed, and Henderson continued.

  “So, my boyfriend runs a company, which you may or may not approve of. Regardless of your approval, it’s honest, the books are in order, and he employs upwards of two-hundred-and-fifty people, with health and dental—and options for upward mobility.”

  Henry’s eyes grew huge. “For what?”

  “You heard me,” Henderson told him, ignoring Jackson and Ellery in his irritation with the younger man. “For a chance to move from phase one of the company to something partially skilled that offers the same health and benefits. John’s a good man. He does what he can to make sure his people are well taken care of.” That said, Henderson made eye contact with Ellery. “This does not mean that unsavory elements don’t seep in. One such element—a Mr. Martin Sampson—actively sold drugs and terrorized two of the other employees.”

  “And your boyfriend let this happen?” Ellery asked, eyebrows drawn.

  “My boyfriend is a recovering addict, and he was Mr. Sampson’s number one client,” Galen said, and Ellery’s eyebrows popped right back up again.

  “Oh.”

  “Bummer,” Jackson said softly. “That’s a shitty position to be in.”

  Henderson’s eyes—fine, brown, steady—landed on Jackson’s face as though seeing him for the first time. “Indeed. John regrets so much about that time, you have no idea. But since then, Sampson has worked hard to make life… difficult for John’s employees, Sampson’s ex-boyfriend in particular.”

  Ellery had his head tilted as though trying to remember something. He shook himself and said, “I’m sorry, this is a criminal attorney’s office. You know that, right? We can help you file a restraining order or fight a blackmail attempt, but you still need to file an actual police report.”

  It was Galen Henderson’s turn to snort. “As though the police would help us,” he said, a fine layer of disdain falling over the office like construction dust. “No. That is not why we’re seeking y
our help.”

  “What do you need?” Jackson asked. “And what’s the cops’ problem with your boyfriend? I mean, I get that they don’t always help, but usually a local business owner—”

  “It’s porn,” Henry said bluntly. “This ‘legit business’ he’s talking about is a porn shop.”

  “Oh!” Jackson said, relief cascading over him like cool water. “That’s why you look familiar! You look just like Dex from Johnnies!” It was his favorite porn site—pretty boys, lots of laughter. It looked like the guys were having fun and not just fucking for money.

  Henry’s grim disgust turned nuclear. “That’s so gross that you would even know that!”

  Jackson shrugged. “He’s cute. I’m bi. Every boy has a spank bank. You’re not him—what’s it to you?”

  “He’s my brother,” Henry growled.

  “Well, he’s retired,” Jackson said mildly, and was on the receiving end of a ball-boiling glare from Ellery. “He’s been retired for over a year and a half,” he said, batting his eyelashes. “So, you know, back when I was single and would be watching porn, I would have known who he was.”

  Ellery’s glare turned bored, but Jackson caught the little smirk that said he was mildly charmed. Well, he tried very hard not to be jealous of Jackson’s promiscuous past—and Jackson worked really hard not to give him anything to be jealous about in the present.

  Then everything Galen had been saying hit him. “Wait, if Dex is retired, does that mean he’s one of those people who have moved on?”

  Galen nodded. “Yes. He and his husband, in fact. Dex got his business degree and has been running the shop with John. He’s a full partner, actually.” A grimace. “John was afraid of relapsing. He wanted somebody who would make sure the boys would be taken care of, just in case. Anyway, Kane, Dex’s husband, has been doing odd jobs around the shop—holding lights, moving furniture, that sort of thing—as well as going to school.”

  Henry snorted before Jackson could get all swoony about his two favorite porn models being married, and Henderson’s temper snapped. “You will show respect to that kid. He’s going to school, and he works his ass off. Just because it’s been easy for someone like you, that doesn’t mean it’s easy for everybody. They’re good men and good parents, and they put a roof over your sorry ass when you turned up on their doorstep. And I know you think you’re a military badass, but Kane could pretty much put you in the ground with a backhand. The only reason he doesn’t is because he loves your brother. So if you could please try not to piss me off here while I work to save your ass at their request, I would really fucking appreciate it!”

  Henry glared sullenly out the window, and Jackson tried really hard not to look at Ellery.

  “Parents?” he said delicately.

  Henderson nodded. “They are raising Kane’s niece. There is, in fact, a little collective of babies—something in the water, I guess, because suddenly an ex-girlfriend and the receptionist, Dex and Kane, everybody’s got a kid to raise. It’s this really weird Romper Room thing going, where all these ex–porn stars with muscles that bulge out of their cars are raising teeny tiny children.” Henderson shuddered. “I am just as happy with a cat, thank you.”

  Jackson smirked, and Henderson shot him a grateful look. “My cat would have to vet any child personally,” Jackson said, thinking about Billy Bob’s possessive streak where he was concerned.

  “Well, it is their job to rule their domain,” Henderson said, dry wit at the ready. Jackson thought he could really like Galen Henderson, but he’d like to kick the shit out of Henry.

  “So this sounds… unusual,” Ellery inserted. “Why come to us? What has Martin Sampson done lately to your little collective?”

  “Well, other than trying to blackmail them over the drugs he sold them,” Galen spat, “not much. That was over a year and a half ago, and he went dark. I’m not sure if he was in rehab, jail, on the streets, had moved to another state, or what. But about two weeks after Henry hit town, freeloading on his brother’s good graces—”

  “I was looking for a job,” Henry muttered.

  “Fast food is hiring,” Galen retorted. “Anyway, Dex put Henry up in what we call the flophouse. It’s not really associated with Johnnies, but it’s sort of an apartment where guys pay into the kitty and sleep wherever they can. Or I should say, it wasn’t associated with Johnnies, because Dex apparently gave his brother a job keeping the place up and babysitting the guys—a thing that hasn’t really been necessary until right now, if you know what I mean.”

  Jackson made sure Henry was looking at him. “So nepotism is fun as long as you keep it in the family?”

  “Fuck you,” Henry muttered.

  “Not if you paid me,” Jackson snapped back, “because nobody should have to work that hard.”

  Ellery and Galen made the same sound at the same time, but Jackson ignored them. He still wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he knew that Henry—whatever his term in the service—had a chip on his shoulder that needed to be knocked off.

  “Look, Henry?”

  Henry glared.

  “I don’t know why you’re being an asshole. And if you tell me it’s because your brother’s a porn star, I’ll call bullshit. A living is a living.”

  “What about working for a drug addict.” Henry glared at Galen spitefully. “Two of them!”

  Galen didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “I never denied my recovery,” he said. “We are broken people, Henry. That doesn’t mean we’re not people at all.”

  And finally, the kid had the grace to look ashamed.

  “Look, can we get this over with?” Henry snarled.

  “So back to Martin Sampson,” Ellery steered, and Jackson had to laugh. Ellery tried hard, but he really wasn’t happy when conversations got away from him.

  “He showed up again,” Henderson continued, “this time hanging around the kids in the flophouse. The kids are clean—John does HIV and drug testing, especially after he almost lost the shop to Sampson—and he made sure there was a super-spiffy rehab special in the health insurance he bought. Anyway, the kids reported Sampson to Henry, and Henry had an altercation with him.”

  Henry snorted. “Poser. Scrawny addict poser. I kicked his ass in three hits.”

  “You must be so proud.” Jackson would have taken longer and enjoyed it.

  “His brother drove the guy off by flinging CDs at his head.” Galen’s snark was at the forefront. “Sampson was Dex’s ex-boyfriend. Apparently, he could be a real hero if he thought he had an advantage. He took out all the windows in his ex-girlfriend’s apartment too.” Henderson shook his head in disgust, and Jackson picked up on the time stamp.

  “Thought?” he clarified.

  Henderson nodded grimly. “And that is why we’re here. Henry’s altercation with Sampson was a week and a half ago—no police notified, none needed. This morning, Henry was taking the trash out of the apartment when he made a rather grim discovery.”

  Henry grimaced. “That is an understatement.”

  “Don’t tell me….” But Jackson knew. Ellery was a criminal defense attorney with a reputation for defending people who looked guilty.

  “Freaky little asshole was in the same dumpster I kicked his ass behind,” Henry confirmed. “But this time, his head was cracked open and he was dead.”

  “Ah.” Jackson heard Ellery’s exhale too.

  “Have you been charged yet, Henry?”

  Henry shook his head. “But they asked me and the boys lots of questions. I mean, seven guys show up on the stairs without shirts, looking fucking ripped, and I think they looked suspicious.”

  “You think, huh?” Jackson asked, feeling like this needed to be pounded home. “As though, maybe, people would be distracted by what they looked like or what they did for a living and wouldn’t focus on who really killed the guy in the dumpster?”

  Henry grunted, obviously not ready to concede the point.

  “Was it one of those guys?” Ellery asked, missin
g the nuance completely because the only person Ellery really got was Jackson.

  “No!” Henry denied fiercely. “Look, yes, they’re porn stars, and I think most of them could do better—”

  “Like you?” Galen asked, and Henry shot him a killing look.

  “Anyway, they are generally sweet guys. They’re gym trainers and yoga teachers, and one of them helps adult special education students go on outings, but that’s only three days a week. And med students. There’s one med student. They’re not… not killers. And they’re not drug addicts. It wasn’t them, it wasn’t me, but once the police make the connection between the guy who found him and me, the guy who kicked his ass…. Not to mention what everybody does for a living—”

  “How would they?” Ellery asked quickly. “I mean, I appreciate coming forearmed, but how would the police know to even ask about a connection?”

  Galen let out a slow breath. “Because Mr. Sampson used to work for Johnnies under the name of Scott before he did too much blow and too much blackmail and he got fired.”

  “Scott?” Jackson said, feeling oddly vindicated. “He’s our dead scumbag?”

  “You watched his porn too?” Ellery asked, slightly horrified.

  “No. Seriously, he may have had a nine-inch dick, but he fucked like he was drilling holes through the bed. I mean, no. Just, you know. No.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” Ellery muttered.

  “Technique counts,” Jackson said with dignity. “If the guy doesn’t act like the other person in bed is a real human and everything, it shatters the illusion.”

  “See?” Henderson said in complete seriousness. “That’s what we think too. Anyway, Scott was sort of everybody’s asshole for a while. He knocked up the receptionist, did some mild stalking, some blackmail, and then, like I said, he disappeared.”

  “Wait.” Jackson held up a hand. “Who did he stalk?”