Drawn Together

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “Good. Then meet Anthony where we decided, and I’ll see you tonight. So far everything’s quiet on this end, but as soon as you show up, I think Amelia will too. She’s been watching your grandparents’ house pretty closely.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I have too.” Rene laughed and hung up.

  Rory sighed. He wished again that, like Chanfreau, he could see this as an adventure. The sheriff seemed delighted to finally have a real criminal in St. Antoine’s Parish. Rory wondered what Yamane would think when he saw this tiny town for the first time. Thinking about Yamane made his body react predictably. He wondered if the man would ever trust him again. Probably not, he thought. He finished his beer and left five thousand dollars in cash for his mother and stepfather, along with a note saying he’d had some luck in Vegas. As he left, he looked at the progress on the ruins of what had once been his family home and saw that it was coming along nicely. Just now it was covered over in plastic tarps, as the contractors were no doubt expecting rain.

  Rory walked to the building under construction and looked into the bare hole that had once been the window to his room. No trace of his existence remained there. It was as if the storm had washed him away with this little house and all the other little houses around it.

  In that room, Rory had hung pictures of rock bands and Rebecca Romijn as Mystique in the X-Men movie. He had dreamed what sex might feel like, and then actually had it right there in a bed that was no more. He’d read his first manga and become entranced with the Snoggs, and later Princess Celendrianna, there. Nothing he’d experienced in that little room prepared him for where his life had taken him now. He still had hope. It was a slim hope but he held it in his heart. He had a passport and would drop everything and run if Yamane would simply ask it of him.

  Rory called Sheriff’s Deputy Anthony Laforge on his cell phone. It was all arranged. At six, Rory would meet Anthony at a motel about thirteen miles north of St. Antoine’s Parish.

  Yamane firmly felt he had not one tear left to cry. Sooner or later, he’d have to figure out what to do. It was not lost on him that he was a very famous professional artist who was stranded in a ghastly motel in a small town where no one knew him as anything but just another oddly dressed, eccentric little man. He needed a cigarette and found it more than a little sad that Rory wasn’t there to ride him about smoking it. He lit up, contemplating what options were open to him. Rory had taken his cell phone, so he couldn’t just pick it up and call someone, but he wondered if he could call his agent on the hotel phone. It had a series of instructions for credit card calls, but he had none, thanks to Rory. As he smoked, he realized he needed to eat, and he had a friend, he thought, in Skeeter. He decided to walk over and see what Skeeter had in the smoker.

  * * *

  Skeeter gave his little friend Yamane a pulled pork sandwich, made Carolina-style with a vinegar-based sauce and a pile of coleslaw on top, chips, and a pickle, and kept his glass filled with bourbon. Every so often, Yamane’s eyes would glitter with tears, and he’d make some offhand remark, usually negative, about the weather or the mud in the road to cover them up. The rain was beginning in earnest now, Hurricane Fred coming in from the south and destined to weaken into a tropical storm before it made landfall. Odd spates of rain fell, but nothing nerve-wracking, and Skeeter was content to make his trips outside to the smoker under the eaves even if it meant getting a little wet. Yamane had discovered greens the day before and was wiping his bowl with a piece of corn bread from Skeeter’s late wife’s famous family recipe when another customer came in.

  Skeeter saw Yamane notice the new customer immediately; it was rare to see a man in so fine a suit in his place, and a handsome one at that. The man shook water droplets from his silver and black hair as he walked to the other end of the counter where Yamane sat. He ordered a brisket sandwich and a Michelob, and as his striking green eyes swept the almost- empty restaurant, they rested speculatively on Yamane. His eyebrows went up.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Yamane, who was already drinking to forget.

  “I beg your pardon,” said the man. “Don’t people look at you all the time?”

  Yamane snorted and looked away. Skeeter gave a low laugh he hoped no one heard. There wasn’t anyone in the restaurant right now, partly due to the rain and partly due to the fact that it was three thirty and the real crowd wouldn’t start coming in until later when the first folks got off work in the small medical building across the street.

  “My name is Tucker,” said the man, still trying to make conversation with the elusive Yamane. “Mike Tucker. I’m a rep from Walker Pharmaceuticals. The medical center over there is on my circuit. Call me Tucker.” He held up his card. “I have to say, I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “Well, you’re really quite --” Mike Tucker swallowed. “What?”

  “Testy.”

  “You got that right. Back up unless you have a cell phone and you’ll let me call Japan on it.” Yamane flung his hair. Skeeter chuckled again.

  Tucker pulled his cell phone out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and slid it along the bar till it skidded to a stop in front of Yamane’s glass. “Be my guest,” he said simply. “I’m already dazzled; I don’t care if you call the moon.”

  “Not happening. Can I still make the call?”

  “Sure. You can’t blame a guy for trying.” He shrugged and bit his lip to keep from laughing. “And you also can’t stop him from trying as many times as it takes.”

  Tucker slid his food over to sit next to Yamane, resting his head on his hand. Skeeter watched with interest while Yamane spoke in frantic Japanese for fully ten minutes. Yamane finished his call and handed the phone to Tucker with a dazzling smile. Skeeter worried that he would fall off the bar stool just from looking at it.

  “Oh, my word,” said Tucker.

  “What?” Yamane looked behind him to see what Tucker was talking about.

  Tucker lightly reached out to touch the padlock neck chain that Yamane wore. “You need a bell on that so you can’t sneak up on people.”

  “Do they teach that in southern boy school?” Yamane went back to his sandwich. “Yes, they do, but I rarely get a chance to use it.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the desperate Amerasian queers you meet at barbecue joints.” Yamane held up his lighter and cigarette to silently ask Skeeter if he could light up. Skeeter nodded, giving him permission. He wasn’t about to let the show move outside.

  “Please,” said Tucker, producing his own lighter. “Allow me.”

  At this, Yamane put his head down on the counter and cried. Tucker turned surprised eyes toward Skeeter, who shrugged.

  “Hey, don’t cry, sweetheart.” Tucker frowned, patting Yamane’s back. “Don’t cry. Whatever it is, I’ll try to help. Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

  Skeeter, who watched this exchange with a kind of detached curiosity, worried a little bit how he’d tell Rory it hadn’t taken Yamane a whole sandwich to make another helpless conquest. As he watched the two leave together in Tucker’s expensive two-seater sports car, Skeeter felt a little sorry for Rory, whose princess had just left with another prince.

  29

  Rory sat in his truck with Anthony, eating the hamburgers and fries they purchased. Rory had known Anthony most of his life, as the deputy was only a little older than Rory himself, and they’d run around together in a gang of kids who spent the summers with their grandparents in the small town. They’d chased girls, drank too much, and both had been driven home in the former sheriff’s patrol car a time or so when Rene’s dad was on the job.

  “What’s Rene the third like?” said Rory, just making conversation. “On the job, is he a hard-ass like his dad?”

  “Nah,” said Anthony. “He pretty much turns the other way when the shenanigans are harmless. He doesn’t like drunk driving or drugs, and nobody can go around bully
ing people.”

  “That’s good, I guess.” Rory took a sip of the beer Anthony brought him.

  “He thinks your Grandpère Claude is a riot. He treats him like a national treasure or something. It about killed him to arrest him and see his face so sad.”

  “I’ll bet. I heard Miss Euphonia wasn’t fooled for a minute.” Rory smiled.

  “Oh, no sir, she wasn’t. You can’t put anything over on Miss Euphonia.” Anthony grimaced. “I wouldn’t dare try.”

  Rory sat quietly and watched his childhood friend. His heart was heavy, like after a funeral, when people mill around a cold buffet together and talk. “What happens next?”

  “We wait,” Anthony told him.

  Rory fished another fry out of the sack and ate it. “Thanks for the food.” Anthony glanced over. “Are you scared?”

  “Hell yes. That woman had me beaten and thrown off a pier into the ocean to drown.”

  “I heard.” Anthony’s eyes were wide. “This Yamane fellow; what’s he like? He’s the artist you thought was a girl, right?”

  “Yep. Imagine my surprise.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “You’ll need a long black wig. Straight hair. And I brought his clothes.” Rory swallowed hard. Anthony stared at him.

  “Rory…” Anthony began. “Are you…? Did you care for this guy or something?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Anthony said nothing more, just looked at Rory a little differently, which didn’t affect Rory one way or the other. Pretty soon, the whole town of St. Antoine’s Parish would be buzzing with either the news that Rory had a boyfriend, or Rory got dumped by a guy. Rory was so numb he didn’t feel a thing anymore. He just wanted the whole thing over.

  “You’ll have to move less like a guy and more like a mouse.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  Rory just shook his head and finished his milkshake. “He has this timid way of walking, like he’s expecting something to jump out at him. Unless he’s actually in danger, and then he kind of --” He hoped Anthony was all out of questions.

  “Rory. You know, sometimes all of us feel something for someone we probably shouldn’t. Someone like a guy, I mean. It could just be like that. You know…hormones?”

  “I know.” Rory looked out the driver’s-side window. “But it’s not the first time for me. I don’t think I’m hardwired one way or the other. Just growing up down here… It kind of limited my choices a little. I don’t feel ashamed about it. He’s going to hate me forever for leaving him in Shreveport, but I couldn’t take a chance that woman would kill him.”

  “But it’s all right if she kills me, is that it?” Anthony sounded like he was smiling.

  Rory didn’t turn to look because he had tears in his eyes. Well, shoot. “You’re a highly qualified professional, are you not?”

  “Yeah,” said Anthony. “I wash the sheriff’s car every week.”

  Ethan’s cell phone rang at just about the time he thought it would. “Hello.”

  “It’s me, you shit,” said Amelia.

  “And a gracious good evening to you too,” said Ethan, looking at the clock. Seven p.m.

  “Cut the crap. What do they know, and don’t lie. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  “Basically, they know everything about you, Rory, and Yamane,” said Ethan. “They know you killed the three stooges. They arrested Claude and Euphonia so you couldn’t use them to bargain. I’ve told them everything I know.”

  “Shit, shit, shit,” said Amelia. “You are so damned dead.”

  “Except…” said Ethan.

  “What?” demanded Amelia. “Except what?”

  “Rory’s cell phone number,” Ethan pronounced distinctly.

  “What, what the hell does that mean?”

  “Well, if I haven’t told him, you haven’t told him, and his grandparents haven’t told him, because they can’t, they’re in jail…” Ethan let this percolate. “How could Rory know you still aren’t a threat to his family?”

  “Ah,” said Amelia.

  “Ah,” echoed Ethan.

  “What are you going to want for his phone number?”

  “Out,” said Ethan. “You get his number and we’re done. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Cheap at twice the price. I just want out with my head.”

  “You usually drive a harder bargain.” Amelia sounded suspicious.

  “I’m usually bargaining from a position of strength,” Ethan reminded her.

  “Okay,” said Amelia. “You give me the number, then get out of town. We’re even.”

  You’ve got that right. He gave her what she wanted. “I’m gone.” He hung up.

  Rene Chanfreau stood before him with his arms folded. “Well. Let the tournament begin. Are you really leaving, or will you stay till the fat lady dies?”

  “You mean you’d let me go?” Ethan asked.

  “What can I charge you with?”

  “How about accessory?” suggested Ethan. “Not that I’d be busted up if you didn’t.”

  “The way I see it, the guys in Long Beach who want you can have you. Me? It’s too much paperwork.” Rene looked at Ethan. “Don’t make me sorry.”

  “I’m out,” said Ethan. “I was out as soon as Rory hit the water in Long Beach. I didn’t know about that, you know. Before she did it. After that, it’s all been about staying alive.” He thought about Jeff. “Shit.”

  Rene handed him a beer. “To comrades in arms.” Rene took his bottle, twisted the top off, then held it out for Ethan to touch with his.

  Rory was slumped back in the driver’s seat, waiting. He was watching the rain patter lightly on the hood of his truck when the phone rang. He was finally used to listening for the annoying sound, and for a brief, happy moment, he wondered if it might be Yamane. He looked at it; the number was restricted. He nudged Anthony awake. “Hello?”

  “Well, hello there, Rory Delaplaines. You have something that belongs to me.” Amelia’s voice.

  “Not right here, I don’t,” said Rory. “He’s smoking in the bar next door. Filthy habit; I never let him do it in the room.”

  “Never mind that. When will you give him back to me?”

  “How about never?”

  “How about your grandma never makes you another chess pie?” Amelia growled.

  “What’s my grandmother got to do with this?”

  “Let’s just say if you don’t bring Yamane home to meet Grandma and turn him over to me, Grandma might just find that double-wide she’s living in burning down around her.”

  “Leave my family alone,” Rory ground out. “This is between you and Yamane. Why drag me in on it?”

  “You’re in it because you’re just another dog,” said Amelia. “And I don’t like taking care of pets.”

  Rory didn’t think anything she said could hurt him, but for some reason, the damned dog reference bothered him. “I’m his dog? Ask Yamane what this dog has been licking, Amelia.”

  “You sick, lying bastard.”

  “It’s no lie, Amelia. Yamane’s been done more times than the Macarena, and I’m only the last in a long line of nameless, faceless guys.” Sometimes it really felt like that might be the truth.

  “I know you’re in New Orleans. Bring him, right now, or don’t bother coming at all.” She hung up.

  Anthony looked him over. “So, how’d it go?”

  “It’s on. Yamane and I are expected home.” He put his head in his hands and kept it there so Anthony wouldn’t see the expression on his face.

  “It’s okay, Rory,” said Anthony with uncharacteristic gentleness. “I’ll bet it’ll be over soon and you and Yamane can laugh at it over a beer.”

  Rory shook his head. If Anthony were any nicer he’d cry like a baby.

  “Okay, come on, it’s time to see if I move enough like a mouse to fool the cat.”

  Yamane woke to find Mike Tucker standing next to the couch in his hotel suite with an armful of roses.
>
  “Hello.” Tucker smiled down at him.

  Yamane held his head. It throbbed. “Oh, shit. How long have I been out?”

  “Little while. Six hours. I finished up work for the day.”

  “That’s what I get for drinking.” Yamane rolled over and sat up. “Did you wake up at all? Have you eaten since lunch?”

  Yamane shook his head and got up too quickly. “No.”

  Tucker held out a steady hand. “You know, it’s not very often a man like me gets to rescue a stranded prince.” Tucker looked for somewhere to put the roses. “I have to make the most of it.”

  “At least you didn’t say princess,” said Yamane idly, looking down on the street below.

  “Why on earth would I say that? You don’t look like a princess to me.”

  Yamane let the curtain fall back. “I need to do something.”

  “So let’s go eat.”

  “No. I have to find my friend and --”

  Tucker stepped closer. “When you have me right here?”

  “Tucker,” warned Yamane. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Let me be your friend, Yamane.”

  “I don’t need a friend,” Yamane told him tiredly. “I need to get a grip and see to it that someone I love doesn’t get himself killed, and if you don’t want to help me with that, you can let yourself out.” Yamane waited to see what Tucker would do.

  Tucker capitulated. “All right. If you could just please explain to me what’s going on.”

  “I will.” Yamane pulled the bathroom door shut behind him. He called out, “Have you got any idea where I can find a place called St. Antoine’s Parish?”

  30

  The sky was ominous and rain came down in rivers over the windshield. Rory checked Anthony out of the corner of his eye as he started the engine. Anthony’s disguise would fool no one, especially not Amelia, unless she was looking at him through binoculars smeared with Vaseline. He hoped the weather would help because Anthony could carry an umbrella, which he could hold up to block his face until the last minute. It was hard to see in the rain anyway, and the storm would make the unlit areas around his grandparents’ home dark as pitch.