by Hank Edwards
Pearce returned to the conference room and found Jake sitting at the table, looking through a case file. He sat at the other end of the table and picked up one of the other case files. Jake was quiet as he worked, allowing Pearce to focus on what he was reading, and he thought that even though things had started out a bit rocky, they might be able to work well together.
He read through the files until his vision blurred, and he sat back, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn.
Looking around, he noticed Jake's head nodding, and said, "Hey, Perrin."
"Yeah?" Jake responded without looking up.
"You guys got a cafeteria in this building?"
"If you want to call it that," Jake muttered. "Why? You want to buy me lunch or something?"
"Not likely," Pearce said and got to his feet. "But I'd consider a cup of coffee."
Jake looked up at him, eyes glazed over from hours spent reading. "Yeah? Ain't you a prince. But, I'll tell you what, the coffee in the cafeteria here is shit strained through an old jockstrap."
Pearce sneered. "Nice image."
"Thought you'd like that." Jake stood up and stretched. "But there's a little indie coffee shop two blocks down that roasts their own beans."
"Well, well, well," Pearce said. "Aren't you the picture of duality? Buttoned-up FBI Special Agent suit covering a hipster heart."
"Don't let it get around," Jake said with a grin. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."
They locked the case files in a two-drawer file cabinet, then headed for the elevator. A short time later, they were out on the street. Traffic was light, and a gentle breeze curled its way around the glass and metal buildings.
"How long have you been an agent?" Pearce asked. It was a classic introductory question, but he needed to get to know more about Jake if they were going to work well together.
"Five years. Did a tour in the Coast Guard before this." Jake grinned at him. "Worked the Detroit River, and, man, you would not believe the shit that happens on that waterway."
Pearce smiled. "I bet. Not only a shipping channel, but an international border as well. Lots of attempted crossings?"
Jake nodded. "More than you'd expect." He looked at Pearce and said, "I understand you're the one who broke the Kings of Rebellion plot to collapse the Detroit-Windsor tunnel."
Pearce nodded. "Yeah. But I had some help with that, gotta admit."
"The witness, right?" Jake asked. "The one you were protecting?"
A ping sounded on Pearce's mental alert system. "Well, you know, we both contributed in our own way to that case." Pearce gestured to a funky coffee shop called Motor City Grinders. "I take it this is the place?"
Jake nodded. "You'll like it. More flavors than you can imagine."
"I don't know, I've got a pretty good imagination," Pearce said as his phone buzzed. He slipped it from his pocket and saw it was Mark calling. "Oh, I should take this. You want some cash?"
"I've got this one," Jake said. "You get the next one. You want anything special?"
"Um, medium roast, one sugar, none of that artificial sweetener bullshit." He turned away from Jake as he accepted the call and said, "Hey there, how are you?"
"Oh, hi," Mark said, sounding surprised. "It rang so long I expected it to go to voice mail."
"Yeah, sorry about that. We took a break from reading case files to walk down the block to a coffee house."
"We?" Mark asked. "They've got you working with someone?"
"Yeah, the SAC who was handed the cases before they came to me," Pearce replied.
"Does this SAC have a name?" Mark's tone was more teasing than serious, and it make Pearce chuckle.
"You're in a good mood," Pearce noted.
"I am."
"Guess you just needed me to leave the city, eh?"
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Mark replied. "And you never told me the name of this agent you're working with on the case."
"Oh, didn't I?"
"No, you didn't."
"Huh, strange."
"Oh for God's sake, Aaron!" Mark exclaimed with a laugh.
Pearce let out a bark of laughter that surprised a woman walking past. He waved an apology and said into the phone, "Relax, my jealous sous chef. His name is Jake Perrin, and he's straight."
"Jake Perrin? Sounds like a porn name."
Pearce looked in the window of the coffeehouse where Jake was next in line. He was shorter than Pearce, probably six foot two to his own six four, but he had the broad shoulders, slim hips, and the high rounded ass of a quarterback. Jake was a good-looking man, though with is dark hair and eyes he wasn't really Pearce's type. He preferred blond hair and blue eyes, like Mark, who was waiting back home for him in his apartment. Correction: their apartment. Dammit, would he ever get used to that?
"He could do porn," Pearce said. "But probably, like, lazy straight guy porn, you know? Some hip thrusting, some breast fondling, and then the screwed-up expression for the money shot."
Mark was laughing, hard, and the sound of it loosened something inside Pearce's chest that had been tight for months. It wasn't a complete release, but it was a start.
"Wow, I haven't heard you laugh like that for a long time," Pearce said.
"I know," Mark agreed. "I feel good, though. I got some stuff done here in the apartment and feel… good."
"Yeah? I'm glad to hear that. Really."
"I know you are," Mark said. "And thanks for getting me through such a rough time."
"Absolutely," Pearce replied. "I love you." He was glad to hear the words come out so easily, and even more happy to realize there was no resultant unease in the aftermath. He did love Mark, more than he'd ever thought he could.
"I love you, too, Aaron."
"Good, because you're stuck with me." He saw Jake step up to the counter to place their orders and said, "I should go."
"Duty calls with Jake Perrin?" Mark asked.
"Yeah, you know how it is."
"I do." Mark was silent, then said in a quiet voice, "Be careful."
"I will. You too."
"Always."
"I'll call you later, okay?" Pearce said.
"I'll be here," Mark assured him.
"Oh, hey, before you go," Pearce said. "Do you remember the names of any of the gay bars here?"
"Um, why?" Mark asked suspiciously. "You going to try to show SAC Jake Perrin how the other half lives?"
Pearce chuckled. "No. I'm thinking the victims might have met Morgan at a bar. Need to start somewhere, right?"
"Oh," Mark said in a somber tone. "Yeah. Good thought. Um, there's always Manjitos. Or Danglers. Oh yeah, and the Bone Yard. Shades and Kiss Ups both closed before I moved here."
"Jesus Christ," Pearce grumbled. "I thought I hit a lot of bars."
"Well, I went to dance and have drinks with friends and, sometimes, meet a man," Mark said. "You, however, had other priorities."
"Smartass," Pearce said. "Text me those names, okay?"
"I will," Mark replied. "Be safe."
"Always."
Pearce disconnected the call just as Jake stepped out of the coffeehouse and handed him the coffee.
"Thanks," Pearce said.
"Everything good at home?" Jake asked.
"Yeah, everything's good."
"Good."
They started walking back, and Pearce felt his phone buzz twice, the signal he had received a text.
He looked at the screen, saw the list of bars Mark had sent him, then smirked at Jake. "You have plans Thursday night?"
7
The close-packed men, thump of dance music, and the sour tang of stale beer washed over Pearce when he walked into Danglers Nightclub Thursday night. It sparked a familiar feeling, something close to coming home, and it also awakened wildly different reactions within him. On the one hand, Danglers was like any other gay bar he'd been in before he'd met Mark. It was pretty much a square cinderblock structure with a bar along one wall, a dance floor near a deejay booth, and some high table
s scattered about. But just being in a gay bar again, especially being there without Mark, brought vividly back to life the undercurrent of excitement and possibility that had run through him each time he had headed out for a night of prowling. A gay bar was the place where he could be who he wanted, free of the stigma of the "gay" label. The parade of men on display had been intoxicating. So many choices, just standing around looking at all of their own options. Pearce had enjoyed the simple thrill of each encounter: That initial spark of attraction in the first eye contact, the bumpy, awkward introductory conversation, the purchase of one or several drinks, and the potential for everything to go further. The sensation felt as if a thin live wire had been threaded through each limb and gathered together in a tight twisted knot just behind his heart.
Opposing that excitement, like the shadowed side of a flipping coin, Pearce had always experienced a jaded sense of bitterness that was like the strengthening of a battlement in preparation for war. No one got inside the battlement too easily, if at all, and only Mark had managed to get deep inside Pearce's guarded fortress, deeper even than Morgan. Pearce had always maintained a distance in manner and tone with the men he'd taken to bed. Now, all around him, Pearce could hear the same sharp edge, the slightly off-putting tones of walls set up for protection. It was the result of any number of rejections and disappointments, both here among the gay community and out in the wider world. Or possibly a past relationship that had left behind a bit of mental wreckage, as Morgan had done with Pearce.
As he made his way through the crowd, Pearce saw quite a few interested looks directed at him, but he turned away and headed for the bar. He remembered a day at the Bureau not too long ago, when he'd been training a new agent on some process tasks. The woman had surprised him by asking his girlfriend's name. He sat quiet for a moment, frowning at her as he thought back over their conversation since she had sat down beside him. He realized he'd been saying "we" when talking about this life outside of the FBI, and the woman had just assumed the other half of Pearce's "we" was a woman. He'd told her about Mark, and later, on the drive home, caught himself smiling as he understood that he now thought in terms of "we" and "us" and "ours" instead of "me" or "mine."
Men were crushed in around him, but at his height, Pearce was tall enough to see over the majority of the crowd, and he looked around for any sign of Jake Perrin. The last two days they'd worked the case files in that stuffy little conference room, hoping to find some notation, some tiny scrap of information that would make the difference. So far, they'd had no luck, and tonight they had arranged to meet at Danglers to question the bartenders and any other people who might know something about the victims.
So far there was no sign of Jake. Perhaps he had chickened out at the last minute, too nervous about some guy hitting on him to set foot in a gay bar. But a moment later, Pearce had to retract that thought when he saw Jake leaning on the bar and laughing with a blond stud of a bartender. Interesting.
Pearce edged through the crowd and squeezed in beside Jake, smiling when the agent turned with a frown to see who was encroaching on his personal space.
"Hi there," Pearce said. "Making friends?"
Jake grinned. "You didn't think I'd show up, did you?"
"I was wondering how you'd do in a gay bar." Pearce looked to the blond muscle boy who had scurried off and was now tending to other customers. "I see I shouldn't have worried about it."
Pearce noticed the sleeves of Jake's long-sleeve button-down shirt were tight around his biceps. He wondered if Jake had given a lot of thought to his wardrobe for their night out making the rounds of gay bars.
"Did you have to pay a cover?" Jake asked.
Pearce shook his head as he tried to get the bartender's attention with no luck.
"I didn't either," Jake said with a smirk. "I kind of like that."
"Yeah, well, let's put a pin in that excitement for now, straight ally." Pearce waved for the bartender again but once more failed to get his attention.
"Allow me," Jake said, then called, "Hey, Jeff!"
The bartender looked their way. He flashed Jake a bright smile and nodded to show he'd heard.
"Well, well, well," Pearce said with a grin. "Old friend?"
Jake shook his head. "Just met him. I've been working on establishing rapport with my informants."
"I see." Pearce lifted his chin in greeting as the bartender approached.
"Hey there, tall, dark, and handsome," Jeff said. "What can I get ya?"
"Two bottled waters," Pearce said.
Jeff nodded and turned away, and Jake frowned at him. "Bottled water?"
"Technically, we're on duty," Pearce explained.
"Man, you've been at the mother ship way too long."
"You boys have fun tonight," Jeff said as he set the waters down and took Pearce's money. "Don't drink those too fast, you'll just hydrate yourself."
Jake scowled at Pearce. "See? Now we’re being mocked by a millennial."
"Yeah, yeah." Pearce pulled from his pocket copies of the pictures of each of the victims. He selected the photo of Erik Hamill, the most recent victim, and showed it to Jeff. "You ever see this guy around?"
Jeff took his time looking at the photo, Pearce had to give him credit. Eventually, however, he shook his head. "Sorry, no. But he's not really my type, you know?"
"How about these guys?" Pearce showed him the other three photos.
Jeff studied each one a long moment, then shrugged. "These two look familiar, but I never spoke to them. Probably served them a few times or something." He tipped his head toward the other end of the bar where another young muscled stud was smiling and laughing with his customers. "Rick might know more." Jeff frowned and looked at Jake. "You guys cops?"
"Why?" Jake asked. "Do we look like cops?"
Jeff shook his head. "Not you, you're too friendly." He looked at Pearce. "He looks pretty uncomfortable, though, so he might be a cop. And straight, too."
Jake snorted a laugh before taking a long drink of his water. "You're very astute, Jeff."
"Yeah?" Jeff gave them his megawatt smile again.
Jake tipped his head toward the other end of the bar. "Can you ask Rick to step down here when he has a moment?"
"Sure, yeah."
Pearce watched Jeff approach the other bartender and lean in to say something. Then he turned to frown at Jake. "Did he just call me straight?"
"Yep," Jake said. "I guess you should call your man back home and let him know, huh?"
"Funny."
"I thought so." Jake nodded to the other end of the bar. "Looks like Rick's going to be a few minutes. Too bad we don't have a couple of beers to ease the pain of waiting."
"Cry me a river," Pearce said.
"I should be able to soon," Jake replied, and toasted him with his water bottle.
Pearce chuckled, but the good humor didn't linger as he felt a rising disappointment. He knew better than to have any kind of hope for a lead at the first bar they visited. He was more than used to working cases for weeks or even months, but this case was personal, and therefore more urgent.
Bata had told them there had been no pattern to the men's disappearances, but that couldn't be true. There had to be one common thread connecting them. Other than the killer, however, who Pearce was more than certain was Morgan. They just needed to find what linked the victims, be it a place or a method of how they met Morgan. Something had happened that had allowed Morgan to get them off on their own and murder them. And if they couldn't find one common thread for all four victims, they'd focus on Erik Hamill and figure out why he had been murdered when he didn't match the description of the other victims.
Pearce and Jake stood in comfortable silence as they waited for Rick to get a break in customers.
When the bartender finally approached, Rick looked nervous. "What'd I do?"
Jake gave Pearce a surprised look before turning his attention to Rick. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you're cops, aren't you?"
He gave Jake a long look. "At least you are." He looked back at Pearce. "Not sure about him yet."
"All right," Jake said with a furrowed brow. "How about two more bottles of water and you get to keep the change if you tell us whatever you can about these men." Jake slid a twenty-dollar bill and the four pictures across the bar.
Rick picked all of the items up, quickly pocketed the twenty, and looked through the photos.
Pearce felt a glimmer of hope when Rick paused at one and nodded. "Yeah. I knew this guy." He turned the photo to show them Erik Hamill's smiling face. "Name was Erik, right?"
"Right," Pearce replied. "You said you knew him, past tense. Any reason for that?"
"Well, he's dead, isn't he?" Rick grabbed two waters from the cooler behind him. "I saw it on the news not too long ago. Too bad. He was a nice guy. I liked him."
"You ever sleep with him?" Pearce asked.
"No, nothing like that. We just talked, you know? On slow nights, he'd come in and sit at the bar and we'd talk about TV shows, or family situations. He lived with his cousin." He raised his eyebrows. "Have you guys talked to Erik's cousin? I can't remember his name, but they were both really into video games."
"The cousin is on our list," Jake assured him. "Right now we're talking with you, trying to figure out how Erik might have met his killer. When did you see him last?"
Rick let out a slow breath and looked up at the ceiling as he thought about it. "Probably the Thursday night before he died. That's our dollar beer and well drinks night, and he usually stopped in."
"Was he acting any differently?" Pearce asked.
"No. Just a typical night. He ordered his usual, a gin and tonic with a slice of lemon in it, not lime. We chatted a bit, but it was busy that night so I didn't get a chance to really talk with him." A sad expression fell across Rick's face, and he looked off into the crowd a moment. "Makes me sad when I think about it. I didn't see him leave that night, so I didn't get to say good-bye."
"You didn't see if he met up with anyone or was talking with someone longer than usual?" Pearce asked.
"No. I didn't notice, sorry. Like I said, it was busy that night."
