by Quil Carter
“I feel alright,” Lex said and he yawned. “I’m going to have a shower and call Lariat. Come back to the living room once you’re showered and dressed. Hopefully I’ll have good news.”
Jobe nodded, and disappeared down the hallway that would lead to Sasha’s apartment door. He showered and shaved in Sasha’s bathroom, and like every morning, he felt a spring of hope that perhaps there had been a development during the night. Maybe the cops had found something, or someone had called with a tip––anything, Jobe wasn’t picky.
Forty minutes after waking up, Jobe walked back into Lex’s living room and found Sasha’s uncle on the couch with his black Nokia cellphone in front of him. He was staring at it, but the dead-eyed stare of fear that Lex usually had, had been accented by curiosity.
“Did you get a hold of him?” Jobe asked. He made a move to sit down beside Lex, but Lex ended up standing up upon Jobe’s emergence.
“I did,” Lex said. He began walking towards the entrance of the house. “We have a meeting with him in an hour. So, let’s just leave now and grab some breakfast on the way.”
“In an hour?” Jobe glanced at the clock and saw that it was ten in the morning. “That’s not much notice.” He followed Lex and the two of them began putting on their shoes and jackets.
“He sounded pretty interested in Sasha’s case…” Lex said. He waited for Jobe then the two of them walked out into the warm spring day. It was a little thing, but Jobe felt better that the weather was good at least. He didn’t want to think of Sasha being outside, but if he was…
No, he’s warm in his hotel room. Sasha… he hasn’t even looked out the curtain in days, he hasn’t even noticed that it’s good weather.
Fuck, it’s been over a week. How is it possible that Sasha has been gone for a damn week?
Jesus fucking Christ––he’s dead, isn’t he? That’s the only explanation that makes sense. He’s dead and they haven’t found his body yet.
If that’s the truth… Fuck, it’ll destroy both of us.
The two of them left shortly after and picked up some McDonalds on the way. For the duration, Jobe’s mind was a flurry of questions, the biggest one being… was this private investigator the real deal, or were they about to get their hopes raised and dashed all in the course of a morning? Jobe decided however to be optimistic, if not for him, for Lex.
But that optimism was about to be tested.
“This… is where his office is?” Jobe tried to swallow the doubt when they stepped out of the rickety elevator and into a hallway with a thin, mat-like carpet, and old wooden doors with faded golden plates that held their room numbers.
The optimism had started to fade the moment they stepped out of the truck, the address of the office building Ian Lariat said he was in, leaving a lot to be desired. It was an ancient building, the walls painted white and the linoleum that weird brown-yellow that was popular in the 70’s. In every direction one looked you could see nicks and scratches, painted-over water stains and chunks of tile missing from the floor. The elevator wasn’t any better, and from how the hallway looked, the office was going to be the climax in this orchestra of disappointment.
“This is a mistake,” Jobe said under his breath. “You’re getting scammed, Lex. Let’s go.”
Lex’s lips whitened as he pursed them hard. Jobe was both surprised and crushed to see despair come to Lex’s face, and rapidly, he began losing his composure.
“Shit, baby, I’m sorry,” Jobe whispered. “We’ll look through the Yellow Pages and find a real private detective. Come on, let’s–”
They both jolted when one of the brown doors opened, and out stepped a man about Lex’s age with an anxious look on his face. He had dark brown hair that fell past his ears, black thin-framed glasses in front of an oval-shaped face and a five o’clock shadow.
“Don’t leave until you hear me out,” he said hastily, his eyes pouring nervousness. “Please… come in.” The man, wearing a clean button-down with a black tie, and black pants, turned and walked back into what Jobe assumed was his office.
Lex and Jobe exchanged glances, then Jobe’s eyes trailed the ceiling. Sure to his hunch, there was a small security camera by the elevator, pointing right at them. He’d heard everything they’d said.
Lex turned from Jobe and followed Ian Lariat into his office, Jobe trailed behind, feeling unsure about this entire situation, but determined to see it through––at least for Lex’s sake.
The man was falling to pieces in front of him, and Jobe had to do everything he could to keep him together.
Because… having something else to do was what was keeping him together.
Jobe walked into Ian Lariat’s office and new doubts surged. The office was everything you’d expect it to be after the shabby office building with the rickety elevator. A room about the size of Jobe’s bedroom, with grey-painted walls adorned with paintings looked to have been purchased from Walmart, and the same mat-like carpet that felt like you were still walking on concrete. The furniture wasn’t any better: an old wooden office desk stacked with manila folders, a red desk lamp that looked to have been yanked from one of those boxes of free items you found on the side of the road, and behind it, a filing cabinet by a single pane window that held a red flower in a chipped white vase.
The only thing close to new in the office was the laptop sitting on top of the cluttered desk, and Jobe’s unhappiness with this situation had him thinking that the last client he’d scammed had probably paid for it.
“My name, as you already know, is Ian Lariat,” the detective said. He held out his hand towards Lex and he took it. “You can call me Lariat however. You must be Lex, the uncle, and you are––?”
“Jobe Winter,” Jobe replied. He grudgingly took Lariat’s hand. His handshake was firm which helped, but it wasn’t hard to fake a handshake if you were a master scammer.
Lariat nodded as he shook Jobe’s hand. “Please, take a seat…” Lariat said. He motioned to two fabric chairs in front of the desk, not as bad as the rest of the furniture, but nothing that should’ve left the thrift store in anything besides a dump truck.
Jobe and Lex both sat down, Lex’s face a ghost and Jobe’s suspicious and half-way to angry. The fact that this scam was going to affect Lex so negatively was filling his mouth with an acidic taste. The poor guy had been through enough, and it was enraging that someone would take advantage of a family member distraught over their loved one being missing.
Lariat glanced at his laptop, then clicked several keys on the keyboard. “I want to assure you, no one is listening in on this conversation,” he said. “I will be recording portions of this meeting for my own personal notes however. I’d like to learn as much about Sasha as I can.”
Jobe’s throat dried, making him have to swallow. “With all due respect, Mr. Lariat. We’re not even sure we’ll be using your services,” he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the dark-haired man. His face was deceptively friendly once you looked past the nervousness that seemed to encase him; his eyes were a dark green, his nose pointed, and his chin held a cleft that was almost invisible due to his prickly facial hair. He looked… normal, but that didn’t mean anything.
Lariat nodded, and he licked his lips. “Yes, I understand you have reservations… I did kind of come out of the blue,” he said slowly. He tented his hands on top of the desk, and stared down at them. “Lex, can I call you Lex?”
Lex nodded.
“Is your nephew gay?”
Lex’s face dropped and Jobe’s teeth clenched, anger shooting through him. He rose to his feet. “Lex, let’s go,” he said. “We’re getting out of here.”
“For fuck sakes, Jobe, just sit down!” Lex suddenly cried.
Jobe paused, taken aback by the outburst. Lex glared at him, his eyes filled with burning tears. “Just shut up and let me hear him out,” Lex said, his voice cracking. “Give him a chance.”
Lariat cleared his throat awkwardly, the tips of his fingers drumming together. “I kn
ow it was a rather outward question but everything will be kept confidential.”
“It’s nothing he’s ashamed of,” Lex said quietly. “Nothing that has to be kept secret. I’m gay and Jobe, Sasha’s best friend, is too. But even though we thought it was the case in the beginning… none of this was because of that. His problems… he has a lot of problems but he’s never been ashamed of who he is.”
Lariat nodded. “I understand, Lex. I wasn’t implying that as a reason for his issues. More as… hearing about Sasha’s preference was what sparked my interest in his case. See, ah, I am also homosexual. I also, ah…” Lariat shifted nervously in his seat, his fingers folding then unfolding. “I also have had similar issues as Sasha. See, ah…” Jobe almost felt bad as Lariat struggled over his words. Here he’d been ragging on the dude when obviously, it looked like he was just as nervous having them here as Jobe was of being here. “I’m, ah, I have issues of my own, but they’re completely controlled with medication. You see… I felt a connection to Sasha the moment I heard his story, and even more so after questioning several of your mutual friends.”
Jobe was taken aback by this. “You’ve already questioned people?” he asked.
Lariat nodded. “Dave and his boyfriend. Yes, I have,” he said. Jobe didn’t really know what to think of that. “See, I understand this is strange, having me contact you, Mr. Zakharin, but I feel a strange… kinship with Sasha. I was a lot like him when I was his age, and not just me… I was put into foster care after my parents kicked me out… I was taken in by a family who took in young men also kicked out for the same reason. I have foster brothers…” He paused, and stared at his hands as he seemingly attempted to gather his thoughts. “The base of it, Lex, is that I want to help find Sasha. I have the skills to do so. I know this place isn’t much but…” He laughed lightly. “I take on a lot of pro-bono cases, which usually has me at a loss financially. Rest assured, I’ve been doing this for four years now. I have references…”
Lex began shaking his head back and forth. “No, I don’t need to see them… I’ll take you on. I’ll hire you.” Lariat seemed surprised at this, but not as surprised as Jobe was. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”
“Lex… don’t you think…”
Lex gave him a look that tried so hard to be venomous, but all it held when you peeked past that thin veil of anger, was desperation.
Jobe decided then, to shut up and let Lex do what he had to do. Every day that went by, Lex was getting worse. He was desperate to the point of hysteria over finding Sasha, or any sort of indication that Sasha was still alive.
There were lots of reasons for Lex to feel this way, but Jobe knew that the one emotion that crawled to the top of the clustered heap, was guilt. An overpowering guilt that had spread its disease to every part of Lex. It seemed to cannibalise his already weakened body, leaving him nothing but an empty husk of the vibrant man he’d once been.
And after that last horrible several days with Sasha, everything Lex had had to see, every decision he’d had to make… if Sasha had killed himself, unable to stand the pain, unable to take being so misunderstood by everyone who swore to love him…
Jobe knew Lex would be next.
The thought, all of those thoughts, terrified him.
They had to find Sasha––no matter the cost.
How am I even keeping it together? Having to be strong for Lex is what is stopping me from breaking into small pieces. If it wasn’t for him… I don’t know what I would do, I just know it would be bad.
Boogie, where are you?
Just be alive… just be alive, baby.
Jobe’s reality came back to him when he saw movement. It was Lariat and Lex shaking hands. The deal had been struck, they now had a private investigator out there to try and find Sasha. The most valuable missing thing in all of the world.
“So…” Lariat sat back down, and squared his shoulders. He then reached into his old wooden desk and took out a voice recorder. “I’m going to ask you some questions about Sasha… please be as honest as you can.”
“When did Sasha start acting abnormal?”
“What were some of his favourite places?”
“What was he like? Was he an introvert? Did he make friends easily?”
“Was he naïve? Would he get into a stranger’s vehicle? Was he trusting?”
“Who was he? Who was Sasha Zakharin?”
Jobe’s eyes closed as he swallowed down the whisky he’d just put to his lips. There had been so many questions and he and Lex had answered every single one of them.
Two years ago, maybe two and a half, was when he’d started acting weird, started saying he was getting migraines.
“Does he have any distinguishable scars?”
His arms… his arms were full of scars, from silver to pink, to open stitched wounds.
Sasha––He told us near the end of it, that his blood and his… cum, helped, but it wasn’t helping anymore. He admitted using someone else’s fucking cum. But we think… that was also all in his head.
He suffers from these delusions, but, I know it sounds crazy but he’s a sweet kid, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s wonderful. Sasha has his problems but… we love him.
Jobe sniffed and opened his blurry eyes. The white ceiling of Lex’s house was above him, the edges of it unbalanced from the excess drinking he’d done that evening.
“He’ll find him, Jobe,” Lex said. His words were slurred, his eyes glassy but full to the brim with worry. “Did you hear what he said? He feels a connection to his story. So, he’ll work hard. I know we just need… we just need someone who is looking for him. Not…” Lex’s voice caught in his throat. “Not his body.”
“Shit,” Jobe whispered. He looked over at Lex and when he saw Sasha’s uncle near breakdown, for the third time that day, he lifted his hand and put it on Lex’s knee. “Don’t say that, Lex. We… we promised we’d try and talk about other stuff tonight, right? For our own sanity.”
That had been the plan. When they’d began drinking, they’d both agreed to try and talk about other things. They were sad and burnt out from the past week, emotionally exhausted with no minute of reprieve. Together they’d decided to try and discuss other subjects, if only to give them a desperately needed break from their own feelings.
But although they tried, eventually the conversation went back to Sasha. And now exactly what they’d wanted to avoid, had happened: They were both depressed and low, worried to nausea over their missing nephew and best friend.
“How about we try a game to keep our minds off of him?” Jobe said. He shifted himself until he was sitting in front of Lex, one leg folded on the couch and the other on the floor. “How about we play the question game?”
Lex chuckled dryly, but it was more of a polite chuckle than anything––a pity chuckle. “The question game?” he repeated. “Now that I think about it, our conversations before always revolved around Sasha too. We got closer, the two of us, when he started having problems… because no one else would understand. We don’t really know much about each other outside of Sasha.”
Jobe nodded. “Yeah, pretty much…” He put his shot glass down and shook out his arms. “Okay, I’m seeing this through. The question game. My question is… How many boyfriends have you ever had?”
Lex’s dark eyebrows raised over his blue eyes. “Casual or long-term?”
Jobe thought for a moment. “Give me long-term.”
“Three,” Lex said. “The longest was the recent one. From long-term to long gone. The others were around three to four years before it ended.”
“And casual?”
Lex gave him a look, the shot glass of whisky against his lips. “This isn’t double question game. It’s my turn,” he said. “I know the answer so I won’t bother asking it back. You’ve been single for as long as I’ve known you… but I think you mentioned having a boyfriend once.”
Jobe sucked in a breath, but in a sense of self-mockery. “Yes, my love-life hasn�
�t been the greatest.” He took Lex’s shot glass when he offered it to him, half of the shot remaining, and downed it. “I had a boyfriend when I first started hanging around Sash, but it had been deteriorating for a while and it ended soon after.”
“And casual?”
Jobe winced. “I shouldn’t tell you shit like that. I think if Sasha knew about that sort of stuff… it would bug him.” He moved the shot glass around in his hands.
“Come on, tell me! I won’t tell Sasha, and fuck, you’re a man. Does he expect you to remain celibate? It’s not like you two are dating.” Lex’s head rose, and his glassy eyes narrowed. “I actually have always wondered if you and Sasha… if you’ve ever, you know.”
Jobe’s cheeks burned, and the heat quickly spread across his face. “No, we haven’t.”
“Not even once?”
Jobe flushed with embarrassment over how surprised Lex sounded.
“Not once while you two were drunk, or even a bit of friends-with-benefits to scratch some itches?”
“Oh my god, stop!” Jobe threw his hands over his face, his head shaking back and forth. Lex’s laughter rolled through the quiet living room, lit only by a floor lamp and a table lamp beside Jobe’s head. “Never, never have we.”
“Kissed?”
“No!”
“But you do at least go elsewhere for this need?”
“Yeah… not often, but sometimes it gets to the point where I think I may explode…”
“Me too.”
Jobe looked up from the shot glass, his face still aflame. “I know you do, that’s easy to know. Every gay guy I know has a mad crush on you. Sexy Lexy the hot pharmacist.”
Lex burst out laughing. “Fuck you, they don’t call me that.”
“They do,” Jobe said, his own smile breaking through the embarrassment. “I’m the overly nice punk rocker–” Jobe flicked his left ear, several of his hooped earrings jangling. “–with the weird kid who doesn’t leave his house, and you’re the weird kid’s sexy uncle. I’ve had to hear it many times, bask in the ego stroke it’ll give you.”
