by Todd Young
“With Mike?”
“She had him fooled.”
Jack nodded. It occurred to him that Rafe’s affection for Mike was strong, that it was first love, and that you didn’t get over that kind of love in a big hurry.
“If the police ask you, though. If it goes that far, make sure you say it was an accident, that you pushed her back, but didn’t expect her to fall.”
Rafe took this in in silence. “I’ll show you what happened,” he said.
He stepped forward and began to climb the ladder to the hayloft. When he’d reached the top, he motioned for Jack to follow. Jack climbed the ladder hesitantly. It was years since he’d been in a hayloft. At the top, Rafe gripped his hands and pulled him into the hay.
“She was standing here,” Rafe said. He stood on the spot. “I was in front of her, right there.” He pointed, and Jack moved onto the spot.
“Be careful,” he said.
“If you pushed me from here, I’d topple backwards, though, wouldn’t I?”
“That’s what you should say, Rafe, if the police ask you. That she was standing there and you simply pushed her. At worst, it would be manslaughter.”
“I guess. But why would they ask me again? They’ve gone.”
Jack nodded.
Rafe swayed a little, and was about to take a step back, but Jack reached forward. He gripped his shoulders and steadied him. Their eyes met. Rafe smiled at him.
“You know, you’d be really handsome without the scars.”
“I was,” Jack said, but he felt unaccountably hurt. “I was in a wreck last year.”
“Sorry,” Rafe said, “I didn’t mean …”
“No …”
They stared at one another. Jack wanted to lift his hand and cup Rafe’s face, but at that moment they heard a horn, sounding in the distance.
17
“Have the police been here?” Mike said. He had opened the doors onto the back veranda, but as they approached, began to back into the family room again. “They came to see me this morning.”
“What did you say?” Rafe said.
“I told them you killed her.”
“What?”
“I told them what I suspected, that you’d killed her down by the river, but that her body had washed out to sea. I told them we went down there yesterday, but that there was no sign of it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. But I know you, Rafe. You’re the one who’s crazy.”
Rafe reached for his shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Come on, Mike.”
“No, I’m tired of you touching me.”
“It’s not like … Shit!”
Mike walked into the kitchen and then turned. “I see you’re still here,” he said to Jack. “I thought you might have gone. It’s not like we need a private detective now, is it—now the police are on the case.”
Jack glowered at him.
“They’ll get to the bottom of it. You may as well go back to where you came from.”
His phone rang and he answered it.
“Yep … Hey, Caleb … No … Yeah, they came to my place … He what? … He isn’t one at all … He’s standing right in front of me.” He cupped the phone in his hand. “You’re not even a private detective!” he said, all but spitting the words. “What did he say? … Right, I’ll ask him.” He cupped the phone again. “Connor wants to know if you’ve spoken to Jennifer.”
“To Jennifer?” Rafe said.
“Apparently she heard something, a scream in the distance.”
“She’s making it up.”
“Right.” He went back to his phone call. “No, Caleb … That’s just the sort of thing I’d expect from Connor … You think it isn’t true?”
“Who’s Connor?” Jack mouthed.
“Sissy’s brother.”
“All they have to do now is speak to Aaron and Beau. And then if they get Jennifer’s story … I know you don’t think he’s guilty, but you should see the look on his face now. I know him so well … Yep. Okay.” He ended the call and smiled at Rafe. “So now Jennifer has evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“She was walking home when she heard a scream.”
“She imagined it.”
“I don’t think so, Rafe. It all adds up. With what Connor and Beau and Aaron have to say.”
“About what?”
“About the argument. And anyway, you threatened to kill her years ago.”
“When did I?”
“When I first started going out with her.”
Rafe took a few steps forward and gripped Mike’s hand. Jack raised his eyebrows. “Come on, Mike. Stop it, will you?”
“Stop it?”
“Just calm down.” He put his hand on Mike’s back and Mike closed his eyes. He seemed to sway a little.
There was some sort of relationship here, Jack figured. Something more than he’d supposed. Mike might not be gay, but he didn’t seem to mind Rafe touching him now.
“Mike,” Rafe said, “you know I didn’t do it.”
“No, I …”
“And it was Sissy, Mike. Sissy. Remember what you said about Sissy?”
“What did I say?”
“You said …”
“I just …” Mike lifted his head. “Can you go? What the fuck are you still doing here. You’re not even a private detective.”
“I’m here for Rafe.”
“I’m Rafe’s friend. Not you, you big-dicked cunt.”
Jack nodded once.
“Just go,” Rafe said.
“But?”
“Just go.”
18
Jack walked out of the house in a temper. He slammed the door. Outside, the sun was blaring, the bright light glinted at him from the windshield of his car. He threw himself into the front seat and turned the engine over. Then he headed home. As he was pulling out onto the highway he almost made the same mistake a second time. A motorbike travelling at what might have been one hundred passed him without its headlight on. He almost hadn’t seen it.
When he got home, the apartment was empty. He paced into his room and back again to the kitchen. He needed something to eat. His thumb went through the first egg he cracked, and in anger, he threw it into the trash. Then he tried again. Scrambled eggs weren’t as easy as he’d imagined, and by the time he’d finished he had a mess.
He cleaned up, then walked into his room and threw himself on the bed.
If Rafe hadn’t told him to go then everything would be fine, but Rafe had said it like he didn’t give a fuck. Yesterday, at the river, he’d imagined Rafe had some affection for him, but now? He didn’t know.
He fell asleep, but awoke within the hour to the sound of voices. Em and Carol. He didn’t want to speak to anyone, so took a shower and then went back to bed. If he’d had something for his headache he would have felt a lot better, but he’d taken all that codeine and all his aspirin as well. Before the wreck, he’d never had pain. Now, he was in a rage of sorts.
He couldn’t sleep, and so pulled out his phone and connected it to his computer. He loaded the films of Rafe he hadn’t yet loaded and then watched all of them through. He felt like hitting Rafe now, like smashing his fist into his face.
The following day dawned bright and hot. By ten thirty it was so hot he figured he needed some relief. On his walk the other day he’d passed the public swimming pool. That was just what he needed, a swim in a pool. But what was he supposed to wear? He didn’t have any trunks.
An hour later, after a brief breakfast, he was in Kmart, looking for something appropriate. There were plenty of shorts, but he really wanted something briefer. A pair of speedos perhaps, or something like that. He wanted to look like a professional swimmer and at the same time show off his cock to any young guys who happened to be there. He found a pair of speedos in a specialty store for men, a green pair with a white wave design, and he bought them, though they cost him almost sixty dollars.
&n
bsp; At home, he put them on beneath a pair of shorts, but then figured that if he wore the shorts he might duck out once he got to the pool and simply wear the shorts in. He took them off and put on his jeans with a clean T-shirt. Then he found a beach towel and put it into his pack. He made himself a sandwich and headed for the pool.
The change rooms were an olfactory mixture of urine, chlorine, sunscreen and sweat, a particular mix that spelled sex to him. Two showers stood side-by-side against one wall (no cubicles) and he decided then and there to have a shower when he got out. He could take off his speedos and rinse them, and perhaps he’d wait for the cutest young guy and follow him into the change room.
He slipped off his jeans and his T-shirt and then glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked fine, he thought. In the shadowy change room the scars were barely noticeable.
He began by swimming a few lengths and then got out and laid on his towel. There was virtually no one there, and only one young guy who he figured was attractive. He ate his sandwich, dived back into the pool, and then saw the young guy. He looked as though he was about to go. He gathered his towel and flip-flops, and Jack got out.
He did his best not to hurry, but he couldn’t have taken more than a minute. As he entered the change room he saw the young guy, walking toward the showers in his shorts. He dumped his towel and pack on the bench and joined him just as the young guy adjusted his spray. He had his back to Jack and got a surprise when Jack turned on the faucet.
“Fuck!” he said.
“Sorry.”
“No. You’re all right. Just didn’t think anyone was there.”
They showered in silence for half a minute or so. Then the young guy took a long, pointed glance at Jack’s cock in his speedos. He reached for the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down. He was naked beneath them, his ass pointed at Jack. He stepped out of his shorts and then began to rinse them out beneath the shower head.
Jack slipped his speedos off.
He was getting a little hard—not so hard it was noticeable, but a little full.
A moment later, the young guy turned and backed up against him. His shower had suddenly run cold. He adjusted the faucet, took an unnecessary step backwards, and then the back of his hand was against Jack’s cock.
“Sorry,” the young guy said. He smiled.
But Jack was already hard.
The young guy looked down, glanced at the door, and then wrapped his hand around Jack’s cock. He began to jerk him off.
Jack closed his eyes and put his hands on the young guy’s shoulders. It was the risk of someone coming in that got him off more than anything. A rope of cum spurted onto the young guy’s groin, and again he smiled.
“I’m Aaron,” he said.
“Jack.”
They nodded at one another.
Then Jack said, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one. You?”
“I’m thirty-one.”
“Cool,” the young guy said, and nodded again.
Was this one of Rafe’s friends, Jack wondered. He’d heard an Aaron mentioned, but then again, it was a popular enough name and he wasn’t eighteen.
“How would you feel about coming along to a movie this evening?” Aaron said.
19
Jack met Aaron in the foyer of the Odeon at seven fifteen. Aaron arrived with a smile on his face. He looked a little troubled, but Jack dismissed this. A new production of Death in Venice was playing, and Aaron particularly wanted to see it. He studied arts at college and said he’d read the story and seen the old film, which was dreadful.
Jack had never heard of it, but he came out feeling stunned. He couldn’t help reflecting on Rafe, and his attitude to Rafe, but it wasn’t the same.
“You don’t happen to know where I could score?” Aaron said as they were walking out to the lot.
“Score?”
“Get on.”
“Oh. No, I don’t. But maybe,” he said, thinking of Carol. “What are you after?”
“Coke. My regular dealer’s disappeared on me.”
Jack nodded. “Carol might know.”
“Carol? I don’t know a Carol … except … no.”
“Do you want to come back to my place?” Jack said.
“Okay.”
“Where did you park your car?”
“I walked.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, jump in.”
“An old Lincoln. Wow! This is a relic.”
Jack started the car.
They arrived at the apartment within five minutes. Em and Carol were in the kitchen.
“This is—”
“Aaron,” Em said.
Carol lifted her head. “Hi, Aaron.”
“Oh—Carol. Hi.”
“You don’t sound very pleased to see me.”
“No, it’s just …” He shook his head meaningfully at Jack. Carol was not someone he wanted to ask apparently.
“You want a coffee?” Jack said.
“Sure.”
“The coffee is in the pot,” Em said, “unless you want fresh coffee.”
“It should be fine,” Jack muttered. He poured them each a mug, and then said, “Come through.” He led Aaron into his living room and closed the door.
“When you said Carol I didn’t think, but yeah, I know them.” He started suddenly. “Hey, you’re not the guy who’s been pretending to be a private investigator are you?”
Jack stared at him for a moment, then nodded, his eyes downcast.
“And you’ve been out at Rafe’s place?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s it—that’s what happened to my dealer. That little nut job killed her according to Mike.”
“Sissy?”
Aaron nodded. “Try asking him what happened to his parents. I tried that once.”
“His parents?”
“He almost went through the roof.”
“You don’t get on with him?”
“With Rafe? No.”
At the thought of Rafe, Jack felt his heart turn, yearning. He really was caught. And it looked like the kid was in trouble. But his parents? Jack shook his head.
He took a seat on the couch and Aaron sat close beside him, his thigh pressed up against Jack’s. Jack could see where this was going.
20
In the morning, Jack woke with a dead arm. His hand was stuck between Aaron’s thighs. He felt ill, sick at the thought of being with Aaron last night, but nothing had happened. They had simply slept in the same bed.
He extricated his hand and got up. He took a shower. When he came out, Aaron was dressed and sitting in the living room. Jack put a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on. A few minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Aaron looked hungover.
His phone rang, and he answered it. “Hey, Jennifer,” he said. “No, I … I’m at a friend’s … Oh, really … Great … I’ll see you then.” He hung up. “She’s got on for me.”
“Who? Jennifer?”
“You know her?”
“No. I’m being silly. I heard the name mentioned. That’s all.”
“She’s a friend of that little nut job you were working for.”
Jack nodded. He wanted Aaron to go now. Sunlight was streaming through the kitchen windows and the stainless steel sink was glinting at him. He felt a little sick—an empty stomach full of coffee.
But Aaron wanted another one. Jack poured it for him and fixed himself some cornflakes. As soon as he’d drunk the coffee, Aaron left.
Jack sighed.
He sat on at the table, eating his cornflakes in silence, but a few moments later heard Em and Carol approaching the door.
It opened.
“There you are!” said Em.
He nodded.
“Just what do you think you’re playing at?”
“What?”
“You’re a public private detective now?” Carol said.
“You told the police?”
Jack put his head in his ha
nds.
“I’ve been living in this town for almost two decades, and now I have to put up with this!”
“Does it matter?” Jack said.
“Matter? Of course it matters.”
“And you had some drug addict here last night,” Carol said. “A boy!”
“I’m gay.”
“Are you?”
“Of course he is,” said Em. “Didn’t you know that?”
“No.” She paused. “So he knows about us and everything.”
“Everybody knows, Carol.”
“I thought we were keeping it quiet.” She paused again. “Though that would be a little difficult with a private investigator in the house.”
“He hasn’t been investigating us.”
“It feels like it.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Jack said, and got up. “I could hardly lie.”
“You be careful with that boy,” Em said. “He’s very sensitive.”
“It isn’t so long since the boating accident,” Carol said.
“The boating accident?”
“Since his parents drowned on the lake.”
Jack nodded. What had Aaron tried to imply—that Rafe had had something to do with that?”
“I’m going out,” he said. He got up, wondered where he could go and thought of the pool. “At least I will be—in a moment.” He nodded at them and then walked off to his room.
His speedos were still a little damp, but he put them on beneath his jeans. He searched for the towel, then realized he’d left it in his pack. It was damp too. He cast his eyes around the room, found his wallet and then his watch and then supposed he should go.
As he was leaving, Em said, “Look after yourself.”
“And don’t forget your keys,” Carol said. “We’re going out.”
“Are we?”
“Aren’t we?”
“No. Not unless you want to.”
“That new movie is playing.”
“What movie?”
“The gay one.”
Jack closed the door.
21
Crowding the pool was a group of school children aged under ten. They made the most horrific screeches and howls, and Jack figured he’d lie on his towel until they went. They were having a lesson, though it looked nothing short of chaotic.
