L.A. Mischief

by P. A. Brown

  Fortunately there was a kitchen chair in the breakfast nook and he stumbled into it. Martinez stood over Bitterman, snarling into his phone for a bus and a forensic team. He met David’s gaze.

  “They want to know what they’re going to find when they get here.”

  “Tell them I don’t know. Maybe his wife’s body. Maybe a crime scene.”

  “Should have killed the damned dog when I had the chance,” Bitterman said as the dog in question kept howling at the garage door, where no doubt his beloved mistress was interred. Would she have joined the John Doe at Forest Lawn? They’d probably never know.

  “Who was he, Fred? Who was the guy you stuffed in the trunk of your car?”

  Bitterman snarled a non-answer then yelped when Martinez accidentally stepped on his shoulder. “Sorry about that. Clumsy me. Let’s go take at look at what’s got your wife’s doggy in such a state.”

  David pressed his hand into his side and followed. Half way there he faltered, feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over him. He had to lean against the door frame leading out of the kitchen. Instantly Martinez was at his side.

  “ Dios, Davey. You got no business getting up. You loco , man?”

  David blinked at him. “I have to know.”

  Martinez shook his head, but knew better than to argue. With his help David made it to the door that led out to the garage. The dog stopped barking and looked at them expectantly.

  “She in there, guy?” David asked the dog who cocked its head at the two cops. Martinez popped the door open. Immediately they could smell it again. The faint underlying stink of blood and excrement.

  She was wrapped in a tattered sleeping bag just inside the garage door. The outline of the body was clearly visible under the dark blue material. A workbench covered in tools sat along one wall. David quickly spotted what he suspected was blood, plus a roll of large black garbage bags like the dismembered corpse had been stored in.

  Martinez didn’t touch anything. He grabbed the dog when it darted passed them and tried to paw at the wrapped body. That was all the ID they needed for the time being.

  Retreating back to the kitchen, Martinez again approached Bitterman.

  “Why’d you do it, Fred? What did she do that pissed you off so much?”

  David made a leap. The obvious sexual nature of the original crime had nagged at him from the beginning. “They were lovers.”

  Both Martinez and Bitterman looked at him. “The missing penis. Remember, Martinez? We thought it was significant.”

  “You cut his dick off?” Martinez asked, looking at Bitterman. “Man, that’s cold.”

  “Bastard deserved it. He was going to tell Meredith. I told him that would ruin everything, but he didn’t care.” Bitterman’s voice was thick with self-pity. “He was going to ruin everything!”

  “He think you were going to leave your wife for him?” David asked gently.

  “Yes. How could he believe that?”

  “Maybe he really loved you.”

  “He was a hustler. I picked him up in West Hollywood two months ago. Why would he think I could love him?” Bitterman seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “Some folks are thick,” Martinez muttered. “They see what they wanna see.”

  Bitterman curled up on the floor around his restraints. “He was going to ruin everything. I had to stop him, didn’t I?”

  “Did your wife come home early?” David couldn’t let it go. “Did she catch you with the body?”

  Bitterman squeezed his eyes shut. “He ruined everything,” he whispered.

  They could hear the wail of a siren approaching. Within minutes an ambulance pulled in behind the Nissan and three EMTs thundered into the house. They bustled around David and got a blood pressure cuff around his arm and cut away the rest of his shirt. They flushed the wound with saline and scrambled him onto a gurney which they rolled out to the ambulance. On the way out they passed a squad of photographers, evidence technicians, and a pair of Ventura County Sheriff’s detectives.

  The ambulance door closed and they began the ride to the hospital.

  Wednesday, 6 pm, USC General

  David looked around the hospital room, his head aching, still feeling groggy from the anesthesia and painkillers. Martinez had been waiting when he was wheeled in after surgery and a stint in the recovery room. “They put you in a double, Davey,” he has said, “but you won’t have a roommate. I made sure of that.”

  David had nodded. A private room was a little perk often provided to injured officers.

  He had dozed through most of the afternoon, not remembering when Martinez had left. Now he looked up, seeing Blair standing in the doorway.

  Instead of the leather gear David was familiar with on the muscular black man, Blair was dressed in black jeans and a polo shirt. He looked good—affluent, rested, happy. EMTs make that much money?

  he thought to himself. David pulled the sheet up, noticing the IV that was in his arm.

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Bartender at the Eagle sees another cop, a Bryan Williams? You know him?”

  Bryan had been instrumental in getting David through his outing, probably saving his career; certainly his sanity. He nodded. “Sure, I know him. Didn’t know he went to the Eagle.”

  Blair went on. “I hit the bar for the early happy hour and he let me know.” Blair pulled up a chair and handed David a package. “I bought this a few days ago—was going to give it to you the next time we got together.”

  David opened the simply wrapped package and found a full gleaming chrome and leather harness. He half pulled it out then recognized what it was and stuffed it back in the box. The smell of warm leather filled the room. He felt a wave of nausea sweep over him and he groaned.

  Blair took the box from him. “Maybe this isn’t the right time,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize how bad it was. The bartender said it was just a flesh wound.”

  “I was in surgery for two hours,” answered David, by way of explanation. “Lots of flesh, I guess.” He smiled wanly. “Thanks for the present.”

  Blair gave him a sly smile. “Always wanted to see you in some gear.” He licked his lips. “I know you’d look hot.”

  “Blair...” David wanted to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to give him such a gift, but even as the words formed he felt the stirrings of an erection. God, he was really losing it.

  “No rush,” said Blair. “When you’re feeling better we’ll gig you out.”

  David gave up. “Can you take it back to my place?” He had given Blair a key once he had started spending nights.

  “Sure,” he said. “Since I’ll be at the house, anything you need?”

  David paused. “Maybe a change of clothes. My shirt is history and there’s probably blood on the pants.

  And you’ll find my book beside the bed. It’s the one with the bookmark. Not much to do here but watch TV.”

  “You got it. I’ll bring everything over in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Blair.”

  Blair looked at David’s “dinner” on the tray on the over bed table. Jello, apple juice, and a bowl of chicken broth. “When are they going to let you eat real food?” he asked.

  David shrugged. “I don’t know. All these years on the force and this is the first time I’ve ended up with a knife in my gut. Maybe tomorrow?” David gave him another wan smile. “You’re the EMT. You should know.”

  Blair chuckled. “Yeah, I only see folks in the ambulance on the way to the hospital—not afterwards.”

  David’s eyes started to drift shut and Blair stood up. “I’ll be going,” he said, motioning with the box.

  “See you in the morning.” After checking to see if anyone was in view, Blair stooped and kissed David lightly on the mouth. When he straightened he was smiling.

  “Later.”

  Then he was gone and David found he was missing the man before the door even swung shut. When the nurse came in to take his vitals he barely acknowledged he
r. His supper sat on its tray, untouched.

  Return to TOC

  Chapter 7

  Thursday, 7:30 am, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, LosAngel es CHRIS ROLLED AWAKE groaning as his head throbbed and nausea launched an assault on his stomach. His teeth felt slimy and his tongue was thick and fur covered. He could still smell the stink of sex and poppers. God, not again. But the bed beside him was empty, though he had a vague memory of someone. Dancer. Broadway dancer. Star. Right, Star, the incredibly lithe dancer of the dexterous mouth and talented cock. No, wait, that was the night before. Last night had been who...? Miguel. Another conquest from Man2Man. The hot, dark Latino had enticed him with descriptions of acrobatic sex and a monster uncut cock. The cock part had been a lie. The acrobatic part wasn’t too far off. Chris’s whole body ached. At least this time he was pretty sure they had used condoms.

  He sat up in bed, letting the sheets pool in his lap. He sank his head into his hands. What the hell was he doing? What was wrong with him? Was he trying to get himself killed? Make himself sick? He’d managed to escape this long without the virus, was he intent on reversing that good luck?

  He crawled into his shower and did his best to scrub himself clean. He dressed with care, pouring coffee down his throat as he went through his BlackBerry looking over his schedule. He was supposed to see Phil DePalma, from Pharmaden about some work he was starting next week. He had never felt less like going to work in his life. But he couldn’t afford to screw with his single biggest client.

  If he wanted to fuck up his life that was one thing, but messing up his livelihood was pure insanity. Had he really fallen that far? It was time to put the brakes on his behavior before he did irreparable damage to the really important things.

  He finished up with Pharmaden early and spent the rest of his time there cleaning up loose ends, leaving with a feeling of a job well done. He made the night even better by resisting the urge to stop at the Nosh Pit for happy hour. Instead he drove out to Des’s place and cooked them one of their favorite meals.

  After dinner they sat in the living room sipping the lemonade Chris had made as a non-alcoholic peace offering.

  “This tastes good,” Des held up the frosted glass and smiled. It was the first smile Chris had seen in ages. He grinned back.

  “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it.” Suddenly Chris’s look turned sly. “You interested in a walk on the wild side?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We could hit the Nosh. Tonight’s retro night. Abba and Donna Summers.”

  Des’s smile faded. “So this was a lie?” He held up the lemonade.

  “We don’t have to drink. I can live with a virgin Daiquiri.”

  “You want to go out?”

  “Why not? It would be good for both of us.” Chris crossed his fingers over his chest. “Swear I won’t try to pick up anyone.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” Chris took his hand. “Come on. We need to do this.”

  Des stood up. “Let me get dressed,” he said with the first enthusiasm Chris had heard in a while. His heart lightened as he followed Des into his bedroom.

  10 pm, The Nosh Pit, Hyperion Boulevard, Silver Lake, LosAngel es If Ramsey was surprised to see Des with Chris he didn’t let on. Always the soul of discretion, that was Ramsey. Once he collected their drinks, both virgin, which raised an eyebrow on Ramsey’s part, Chris led Des to a table in the back where they could watch the action on the dance floor but still carry on a conversation.

  Ramsey was deep in conversation with some guy at the bar. He kept throwing glances at Chris and Des.

  The guy left the bar and so did Ramsey, putting his Tongan waiter in charge while he approached their table. The look on his face alerted Chris.

  “What?”

  “I was just talking to a bartender from the Eagle.”

  Chris had been to the leather bar once or twice. It wasn’t really his thing, though he’d had no trouble admiring some beefy leather men. “Thinking of moving into new territory? Going to get us all into leather and spandex and rubber?”

  But Ramsey didn’t respond to his joke. “He heard something about David.”

  Chris’s radar went into alert mode. “David?”

  “He’s at USC General—”

  “Christ!” Chris bolted upright. “What for?”

  “He was stabbed while he was making an arrest.”

  “Stabbed—” Ice invaded Chris’s gut. His heart slammed into his chest and his skin felt clammy. “My God, is he okay? Is he—”

  “I hear he’s fine. Had some stitches put in, but nothing serious.”

  Chris barely heard. He stood up, looking pleadingly at Des.

  “I have to go, Des—”

  Des put his hand on Chris’s arm. “It’s late, hon. Visiting hours are probably over. We can go first thing in the morning.”

  “We?” said Chris stupidly.

  “Of course. You’re there for me, I’m there for you.”

  Chris looked down at his drink. Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but here, at a bar. “Let’s go,” he said. “I want to get a good night’s sleep and I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning.”

  Des grabbed his jacket. “Of course.”

  Chris barely nodded. Ramsey clapped him on the shoulder. “Say hi to the big guy for me, will you. Tell him I miss his ugly mug... nah, don’t tell him that. He’ll only get a swelled head. Just tell him to get well.”

  Friday, 9:00 am, North Palm Drive, Beverly Hills

  The next morning, Chris picked up Des who was waiting for him, standing on the front step. They sped down Sunset east toward the County Hospital. At the front desk Chris found out what room David was in and would have plowed straight ahead if Des hadn’t put his hand on his arm to stop his headlong rush.

  “Think about this for a minute. David isn’t expecting you. He’s going to be surprised.”

  “So?”

  “You might want to think about what it will be like if he’s not... happy surprised to see you.”

  Something hard settled in his chest. David not happy to see him? He remembered all too well the look of relief he had seen on David’s face when he told him their six week relationship was over. He had sworn then he would never let David hurt him like that again.

  Now he was all set to throw all that resolve away because some punk had put David in the hospital?

  “I have to see him, Des. You can stay here if you want, but I’m going to see him.”

  “No, I said I’m going with you, and I will. Hell, I want to see him too. Maybe I can give him a piece of my mind.”

  “Des.”

  “I know, I know.” Des ran his fingers across his lips. “Sealed.”

  Chris ducked into the gift shop and fretted over what he could buy for David finally settling on a box of chocolate covered cherries, one of David’s favorites.

  Meal carts were being reloaded with dirty breakfast trays. The door to David’s room was half opened.

  Chris slipped through first. He paused inside the door and took in the sight of David propped up in his bed, a broad white bandage wrapped around his shaved abdomen. Chris stared hungrily at his familiar craggy face and his fur covered chest, wishing he could settle himself into David’s arms and find relief for the gut wrenching loneliness he’d felt since David left. He ached for what he had lost.

  David looked up at his entry, opening his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. His eyes widened and he swallowed abruptly, clutching the thin sheet around his belly.

  “Chris.”

  “David.”

  “What... how did you...”

  “Ramsey heard about your... accident. I had to come and see if you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. Uh, thanks... You didn’t need to.”

  “Yes,” Chris said. “I did.”

  David’s face brightened. “Well I’m glad you came. It’s good to see you again.” He paused and Chris heard Des enter the room. David smiled. “Des, good to see yo
u, too. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing okay.” His gaze darted from David to Chris. “Chris has been a big help. I’m seeing a therapist, you know.”

  “Chris told me. I’m glad to hear it’s going well.”

  “When are you being released?” Chris asked.

  “Maybe this afternoon, maybe tomorrow. Depends, I guess. You know doctors.”

  Chris glanced at Des. He had been hoping to do this alone, but he wasn’t going to pass up this chance.

  He might not get another.

  “I’d like to see you again,” he said quietly.

  David’s eyes darkened. “You would?”

  “Yes. On your terms. However you want it. Where ever you want.”

  “Chris—”

  “Please, David. Don’t say no right away. Think about it. Let’s talk at least. Can we do that?”

  “I... sure. We can talk.”

  “Right. It’ll be good to talk. I can pick you up when they discharge you. Save you taking a cab. How’s that?”

  “Sure, Chris. I’ll let you know.”

  Belatedly Chris handed David the chocolates he’d bought. “Didn’t have time to get to L’Artisan. I promise next time.”

  David smiled and accepted the gift. He put it on the tray containing his uneaten breakfast.

  “Food that bad?” Chris smiled.

  “It’s not that—”

  Suddenly the door swung open and a muscular black man strolled in carrying a bag from Starbucks. He stopped dead when he saw Chris and Des.

  “Oh, didn’t know you had company. Sorry, I’ll come back—”

  “That’s okay, Blair. They were just leaving.”

  Chris stared as the good looking man walked over to the other side of the bed and set the sack of food down beside his chocolates. David looked all too familiar with this stranger and Chris felt nauseated.

  He grabbed Des’s hand and beat a hasty retreat. “I’ll see you later, David.”

  David barely looked up long enough to say goodbye before Chris fled.

  Outside the room Chris leaned against the wall, hyperventilating. Des grabbed both hands in his and rubbed them furiously. “Get a hold of yourself. Don’t you dare fall apart on me. It might not be what it seems—”