Bait & Hook

by Eleanor Dax

  Casey leaned forward over the table. "Wait, is this the-shit." He tried to remember what Darren had told him. "The Adams thing, right?"

  "How-?" Roy's eyes were sharp. "Darren."

  They stared at one another, and Casey said nothing. He kept his gaze steady, even as Roy's lip curled in disgust. Fuck it, he thought. He was used to being the bargaining chip.

  Roy fished around in his wallet and slapped a bill down. "If that's all you care about."

  Casey did not deign the remark worthy of response. He held the bill taught between his fingers, checking for the magnetic strip in the fluorescent lighting more for show than any real concern.

  Fifty bucks. Not bad, better than expected. He'd been prepared to talk the cop up though, and tucked it away with little more than a small sniff. "All right, whatever. Darren said there was a big arrest, and that a lot of the guys were picked up."

  Roy squeezed his hands tightly into fists. "I just told you that."

  Casey put his hand up, elbow propped on the table. Wait. "He said he's got some deal coming through. He made it sound like there's this huge market here now for whatever he's got, and he's trying to take advantage. He didn't say what it was, but it's definitely drugs. He wants me to move it for him."

  "What did you tell him?"

  "What was I supposed to tell him? He's not exactly giving me a choice, here."

  Silence fell as Roy considered the information. "Okay," he said. "So what does he want you to do?"

  "Push it on my tricks." Casey leaned forward over the table, cupping both hands around his mug. Already, the coffee had cooled. He looked in vain for their waiter.

  "Did he give you any?"

  "Not yet."

  "Hm."

  While Roy thought, Casey rubbed at his throat where Darren had touched him. Darren hadn't squeezed or hurt him, but Casey wondered if he had what Roy would think of it. Not much, he guessed. No one gives a shit what he does with some boy hooker on the side. Suppressing a wince, he stared numbly down at his open hands. The way Darren had touched him, it was further than he'd gone before. Somehow, it crossed a line.

  Until that point there had been talk but nothing more. Darren had wanted him casually and was used to getting his way. Casey had asked around, checking in with some of the guys. Darren liked to dip his stick every now and again, and for the most part they let him. Their little shrugs and eyerolls told Casey, what are you going to do? Easier to just let him have it. Not a sentiment he could argue with exactly, but Casey was sick of guys who always got what they wanted.

  Jealous of them? Fine, okay. He'd cop to that. Tired of playing up to the same old alpha male bullshit, though?

  Abso-fucking-lutely.

  All he knew was way back when, when Darren first made his approach, Casey had danced back and away, every time, and it had all worked fine until the night of his arrest. Now that he was back on the street Darren's advances had escalated, and quickly. He had to do something. One look at the determined line between Roy Parker's brows told him this was it. He just hoped he didn't get burned too bad in the process.

  Casey sighed. That motel room was sounding better than ever. A shower and a full night's rest would do him some good.

  "Listen," he said. "I'm pretty beat. So if you don't mind…"

  Roy looked at him. "What? Oh-"

  Standing, Casey said, "If Darren sees me again-when he sees me-I'll give you a call."

  They stood together, and Roy seemed hesitant, but Casey was firm. Most guys were easy enough to guide along if you were just firm with them, and for now at least, Roy was no exception. Eventually Casey got away and started back to the car. The streets were dead but for stragglers. He found a motel easily enough and took a room. By the time he trudged into it, the first rays of sunlight were just peeking over the horizon. He shut the curtains against them.

  The room was small but clean. He took a long hot shower, cranked the heat, and pulled on his very last pair of clean underwear. Restless, he slept for only a few hours and by mid-morning decided to try something more productive.

  He brought back a few pastries from a corner store and ate quietly at the small table in his room, going through the classifieds.

  He spent most of his days just driving around. It was okay, he did like driving, but gas was killing him and he missed having a home. Someplace to return to. Beyond that his car was old and wouldn't last forever. He needed a place.

  Slow but sure he was collecting a nice sum, making cash deposits at the ATM and watching his savings grow. It was taking time, but it was happening, and Casey felt like he were steady on one knee in the process of finally standing, a man again.

  He'd see what Roy Parker thought of that when it happened.

  Casey stopped in the middle of turning a page. He quickly patted it flat and thought, who gave a shit what Roy Parker thought? He was just some asshole cop.

  The more Casey thought about it, the more sure he felt. Roy Parker was an asshole. As much as Casey wanted to see Darren go down, he didn't like how he'd been roped into it all on Parker's end. And the way the guy talked to him-shit. But sometimes he seemed to understand. Telling him he was doing the right thing.

  Casey scarfed the last pastry and returned to bed, curling on his side and angling the remote. He spent several minutes flipping through the channels, finally settling on an old Clint Eastwood flick, and it wasn't long before he began nodding off. With half an eye on the TV, he let his thoughts tumble back through the day before to his encounter with Darren. Not sure a cocksuck will do.

  Pigfucker, Casey thought sleepily. Son of a bitch was going down, hard, and when he finally did he'd know it was Casey who put him there. Casey looked forward to it.

  His eyes fell shut, the occasional pew-ping of fake gunfire oddly soothing. He thought of what that moment might be like, finally putting Darren in his place. Roy snapping the cuffs and Casey sticking a finger in Darren's face. Ha-ha, motherfucker.

  Roy.

  Casey frowned, and turned his face into the pillow. He remembered those first few moments in the bar, looking the cop up and down. It was a sad joke how hot he was. Casey couldn't remember wanting someone like that in a long time, with that immediacy. That sense of yes.

  His hand drifted down, fingers scratching light over tight curls that were soft and clean from the recent shower. He was always in his car, didn't ever get a chance except when he was working. And that…

  That was different, and he didn't want to think about it.

  Casey thought what if Roy was just a hot trick, just some guy he'd met who maybe did want something weird. Something extra, like Casey had originally thought.

  He remembered admiring Roy's fine square shoulders; not beefy but strong. His fit, narrow waist. An ass Casey wanted to take a bite from. Shit. He rubbed his palm over his cock, feeling his balls go tight, drawing high. He kicked the blankets down and just touched himself, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock and making it last.

  What had Roy called guys like him? Trade. He thought of when Roy had slammed him so hard against the wall, speaking hot in his ear. The pain was a memory, the reality of the experience now hazy. Casey gave himself a squeeze, biting off a deep groan. Thinking about him and Roy in bed, Roy pinning him that way. No. But he wanted it. Shit.

  He snatched up a discarded t-shirt and came powerfully into worn cotton, stroking himself a while after, staring up at the ceiling and trying to forget his fantasy. What was wrong with him lately?

  No way was he sleeping with any cops, evil or lesser evil. Roy Parker might be hot but he wasn't worth anymore trouble than he could blackmail Casey for in the first place. Casey wouldn't give him the excuse for more.

  He slept fitfully until nightfall, then lay awake for the next hour. By eight thirty he stood in line in a near café, hoping to catch an espresso before closing. Back to the grind.

  Roy spent the next few days working late in the pen, snapping at Gomez and drinking too much coffee. Between official cases he
pored over the Adams reports, picking over minutiae and trying not to think of Casey fucking Brown.

  He'd worked with prostitutes before, male and female. He really didn't give a shit. Not for him, but okay. Most of them were wrecked in one regard but Casey? Roy couldn't quite figure him out. He had his issues, sure. No address to speak of. No real job. But there was a steadiness about him like a low, sure flame, and despite himself Roy was drawn. He found himself following Darren more closely than usual, taking risks. Before long it screwed him.

  It happened outside a pseudo-private men's club, amidst the smokers and rejects. The area was packed. Roy had lost him in the crowd and someone grabbed his arm, stepping out from the side.

  "Parker," Darren greeted him. "Hello."

  Roy recovered himself quickly. "Darren."

  "Something I can do for you?" The hand on Roy's arm remained.

  "Haven't see you at the day job lately. Everyone says hi."

  "That's wonderful. What are you doing here?"

  "Wanted to see what the interest is." Roy didn't look away. "Seems like a rough crowd. Just thought I'd check in."

  Darren stared hard at him, and the moment stretched. Finally he let go and stepped back. "You just stick to the other side of town. I've got this." He disappeared back into the crowd.

  Roy stared after him for a few moments, grinding his teeth.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" The voice surprised him. Casey.

  "Me?" Roy looked him up and down. Casey wore that same nylon jacket, zipped to the throat, and now a snug pair of light brown cords. He stood out in the mostly tailored, upscale crowd, but was earning long glances. Roy didn't like it, which flustered him further.

  "Back to work, I see. Listen, beat it tonight, okay? Go somewhere else."

  Casey gave him a weird look. "What? No, I'm meeting somebody." He put special emphasis on somebody.

  "Darren." Of course. Roy told himself to get it together. He said, "So you're in."

  Casey glanced away, rubbing his neck. "Yeah, I guess."

  He didn't look well, Roy suddenly realized. His gaze seemed worn and jumpy, and he wore a pinched, tired expression. When Casey realized he was under scrutiny, he offered a thin smile.

  "Call me when you get out," Roy told him, trying to appease the sudden knot in his stomach. It wasn't much, but under the circumstances it was the best he could do. Darren could not see him here again, but more importantly he could not see him here with Casey. Roy hesitated, finally gripping Casey's shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. Casey's smile turned instantly flat, and he stared.

  He didn't have to look so surprised, Roy thought, slightly hurt. He pulled away, adding, "I'll stay close, but call me. As soon as you get out." He moved back into the crowd.

  Chapter four

  Roy kept his promise, but as the night wore on was tempted to go home and wait there. It was damn cold out and it wasn't long before the rain started up again. He found a dry spot under the awning of a closed grocer and waited there, blowing warm air into his closed fists and peering intently at the bar just up and across the street. When his phone finally buzzed he jumped, wondering if Casey had slipped out the back, but saw by the display that it was not Casey at all.

  "Gomez," he growled. "What is it?"

  Ignoring his tone, she got right to the point. "The Adams case. Your cloak and dagger routine got me interested, so I opened the reports-"

  Roy expelled a slow, even breath through his teeth.

  "I almost didn't notice. I was this close to giving up and then I realized-"

  The pause was unnecessary, in Roy's opinion, but he'd learned Belia Gomez enjoyed dramatics on occasion.

  "-the shit from the docks didn't all make it to the locker. Shit's missing!"

  Roy found himself checking around, just in case. Still no sign of Darren or Casey at the bar, but goddamn it, they could come out any minute. "Yeah," he said tersely, "Can we talk about this later?" The rain fell suddenly harder and ceased. Roy peeked out from under the awning and at the dark skies, catching a quick glimpse of moon before it was again swallowed by cloud.

  "Why, you busy? Doing what? Shit, you working? Where are you?"

  "I'm just out. Listen-"

  "Tell me where you are, I'll meet you."

  "No," Roy growled, and Casey chose that moment to finally appear, his narrow, drab figure easily distinguishable from those in the high-end crowd. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looked cold. Roy almost went to him, but something held him back. Something about the way Casey hesitated on the curb, glancing behind him-

  Darren.

  "Parker? Hello?"

  "Got to go," he said, watching the detective take the lead. Darren guided a reluctant Casey around a corner. "We'll talk about this later," Roy said to Gomez. "Don't call me again." He terminated the call in the middle of an indignant reply, and jogged to the next block. He kept to the shadows, maintaining a healthy distance, and there was that damned boat of Casey's again, just waiting by the curb. Roy stopped, ducking into a closed doorway and peering around.

  Darren was tall, taller than Roy's easy six feet though not by much, and he had a good head over Casey Brown who just stared at his shoes looking like a guilty kid. Not an image Roy would have associated with him.

  Darren said something, Roy couldn't hear what over the constant backdrop of noise in the city. Even on quiet nights like this the wail of emergency response vehicles sang, and impatient citizens on the move blared their car horns. Shouts, laughter, the low buzz of electricity. Roy frowned, straining his ears to hear.

  Something happened. It was too dark for Roy to see clearly, but Darren's arm moved and Casey reacted with violence, ducking quickly away and putting his hands up. His voice carried up the road, familiar now, but all Roy could make out was a firm, "No," and a terse, agitated murmur after that.

  Even more confusing, Darren tipped his head back and laughed. He stepped back, making one last remark before turning finally away. Roy watched Casey watch him go. The minutes ticked by and nothing happened.

  At last, Casey reacted. He spun on his heel and gave his car's front tire a vicious kick before tearing open the door and throwing himself inside. The loud slam echoed up the street, and Roy waited for either a phone call or the car lights to blink on, whichever came first, but there was nothing.

  Chewing at his lip, he checked the corner Darren had disappeared around and finally stepped out. He went to the car, quick and sure to check his six. He moved purposely in view of the mirror, and tapped on the wide trunk twice as he approached.

  A face appeared, white like a ghost at the window. Casey rolled it quickly down. He looked tense.

  Roy checked over his shoulder one more time and ducked down to speak. He found himself hesitating, staring into Casey's dark eyes and seeing how skittish they were. Without thinking he asked, "You okay?"

  Casey stared at him, giving a strange, humorless laugh in reply. "Just peachy," he said, voice tight.

  Roy glanced behind him again, but guessed that Darren was long gone. Maybe at the next checkpoint, maybe the next after that. When he turned his gaze back to Casey it was to find him sinking back into his seat and rubbing his hands over his face.

  "You look exhausted," Roy told him. He meant it.

  Giving his eyes a brief press with thumb and forefinger, Casey dropped his hands into his lap. "Sounds about right." He looked at Roy askance, gaze growing hard again. Normal. "I was going to call you." He words carried notes of accusation.

  Here they were again, Roy thought. "Yeah. Anything special tonight?"

  Casey glanced pointedly at the passenger side seat, where a brown messenger bag sat. "You could say that."

  Roy thumped the roof of the car once. "Great. But not here." He checked his shoulder again. He didn't trust Darren to make one round and call it a night. "Let's take a ride."

  Reply came in the form of a short, irritated sigh. "Why am I not surprised?" Casey moved the bag into the backs
eat. It was a mess there, Roy saw as he climbed in: trash, old cups, a couple of bursting backpacks. Cranking the engine, Casey said, "Wherever we're going, can it be somewhere that has food? I haven't eaten all day and my stomach is caving in."

  In the restaurant, Casey folded his pizza and ate about half in one bite. The slices were huge, dripping grease into sadly inadequate paper plates. Roy shook hot pepper over his and hit the Parmesan cheese a couple times. It was a good late night place, fast and easy with high, private booths. They ate in silence, which was fine by Roy. The brown messenger bag sat in Casey's lap, the strap loose around his arm. At least he was taking this seriously.

  "What took him so long? Darren."

  Casey looked up in surprise, like he'd forgotten Roy was there. He chewed for a bit and drank deeply from his beer, and Roy let him take his time. He figured it did him no good to ride the guy, except maybe that first time, but thinking about that made Roy more uncomfortable than he liked to admit. All he could think was that he could not grab Casey that way again, ever. Feeling his body that way, so close-no.

  "Just talking," Casey said. "He gave me the names of a few bars I should hit if I want to move this stuff. Which I do."

  "What bars?"

  Casey glanced away, tapping the bare crust of his pizza once against his plate. He shrugged. "Just some places in the SoFA District. I've been to them, I just don't really, you know, go. Ever."

  Roy stared at him, wondering if he was lying, and why. Casey would not look at him. Roy wondered then if it were nerves and realized, yes, Casey was nervous, maybe scared, and Roy found himself sympathizing. "Rough place," he said, casual.

  Casey winced. "Yeah, kinda. Maybe, I don't know." Finally, his gaze jumped to Roy's, lingered, but dropped again. Fidgeting. Quiet, he murmured, "I'll be fine."

  The South of Fourth Area covered a stretch of city from Fourth Street all the way to East Marin near the docks. It wasn't exactly quiet after nightfall. From what Roy could tell, Casey tended to stick to bars in the Financial District and Upper Market. Lot of hotels there, and corporate housing, men just passing through. SoFA meant trouble, and as far as sex with men went it catered to rough trade.