by Dan Glover
Allen Picany was a big deal in those days. A mover and a shaker, or so Hank said. Supposedly the man had connections that went all the way to the White House. Hank claimed Picany was on a first name basis with not only the governor of California but both United States Senators from the state as well as the Speaker of the House, some Texas cowboy who had three quarters of the House of Representatives in his hip pockets.
Of course all that notoriety did the man no fucking good at all. Did any of them come to his aid when his daughters mysteriously vanished not two blocks from their home? No. By then, though, Allen had somehow managed to destroy not only a burgeoning business—run it right into the ground—but to alienate his family with his incessant drinking.
Oh sure, Hank made all sorts of excuses for Picany—oh, that poor man... lost both his daughters... no wonder he drinks like he does—but the truth was Allen was hitting the sauce heavy even when the girls were little. She knew. There were times when he'd show up at the door to pick them up reeking of alcohol so badly she wondered if she should allow them to go with him or instead call the police. But what would they do. Nothing. Picany played poker with all the cops every Saturday night.
Why had Hank insisted on getting involved with those people? It all boiled down to Paula. Hell, Hank was screwing her way back when, just like every other swinging dick around. Oh, they thought they hid it well, but that sort of shit had a way of showing, at least for those who could see.
It was such a shame... losing those girls like that, right when they were ready to enter the prime of life. That's when she'd stopped seeing Paula. She'd heard the woman nearly suffered a breakdown over the tragedy, and Allen too. Before that happened they often spent weekends together at the Picany's Malibu home, the four of them, with Allen and Hank teasing one another about swapping wives though of course no one wanted the sow... that was the joke... and she was the butt of it.
She'd grown used
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To the fat jokes. Back when they first met, Hank had been attracted to the girl she was hanging with named Jani Tuttle... a slim bottle blonde just as dumb as the day was hot. She could tell right off how Hank was fixated on Jani. But then again all the boys were. They'd gone dancing. Jani liked going to the bars with fat Sally since the boys invariably fixated on the blonde and not the elephant in the room.
Hank was no different. He went prowling after Jani like a buck in rut, a Navy boy on leave dressed all in shining white and offering to buy them both drinks even though they were underage and he could get into trouble for it. Let me buy you girls a margarita, he kept saying. And Jani just smiled and waltzed her way right out onto the dance hall with another boy leaving the two of them uncomfortably close together. For a second she thought sure he'd follow the blonde but he didn’t.
She still didn’t understand why. Even after all the years of marriage she never got why Hank chose her over all the others. She always told herself she had a pretty face but didn’t all fat girls say that? She thought so. A big beautiful woman... that's what he called her. And she believed him, at least enough to say yes when he asked for her hand.
She wanted to see him look at her again, just like he used to do. Maybe if she invited Paula over he'd see what a mistake he'd been making... that fat Sally was no more. And failing that, well... she had other plans. Either way she wasn’t letting Hank go without a fight.
Chapter 34—Lost Wages
(And Sick Dogs)
1
He'd been working out when Danners Forthright called. When he saw who it was he nearly let it go to voice mail but on second thought he could use some work. Hopefully that's what this was about and not another sob fest. Poor old Danners... emphasis on old.
"Reilly... we'd like to hire you."
Thank Christ. Not I want you. We. That meant work. Surveillance, most likely. Right up his alley. Ever since he'd been forced to resign from the FBI work had been a commodity far too precious to turn down, even if offered up by an old queer who might well still have eyes for him.
He'd had to cancel the gym membership two months ago. Luckily, no one paid too much attention to such niceties like that here. They were used to his pretty face, bless them. Never even bothered to look him up in the system. Never confiscated his key. Nothing cleared his mind like a good cardio workout.
"Tell me more, Danners."
"Two hundred a day... could be a week's work, maybe two. Local. We need a tail. We need you, Reilly. Can you help us?"
"Two fifty a day, Danners... and guarantee me two weeks. Give me that and I'm all yours, sweetheart."
"Done. When can we meet?"
"No time like the present. Where are you, Danners?"
Fuck. He should have asked for three hundred a day. Plus expenses. They'd have paid it. Now it was too late, though. Hell, it was all a negotiation. Even in the company of old friends and lovers. Especially then. Everybody was forever trying to get over on everyone else. That's what was wrong with this shitty ass world. No such thing as compassion.
Still, Danners said the job was local. That was a plus. Last time they dragged him all the way down to Mexico. Ended up losing his job over that one. Not that it was Danners' fault. Or Liza's. They'd been nothing but good to him. No, it was his own fuckery that prematurely ended his short and lackluster career with the Bureau. If that cocksucker Hoover was still in charge you better believe he'd never have been shitcanned. Faggots had a champion in those days, or so he'd heard.
He wrapped up his workout the usual way, by using the incline. Forty percent. Three miles an hour. Within five minutes his legs were on fire and he was covered in sweat. He went another five and called it quits. No sense overdoing it. Besides, he'd told Danners he'd meet him at Bernard's in an hour. Just gave him enough time to shower, dress, and drive over to Pomona.
Danners Forthright, the impotent queen himself... little Miss Needy Nancy. Not that things ever made it that far, but Reilly had gotten around enough to know the signs. Normally he'd never have anything to do with men like Danners but he felt sorry for him. That puppy-dog look in his eyes... the hang-it-all expression. No one loves me, boo fucking hoo. No wonder... have you bothered consulting a mirror lately?
Silly him... Reilly actually thought Danners and McNairy were a couple when first meeting them in person. He hadn’t realized it at the time but he'd been instrumental in getting Forthright released from prison just a few years prior.
He'd been sitting a dive bar down on Fairfax watching the pair of them on television braying to Dr. Phil about a cold case they helped to solve when he turned around and lo and behold, there they were, big as life and twice as gorgeous. Or at least Liza was. Danners, not so much... the man had one of those scarecrow appearances and his skin was way too pasty
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Even for a white dude. On the other hand, his lady partner was a knock out... platinum blonde with a quirky red streak that wrapped around her shoulders, enormous breasts, and though she seemed older, the woman had the look of a minx about her. Reilly couldn’t help wondering why half the guys in the bar weren't falling all over themselves to get to her.
"Excuse me... but didn’t I just see you two on television?"
The words sounded stupid as soon as he spoke them. Oddly, he couldn’t even remember walking over to their table. He just sort of woke up standing there and when the two of them looked up at him quizzically he didn’t know what else to say.
"Sit down, please, and have a drink with us. I'm Liza McNairy and this is my partner Danners Forthright. And yes... we were sitting here watching ourselves too. It never gets old, does it, sweetie."
So they were a couple. Reilly'd pegged the guy as a queer... the way he dressed, how he comported himself, all pointed to an alternative lifestyle. But then again, maybe they were simply girlfriends. That happened a lot in the gay community. Women seemed unduly attracted to homosexuals. Maybe they felt safer around them knowing they didn’t have to keep up pretenses.
Liza's friendliness and candor
caught him off guard. Most patrons in places like that were standoffish and rude, especially those who deemed themselves celebrities. Reilly had spent the next two hours sitting and drinking with two complete strangers and when Danners asked him to lunch the following day he found himself saying yes despite himself.
Later that night he had the most erotic dream, not about Danners Forthright, but about Liza McNairy. Had he somehow missed his calling? Being a black homosexual was hard enough but now having doubts whether he was really queer sent him into a tailspin. By the time he recovered he'd lost his position with the Bureau and managed to nix nearly every relationship he'd cultivated over the past ten years.
Not that any of that mattered. Being ghetto, money had never meant much to him and most of the people he knew were little more than hangers-on, wondering what an FBI agent could do for them should they ever find themselves behind the eight ball. Nothing. Not a goddamned thing. Maybe in another time and place, but now, in the middle of the second decade of the 21st century, any sway that being with the Bureau once held had melted away like snowflakes in southern California.
He'd been one of the token blacks, hired to fill a quota. He knew it and so did everyone else he worked with and for. He talked white and he dressed right and his dreads weren’t so long that he'd scare old ladies. All pluses in the Bureau's eyes. In time he'd manage to find his niche... barring that he'd bust out, either of which suited his superiors just fine. They'd done their part.
Momma'd sure been proud of his accomplishments. He didn’t see her enough these days. Told himself he was too busy but he knew better. She'd worked her entire adult life to help put him through college. It seemed to him that the highlight of her life was his acceptance as an FBI agent.
"I'll be able to buy us a real home, momma, in a nice neighborhood... you can stop working too."
"Never you mind all that, Reilly... just be a good man... marry yourself a pretty girl and start a family... that's all the Lord wants from you."
He'd never come out of the closet to momma. He never would. How could he? Hey, momma... about marrying a girl... that shit ain't a gonna happen because I like the boys way too much. Now, all of a sudden he was dreaming about a blonde with big tits and a wiggle in her waggle that might well turn even that old fag Władziu Liberace straight as an arrow. Had he somehow been mistaken about his sexual orientation
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For the first thirty five years of his life? It was sort of like waking up one morning to see a white dude staring back at him when he stood in front of the bathroom mirror to shave.
"I'm sorry, Danners. I don’t think we should see one another any longer. It isn’t you. It's me."
Breaking off their relationship—if you could call it that—hadn't been as difficult as he imagined. Danners Forthright seemed to know what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth. Hell, maybe the man dreamed about the breakup already. Not that they were ever really an item. Every time he tried to get close to Danners, the old faggot pulled away. Finally, Reilly came to doubt whether the man was actually queer at all.
He saw the way Danners looked at Liza McNairy. The way his eyes lighted up each time she walked into a room. Christ, there were times when he was jealous of the girl, resentful of the hold she seemed to have on Danners. In time, though, Reilly caught the same fever... the unbridled desire to know what it was like to make love to a woman like Liza McNairy, even if it was just one time.
Of course he never acted on it. He knew better than to go there. It was fairly obvious the woman didn’t share his amorous affections even from the beginning and as the years flew by he got the distinct impression she liked him less and less. Girls always seemed repulsed by his presence. Maybe that was why he turned to men instead.
Some people were cat people and some were dog people and as far as he knew they never changed though a few were both. He'd always been a dog person. Even while growing up down on Central in the thick of the ghetto, he'd had a succession of dogs. The little buggers didn’t seem to last long in that environment, sort of like people. The soil was doubtlessly impregnated with a million different carcinogens and of course the plethora of hypodermic needles sticking up out of the ground didn’t help matters either.
Once they took sick, there was no money to waste taking them to the veterinarian. So little Reilly got to watch his pals slowly succumb to whatever disease was ravaging their tiny bodies weeping puddles for their plights and swearing to Almighty God in Heaven that if only He'd grant the pooch a second chance he'd change his ways. But prayers were never answered, at least not in that old brick house down there on Central Avenue.
"I don’t know why you insist on dragging that puppy home, Reilly. You know we can't afford to feed our own selves. Take that critter back to where you found it."
"But momma... he'd make a great watchdog when he gets bigger."
Now, he was the watchdog. He had access to the technology to surveil anyone without them suspecting a thing. The Bureau had taught him well before it spit him out like a big bite of wormy apple. Given time, he might even make a decent living from his skills... and Liza McNairy and Danners Forthright were his meal tickets. At least he hoped they were.
Chapter 35—Twins
(Once and Again)
1
They were all such little boys. Even the hardest of men. She expected more from Hank Lupo but she should have known better. It was funny. Just last week she was a compliant cow of a creature languishing in her own putrid thoughts and now? Now she shined like the morning star. Lucifer unbound, as it were. Venus in all her splendor.
Allen must have noticed it too. Was it simply an aspect of the mania that accompanied her withdrawal from the medication? Was she bound to crash and burn like every other time she tried to let it go? Or was there something else burning inside her? Something unexpected and sublime. The fear had vanished along with the anxiety.
Hell, she should've taken up the dominatrix lifestyle a century ago. Heretofore she'd lived her life like a docile little dormouse twitching her nose and wiggling her ass any time a man shoved a dick into her. She never realized the power of men until she strapped one on and fucked someone herself. She'd never taken Hank Lupo as a submissive type but he surprised her. He seemed to enjoy their play every bit as much as she did.
"Don’t worry, Hank... it'll fit."
She thought he might get up and run when he saw what she pulled out of her handbag. Christ, she needed to buy the bag special just so she'd have a way to carry it around. After all, she couldn’t go walking down the street with a foot long dildo clasped in her hand... or maybe she could. Might be an interesting way to meet strange new people and have a little fun while she was at it.
"What the hell is that for, Paula? Are you worried about my little problem so you brought along a toy to play with?"
Yeah, his little problem. That was a hoot. An aptly named hoot too. Emphasis on little. Why were all the men in her life average at best? Sometimes when Allen was passed out from drinking all day and half the night she'd put on some porn... the really filthy stuff... and watch the girls taking ten and twelve inches while wondering how the hell she could find a man like that. Advertise? Maybe. She'd seen the ads. Wanted: BBC... big black cock... was that what it meant? She thought so. Contact Paula Picany right away at... only she never had the nerve.
Now, though, she had a BBC all her own. Or was it a BBD? A big black dildo? Either way, Hank sure seemed to enjoy having it crammed up his ass, nearly as much as she enjoyed doing the ramming.
"See, Hank? You don't have to worry about that little problem of yours any longer. Just open wide."
It took her mind off things... off the girls. Ever since Allen hired those so-called psychics to find the twins, she'd been having flashbacks to that day they vanished. Why hadn’t she made sure they were staying the night somewhere instead of simply assuming Allen had given them permission to do so? She was their mother. She should've been there for them... watched out for the ba
dness that would inevitably come their way.
Instead, she'd let them down. When they needed her most, she wasn’t there. She'd been reveling in the arms of another man, someone who looked at her in just the right way. Christ, she couldn’t even remember his name. Another one bites the dust. That's the song that was playing during the ten seconds it took for him to get off. And afterwards she felt cheap and dirty and couldn’t wait to get home and shower to wash him off her, out of her. And she hadn’t thought to ask Allen where the girls were at. She just assumed.
For the longest time she wondered
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If he had something to do with the kidnapping... with their disappearance. In her tormented mind she fantasized about him wanting to get back at her for her many and sordid infidelities and cruelties she heaped upon him nightly. And what better way than through her daughters? But they were his girls too. No. Allen was a lot of things but he was never that. And believing it only added to the burden she already carried.
She was thinking about those psychics Allen hired. Were they running into any new leads? Allen seemed positively stoked about their chances at finding the girls... so much so it fueled her own hopes. But then again she'd been lured into false expectations numerous times in the past... even by Hank Lupo, cold case detective and champion of the free world. But every one of his promises came to naught until all she felt was numb.
The girl was pretty. What was with that odd streak of red in her otherwise platinum blonde hair? Did she color it that way? These days anything was possible. Yet she had to admit it looked natural. She was a twin too. That had to be it. Her twin had red hair. She'd heard of that happening... twins resting in the womb with their heads against one another in such a way that the hair follicles of each grew into the other. Twins. So that was what she sensed about Liza McNairy... the odd sensation that the girl was more than the totality of herself. She was a twin too.
