Death of a Blues Angel

by Sarah Black

  * * * *

  Deke wrote for hours, and when he turned in the story to the news desk, he had made a convincing case for how Leona Washington had died at the Blues Angel. But she was only one of the deaths, in a chain stretching back to Vernon Dahmer's house being firebombed a year earlier. Every death, and violence followed, and the fallout threatened to consume them. To consume Rafe. His heart felt like twisted, aching with pain. The obvious connection that Rafael could not possibly miss was that Blind Pete had been up here in DC, with Leona Washington to watch over him, instead of home in Hattiesburg with Miss Anne Hurt to watch over him, because Rafe had lost his temper and gone after Sam Bowers.

  Deke walked home late. A cold wind was moaning and howling through the streets, blowing icy rain and grit and the last few lonely autumn leaves down Deke's collar, tossing papers and trash against the lamp poles and doorways. It had been dark for hours, and the few Christmas lights in his neighborhood looked lonely and a little bit sad, rather than cheerful—they were trying too hard. Deke didn't think he would ever feel cheerful again. He was already anticipating Rafe's response when he read the morning papers, could feel the tug and tear in his chest when he watched him walk away. He had completely forgotten that Rafe had asked him at Perry's house if he could come spend the night.

  Deke thought at first there was a bum sitting on his steps, but when he got closer he could see a flash of wet silver-gold hair and a guitar. Rafe was huddled inside a thin denim jacket, the collar rolled up, and he was sipping from a little bottle of whiskey. He handed it up to Deke.

  Deke shook his head. “I'm not much of a drinker. You been here long, Rafe?"

  "Couple of hours. I played until it started to rain, and one of your neighbors gave me a quarter."

  Up close he looked chilled to the bone, and Deke pulled him up and into his arms. “Come on. Let's get you warmed up."

  Rafe looked around Deke's apartment with interest, held his arms out while Deke peeled the soaked denim jacket off. “Look how tidy this is. Mama Rose would approve."

  Deke looked around, seeing the place as if for the first time. Comfortable, overstuffed sofa long enough for him to stretch out full length, a pile of books on the coffee table, a quilt on the back of the sofa that his mother had made for him when he was little. He had a big Navajo rug on the floor that he'd brought from home when he came to college. Otherwise the room was full of books and bookcases, with a decent reading lamp next to the sofa, and nothing else.

  Rafe was shivering now, long shudders of cold shaking his frame. Deke wrapped him up in his arms, kissed him. His cheeks felt icy and damp. His mouth was warm, though.

  "Am I going to live, Doctor Deacon?"

  "I think so. If I can warm you up with a little loving."

  "Deke, Blind Pete died this afternoon."

  "I know, baby. You know how old he was?"

  "Eighty-three."

  "Did you have anything to eat yet?"

  Rafe shook his head.

  "Come on, then.” He pulled Rafe into the bathroom, ran the tub full of hot water, then peeled him out of his wet clothes. “You won't need any dry clothes tonight, right? You can stay with me?” Rafe nodded, his teeth starting to chatter. “I'll hang these up next to the radiator. They should be dry by tomorrow."

  Rafe stepped into the tub, yelped a little at the heat of the water, then he sank back, let the water flow around him, and Deke was pleased to see a little color come back into his face. “Rafe, I'm going to get some take out from that place on the corner. Don't fall asleep in the tub and let the water overflow. Turn it off when it gets up to the edge."

  "I won't flood the bathroom. Is it that Indian place? I've been smelling it for hours. Man, garlic, curry, I don't know what it was but it sure smelled good."

  Deke put his hand against Rafe's cheek. “Why didn't you go get you something to eat? They would have let you sit inside, out of the rain."

  "I didn't want to miss you."

  Deke felt like his tongue had grown thick in his mouth. He wanted this, more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted this man in his life every day from now on, until they were aching with arthritis and too deaf to hear each other complain. He wanted to come home from work and find Rafe floating in the bathtub, his skin turning bright pink from the heat, blue eyes looking up, smiling and loving him. Deke leaned over and kissed him, and Rafe reached for his head, held on like he was a life raft on stormy seas.

  "Why don't you move in with me."

  Rafe's face looked shocked, then his eyes got huge. “You mean it? You sure, Deke?"

  "Yeah. I don't know why, don't even ask me."

  "Okay. I mean, okay, I'll move in with you. And don't ask me why, either."

  "Okay.” Deke stood up, and laughed when he realized he still had his raincoat on, buckled around the waist. Good thing, too, since Rafe kept reaching for him with wet hands. “Get warmed up. There's some dry underwear in my dresser in the bedroom, and a robe hanging on the hook on the bedroom door if you want to get out of the tub before I get home. I'll be back ... as soon as I can get here. You like spicy? Vindaloo?"

  "The hotter the better."

  "Good. Me, too."

  Deke went back outside, but suddenly the icy rain and darkness didn't seem quite as miserable as it had just a few minutes ago. On the corner the Punjab Palace did indeed smell good, and Deke ordered a double of Vindaloo curry and Nan bread, and complimented the young girl behind the counter on the Christmas decorations. The little tree in the corner was crooked and a little threadbare, with dangling, colored glass balls, silver icicles blowing across the floor every time the door opened.

  When he got home, Rafe was out of the tub and sitting cross-legged on the end of the couch, wearing his robe, his hair a tangled, wet mess, like he'd rubbed a towel across it and let it go like that. He had a book open across his lap, and when Deke came in they looked at each other for a long minute, and Deke was thinking, did he really mean it? Did he really say ... The same question was on Rafe's face, and Deke could see it when Rafe decided, yeah, okay, he really meant it. I really meant it.

  Deke went into the kitchen for a couple of forks and plates, and he dished up the food and handed Rafe a plate. “I would have bet money you wouldn't just eat out of the container,” Rafe said, holding the plate up to his nose and smelling. “Man, I love this food."

  "That's what I felt like doing when I walked into the Blues Angel and smelled your Mama Rose's cooking. She still trying to convince you to switch to girls?"

  "Well, I don't know.” Rafe was talking around a mouthful of curry. “She did show me a picture of that English girl, Twiggy, and she said we could fatten her up a bit with some good cooking and then she might be a nice girl for me to date. I just hope she isn't writing a letter to Carnaby Street right this minute."

  "Does your mama know you don't have much interest in dating Twiggy?"

  "I think so. We never talked about it, but she's got a sharp eye, my mama. Not much gets by her. Maybe she'll come up here and meet you.” They smiled at each other for a minute, and then Rafe put his plate down and reached for Deke's hand. “I don't know what it is. You and me, I mean. It feels strong between us. Has it ever been like this before with you?"

  Deke shook his head. “I haven't been with very many men. More desperate and horny than anything, and lonely-feeling. I actually thought I might be alone. Always, I mean. Always alone. I never asked anyone to move in before. And I wasn't planning on asking you. How about you?"

  Rafe shook his head. “I have been infatuated a few times and I have wanted to fuck until my head exploded, but it was just sex. Not ever somebody I wanted to talk to much after the sex was done. Or play my guitar for.” He smiled, and Deke felt his belly twist at the sweetness. He was feeling like a fool, and maybe he was acting like a fool, too, but he didn't think it was anything he could control.

  Deke picked up the plates and took them into the kitchen, and Rafe lifted the guitar out of the case and ran his fingers acr
oss the strings. He played something that Deke had never heard before, a Spanish sound that was not the blues, but was sorrowful in the same way.

  "What is that? I love that sound."

  "Flamenco.” He tapped a rhythm against the wood of the guitar that seemed to go with the music. “Don't tell Uncle Jimmy, but I've been studying classical guitar. I thought you would like this. Uncle Perry asked if I'd thought about grad school, about studying music. He's weird, man, staring at me with those eyes. I felt like he was trying to read my mind."

  "You thinking about grad school?” You're calling him Uncle Perry?

  Rafe hesitated, moving his hand back and forth. “I don't know. I'm torn, because music, it feels a bit self-indulgent in this day and age. I mean, there's so much that needs to be done. Maybe I should go to law school, go into politics, or public service, do something useful."

  Deke shook his head. “I don't think that's right, Rafe. You should do what you have a passion for."

  "Aren't you a reporter so you can do some good in the world?"

  He shook his head. “No. I'm doing it for myself. I like finding out things and I like writing. And I have this compulsion to tell the truth."

  Rafe narrowed his eyes. “The truth could be considered to be a bit fluid, my friend."

  "I don't think so. And I don't think I can help myself, Rafael, any more than you could stop making music. I have to write. And I have to feel like I'm telling the truth. Listen, let's not talk about this tonight, okay?"

  Rafe studied him, his face serious. “I can see it's real important to you, Deke. We'll just put everything that belongs outside this room outside, and here tonight is only you and me, and a guitar and a bed.” And Rafe smiled, and his sweetness filled the room, and Deke could breathe again.

  "Oh, I brought you something.” Rafe climbed off the couch and padded barefoot to his wet jacket, pulled something out of the pocket. He came back to the couch and put three tiny, bright orange fruits in Deke's hand. He couldn't tell if they were tangerines or little oranges, but they smelled like Christmas in the South.

  "They're Sweet Clementines. My mama always gets some for Christmas. She sent me up with a little bag so everyone could have something on Christmas morning. You don't mind if we eat one a few days early?"

  Deke started peeling one of the little Clementines, and Rafe curled up on the end of the couch again. Deke could see he was naked under his robe.

  "Deke, you're still dressed, man. You're wearing a tie on your own couch. I bet you walk around this apartment wearing a tie when nobody's here."

  Deke reached up and loosened the tie a bit, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Maybe I wear a tie sometimes.” Rafe eased the robe open. So Deke pulled the tie off and tossed it onto the coffee table.

  "You're gonna win this game, if we're playing strip poker."

  "I think I am going to win. You can take that robe on off. And I'll give you a taste of Sweet Clementine."

  Rafe slipped the robe off his shoulders, let it puddle around his waist. Deke leaned forward and slipped a slice of orange into Rafe's mouth, then ate a piece himself.

  "You might have to turn up the radiator a bit. Or you could just put your arms around me. I'm still a little cold."

  "I can do that.” Deke leaned back, kicked off his shoes, and Rafe crawled across the sofa and snuggled up in his arms. Deke fed him another piece of fruit. “It smells like Christmas in here now. I knew this lady, she would stick cloves in an orange at Christmas, hang it up with a ribbon. Her house smelled good for months after that."

  "You didn't put up any decorations?"

  "Not really my thing.” Rafe's mouth tasted good, a little curry under the orange, and Deke took his time tasting him, smelling him, letting their tongues dance around a bit, and every time the tip of Rafe's tongue touched his he felt it like a blow in the stomach, a little punch of erotic feeling.

  Deke was staring at Rafe's feet, at his little pink toes curled up on the couch. He handed the rest of the Clementine over to Rafe, pulled his foot into his lap and rubbed the bottom. Rafe curled his toes back and forth, sighing with pleasure, and when Deke leaned forward and sucked his big toe into his mouth, Rafe melted across the couch like he was a long pink piece of taffy, left out in the summer sun.

  Rafe was giggling. “Keep going, Deke. You got a wicked tongue, man.” Deke took his time, moving from toe to toe, didn't think he's ever tasted anything so soft and sweet, while Rafe laughed and wiggled and came erect and pulled the robe off, and then he was lying naked and beautiful in front of Deke's eyes.

  His cock was dark pink, bobbing gently against his belly, and Deke worked his way up the inside of Rafe's thigh until he nudged his balls, sucked one into his mouth and let Rafe's curly hair tickle his nose. His cock was already wet on the tip, and Deke ran his tongue up the underside of Rafe's cock until he got to the tip, covered in sticky sweet, lapped him into his mouth, and Rafe groaned and thrust his hips up a little. Deke took him in, let his teeth scrape the long hard length sliding into his mouth.

  Rafe brought his hands down to Deke's face, rough fingers running over his skin. “You touch me like you love me. Like you're making love to someone you know. Do you know me, Deke?"

  Better than you know yourself. And yes, I love you. “Come in my mouth. I want to taste you."

  And Rafe thrust up again and again, his hips moving like they were out of his control, sliding between Deke's teeth, long, slow, low moans, and then shudders and gasps, hands clutching, Rafe's head thrown back, the line of his throat so beautiful and pale and vulnerable, the veins running like great blue rivers under his skin. Deke closed his eyes, swallowed him and sucked on his cock a little more, just until the shudders stopped, then he moved up to that throat, made love to his skin and felt Rafe's wild heart beating under his mouth.

  "You gonna stay with me, Rafe?” Deke felt humbled by the strange ebb and flow of his feelings, like the rush of blood through his heart, and his limbs. “Nobody's expecting you tonight, right? James isn't going to come after me with a shotgun?"

  "Of course not. None of those old men are shooters."

  Except Blind Pete.

  "I don't know what nonsense you got in your mind about Uncle Pete."

  "Not tonight, Rafe."

  "Okay. Yeah, I can stay with you. Get used to it, because I may be here forever. I mean, the Punjab Palace alone would make it worth my while. And your hands, and your mouth."

  "I guess if you bring me Sweet Clementines at Christmas, I'll let you stay.” But his arms were saying something different, holding Rafe so tightly the breath was squeezed out of him. And then they were kissing, kisses full of possibility, full of the yearning, empty places in the heart of a lonely man. Deke filled his arms, filled his mouth, his mind, his heart, and he thought that he would never be happier than he was at just that moment.

  Rafe pulled him into the bedroom, lay back across his bed like a naked god while Deke got undressed. They watched each other in silence, and when he was undressed, Deke walked over to the bed and stared down at Rafe. Rafe reached out, put his hand on Deke's hip. “Look how beautiful your skin is.” His voice was hushed. “Deke, do you want me? You look tired."

  Deke looked down at him and smiled. “Yeah, Rafael, I am tired. But I think I'd crawl across the desert on my knees just to see your face. I'm gone on you, man."

  "Then take me."

  "Take you how, baby?"

  "I want you to fuck me.” Rafe sat up on his knees, reached for Deke. “Fuck me and make me yours. Make me yours forever."

  Deke crawled onto the bed, and his hands were shaking with urgency and desire. “Yeah, I'll make you mine.” His voice was rough, and he wasn't sure he could speak, his teeth were chattering and his cock was pounding with blood that was suddenly boiling through his veins. He took Rafe's body in his arms, took his mouth and plundered it, forcing his head back, hair clutched in his fist, but Deke couldn't wait, his heart was in his throat, pounding so hard he couldn't speak,
couldn't breathe, so he turned Rafe over with rough hands.

  Rafe's back was a long line of ivory, rippled with muscle, his ass a gorgeous round curve. Deke pushed Rafe onto his hands and knees. His hands on Rafe's ass, golden caramel against the pearl-white, and he peeled him open until his beautiful hole came into view, surrounded by a tiny puff of dark-gold hair. Deke was ready to come, the sweet warm smell of Rafe's body pushing him, and it was too much to bear, too much, his cock was starting to pump and he set himself against Rafe's ass and started to push. Rafe couldn't hold still, he was leaning back against Deke's cock. “Harder, Deke. Do it now, do it now, do it now,” and Deke shoved inside, his hands digging roughly into Rafe's hips, leaving bruises.

  One thrust in and he was coming, something in his belly screaming for release, and he pumped against Rafe, so rough and strong he knew he was hurting him, but he couldn't stop, and Rafe was shoving his ass backward with the thrusts, saying his name like he was praying. When Deke finished coming he pulled out, his cock dripping, shoved Rafe over on his back, and fell on him, took his mouth, hands everywhere, rubbed his cock against Rafe's until Rafe was grinding and screaming, his legs around Deke's hips. Deke felt like a lion, his blood boiling up in his veins, and he bit Rafe's mouth, growling deep in his throat, “Mine, you're mine, you're mine, you're mine,” until he realized Rafe's hands had turned gentle, his arms were sweet, his mouth against Deke's was smiling. And Deke kept his eyes closed when the tears came, but Rafe didn't.

  * * * *

  Deke woke up with Rafe's leg thrown over him again, and he thought this was how they'd sleep, curled up together, Rafe's leg thrown over his hip. He felt a pleasant ache in his balls and in his belly and in his heart. Deke pulled away, watched Rafe curl up in a ball and bury his head in the pillow. He put on a pot of coffee and took a bath, and was getting dressed when he realized Rafe was watching him, sleepy-eyed and smiling from the bed. They looked at each other, and Deke picked out a Christmas tie, Navy blue with tiny gold angels. He couldn't remember what had possessed him to buy such a thing, but it had sat in his closet, unworn, for a long time. When the phone rang out in the kitchen, Rafe groaned and rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. “I bet that's Mama Rose, getting ready to tell you to fix me some oatmeal or something healthy for breakfast."