by Rick R. Reed
Wren looked down at the street below, where two men in suits stood. They both wore aviator sunglasses, and their clothing and demeanor suggested only one thing: cops. Unless they were Mormon missionaries, but somehow Wren doubted that.
“Detectives. They’re here.” It only made sense. They were probably following up with all the escorts. Rufus was, for sure, one on a list of many. Wren suspected the guys downstairs had no idea Rufus was most likely the killer’s next target. He turned to Rufus just as the buzzer sounded again. “Are you gonna let them in? This is good timing. You should talk to them.”
“No way, man. Later, I promise.”
Wren jumped back from the window as the buzzer sounded a third time and one of the men leaned back to peer up at the windows. “I could talk to them.” Wren moved away from the window, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. “You could—I don’t know—hide and listen. I could tell them what we know, see where it goes. At least you’ll know that much before you go out on this insane mission of yours, and maybe, just maybe, what you hear will convince you otherwise.”
Rufus pushed him down—gently—on the couch. “I can see lots of clashes in our future, little man. I am not talking to them. Not yet. Get it through your head.”
Suddenly both of them went quiet, sucking in air as they heard a pounding on Rufus’s front door. Rufus looked pleadingly at Wren, a finger to his lips. Wren so wanted to run over and open the door, but he complied with Rufus’s wish for silence. He hoped he wasn’t signing his lover’s death warrant by going along with Rufus.
There was another knock—and then silence. Both of the men waited, frozen in position. The next sound Wren heard was a tiny whispering noise, barely audible, as something was slid under the door.
Both of them breathed again as they heard footfalls descending back down the stairs. Rufus walked gingerly over to the door and stooped to pick up a business card. He looked over at Wren and nodded. “Cops,” he mouthed.
Wren moved to the window and saw the two men getting into a late-model, dark blue sedan. He waited until they drove away and then said, “I wish you would have talked to them.”
“I know. But I have to get ready.”
Wren was flabbergasted. “You’re just going to, what? Show up at her house? How will you even know where she lives?”
“Oh, I know.”
Rufus’s words sent a shiver through him.
“How would you know?”
“Evan used to take me by their house. He was a bit of a stalker, that Evan. That’s probably how she found out about him. I don’t know how she found out about the rest. But we’d drive by late at night. Sometimes we’d even see the happy family inside, watching TV.” Rufus started toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna take a shower, then head up to Kenilworth.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No way.”
“Yes. I went along with you about not talking to the cops. I am not going to let you take this risk alone.”
Rufus started to say something else, but Wren held up his hand. “We are so not going to argue about this. I am going. And. That. Is. It.”
Rufus smiled. “You do have a backbone after all. Okay, you come along, but you keep quiet. Remember, at this point I just want to talk to her, see if I can figure out for sure if she’s the one.”
“You remember that.”
Rufus left the room, and in a few minutes Wren heard the rush of water as he started up his shower. Wren briefly considered sliding out of his clothes and joining him under the hot spray, but then reality intruded.
He needed to call his job and, after that, his mom. It might be the last time he would speak with her.
Chapter Seventeen
“ARE YOU ready?” Rufus asked.
The two of them stood on the quiet residential street in the North Shore suburb of Kenilworth. Lined with large, palatial homes, manicured lawns, flowering shrubbery, and luxury cars parked in cobblestone or bricked driveways, the area seemed a world apart from bustling, dirty, crowded Chicago proper, only a few miles south. Here the air seemed cleaner, rarified, smelling sweet. There was an aura of peace, underscored by very little traffic noise, so one could actually hear birdsong and the chittering of insects.
Across from them stood the Williamses’ house. It was a large fieldstone affair, looking more fitting for a place in the English countryside than here, in an affluent suburb of the nation’s third-largest city. Black trim and tall windows topped with leaded glass set off the fieldstone.
Wren couldn’t imagine what living in such a place must feel like. He slowly shook his head. “No. I am not ready. Are you? Really?” Wren was hoping Rufus would have the sense to admit his trepidation and suggest the path Wren wanted but until now had yet to voice—to just get on the Metra train and head back into the city, leaving behind this fool’s errand.
“I think so,” Rufus said, voice quiet. He began to cross the street.
Wren caught up to him. “Wait! We don’t even have a plan.”
Rufus stopped and looked at him when they got to the other side. “We have only one plan—the truth. And I hope it works.”
“So you’re just going to go in there and accuse her? If she is the one, she’ll be like a cornered animal.” Wren’s fight-or-flee instinct, at the moment, was very much on the side of flee. He wished desperately that Rufus felt the same.
“Remember what I told you back at the condo?”
Wren shrugged.
“You need to let me do the talking. Trust me.” He started up the twisting cobblestone path that led to the front door. Wren tagged reluctantly behind.
At the door Rufus turned to Wren. “You know, little man, all your hysteria may be for nothing.” He shrugged and smiled. “It could just be that there’s nobody home.”
Wren prayed the latter was true as Rufus turned back to the door, lifted the brass lion’s head knocker, and let it drop to the black-lacquered door once, twice. Pause. Again.
After he had knocked a third time and gotten no response, Wren allowed a surge of relief to course through him. It was true that he and Rufus still had much to worry about, but at least this immediate fear had been postponed.
“Come on. We might as well go somewhere and wait for a bit. We can come back in an hour or two, and maybe she’ll be here,” Rufus said.
Wren’s heart sank.
“Think Kenilworth has a Starbucks?” Rufus asked as they turned and began heading back down the path away from the house.
“Everyplace has a Starbucks,” Wren replied, dour. So they would come back shortly? Nothing was over.
When they had gotten about halfway down the path, they heard the creak of the door opening.
Wren jumped, startled. A sudden urge to grab Rufus’s hand and run nearly overtook him.
“Can I help you?” The voice that carried across the summer air was not that of a woman, but a man.
They turned. Wren saw, standing in the doorway, a very handsome silver-haired man he would have pegged to be in his midforties. He had a perfect body and a sort of Richard Gere air about him—all refinement with the suggestion of sex beneath. He wore a pair of cargo shorts, a madras button-down shirt, and was barefoot. Under other circumstances Wren might have been intrigued.
Now he was only dismayed.
Rufus hurried back to the door, where the man stood waiting. Wren followed, noticing how the guy’s pale blue eyes lit up with recognition once they focused on Rufus. The man cocked his head, a lazy grin spreading across his features, which he quickly erased.
“Rufus? Man, what are you doing here?” He shook his head. “This is so not cool—you showing up here—at my home.”
“Sorry, Dan.”
Rufus stood before the man, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Wren wondered what he would say. He couldn’t very well ask to see the man’s wife. This guy had been blackmailed—and had been with several of the À Louer escorts. If anything would send this rich family man into a panic, we
ll, here it was, right on his doorstep.
Rufus finally spoke. “We just stopped by because we didn’t know if you’d heard about what was going on. With Evan?”
Dan’s face went dark. “I heard,” he said softly.
They stood facing each other until the silence became uncomfortable. Finally Dan said, “Is that all?”
Rufus scratched his head and blurted, “Are you here by yourself today?”
“Yeah, why?” Dan looked wary, and then he focused on Wren. “Who’s this?”
“This is my friend Wren.”
Wren nodded. The situation had gotten too bizarre and surreal—he couldn’t think of a word to say.
“No reason. I just know you mentioned having a wife and kids. I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”
“Really? Really? And how did you think coming here wouldn’t do just that? How did you know I’d be here alone, anyway? Normally I’m not, but Martha and the girls are up at Lake Geneva at our summer place. I’m only here now because I had some work to take care of before I join them later today.” Dan stepped closer to Rufus, and there was menace in the closeness. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you.”
Dan shook his head. “I’m not buying what you’re trying to sell. Now get out of here before I call the cops. Unless you boys want to come inside and give me a freebie? A little three-way action?”
“Jesus,” Rufus sputtered. “We’re going.”
And both of them, to Wren’s great relief, headed away. Dan wasted no time in slamming the door behind them.
They said nothing on the several blocks’ walk back to the train station. As they were waiting for the arrival of the next city-bound train, Rufus said, “I guess that was a dead end. I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“Well, maybe now we can abandon this plan? Put it in the hands of the police, where it belongs?”
Rufus stared at him for a long time before responding. They were seated on a bench outside, and the summer air was heavy with humidity all around them. A dull, lifeless breath of wind lifted some of Rufus’s thatch-colored hair off his forehead, and he smiled. Wren could see, suddenly, how tired the man was, how afraid.
Rufus said, “You really do give a fuck about me, don’t you, little man?”
“Haven’t you realized that yet?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t want to listen. I wanted to make this right. I’m still scared.”
“And you still haven’t answered me. Will you talk to the cops? Use that business card they left behind? It’s obvious whoever is doing the killing, it’s not Dan’s wife. You heard him. She’s up at Lake Geneva with their kids.” It all sounded so innocent. “So we don’t know who’s doing this, but I do think your hunch about it being related to the blackmailing is right, and you do have good cause to be afraid.” Wren grabbed Rufus’s hand and clutched it. “I am not gonna let you out of my sight until someone’s caught, until you’re safe. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You’ll call?”
“As soon as we get home. Good?”
“Good.”
They heard the approach of the southbound train and stood, shielding their eyes from the sun as the train rumbled into the station.
Aboard, the gentle rocking motion of the train and perhaps relief that he was no longer going to have to do battle with a psychotic madwoman allowed Rufus to relax a bit, his head on Wren’s shoulder.
When the conductor came around, checking for tickets, he eyed the two men warily, but Wren didn’t care.
THE HEAT had intensified, even on the short train ride home. As Wren headed down Catalpa Avenue with Rufus, he couldn’t wait to get inside his air-conditioned apartment. Maybe once out of the heat and away from the stress of going to Kenilworth, Rufus would finally listen to reason. He had promised to call the cops, and Wren intended to make sure the promise wasn’t an empty one.
Once inside, Wren took Rufus in his arms. He kissed him gently. Rufus pulled away, smiling at him.
“What was that for?”
“Because you did the right thing. Because you came back here.” Wren knew not to force the issue. He realized from watching his mother’s wise parenting over the years that the best way to get a person to do something you wanted was to give them a choice. Although Wren realized that, if they wanted to be safe and Rufus to safeguard his own life, there was really no choice—they had to call the police. But what he said was “God, it’s hot out there. You wanna lie down for a bit, cool off? Or do you just want to call those detectives now and get it out of the way first?”
“You are so lame. So transparent.” Rufus tousled Wren’s hair. “I’ll call. Let me just take a piss first.” Rufus disappeared into the bedroom to use his en suite bath.
Wren plopped down on the couch, hoping the end was maybe now, at last, in sight. He wondered what would happen to Rufus now that À Louer was no more. Would he lose this condo? What kind of work could he get? Would he go back to being an escort? This last thought sent a hot twinge of jealousy and pain through him.
Before he could consider anything else, though, there was a cry of alarm from the bedroom and then the sounds of a scuffle. Wren leapt to his feet as he heard a high-pitched, enraged scream. His heart pounded, his adrenalin pumped out in overdrive.
All this took place within a few seconds.
Wren stood, darted across the living room, and pushed into the bedroom so hard the door slammed back against the wall.
The scene that greeted him was surreal. He did one of those sitcom double takes, opening and closing his eyes because he simply could not accept what he was seeing as reality.
Rufus was holding the arm of a woman aloft. The woman, dark-haired and sinewy, held a butcher knife above Rufus. Her face was a mask of grim determination. She was grunting, trying to free herself from Rufus so she could plunge the knife into him. Although the woman was rail thin, he could see the power in her arms, roped with muscle, now straining as she tried to force the knife down—and into the man Wren loved.
“No!” Wren cried out, moving forward.
Rufus cast him a warning look, one that seemed to say Keep away, but it wasn’t enough to deter Wren.
Things happened so fast. It was almost like a blur of motion. There was no thought, no reason. Just doing.
Survival.
Protection.
Wren surged forward, grabbed the woman around the waist, and then yanked her backward. She cried out in frustration and turned on him, slashing. Wren gasped as he felt the blade slice across his shoulder. At first it didn’t hurt, but then he felt the warm rush of blood, which was following by a stinging fire that made him wince. Shocked, he put a hand up to his shoulder to try to curb the flow of blood. He pressed down hard, but already he felt woozy.
“You bitch,” Rufus said and grabbed her from behind. Wren slid to the floor and looked up to see Rufus with his hand wrapped around the woman’s wrist, bending it backward. He watched, numb, as the pair struggled, the woman’s chiseled face a grim mask of determination, Rufus’s a study in despair as he attempted to turn this potentially lethal situation around.
Wren gasped as a black blur dashed from under the bed. Lucifer, the cat, yowling and hissing, leaped into the air, claws outstretched, attacking the woman’s calf.
She screamed and attempted to kick the animal away.
It looked for a moment as though the woman might win out as she almost jerked her hand free and the cat was sent flying backward. Lucifer scrambled back under the bed. In that moment Rufus managed to slam his knee into the crook behind the woman’s knee, which caused her to stumble forward.
In the moment where she was no longer balanced, Rufus snatched the knife from her hands. Wren pressed himself into the wall, breathless, as he prepared to witness a murder. He was sure Rufus was going to plunge the knife into the woman’s back now that he had the opportunity.
But he didn’t. Instead he quickly stashed the knife in a dresser drawer, t
hen leaned against it.
The woman regained her balance and charged toward Rufus, all fury and flailing fists. Rufus restrained her as she tried to pummel his chest and face with her fists, her frustration coming out of her in small grunts and cries.
All at once, it seemed as though the fight escaped her like air out of a punctured balloon, and she sank to the floor, weeping.
Wren didn’t want Rufus to move away from blocking access to the drawer where he had placed the knife, but he did. Rufus sank down beside the woman, his hand reaching out gingerly to touch her straight dark hair.
“It’s gonna be okay now,” he whispered. “It’s over.”
The woman simply sobbed, her body shaking as though she was having a seizure.
Wren had no idea what would happen now. Again, this feeling of unreality overcame him, as if this was all a fast-moving dream and any moment he would awaken to find himself lying in bed next to Rufus, the soft thrum of the air conditioning their only company.
He wished for that, anyway.
Rufus looked over at him. “Are you going to be okay?”
His question reminded Wren of the stinging in his shoulder. He took his hand away from the slash, expecting the blood to spurt out, but it had slowed to a trickle. He pulled the fabric of his T-shirt away to reveal a gash, one that would need stitches for sure but was in no way life threatening. He swallowed, feeling his heart rate and respiration beginning to slow. “I’ll live,” Wren said softly.
Rufus nodded and turned back to the woman, taking her hands in his own. She collapsed against his chest, sobbing. It seemed like removing the weapon from her hands had sapped all her fight, all her menace.
Maybe she had simply wanted someone to take away her knife all along.
Wren watched as Rufus stroked her hair, whispering, “Shh.”
He allowed the woman into his arms, and Wren was amazed. This was the woman who had somehow broken into Rufus’s apartment and tried to kill him, and he was showing her compassion.
