“Yeah, but most straight guys think two chicks together are hot,” I told him. “As long as they don’t want equal rights or to raise a family together,” I added under my breath.
“Lesbian sex isn’t hot when it involves your sister!” Dorchester’s revulsion made me smile and eased the slight amount of tension that creeped in. Maybe someday I’d do less assuming about people’s views on the LGBTQ community, but I wasn’t quite there yet. “Anyway, I’d like to think I wouldn’t be that asshole even if my sister wasn’t a rainbow baby. Not everyone is like Sampson.”
“You’re right, Dorchester. I’m sorry if I came off like a cynical asshole,” I replied.
“No apology needed,” he told me. “I’m sure your life experiences had a lot to do with it.”
He was right, but I decided to change the subject back to the case. “What are your opinions on the Turner case so far? You think anyone interviewed might be hiding something?” I had spent hours looking over the interview notes and making a list of new questions I wanted to ask once we returned to the station.
“We have a guy who was being threatened, but we don’t know what for. He said that going to the cops made it worse, but we don’t know why. When he worked with the police he wasn’t forthcoming, so he had something he wanted to hide or perhaps someone he wanted to protect. He wanted to be saved, but wouldn’t do anything to save himself, except for maybe his last act of coming to find you,” Dorchester said. “By then it was too late.”
It still bugged me that Nate appeared to have been looking for me the night he died. It wasn’t that I felt responsible, because I felt I acted in the most professional way with the information he presented to me in his office. I never received his email that reached out to me for help because it was captured by our server for review. Still, a man was dead and just maybe I could’ve prevented it. I kept those comments to myself because they weren’t beneficial to the investigation.
“That sums up my thoughts exactly. What about the task force? Any opinions on them?” I asked Dorchester.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I hadn’t told Josh about my run-in with Paul from the task force and that we’d hooked up once a year ago. I had planned on telling him when I left Cincinnati, but then I got busy reading the reports and interviews and forgot about it. Then I stopped by the post office on my way home and picked up the change of address card. Once I held that in my hand, my mind was too busy figuring out a way to start the future I wanted, not focus on an incident from my past that was barely a blip on my radar.
Paul wasn’t even really on the task force, I told him I was in a relationship, and nothing else was required to my way of thinking. I mean, Josh hadn’t told me about the guy from college that he said treated him worse that Billy Sampson, which was hard to believe. Hell, I was almost afraid for the college guy’s safety once I found out how he treated Josh. I reasoned that telling him would cause more harm than not telling him. Where could I go wrong with that kind of logic?
“I think they’re all stand-up people,” Dorchester replied, bringing me back to the present. “I just think there’s not a lot to go on until someone coughs up a lead. It’s like a tightly knit sweater that holds together nicely until one tiny string comes loose and then it begins to unravel. We really need to find that loose string.”
“Or help it come loose,” I added.
When we arrived at the police department, I noticed that some phones had been added to the room we used the prior day. I knew then it was going to be an unglamorous day of making phone calls to try and schedule second interviews with people. If we didn’t have luck getting them by phone, then we’d hit the streets and do it in person.
“The hard part will probably be tracking down the employees since they would’ve found new jobs after Nate was killed,” I said out loud to the group after we’d left voicemail messages for almost every person on the list. The only people we reached by phone was Nate’s lawyer and his silent business partner, but I guess that really didn’t count since we talked to their personal assistants who promised to get back with us with a time we could meet.
“The club didn’t close,” Harris said casually. “Bandowe hired someone to manage it temporarily until the sale of the business goes through.”
“Where is that in the notes?” I asked him.
“I didn’t really think it was that pertinent.” Harris sounded a touch defensive, which wasn’t my goal at all. The last thing I needed was to alienate the people on the task force.
“I apologize if that came out sounding critical,” I told him. “I was making sure that I hadn’t overlooked something or that I wasn’t missing a page. That’s all.”
Harris relaxed a bit and said, “It’s all good, man. It was something that I learned from Paul, not as part of the investigation. The club did close for a while so maybe I should’ve said it reopened instead of implying that it never closed.”
Until evidence to the contrary was discovered, I was convinced the club was at the root of the case. Maybe not because of any illegal activity coming from it, but because of how successful it was. Or, he chose the wrong person to take to his office for a one-off fuck. The emails that Nate received didn’t have a religious puritanical feel to them. The one email referred to him having a beautiful cock and it was a shame it belonged to a piece of shit excuse for a man. Had it been from a person who was offended about where Nate stuck his dick then I thought it would’ve said so, they definitely wouldn’t have referred to his cock as beautiful.
“What about the kid they tracked the emails back to? Um,” I flipped through the notes until I came to his name. “Owen Smithson? What connection did he have to Nate, if any? Did he have a family member or friend who worked at Vibe or liked to go there? Do we know yet if the same caliber gun was used in both shootings?”
“The M.E. reports both state the gunshot appears to be from a forty-five. The shots were fired from close range and exited their skulls. Neither bullet was found on the scene which indicates it had been removed by the shooter. The details in both shootings are too similar to be a coincidence. The only difference was the location–Owen was killed in his apartment and Nate was killed in his car,” Jade said.
“Owen didn’t have any connection to Nate or the club that we could find,” Harris added. “We looked hard, but there was nothing. It would appear that someone hired him to send the messages and pictures then eliminated him when he’d outgrown his usefulness,” Jade told us.
“The only similarity between Nate and Owen was that they were both adopted, but not through the same organization. Nate’s adoption was private where Owen was adopted after spending several years in foster care. Neither of their stories would be considered unique if they hadn’t been killed by the same person.”
“There’s something more there,” I told them, although I couldn’t tell them why I thought so. “Why hire Owen? How’d they find him?”
“He hung out at a cyber café a lot and the guy might’ve found him there.”
“Or woman,” I reminded him. Weaker sex, my ass!
We hung around the station for a bit longer waiting on voicemail messages to be returned then hit the streets to knock on doors when no one called us back. We only caught a few on our list at home and learned absolutely nothing new. The one good thing I took away from the interviews we were able to conduct was that it didn’t appear that anyone was trying to hide anything from us. I got the impression that they really did want us to solve Nate’s case.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was too early for the club employees to show up, but it was late enough that I wanted to start heading back home to Josh. It wasn’t that we had anything exciting planned, but I looked forward to our night anyway. I quickly learned to expect the unexpected from Josh and whatever happened would be wonderful.
Then a lightbulb went off in my head. The best way to get some questions answered was from the inside. I wondered how Josh would feel about dinner and dancing o
n a Friday night or even a Saturday if he was too tired after being on his feet all day. I mentioned it to Dorchester to see what he thought about my idea.
“I don’t see how it could hurt. You can have a fun time with your guy even if you don’t learn anything new,” he said.
“True,” I replied. He was right, what could it hurt?
Fast forward and I knew exactly how it could hurt. Josh couldn’t wait to go dancing with me Saturday night and was even more excited when I told him I’d be doing a little investigating too. I had to ask him to change his outfit three times because each one of them looked like some cheesy undercover ensemble you’d expect to see in a comedy spoof about undercover work. The last one was the worst and it made me think we would end up looking like a modern day Starsky and Hutch. As funny as his first few outfits were, it was the final one that caused me so much pain.
“I’m not changing again,” Josh said firmly. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me with eyes that grew a darker hue when he was horny or angry. I knew damn well he wasn’t horny, as for me… those tight jeans were going to be the death of me. I knew every eye in the room would be on his ass and I didn’t like it one bit. “There’s nothing wrong with this one.”
I realized why his eyes looked bigger and darker. I had never seen him in eyeliner, not even when I saw him that one time at Vibe. I wondered if it was something he only liked to do on occasion or if he was testing me, perhaps both. “You’re wearing eyeliner,” I said. I would not fail if it was a test. “It makes your eyes look bigger.” I walked to him and tilted his chin up slightly so I could have a better look. “Just make sure you keep those beautiful eyes on me.”
My answer seemed to appease him and we set off for the club. Josh was right about what he said earlier about there being nothing wrong with his outfit. I just didn’t like the idea of the attention he was going to get, but that was my problem, not his. I would just have to step up my game so that he was too busy having a good time with me that he wouldn’t notice anyone else, which meant I was going to be forced to dance.
The club was as busy as I expected it would be on a Friday night. The music was thumping loudly, sweaty bodies were grinding against one another on the dance floor, and drinks were flowing at the bar. If it was up to me, I would’ve marched straight up to the bar and began asking questions, subtly of course, but Josh was eyeing the dance floor like it was a long-lost friend.
I grabbed his hand and began leading him in that direction. “I can’t dance worth a shit,” I yelled over my shoulder in warning.
“That’s okay, baby, you just stand there and I’ll dance good enough for both of us,” Josh replied confidently.
I anticipated that I would stand near him and kind of move from side to side while glaring at every swinging dick in the place, but that isn’t what happened. Josh’s infectious happiness and laughter urged–okay, yanked me by the dick–out of my comfort zone and into Fun Land. I stopped worrying about my moves and how lame they were or anything else. All I wanted was to keep that wide smile on Josh’s face and the laughter in his life at any cost.
After a long time, Josh crooked his finger for me to follow him and I did. “I think it’s time we start interrogating the club staff,” he told me.
“We’re not going to interrogate anyone, Sunshine. I’m just going to ask about the new management in a non-threatening way.” I wasn’t in the mood for bad cop. I was in the mood for some quick, honest answers and then take my guy home for some strong loving before we went to bed. If given the choice, I also wanted to sleep in until at least ten the next morning.
“Damn,” Josh said in disappointment. “I was hoping to see you in action.”
We found a place at the bar, but there was only one stool. I motioned for Josh to take it, but he shook his head. I wasn’t going to battle him over who sat on the stool. If he didn’t want to sit, fine; he could stand between my legs so I could nibble on his neck while we waited our turn.
That’s exactly what I was doing when I heard a familiar voice say, “This must be your boyfriend.”
Josh’s head snapped in the direction of the voice and I watched with an inward smile as Josh slowly raked his eyes from Paul’s toes to his eyes then narrowed them in suspicion. “Why, yes I am and who might you be?” Josh asked sweetly. I was pretty sure I saw him bat his eyelashes a few extra times for emphasis.
Paul extended his hand and said, “I’m Paul Seviere. I work on Gabe’s task force.”
Josh accepted his hand and said, “I’m Josh Roman. I work on Gabe’s nerves.”
Paul threw his head back and laughed. “I like him,” he said when he was finished. “So, are you guys here on a date or checking things out?”
“Both,” Josh said. “Gabe won’t let me interrogate anyone though.”
“I just want to find out whatever I can about the new management.” I told Paul some of my theories and he nodded his head.
“In that case, you might look hard at the former owner slash silent partner. The identity of the new owner hasn’t been made public and the employees aren’t talking. It’s doubtful the interim manager knows much. I guess it’s possible Bandowe wanted out from under the club and Nate’s death was the easiest way or the new guy wanted the club bad enough to kill.”
“And you’re certain there was no illicit activities going on?” I asked Paul.
“Could there have been a few clients giving out sexual favors for a quick buck? Sure. Are these partyers bringing in their own drugs? You can bet your ass. What we didn’t find was any sign that the owner or the employees were engaged in any illegal activities. No one seems to know who the new owner is, but maybe you’ll have better luck.” He nodded to Josh and said, “Let him ask the questions if you decide to interview the staff because he’s less threatening looking than you are.”
“Aw, thanks,” Josh said to Paul.
“No problem. You two have a fun night,” he said before he walked off.
The congenial smile slid off Josh’s face the moment he walked away. He turned between my legs so he could look me in the eye. “You fucked him, didn’t you?” It was a statement of disbelief, not an accusation.
“Not these past two days,” I said. “It was a year ago.”
“Did you meet here at the club?” Josh asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you hooked up?” he asked.
“Once.”
“You weren’t going to mention it?” Josh wanted to know.
I let out a deep sigh and told him all of the things I had thought about that morning. I was with Josh and told Paul so. Paul was a one-time thing and a very distant memory. Blah. Blah. Blah. He didn’t look at all impressed nor did he look angry. I couldn’t get a read on his mood, which was odd because I felt like I knew him so well.
“Gabe,” he said, holding up his hand. His lips tilted up on one end and he looked like he was holding back a grin. “Instead of driving back home, why don’t we get a hotel and you can fuck me like a stranger tonight.”
“What?” That was the last thing I thought he would say.
“I know that you love me and I trust you,” he said, words that meant more to me than I could possibly express. “So why not have a little fun? Sometimes a guy just wants to be pinned to the bed and fucked hard.”
I just sat there staring at him in shock for a few minutes. “If you’re uncertain…” the guy beside me said, snapping me out of my daze.
“Fuck you.” I got off the stool and pulled Josh behind me as I made my way to the exit. I couldn’t believe Josh wanted to go to a hotel instead of his own home. I knew how fastidious he could be about certain things and beds was high on the list.
“Pick a good hotel though, babe. I don’t want sheets so thin I can see through them or a lumpy mattress.”
I took him to the nicest hotel in the city and didn’t even grimace when the guy behind the reservation desk swiped my card. It was worth the three Benjamins to know that the pillow beneath Jo
sh’s face would be soft, the mattress would have the correct amount of firmness, and the sheets had enough thread count that they didn’t tear when I fucked him into the next month.
Two weeks later, I was standing in the middle of Gabe’s living room looking around with my hands on my hips. There wasn’t a need to buy another TV because his big monstrosity could go into the living room at my–our–house and my current TV could go into my–our–bedroom. The rest of his furniture though…
“Don’t worry about it, Sunshine,” Gabe said when he entered the room behind me. “As ugly as the furniture is, it’s functional, new-ish, and will fit nicely in the living room.”
I slowly turned to face him. I did want Gabe to share his life with me, but what I meant was him, his clothes, and his dog move in while the rest of his things didn’t. The clothes and dog we had already moved. Gabe asked me to look around to see if there was anything I wanted in the living room and kitchen before he gave it away.
“I was just kidding,” he said quickly when he saw the look on my face. “I have a box of things in the hall closet upstairs that I want to grab so why don’t you take a look at the movies and then there are some kind of ancient iron pots and pans that my grandmother passed down to my mom, she gave them to me when I moved and…”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I headed straight to his kitchen cabinets to see if he meant cast iron skillets. I loved cast iron skillets and finding really good ones was hard to do. It seemed like it took forever to season new cast iron cookware. I opened the cabinets closest to the stove, which was where I’d store the skillets and pots, but not my guy. I searched every cabinet in the amount of time it took him to retrieve a box of stuff from the hall closet. Don’t think I wasn’t searching that box before I let him put things out and about. There was a balance to my home that I needed to maintain. That was a battle for another hour, right then I just wanted to know where the fuck he was keeping the holy grail of cookware.
Welcome to Blissville Page 47
