by P. A. Brown
Whatever he was looking for wasn’t going to be found online.
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Chapter 15
Wednesday, 8:00 am, Cedars Sinai Medical Center,
Beverly Boulevard, West Hollywood
CHRIS GOT UP early. He called the car dealer and postponed picking up his new car until Friday.
Today was all about Des. He got yet another cab to take him back to the Nosh Pit where he picked up his Lexus.
Then it occurred to him he needed to call David. He’d want to know about Des. Chris refused to think that he was using this as an excuse to talk to David. He put the thought out of his mind and speed dialed David’s work.
“Detective Laine, Northeast division,” David snapped. He had to have seen the caller ID.
“Hi, David. It’s me.”
“Yes?” David kept his voice cool. Chris’s chest tightened.
“I’m sorry to bother you. It’s Des...” He trailed off. Not sure how to say it. David was being so cold.
“What is it, Chris? I’m working and I’m too busy for this.”
“It’s Des,” he blurted. “He’s in the hospital. He ODed.”
“What?” It was as though an electric charge had gone through David. Chris could almost see him bolting upright, alarmed. “Suicide?”
“No, he says it was an accident. I believe him.”
David didn’t speak for several seconds, then: “What hospital is he in?”
“Cedars Sinai. I’m heading there now.”
“How long are they going to keep him?”
“He was held overnight. They’re springing him today. No psych exam.”
“That’s good then.” David cleared his throat. “Thanks for calling. Listen, I can’t talk. We’re heading out into the field to do some canvassing. You’re sure Des is okay?”
“Yeah,” Chris sighed. “He’s fine. Go see for yourself.”
“Sure, sure. I will.” Already David was drawing away, shutting down. “I’ll go talk to him later.”
“Sure. He’d like that.” He disconnected and sat in his Lexus, his head resting against the steering wheel.
Then he shook himself and drove back to Cedars Sinai.
He stopped in the gift shop and browsed for something whimsical. He saw the crimson crystal roses with silly faces and knew they were perfect. That and a box of Godiva chocolates should cheer Des up.
Des’s eyes opened when he entered the room. He smiled tiredly when he saw the tinkling cartoon flowers. “I thought I was dreaming. You did come.”
“Of course I came.” Chris’s voice dropped. “What happened, Des. What were you thinking?”
Des shook his hairless head. He looked puzzled. “I don’t remember. I was watching TV. I had a glass of wine... I was hoping it would help me sleep.” He sounded plaintive. “But it wasn’t helping.”
“So you took your pills?”
“I only wanted to sleep. You don’t know what it’s like. I just wanted to sleep for a few hours. Is that so horrible?”
“No hon, it’s not. You just need to be more careful.”
“I know...” Des whispered. Then he started crying.
Sorrow tugged at Chris. He sat down on the bed and took Des into his arms, awkwardly patting his gown-covered body. Des’s tears stained his Lacoste shirt. “It’s going to be okay, hon. I promise.”
“They called my parents. I don’t want them to see me like this.”
Des’s parents had moved out of Bel Air years ago and bought a chalet in Switzerland where Des visited, usually in the summer. He had been talking about Chris joining him on his next trip, but that had been before the Carpet Killer and Kyle’s death. Des had put his whole life on hold since then.
“I’ll talk to them, hon. Don’t worry. They love you, no matter what.”
“I know,” Des sniffed. They both looked up when a woman in a white coat entered the room. She smiled when she saw the two on the bed.
“Mr. Hayward? I’m Dr. Markland. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” Des said warily. “When can I go home?”
“Soon. I just need to ask you a few questions.” She looked at Chris who stood up and would have left but Des grabbed his hand.
“Don’t go. He can stay, can’t he, Doctor? He can hear anything we might say.”
“If you like.”
Chris sat down again. Des never let go of his hand.
“Can you tell me about what happened, Desmond? Did something happen yesterday to upset you?”
“Upset me? No, nothing. There was nothing special about yesterday...” Suddenly a look of pain crossed Des’s beautiful face. “No...”
“What? What are you thinking of, Des?” the physician urged.
Chris felt Des tremble under his touch. He wanted to tell the Dr. Markland to shut up, that if Des didn’t want to talk, no one had the right to force him. But another, saner part of him, knew Des had to face his demons if he was going to heal. He had to stop hiding behind his drugs and his evasions.
“Tell me what happened,” she pressed.
Des looked at Chris with despair. “I was cleaning up my studio. You know what it’s like in there, don’t you Chris? All the junk I can’t throw away. You always tell me I’m such a pack rat...”
“Yes, hon, I know the place.” Compared to the messes Chris sometimes left in his office Des’s ‘mess’
was nothing. But Des was such a fussbudget.
Des plucked at the sheets pooled in his lap. “I found an old photo album and thought I might go through and label them. You know how I hate coming across pictures that don’t tell you who or where they were taken...”
Even before his voice broke Chris knew what was coming.
“I came across some pictures we took on that picnic in Griffith Park last summer. You remember, don’t you, hon?”
Chris nodded, wishing he could tell Des to forget that day. He remembered it all too well. Kyle had been in one of his particularly snitty prima donna moods, whining about bugs and sun and overall how life outdoors sucked, ruining the day for everyone. Chris had no idea what pictures Des had managed to take that day that would trigger this kind of response. But clearly it had. The why no longer mattered.
“When we go home later today—” Chris shot a glance at the doctor who remained silent, “we can go through the photos together. You shouldn’t be alone and doing that sort of thing.”
“I’d like that.”
“Can he go home today, Doctor?”
“Dr. Weiser, who I believe has been handling Desmond’s therapy, has been informed of Mr. Hayward’s presence and will no doubt drop in to see you before you’re discharged. I’d prefer to wait for his visit before we talk about discharging you.”
Chris was surprised and a little dismayed when Des agreed quickly, a look of relief on his face.
“Des?”
“It’s okay, hon. It’s a good thing, right? They’ll help me.”
Admitting that had to be hard. Was Des also admitting that his actions had been premeditated? It seemed like the physician might be wondering that too.
“What were you thinking when you looked at those pictures?” Markland asked.
Des stared into the far corner of his room. “I wasn’t expecting to see them...” His voice broke. “I still miss him so much. It’s not fair that he’s gone.”
Chris couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to know. He forced Des to look at him. “Did you do it deliberately, Des? Did you try to make the pain go away forever?”
“You mean did I try to kill myself?” Des shook his head fiercely. “No, I swear. I don’t want that. I swear. I just want to go home.”
Chris believed him. Apparently so did Markland. She nodded. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” To Chris, “You’ll be staying with him?”
“As long as I can.”
“I’ll see you’re not disturbed.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
She left after conferring with the nurse who ca
me into the room.
Chris and Des sat quietly for several minutes.
“Thanks for coming around to check on me.”
Chris shrugged. “I was worried.”
“Good thing. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I forgot I’d already taken my meds.”
“But the drinking, Des. You know you can’t do that with those pills. What was that all about?”
“I wasn’t thinking.” He stared down at his hands. “It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t want you doing something stupid on me, Des,” Chris said.
“I won’t. I promise.” Des’s gaze left Chris. He stared over his shoulder toward the door and his eyes widened.
Chris spun around.
David stood in the doorway, a Starbucks coffee in one hand, a large stuffed tiger Chris recognized from the gift shop in the other.
“Oh,” David said. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. Hi, Des. How are you doing?”
“Good.” Des looked from Chris to David. “Great, in fact. Is that for me?” He looked at the tiger, which David promptly put in his arms. “Thanks. He’s cute.”
David offered the coffee and Des took it. “Thanks hon,” he said, using the endearment as effortlessly as he did with Chris. He gave Chris a mock glare. “All you brought me was candy. You trying to make me fat and unattractive?”
David laughed and Chris blushed. “I thought it was getting too late for coffee,” he muttered.
Des brightened. “Listen, you guys want some lunch? I can order us up something.”
“They have room service?” Chris laughed. “I guess it really is the hospital to the stars.” He glanced at David. “I’d love some lunch. Vichyssoise or a nice French onion soup.” He grinned, knowing the French onion was David’s favorite.
“Sorry, I have to get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Sure, he’s good,” Chris said. “Well, thanks for coming by. I’m sure Des appreciates it.”
“I do,” Des said, smiling. “Listen, I’ll be home later today. Maybe we can do lunch tomorrow or maybe this weekend.” He hugged the stuffed tiger to his chest. “Maybe we can go back to the Mariasol and I’ll buy you that drink.”
“Sure. That would be nice.”
Chris glanced at both of them, wondering about the reference to the Mariasol but not saying anything.
After a pause... “Can you tell me why you did it, Des?” David asked stiffly.
“I didn’t... I wasn’t trying to hurt myself.”
“Good thing you weren’t trying.” David glanced at Chris then back to Des. “That was a jackass stunt, real or not. If you wanted to send us a message I can give you the number for Western Union.”
“Honest, David. It was an accident.”
David shook his head. “I’m trying to believe you, Des. But...” he sighed, “don’t let it happen again, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Chris watched David walk out the door without a backward glance. His shoulders slumped as he turned back toward the bed. Then his eyes narrowed.
“What did you mean going there for lunch? Did you and David go out some other time?”
“Oh, don’t get your Calvin’s in a knot. He took me out to the pier. We talked.”
“About what?”
Des smiled. “You, mostly. He misses you, you know.”
“Yeah, well he’s got a funny way of showing it.”
“Yeah, well David’s a funny guy. No, I take that back. He’s a complex guy, is what he is. You ought to know that.”
“Complex. Yeah, that pretty well says it all.” Chris sighed. “His problem is he doesn’t want to be gay.
And I don’t know how to fix that.”
“You can’t. Only he can chose to accept that or not. I know he loves you. Maybe someday that will be enough.”
“But can I wait that long?”
“You can wait, or you can move on. And you’re the only one who can chose that.”
“I guess we’re in the same boat, aren’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“You can either hang on to Kyle’s memory or you can move on. What do you think Kyle would want?”
Des stared at him for a heartbeat then he shook his head. “You are such a bitch, Bellamere.”
“Yes, I am.” He approached the bed. “What do you say, boyfriend. Do we move on?”
Tears sprang into Des’s eyes, matching the ones in Chris’s. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Let’s take this show on the road.”
He waited for Des to be released then he drove him home. They ordered pizza and drank iced green tea and shared the chocolates. Only when Des grew drowsy did Chris kiss him good night and put him to bed before he locked up and left the house.
Return to TOC
Chapter 16
Wednesday, 1:25 pm, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles
DAVID GRABBED A chili dog on his way back to Northeast. Martinez was already at his desk. They were bringing Señoras Robles in for a formal interview. They had already issued BOLOS or Be On the Lookouts for Torres and Goyo. The owner of the ice cream truck had been contacted but it turned out Torres hadn’t shown up for work for a while. Since not long after the fatal shooting.
David was worried that the Avenue bangers who had tried and failed to kill the two Sureños would be looking for them with more street resources available to them than the LAPD had. He had already called in his CIs to put the word out that he needed to find them. Whether anyone would come through remained to be seen. In the meantime they had other angles to explore.
But not enough. It was never enough.
It wasn’t helping that he couldn’t stop thinking about Chris and how he had looked at the hospital.
Vulnerable and so desirable he had wanted to take him in his arms and never let him go. But that horse was dead and there was no sense flogging it any more.
But oh dear God, he didn’t want it to end like this. Not when he only had to close his eyes and traitorous images of Chris impaled on his cock, riding him into delicious oblivion, appeared. Or the taste of Chris and the sounds he made when he came. All memories he couldn’t expunge no matter how hard he tried.
He hadn’t been back to the Eagle since he’d been there with Chris. He also hadn’t taken any of Blair’s calls. He refused to acknowledge that he was ignoring the sexy leather man. He just wasn’t ready to take that relationship up again.
What had happened with Des scared him. Chris and Des were so close, in a way that had always made David jealous. Not that he thought anything was going on between the two, but rather at their closeness.
To see Des so on edge was a painful shock. If something like that happened to him, who would be there for him? Des had Chris and if Chris ever fell that far they both knew Des would be there for him one hundred percent. Who would be there for David? Had he driven everyone away to the point that no one would be there to stand beside him?
Except Chris. When he had heard that David was in the hospital he had come out immediately, no questions asked. Even after over a month of being separated he had been there. Would David do the same thing for Chris? Or would his fears keep him at arm’s length even then?
He glanced over at Martinez who made it very clear that he liked it just fine when there was no mention of David’s bedroom preferences. Could he fly in the face of that to bring Chris back into his life openly, denying nothing?
He tried to imagine what his life would be like then. His mind consistently shied away from that kind of declarative statement.
But... could he give up Chris because of that?
Martinez got off the phone. “Got a hit. My CI says Torres is on the street. He’s got a hurt on and he’s scoping for some ice.”
So at least one of them was a tweaker. Only a need for methamphetamine would drive the rat out of his hole. David grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, checked his Glock .45 in his shoulder holster and
followed Martinez out to sign a car out of the motor pool.
“There’s a park at the end of Drew. My CI says that’s where the buy will go down. It’s pretty open there. They’ll see us coming.”
“We’ll take my car then,” David said. “That won’t stand out as much. It still needs a lot of body work.”
“Gotta blend a bit better than a Crown Vic.”
Drew was less than a mile from the station, but it was a world apart. They cruised past the razor topped yards on Andrita Street to residential W Avenue 32, finally west on Drew to where it dead-ended. David parked the Chevy in the shade of a tagged Sycamore. Sitting in the car, he studied the park across the street. David spotted the hunched figure scuttling down the incongruously sunlit street. He looked like a hurting unit. Probably why he never noticed the two men crouched low in the front seats of the ancient car.
He ducked into a passageway that led past a covered picnic area. A beat up Impala crawled past the Chevy. David had the briefest glimpse of two Black men. The passenger’s side door opened and a short prison-muscled man with a blue baseball cap and a Pirates sweatshirt strolled across the road toward the park.
Martinez popped his door open and rolled out of the car in a crouch. David waited until he was clear of the door and threw the Chevy into gear, slamming his foot on the gas. Tires squealed and he skidded sideways, blocking the Impala. The driver abandoned the car, bolting across the road toward the open space of the park. David was hard on his heels. “Stop!” David yelled. “Police!”
The driver jinked right, David followed. Martinez went sideways, tackling Torres who had tried to rabbit past his connection back out onto the street.
Legs pumping, lungs screaming for air, David felt a strange exhilaration sweep through him. This was what he did best. Good police work was more fun than anything else, even restoring his classic car. Even Chris.
The driver came to a row of dense bushes and tried another ninety degree turn. David anticipated him and met him head on. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The driver tried to crab crawl through the spiny manzanita ground cover. David hauled him back, yelling at him. “Get down on your stomach. Put your hands on your head, your fingers laced—”
